They fill you with the faults they had
"Is it any wonder I'm tired?
Is it any wonder that I feel uptight?
Is it any wonder I don't know what's right?"
- Keane
(Is there any situation they can't be applied to?)
The Gerudo King charging into battle, mighty sword slicing hither and thither, swelling muscles bursting out of the bloodied and battle-worn armour that barely constrains them. One hand wields the blade with inhuman power, cutting swathes, whilst the other draws on the powers of darkness, warping and destroying the fabric of reality for his own ends, or occasionally crushing the skull of an opponent.
It's an image practically burnt into the ancestral memory of two races, but primarily, for our own uses, the Hylians'.
It is also wrong or, at best, a half truth. They would be a lot less scared of us if they knew a Gerudo King is born a weak and sickly creature, with barely the strength to draw his own breath. They crawl their way through childhood, diseased, relying on the pampering of a thousand doting servants to keep them alive. Surrounded by the honed physical beauty of the other Gerudo, they look like the half-arsed creation of a Goddess made of equal parts malice and incompetence.
It made sense to me. Every day for a Gerudo female is a a trial (sometimes literally), fighting to find enough food and water to stave off death for another day, fighting for a mate, fighting each other. The weak don't last. The male Gerudo, as broken as they are, have no such problem passing on their cursed blood to the next generation.
But in late puberty, the Gerudo King changes drastically. Within a few days, he balloons. It would be funny if it wasn't, so I hear, so unbelievably painful. He grows layer after layer of muscle until he's almost suffocating on his own neck and his connection to the arcane grows ten-fold. Height can increase by a good two foot, I'm told. With the transformation comes a lifetime of joint pain, heart problems, and rage.
My transformation wasn't far off. I'm sure Nabooru knew this as she layed into me with her foot like there was no tomorrow.
"Oww! Quit it!"
She leapt back, her naked feet making little noises as they landed on the yellow stone of the training room, and adopted a position that was more dance than stance. I got to my feet, knowing I looked like a puppet being picked up compared to her.
"You asked for this."
"I don't believe my words were ever 'please kick me in the chest for five minutes while I writhe on the floor in pain'," I said. "Am I bleeding?"
"You're fine."
"It feels like I'm bleeding. I think -"
She moved in unexpectedly, landed a kick on my upper arm, and danced away. I adopted the first stance that came to mind, but it felt awkward. Everything felt awkward around her.
"Your elbows are sticking out too much," Nabooru smirked. "You look like a cactus."
"You're not supposed to be helping me!" I snapped.
"Good. You're beyond help."
In a fluid blur, she punched me square in the throat. I went down, choking.
"How am I supposed to find your weak spot if you're weak everything?" she sighed. My witty response was a strained gasp. "You're useless." She stepped lightly over my body, gathered her sandals and veil, and headed out. "Same time tomorrow, muscles."
That has to be my sharpest presentation to date.
