I would have to be away from for a few days. But if all goes well, I hope I can connect again soon. I am very sorry for the halt in Myst's participated threads, but I would try my best so that it would not be long.
The traveler takes a few steps to his left and leans his back against the damp wall. With his hands behind him in his cloak he stands there and waits, a dark solemn figure, letting the confused Kokiri searches deep inside his memories. Two souls, both lost in the morning light.
For a moment there is no sound but the fire crackling in the center. A bird is singing outside, joyfully embracing the new arising day. Pieces of melting snow are making strange drizzling sounds.
"Are...are we soldiers? Do we fight to protect this queen?"
The traveler seems surprised, and lifts his head from the cave ground that he has resorted to watch. He nods. There is a stronger look of worry in his face, almost pitying.
"I have a sword I think. Where is it?"
The traveler thinks for a moment, and nods again.
“...Yes. It may do you better to see it”
Adjusting his cloak, he silently steps into the other side of the room, to a space across the bonfire facing the place where he sat before. There behind a jutting stone and shaded from the light lie two sheathed blades, one slightly longer than the other. There are also pieces of what seemed to be a uniform and a badly dented helm, carefully placed in a stack. On top of the helm sits a small ruby ring, emblazoned with red lily.
Bending his back to reach these things the traveler stops for a while, his hand dangling in front. To the Kokiri sitting at the back of the cave only his cloaked back can be seen, half-covered with long silver hairs.
“Tell me, Lou.” She says slowly, still bending forward. “How much can you remember about yourself? About your home and your friends? About your duty to the queen?”
He pauses for a while, “And about me? Please tell me so I can help you.”
The last words are especially heavy, full with feelings.
The fire of the smithy never stop burning, its flame blanketed the coals as if spreading bright red mosses. Outside the fire of the sun has died out and the freeze of night reigns, but here inside this spacious stone-walled room the heat of the day lives on, tainting the various objects within with an orange-red glow.
A figure is standing near an iron table, his face to the burning fire. In this angle of light his face is lit with a strange ethereal quality, as if it the smooth features there are swimming behind a veil of light. A bead of sweat is trickling down his chin but he heeds them not, his bright blue eyes focus only to the task he is toiling right now. On his hands he is meticulously holding a small bronze ring with a sparkling ruby on top. Apparently he is focused in trying to do some subtle work on it.
Totally absorbed he is on his work that not even a strand of his silver hair moves when another steps enter the room. Two red eyes the same color of the fire appears at a door far behind the working smith.
“Two tables to your left”, says the small smith in front of the fire, not bothering to look behind.
The two red eyes bring the skeletal head they are in to the direction said by the smith. There upon a table lies a heap of ruby rings, all almost identical in style. A growl of satisfaction can be heard, along with an echoing sound saying some incomprehensible things.
The smith is still working, undisturbed, occasionally holding the ring up his face and reheating things in the fire.
“This one...is carved...?”
The skeletal figure has already stood beside the smith, making a long shadow over the room. It is at least twice the height of the smith and thrice larger, but anyone can easily tell whom between the two that regards the others as more superior.
The smith holds the ring close to his eyes, and put it down again, satisfied.
“Yes, this one is special” He says flatly, continuing his work on the ring.
“I want...my ring...carved too....”
The skeletal figure uses brings his right fingers to his left and slips out another bronze ring from the middle finger. This ring is also decorated with a ruby and an emblazoned red lily, in the exact same style as the ring that the smith is currently working on.
Apparently the smith also wears the exact same kind of ring. It is glinting now on his finger, reflecting the fire of the furnace.
“Sure, but later,” he says, inspecting the ring again, “this one is to be finished before he wakes up”.
And so, the toiling sound continues throughout the night, and goes on and on until the fire of the sun again beats the worldly heat of the furnace.
The wanderer has prepared himself for this. He has seen what desolation the re-dead army could do, and how swiftly they did, all in the sake of the one reigning inside this throne. He has searched through many sources and read many browned pages to get a glimpse of who or what this enigmatic figure was, understanding her reason and how she expected her subjects to behave. Despite all this he is still somewhat surprised when the redead guard actually steps aside and beckons him to enter.
Time, it seems, left not a thing unscathed.
The redead guard stops him for a moment and slowly puts one of his arm to the front, the other still holding the halberd. “Weapons...do not go...inside....” reverberates the guard’s hollow voice, its left arm turned upward in an asking postion.
