This is a one-shot dedicated to my favourite dungeon in "The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess", namely the Arbiter's Grounds. Here follows my interpretation of what the Arbiter's Grounds might have looked like back in the day were you unfortunate enough to be imprisoned there. The Arbiter's Grounds is an abandoned, forsaken prison built deep in a lone desert to house the most ruthless criminals in Hyrule while they were awaiting trial, execution or exile to the netherworld of Twilight. There's gore and a slight bit of cursing in this, hence the M rating.
Now, I strongly advise you to go onto YouTube and play the Arbiter's Ground theme while reading this. If not only for getting in that dark, watchful mood but also because that song is creepy and helps setting the tone for this short story. Preferably use headphones. Now, after this lengthy introduction: Please enjoy.
Screaming.
You have gotten so used to the sound, your ears have started channelling it out.
Well, at least you have grown somewhat attached to it.
For it sounds a lot better than the noise of limp bodies being dragged across the floor outside of your cell or the deep, rumbling sound of that Monster far away in the prison, devouring those poor souls.
Soon it will come to be your turn as well.
The sand at the stone floor itches at your bare legs. The rashes at your skin are still irritated and sore. Your body is dehydrated, famished and underfed. Yet, by some miracle, you are still alive.
Labelled as a threat to Hyrule's peace, you had been thrown into here by the Royal Family two full moons ago. This place makes you feel sick; quite a feat considering the crimes you have gone through to get your payment. The thought of escaping, running away to anywhere, finding some release, something other than this stinking, wretched hell-hole... It sounds like salvation to you.
Death can creep up on you at any moment. The guards will sometimes poison the prisoner's foods and then watch in delight as another unfortunate captive chokes to death, gagging on their own saliva while their eyes widen in confusion as to why they are unable to breathe upon taking in normal food.
Little do they know.
Having spent two full moons in this place, you have seen some things. The prison guards, in the shapes of armed skeletons, can truly be called sadists. Their ways of entertainment even scares you, one of Hyrule's most notorious bounty hunters.
These guards... They thrive on cries of pain. They take delight in hearing people squeal in agony, begging for mercy as they only increase their methods of torture. They have never been afraid to kill a prisoner who would cross a line. The prisoners in the cells around you know that as well as you do. As soon as one prisoner gets dragged out to become a sacrifice to the beast or just to entertain the guards, another will take his place in an instant. It is as if the Arbiters have piles upon piles of prisoners in the vicinities, just waiting to get thrown into this godforsaken place.
A sharp, high-pitched cry pierces your eardrums and your weary body jerks in surprise. You scuttle backwards until the fetter binding you forces you to come to a halt. The cell is very small so you still manage to reach the end of your tiny confinement.
Just outside your cell, a brown, fat, wrinkled worm-like creature burrows its way out of the sand. The size of your chest, the creature jerks and twitches around in its frantic search for food. Lacking eyesight, that is the best it can do.
Moldworms are always lurking in the sand. Their large, jagged teeth along with their agility while underground makes them the perfect predators in a place like this. Feasting on prisoner's thin hands and feet are their pleasures.
To your left, in the cell right next to yours, another prisoner reaches out through the bars with his arm. He utters childlike, playful noises, as if the flesh-eating monster in front of you is nothing but a rattle, a toy for an infant. As if he's nothing but the child.
Right. You heard him cry out for help two nights ago while being tortured. He has without a doubt lost his mind.
The Moldworm seems to, by some chance, pick up on the movement to its left; with a shrill, shrieking cry, it throws itself toward the prisoner's outstretched hand. Its jaws clamp around the limb before severing it from its owner with a tearing sound.
Blood starts spurting from the injury, forming a pool of ruby-red liquid on the ground. The Moldworm twitches to find its way back to the sandy pile; however bringing with it its detached quarry makes it difficult for the creature to bury back into the sand. After having attempted it and failed, it settles for simply lying down, tenderly biting off bits and pieces of the human hand.
The man didn't even scream or cry out as he lost his limb; in fact, he was being eerily quiet. You turn your head to the best of your ability to try and catch a glimpse of his face. His eyes are staring, unblinking, down at the cut off limb. His mouth opens and closes, but no sound will come out.
A bead of sweat runs down his cheek.
His eye twitches.
And then he starts crying out.
The sound is ragged and you hear how torn his vocal chords are.
The wailing goes on for what seems to be hours; your perception of time is all but lost, yet that is what it feels like. On and on, the man cries out, as if the rest of you haven't understood already that he is in huge amounts of pain.
