All is quiet in the town of Westwood. As the night air cools and the sun lowers over the horizon, townsfolk go about their business. Screams are heard from all over town, but nobody reacts outside a smile. A new child is about to be born for the quant community. Angled eyes shine with anticipation and pointed ears twitch as the children wait for a new friend for them to meet. After hours of cursing and screaming, a new sound is created. Squeals of a newborn baby, loud as can be ring from the small wood hut. A boy is held, swaddled in a red blanket, by a weak attractive woman with fair hair and a slight green tint to her skin.
Before she can name her new son, more screams fill the air... screams of pain and fear. The dark sky turns red as fires blaze from the gates. Blood-curdling roars cut the air, steel glistens with the crimson liquid of life. As the new mother tries to cover its cries, she cannot as the gurgles gave the two away. Claws rip and tear, red splatters, staining the wood. The baby's cries stop as a hand presses over the babe's right eye burning a mark onto the lid with a flash of purple. The figure walked away, leaving the child in the arms of his late mother, who more resembled a bloody mark on the floor and wall. Purple flames block the building off from the other attackers, leaving the hut the only standing building.
Ͼ Boy of Blood Ͽ
"Hey! Get your asses up!" a gruff, manly voice pierces the then leather of a tent. This tent is shared by two young nameless, children of the tribe who have yet to prove themselves. The elder of the pair struggled to get out of her bed wrap, "Yellow! Help me up you Chunka!" "Get yourself up Brown, I'm reading." A boy of 6 summers with blonde hair, long enough to pull back into a ponytail, with sharp features, angled eyes, and the pointed ears of the Hylians says without looking up from his leather bond tome. Brown, a girl, two years older than the boy finally stands to her full height, a head and a half taller than Yellow, with long brown hair leading down her back, ending right above her rear. She sticks her lower lip out in a pout, showing off her round features, olive skin, and curves, more pronounced in her than the average girl. "Get dressed, or we will have to clean the camp again." The fair skinned boy tosses her clothing pack at her, hitting her face, before turning around for her to change.
After a short minute, he turns around to make sure she has her clothes on properly. "Pull at the neck a bit, so your shirt can stretch out, we don't have the pelts to make a new one." He closely examines the brown hide shorts, noting they don't go to her knees any more, and her cloth and leather shirt that is too tight in the chest area for it to last much longer. "Good enough, let's go" Yellow stated before grabbing his long hunting knives on his way out of the tent. "Not fair! Why don't you have to where suck small clothes?" Brown whined. Yellow looked at himself, seeing his Hylian style tunic with the same kind of shorts as brown, with them going to his midcalf. "I bought this, so there!" He proudly stated before sticking his tongue out at his best friend.
"Midget! Get over here! You're mine for the day." A large man loudly yelled, with an almost feral grin. "Good luck Yellow" Brown whispered, "Dad will want you to use brute force instead of skill when you spar with him." Yellow just shook his head before jogging over to the muscled man. "Ok welp, I hear you can fight pretty well… how about we set a wager?" The young boy knew this meant he will have to do extra work until he could fight like a beast. "I only use my fists, and you can use anything you wish. First to yield loses." This shocked the boy to his core. 'I can use whatever I want? I have been wanting to try something...' "Anything?" he asked, already planning his battle strategy. "If that is the case… when is it?" The only reply from the man is a hearty laugh. "Good Luck kid, it starts now!"
Before Yellow can respond, the black-haired man rushed at the smaller boy, knocking him onto the ground. "Not fair Tuchula! He can't fight back, he is just a boy!" one of the others from the tribe calls. "NO!" Yellow screams, "I can do this!" He rolls to his feet, grasping his long knives in his hands, the left is the classic forehand grip, with the right facing backwards, in the icepick grip. Keeping low to the ground so he can move as fast as possible, he starts to breathe deeply and focus on the hot air around him, the rough sand under his feet, the water in the nearby creek. He thrusts his hands forward, after feeling a strange… fluidness in himself. He willed this force to move the air around Tuchula to harden, making it more difficult to move. "W-what are you doing boy?" the man asked, confused. Yellow said nothing, gritting his teeth. Concentrating om what he wants to happen, he had the sand under his opponent's feet move, creating a hole deep enough to bury the man to his neck. Seeing his chance, the small boy ran faster than he thought possible, and brought his knives to Tuchula's neck. "I think I won." He whispered, exhausted. All his foe could do was nod in agreement, "I yield!" he yelled, so all those watching could hear. Yellow smiled, and put his knives away, before falling to the ground, completely unconscious.