Obediently, the wanderer hands a scabbard he has been holding in his right arm all this time. The sword is still sheathed inside, with a hilt and scabbard colored so much like his own armor, plain but mysterious. As he puts the sword to the waiting hand he notices a small ruby ring worn on the middle finger of the bony hand, glinting shyly under the pale moonlight.
He makes a mental note to ask about it later, and turns around to face the Dead Queen of Hyrule herself.
For all the guards placed around the castle The Queen seems to be alone in her macabre throne room, with no other guards in sight save the one that escorted the wanderer here. It can be attributed to either pure ignorance or utter confidence, although in the case of The Queen the latter one is strongly suspected.
But then, both are equally dangerous.
The wanderer walks gracefully to the center of the room, his chin steady, his gliding steps proper and firm. Faced with such an abominable sight in front of him not even a glint shows in his deep blue eyes, already the color of a dead calm sea. With a single, imperceptible glance he scans the entire room and is surprised by none, except one whom his sight rests for a bit. At the farthest corner mangled remains of a family are seated in a dinner position, their torn baby served in plates in front of them. A dreadful mockery of what supposed to be a fine family time.
A mockery of life, created by the dead.
And the one who apparently enjoys this sort of mockery is seated calmly on her high throne, majestic and dreadful like a full moon shining above a graveyard. Her dead eyes shine red like polished ruby, cold and impartial, but at the moment they betray a deep feeling of curiosity. And the voice coming from his lips is that of a predator interested in its prey.
But the prey skilfully ignores the attention.
“My own will brought me here, Your Majesty,” the wanderer bows deeply, her long hair fell around her like a silver waterfall, “And my feet taking steps as its extension. Both are humbled by your presence.” It is a perfect bow, bearing no respect nor fear but purely conducted as a necessary formality. A bow that sees one as in a currently higher status than the one who bows, but no more than that.
The stories said that in life The Queen prefers short, to-the-point attitude. But she never did eschew formalities, for she found them amusing, if served in little enough proportion.
And the wanderer certainly serves no more. Still bowing, he continues in his own hollow tone, devoid of wavering or uncertainties.
“To your inquiries, Your Majesty, I am called Swift, though the name is but a shadow of a past long gone. It is my humble wish to offer my services to the Crown, and to put this form in serving its forces...”
The wanderer pauses for a split second, enjoying the effect it would create,
“...to the best of what it is able to.”
Tact. In those subservient words she put many things hidden. A slight praise, a subtle mockery, an ambiguous hint that the all-powerful forces might still not be enough, and a faint suggestion that he may hold a hint to past mysteries, all in a manner of full respect.
Now Swift waits, his gaze on the blood-streaked floor, wanting to know if the Queen is really as perceptive as the stories said she was.
The traveler’s blue eyes soften, as he slowly takes his steps to the wrapped figure lying on those underground roots. One can almost hear a relieved sigh as he passes the burning bonfire, its ceaseless crackles perfectly masking the sound of the traveler’s boots treading the mosses.
“Yes you do”, The voice is still as flat and impersonal as before, but it is slightly gentler now, more open, more kind. As if an initial barrier has been broken and the two of them has now reached a kind of mutual understanding. A slight one it is, but still a thing that they can agree upon.
The traveler speaks as he moves, getting nearer and nearer.
“Forgive me for the initial treatment, Lou, but one can never be too cautious regarding the Rebels. More than once have their mind-wiping techniques took their toll on us”
Now standing beside the wrapped figure, for the first time they see each other face to face. The lying Kokiri with his face staring up, and on his right side the traveler looking down, silver hairs gleaming from the faint sun rays behind. The traveler has a very peculiar face. To call it handsome would be right, yet to call it beautiful would also close to the truth. From the small brow to the petite chin the facial features are gentle yet refined, smooth yet heavy, with blue eyes that see further and lips as delicate as they are firm.
And as he utters his next words, a small, very faint smile travels along those lips. Obviously being held back.
“But their methods do have a flaw. None of the victims can stand the glorious name of the Queen, moreso if exclaimed suddenly.” With his controlled expression it is almost as if he wants to add, but does not have the will to do, “Which means that you have passed the test, and therefore are clear”.