Death will greet him well.
At last, when the man stops screaming, reduced to broken sobs and whines, you are not able to enjoy the silence for long. Something approaches.
Out of your line of sight, one of the stone doors open at the other end of the room. Steps are heard, steel against stone and sand, and prison guards speaking in a guttural, foreign language you do not understand. Three heavily armed skeletons cross your line of sight. The one in the front is wearing a plume on its head that looks as if it is made of chapped bones.
They are all moving towards the largest cell in the room, each of them drawing a pale sword with intricate stone hilts.
You crawl over to the bars keeping you captive, the fetter scrambling around your bony ankle. A man whose face you know all too well is being dragged out of his cell. The crippled, torn rags covering his body does nothing to hide the sense of pride emanating from him as if an aura. Large muscles bulging in his arms, the man seems to utilise every ounce of his remaining strength to try to break free of the guards' hold on him.
Hyrule calls him the Demon Thief. The King of Evil. Ganondorf.
He shouts in the same guttural language as the prison guards, his deep voice echoing through the chamber, mixing with the guards' growling ones. One of the guards each has to hold his arms in order to keep him from moving around as they pull him out of his cell. They are struggling to do so, for the Demon Thief certainly seems to possess large amounts of strength. You and your fellow prisoners watch the onslaught, some in awe, others terrified.
The dark man's eyes glow a golden colour as he gives a heavy tug to the side. The prison guard holding his left arm loses its grip and is slammed into the wall, bringing with it large amounts of dust and concrete as it hits the ground. It quickly rises however, letting out a furious cry. The prisoner who had his hand severed wails and throws himself backwards, apparently scared by the show.
The Demon Thief grins at his temporary victory, oblivious to the guard with the plume standing behind him, drawing back its sword arm. Unfazed, without the slightest hint of hesitation, it runs the blade through the chest of the prisoner. Clouded, dark eyes widen in shock and a trickle of dark blood run down the man's stubbled chin. He lowers his head, staring down at the sharp object dyed crimson poking out of his bare upper body. His face then drops, jaw bumping against his chest. He must have passed out.
The guard in charge lets out a snicker before pulling its sword out of the immobile man. The Demon Thief's body gives an eerie, jerking motion as the sword slips out of him. The guard sheaths its weapon and turn to its comrade who had been thrown into the wall. There were those guttural cries again.
The chief and second guard then each grab the Demon Thief's arms and start to drag the unconscious man with them out of the room. Just before they leave through the large stone door, the skeleton wearing the plume turn to the lone, third guard who's left in the room. It then nods its head in your direction.
Your stomach turns itself inside out and whatever little food is left inside your belly attempts to escape through your mouth.
They have something planned for you. The Arbiters have decided your punishment.
The two guards then leave the room, dragging the unconscious Demon Thief with them.
After they have gone, the third skeleton turns its head, sanguine eyes meeting your own. A malicious, impish smile forms the lower half of its face as it walks toward you. The way it limps, with the armour clinking each and every step, sounds oddly rhythmic and the sound causes your stomach to churn and your body to quiver. Your skin is clammy with sweat. Unaware of it, you crawl backwards, desperate to get away from this approaching threat. You are, however, trapped.
The guard raises its sword, crying out in the gruff language and brings down its weapon onto the bars keeping you captive. The sword severs the iron bars like butter, the tip of it meeting the floor inches from your toes, splitting the fetter in the process. The guard's bony hand then clamps down on your shoulder and the unfamiliar, alien grip finally makes you panic. You throw yourself out of the cell past the guard.
Scrambling to run out through the open stone door, you hustle past the cells. Running, running, you are running as fast as you can.
"Have to get away. Out of here."
Your weary body shrieks with every step, but you somehow endure. Before you even get out of the chamber, however, something cold and sharp penetrates your left leg, forcing you to land on the ground. Eyes watering from the pain, you look down to find out the cause; the guard's sword is embedded in your left calf. It has already become stained with your own blood. You watch, heart beating frantically, as the guard close in on you, the rhythmic, clinking sound hypnotising you into near shock. The guard spares no expense on hearing the pain in your cries as it drags the sword out of your leg; slowly yet deliberately. A firm hand then grabs your neck and starts pulling you out of the room. You are too frightened to move.
Fear of dying. Fear of having your existence obliterated. Fear of getting forgotten, thrown away, turned to dust. It all drowns you until you can no longer find yourself within the shell that used to be you.
