The Happy Mask Salesman had always been fascinated with the desires of mortal beings. More specifically the need that nearly all intelligent beings had to become something that they were not. No one seemed happy with their lot in life. Every being wanting something "more". The peasant wanted to become a noble, the noble a king, the king a god.
Goodness knows what a god would want to become but he had little doubt that it would desire something that was as equally unattainable as the peasant. Perhaps that's how the famed Mad God had lost his mind in the first place, The Salesman mused thoughtfully as he continued down the dark path he was on. Perhaps it was the stagnation of one's station that drove one over the brink of rational thought and into the twisted corridors of madness.
Regardless of the reason, the desire fascinated him. So the Salesman decided to give them a chance to see their desire, to live it, to love it, to hate it, to kill it.
Masks gave those poor souls a chance to be whatever or whomever they desired. Masks allowed them to forget who they really were for a little while and escape the monotony of life. For a time they were happy.
"A Mask can be a gateway to happiness." Was his slogan and in reality what better way was there to obtain their souls? Offer someone happiness, even a finite amount and they were ready to sign over their entire being to you.
The Salesman chuckled and paused for a moment. Listening in the dark to see if his quarry had become aware of his presence. The soft footsteps in front of him did not falter and after another moment the Salesman nodded satisfied that he had not been discovered, then he continued forward.
If he really thought about it, it was all such a simple process. A game really. He would arrive in a town and set up his mask shop, promising ultimate happiness and fulfillment to all around. What did they have to do to obtain such wonders? Why simply buy a mask and all your dreams would come true.
As if they had ever been normal masks.
No his masks had always been special. They were the physical embodiments of the pain and suffering of all those who had come before, desiring the same things as those who had purchased them. Someone would buy the mask from the Salesman and the darkness within the mask would begin to slowly eat away at the wearer's sanity.
It would be imperceptible at first but as time went on they wear the mask more and more. Letting go of reality as they immersed themselves in the fake lives they had created for themselves. Eventually they would become shells of their former selves. Masks in their own right.
This insanity that built within them fed the Salesman. Made him smile in delicious ecstasy at their suffering. Eventually they would go beyond all hope for aid until death was the only possible release. Death or Madness. Either way it didn't matter to the Salesman, by buying the Mask they had sold themselves to him and he would claim them. One way or another.
He would then take the suffering soul and bind it into a mask which would form itself into their image. These were soul masks and the more powerful the suffering the more powerful the mask. The most powerful of which would transform the wearer into the form they represented, perhaps a human would change into an Elf, or a Goron a grotesque possession of sorts that was often to great of a burden for the wearer to endure for long. The greatest masks even developed minds of their own and powers unique to them. He would in turn sell these masks in the next town and wait patiently for the next souls to fall into his trap.
The Salesman felt a familiar grin tug at the corners off his mouth as he ducked under some low hanging cobwebs. His quarry close now, it wouldn't be long now before he revealed himself and the game would begin.
Over the years he had made a game out of collecting the souls of people from all manners and walks of life. From a peasant to a king and even a minor deity or two had fallen to him and his might. Something he hadn't collected however was the soul of a Hero. Being a collector who prided himself on his collection he knew that he couldn't abide by such an absence in his collection.
So the Salesman had hatched a cunning plan to remedy this problem. One that even now was in motion. He had purposely lost one of his most prized masks to a little imp and his two fairy companions several weeks prior. The Salesman had planted the suggestion that the Mask, which he had called Majora after the leader of the tribe who's soul it contained, to look out for the spirit of a Hero one that had been tainted with the disease of war and loss of life. Once it had found him it was to lead him to the land of Termina and challenge the Hero by placing that land in danger forcing the Hero to relive the same three day's over and over again until his mind broke.
Looking at the small little Deku scrub in the green loin cloth before him. The Salesman couldn't help but chuckle at his good fortune so far. The Deku scrub was so….interesting. Though changed physically from his natural form the little Hero seemed to be soldiering on with his mind intact. His yellow eyes burning with intelligence and alertness as he whirled around to face the Salesman, His fairy companion taking refuge behind his absurd green cap.
The Salesman let out another laugh as he adjusted his pack. Oh yes he would enjoy seeing this Hero break, his suffering would be an exquisite meal for him. Giving the boy his best smile the Happy Mask Salesman, no the Deranged God , clasped his hands before him and spoke the words that would no doubt haunt the boy in the coming months. His voice smooth and full of delight.
"You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?"
A/N: Hope you enjoyed. Please leave me a review and let me know what you thought! I am kind of iffy on whether to continue this so please let me know what you think, until then ill mark this story as complete just in case. Take care and Blessed Be.