But it is an ephemeral sight. The next moment the voice and the eyes suddenly hardens. “Yet we were too late in discovering it”
And with it, the phantom image of a smile quickly passes, leaving the same cold and cautious face as it has always been before. Without further words the traveler bends down and nimbly helps the Kokiri to sit upright, at last enabling him to see the bright cave entrance and the unfolding morning scenery there. The Kokiri’s left limbs are firmly strapped to thick branches on their three sides which prevent them from moving, although the hips are free to bend. But the right limbs are only plastered with patches of greenish paste and the head, although the neck is strapped also, has most of its face part clear.
The traveler steps back and straightens his back, facing the now-sitting Kokiri. During all the help not a single word came from him, and he still keeps her silent now. The deep, crystalline blue eyes somehow do not meet the other’s gaze.
The traveler listened patiently as the Kokiri poured all the jumbled thoughts in his heart.
“... I was alone I think...” It seemed for the traveler that the Kokiri’s mind had been affected somehow. The traveler’s body tensed, his limbs preparing for a sudden spring. His stare at the morning light outside was steady, but hard, waiting for an unknown momentum.
“...I am not really sure who I am..."
At this moment the traveler suddenly jumps upright in an explosive change of position. He balances his body in the air by swinging his arms and lets out a loud scream that fills the entire cave,
“LONG LIVE QUEEN AOIFE ‼”
His boots make a heavy thump as his body lands again on the moss. Outside, some small animals are frightened. Their scurrying feet can be heard under the bushes.
At last the traveler turns her head inside, studying the reaction of the wrapped figure in the corner of the cave.
The traveler seems taken aback, and mumbles softly about something like “He doesn’t remember me” .
Sad.
“Before I answer”, the traveler replies flatly, still a child in voice, “I want to assure you that I am a friend”. He moves a little, his cloak makes a gentle stirring sound against the mosses.
These are both nominations and votes, so please consider my votes all used up.
Member: Blazewind Male: Icarus Female: Laurel Hyrule Duo: Jacob Cartney and Sera Kitsua (two loners with different approach to loneliness) Race: Eevee(s) ! As seen on the top of the page
If there is a slot for favorite thread, I would like to vote for "Inner Discomfort" (the real one) .
The traveler is still sitting, ignoring the stirring sounds coming from his left side. Surely enough the Kokiri has awoken, but is still struggling to regain his full consciousness. Considering the state that he was found in however, it is already a relief that he is not condemned to stay still for the rest of his life.
On the traveler’s right side, direct to the entrance, the sun rays are creeping inside the cave. Inch by inch they go, spreading a pale yellow tinge to the gloomy roots on the wall and the two swords resting on them. The traveler is staring at the entrance, with his face facing the morning air, his hair inside the cave illuminated by the rising sun.
After a moment of passivity, the continuous rustling sounds finally draw her response.
“Move no more,” he says, without turning around, “it will only make matters worse”. A tiny hint of concern was in his ambiguous voice.
On a tree outside, high on the snowy branches four young birds are trying their first flight. Only two succeed.
The Commander in charge is one of the most sophisticated of Stalfos.
He has been dead for quite some time, having lived when the Hyrule was in one of its most tumultuous and brutal history. In life The Commander the most feared noble in and out of the court, possessing shrewd merciless diplomatic skills and outstanding military might. He lived in intrigues and deceit, and during its reign held a great influence to the royal family. It is said that he rose up quickly through the ranks by spilling much blood, and held to its station by spilling more. Friends and foes were readily sacrificed should they impede The Commander’s ambitions. Even reduced in this re-dead state, his ghastly skeleton still possesses considerable intelligence and chilling tone, which intimidates even the bravest of men.
He did not waste any time in using it.
“What was it...happened in Town this morning?...Speak quickly...Swift...” “A woman riding a Loftwing landed in the market square this morning, Commander” come the flat answer. “To their naive intentions they landed right in the centre of our ranks”
The Commander watches as the warrior called Swift answered its question without being intimidated even slightly. He possesses the delicate form of a child, with a fair countenance and unreadable expression. His facial features are beautiful, yet grave and handsome. They are like half-done, the creator could not decide whether he wanted a boy or a girl. The only thing done right was the eyes: they sparkle and lit but cannot shine. Like a bright blue fire trapped deep under a thick ice, burning itself without ever giving light.
If not for the warrior’s own statement, it would be hard even for The Commander to decide how it should refer him.
“And it is good news you have to deliver me...correct?”
The eyes do not shift, even for a moment. They look straight to The Commander’s own.