You dare turn your head to look over at the prisoner in the cell next to yours. Clutching his arm, his eyes are glued onto you. His mouth is wide open while giving off a rasping, grating sound. He's laughing at you. You can practically hear his thoughts. "So I got my hand cut off. Well, shit, I'm not the one going to get killed in a couple of minutes! Sucks to be you, scum!
"Think positive. You'll be rid of this place soon enough."
"Think positive. You'll be rid of this place soon enough."
Even if it meant death.
The guard resolutely drags you through chamber after chamber, with prison cells housing criminals on each side. Not too soon, you reach a large, hollow chamber brandishing a wide staircase leading into yet another room. Torches are flaring on the walls, and this next room is covered in ancient paintings. Depictions that look an awful lot like people in pain, and people being swallowed by something huge with claws...
The further in you get, the hotter and more humid the air becomes. Breathing has already been difficult and now you can hardly get any fresh air into your lungs at all. Instead of air, it feels as if you are pulling grains of sand and rotten things into your system.
The next room proves to be circular, rising upward together with a winding spiral staircase made of yellowed, old stone. The closer you get dragged to the end of the stairs, the heavier the air seems to press down upon you, despite moving up. The stone steps cuts into your back. You know that the exit to the dungeon is close, however to reach it, you have to move through the tomb of the Monster.
You know they aren't leading you here for the sake of the exit.
A gigantic, round stone door greets you at the top of the stairs. It looks ready to open at any second. Intricate markings decorate it, eerily similar to the ones in the previous room. The guard, still holding your scruff in an iron-grip, knocks at the large door. The knocks shouldn't have been heard at all, judging by the size of one bony hand compared to the massive door. But when the guard's fist touches the gateway, it is as if the entire floor rumbles, and the sound of something large moving can be heard. As if whatever's in there gets excited and exhilarated at the knowledge of this door opening.
Behind the door, the room is vast and circular, and the ceiling is so high up you can hardly see it. There's only a small pathway of stone outlining the room, wide enough to fit about five people. The only door in and out of the chamber is the one you just came in through. The one that is now locked. Skeletal guards are standing all around the pathway, wielding heavy weaponry, some holding bows and arrows. At the centre of the room, filling up almost all of it, is a huge pit filled with quicksand which pours down to the middle of the pit, where you see the monster waiting for its next victim.
You feel bizarrely calm at the sight of your doom.
The monster's body resembles a human's upper body anatomy; waist, ribcage, arms, neck and head, which looks like something twisted in between a dog and a goat. It is covered in pitch-black fur and the beast is, waist down, covered in quicksand, as if it's bathing in a pool of it. Thick horns are protruding from each side of the head. Large, clawed hands show at the end each arm. Each claw is twice as large as you.
The guards give you a not-so-gentle push and you fall forward into the quicksand. As if your lungs weren't already polluted, you get sand in your mouth and cough and splutter to get it out while standing up, your left leg trembling. A slight sucking sensation then grabs hold of your ankles, and with a jolt in your chest, you realise the quicksand has started pulling you down, closer to the monster.
The beast opens its jaws wide, its roar drowning out every other sound. You are only the size of its eyeball. It leans down toward you, opening its maws. Survival instinct takes over and you turn to run away from this impending death, however the quicksand makes it very difficult along with your left leg folding under you the minute you apply pressure to it.
You inwardly know it won't make any difference. The beast is so huge it can reach the edge of the pool of quicksand without much effort. There is a sound of something large moving behind you, and a shade is now looming over you.
Excruciating pain shoots through your right leg, and somehow it won't answer your pleas of movement anymore. You fall onto your stomach again and turn your head, only to find out that your right leg is missing. As the Monster straightens up, you see that something is now dangling from its mouth. All sanity leaves you when you see that it is your leg.
Screaming, shouting, crying, thrashing, you try to crawl away from the monster, struggling against the hold of the quicksand. Anything, anything, anything, as long as you don't have to die. To be able to live for another day, is but all you want...
Everything turns dark for one last second, you are drowning in the beast's thick, foul breath. Immense pressure hits you from all sides, it is enough to crush through your bones and you feel it doing so with burning agony. You cease to exist the moment that Stallord devours your being, body and soul.
I hope you guys enjoyed this little piece. If you decided to read this without having played Twilight Princess, I can say no more than the fact that it is a great game and I very much recommend it to anyone who is a solid Zelda fan. I hope you enjoyed this story and that you have a nice morning/day/evening/night/whatever term is applicable when you read this. I would very much appreciate reviews, I eat those for breakfast!