“The Loftwing managed to escape. But the woman has been taken care of and will trouble us no longer. We found this on her”
He reaches for something on his side and presents a dagger to The Commander. Its icy blue shaft sparkles under the dim light of the barrack’s hall.
The Commander reaches out and examines the dagger, but is surprised when he touches the shaft. The dagger almost fell.
“This is...”
For the first time, the warrior’s eyes shifted for a while to the dagger before returning to The Commander. An inexplicable feeling was displayed there.
He whispers softly, inaudible by anyone. “The blade of Sleetshade. Chilling and cold, mixed and bold”
“Take this...to the treasury” the Commander reaches to one of many Stalfos walking here and there around them. “It stays...there...” The Commander then turns again to the warrior. He is watching the lowly Stalfos left.
“You are...dismissed”
The warrior stays, “Requesting permission to leave the Town Garrison, Commander”, and he hands out a tattered flier to The Commander.
The Commander’s red eyes tighten in disgust.
“I was informed that...you are the only one suitable for this task.”
Its voice rises to a threatening tone.
“But remember...never forget...where your loyalty lies...Her Majesty...always knows...and I will personally make you suffer...should you forget”
The warrior bows, as steadfast as the first time he came.
“I have not the slightest thought of betraying Her Majesty...”
The Commander turns around.
“Good...good...Swift....We will be watching...and waiting....”
It walks and disappears inside the inner barracks, leaving the warrior still bowing. The warrior raises his head and turns to where he came from. “...as long as her intentions fit mine.”
He opens the barrack's door and walks outside. Soon the moonlit night hides his figure from sight.
An armored traveler pokes a bonfire with a stick, shifting the dry branches there. The burnt woods make hissing sound and glows brighter, as if resisting. But in the end they spout a few sparks and sit calmly, satisfying themselves by making continuous crackling sound.
The traveler is sitting inside a natural cave adorned with thick roots and vines, some distance away from the edge of the forest. Inside here the heavy snow last night could not get through, and now as the sun rises the snow gathered around the entrance, its warm rays glittering there like pearls in the eyes of the traveler. It would be damp and very cold still without the fire, but inside the cave one can sit comfortably, spreading their weary limbs over soft moist mosses.
The traveler adjusts his thick cloak around his little frame and throws another bunch of dry branches to the fire. The fire engulf the branches greedily, and as it rages on he puts his chin on his knee, watching the orange red tongues blazing in delightful anger.
That same bright, fiery color once glowed also inside a pair of eyes, angry and dangerous.
“If you all want to be useful,” came a furious voice “prove it! Act like one!”
All of them were trembling, confused, unable to think or to respond. At last a child, shaking from head to toe stepped forward. Strands of silver hair swayed like branches in a gale.
“Forgive us, Father.” the child started, with voice filled with fright, ”but we are in every way different and although....”
The voice disappeared as soon as the other’s lips moved, the voice coming then was blind with wrath.
“Useless louts! I will show what those words meant to you!”
A snapping sound lift the traveler’s chin from his knees. The stick he gripped was broken in two.
He throws the stick into the fire, letting it join its already charred brethren. Then, a slight movement to his left catches his attention.
Near the bonfire, cradled in thick tangling roots in the corner of the cave, lies another small figure, wrapped in a few layers of thick fabric. Strewn all over his body are thick patches of crushed leaves and roots, made into some sort of crude paste. His left arm and leg are securely strapped to a thick branch on each of their three sides, and his head is also wrapped also the greenish paste. The bonfire has been placed in such a way so that it is focused more on the lying figure, rather than traveler.
The traveler waited a while, and then resumes staring outside the cave.
The giant mass of bones makes a gesture toward the long dim hall with its skeletal finger. He then swings it sideways and points it to the wanderer, whom it is addressing. “The Living...walk this way...”
The torches’ light make the strands of silver hair gleam for a moment as the wanderer nods. He then follows the bony guard through the torch-walled hall, treading silently behind its steps.
They make a strange pair of figures, as their trailing shadows dance with the dim flames on their sides. One is a giant of being, covered in an impressive armor, if a bit rusty, and an equally impressive halberd. Its heavy boots thread surely and distinctively, filling the high-reaching walls of the hall with their hollow thud. And under that old style helmet that sits proudly on its top comes a grim visage of chalk-white face, stripped from all features except its bones, with two deep immeasurable holes as its eyes, glowing faint red.
Behind it walks the wanderer, with no sound heralding his steps at all. He stands barely half the height of the escort in front of him, and with shoulders no wider than its head. Compared with the highly decorated armor of the giant his is simple and plain, its dreary color in complete contrast with his gleaming silver hair. On top of his head a helmet sits as if it was a crown, and beneath it, a pair of dark blue eyes.
Strangely enough, if one were to look at those eyes, one could easily agree on one thing. Somehow they seem even more dead than the obvious dead eyes in front of him.
But they scarcely can be called dead, for those eyes are shifting left and right, scanning the entire main hall of Castle Hyrule.
It is the same hall that has welcomed many happy visitors during its time; the same hall which floor has been stepped on by countless princes and paupers. The torches still hold their light now as they did to busy emissaries before, scuffling through their papers, and the sculpted pillars that interspersed the walls still command wonder and awe as was felt by every child who was lucky enough to be brought there. There was the path that a hero once took to meet his princess; there was the path that a villain once took to slew a hero. There, high above the isolated islands of torches’ light, colorful frescoes and stained glasses make their apparition, their dim colors can find a light no more.
How fast some things can change, and how remarkable the things that still stay the same inside them, for those who know. They are still there, but hidden, like how layers of mattress fail to conceal the bulge of a pea.
And Castle Hyrule might still be there, but hidden. Overlying it are the thick mist of darkness and the damp air of death.
This bleak thought fills the wanderer’s mind as his and his escort’s journey comes to an end. In front of them now stands a large wooden gate, painted and ornamented as beautiful as a cover for a book of fairy tale. On each side of the entwined sculpture of ivy that covers the slit of the door a metal knocker is placed, carefully shaped like a gawking Loftwing’s head.
The door to the Throne Room.
“The Living...wait here...”
The wanderer nods. As he looks up he catches something on a fresco high to the left.
A picture of an eye, crying. Below it a single tear heavily hangs, blood red in color.
The giant knocks the door three times and opens it slightly, only enough for his bowing head and shoulders to show to whoever is inside. From his place the wanderer can only see the tremendous back of its armor and helmet, all bowing in a posture of utmost fear and respect.
But the sound coming from it is as hollow as always.
“The Living...came....The Living...wanted to meet...Her Majesty....The Living...is strong....Should the living...be allowed...to...inside...?”
Note: The following events happened quite long before the raid, and would be nulled if Aoife killed Myst before. They do not necessarily happen in one continuous order.
For a re-dead, the task of standing guard is one of the most natural thing to do.
After all, what is the ordeal of standing still for a few hours compared to what they have endured for many years? They have spent a long time, some even ages, waiting in complete stillness before their rotten bodies can move again. A few hours more waiting would mean only a little.
But waiting may not be the best word to describe what they did. Waiting implies hope and expectation. But when they were dead, none of them dreamed that they would once again walk among the livings.
And certainly they did not entertain the idea to be a standing guard either.
The feeling is evident as one of the Stalfos guards yawns. Of course being dead It does not need yawning anymore, but even so the feeling of boredom is overwhelming and its body reacted out of habit. It is currently standing guard outside in front of a simple metal door leading to what used to be a soldier’s barrack. The door is plain and barren, but even with the minimal lighting of this moonlit sky one can see that the door is very strong and sturdy, even compared to thick granite walls where it is put on.
A rustling sound is heard to its right and it turns its ugly head around. A cold wind blows a pile of dead leaves there, spreading them in soft whispers.
And a shadow appears in front of the Stalfos.
It jumps a little and is ready to swing his greatsword, when suddenly it recognizes the owner of the silvery hair standing there.
The red dots that serve as its eyes seem to be widened.
“Swift...what...do....here...?”
The warrior whom the Stalfos called Swift bows his head a little. Compared to the undead gate guardian the warrior is diminutive in stature, with lithe limbs and long gleaming silver hair. He wears a set of black armor that is completely obscured by the night, and atop his head a black helmet sits like a crown.
“Commander sent for me”
The guard lowers its sword and beckons the warrior to enter the barrack, glancing at his fingers as he passes through and opens the metal door.
It is confirmed. On the warrior’s third finger is also the same ring like the guard wears: a small ruby ring emblazoned with a red lily.
Woodfall Rises is an au legend of Zelda RP
the current skin was made by Rozie. with the exception of the miniprofile which was
created by RITZ! Codes seen and used were taken from resource sites such as slightly insane, ProBoards
support, and Socal. all images are either from Zerochan or made by original owners.