A/N Finally, A chance to update. Today's chapter takes place in Hyrule Castle town. Also, I may have been calling Hylians Hyrulians, so I'll try to correct that in future chapters. Anyway, does that mean that Terminians are really termians? Someone please tell me. Alright, story time.
The town had become shady, so no one noticed the hooded man concealing his face with a mask. No one noticed how he always walked in the company of shadows, and few took notice to the site of a stranger carrying a large weapon on his belt. That was becoming an everyday sight now. When people saw the stranger, they saw another man trying to sell his goods, who probably hadn't bought a legal license to sell in castle town, since that was becoming less affordable day by day. They didn't see the potential danger the stranger was, but they saw that his mask was unique, and his cloaks were relatively new. Some would remember the stranger as a resource to steal from, while others would see what he had to offer later.
True, the stranger meant business. But the stranger wasn't there to sell.
If the stranger were to be seen today, he would have been taken as fairly peculiar, few walked around with heart-shaped masks with spikes, and no one would want to wear such a large cloak on a day like that. Still, the eeriness of the stranger was no warning to the Hylians who had grown far from the valor that everyone had believed in during times of old. Now, those who were trustworthy stayed indoors in fear of being stolen from or attacked because it was against their way to fight. The war was making the land face darker times, and the golden ages were becoming nothing but shadows of real life.
The stranger walked to the bar, which was the unofficial meeting place of all people labeled by the normal civilians suspicious. The owner wasn't going to stop them; they came often, and drank enough to pay the bills and keep his daughter and assistant fed and well. He wouldn't lie, he didn't like this line of work, but there wasn't much else a former fisherman could do these days. The truth was, he despised the people who came and drank his alcohol. Then there was the danger of handling these drunken idiots, danger that he found himself in at the moment.
"Sir, I believe you've had enough for today."
Zane, the drunkard, threw a bottle at his forehead. Zane was a common sight at this location. He was a conceited fool, who may as well have thought that he was god. The owner, who had been named Talo, would have kicked him out long ago had Zane not been a master swordsman. Zane's friends often joked that alcohol increased his fighting abilities rather than hindered them. His father had been a royal knight, so Zane had bathed in wealth during his childhood. He had been flung out of the castle a few years back for, "flirting with the princess". He still wore long, elegant robes, but they were now black from dirt and not being cleaned. His face was pale because of the large amounts of alcohol that he drunk.
Talo dodged the bottle, and winced when it cracked. It would be difficult to haul Zane out today; since his partner, the man who owned the canon game, was tending to his sick wife (he really had one, but found it easier and more comical to impersonate her with pictures instead of calling her for help). It was then that the stranger walked in.
This turned many heads. It was tradition, taboo even, not to enter or leave while Zane was having a fit. It usually left the violator injured. Talo whirled around and went to assist the fellow, anxious to turn away from the much more complicated problem behind him. He seated his new guest and asked him what he wanted. The stranger scanned over the choices written on the old wrinkled paper he received.
"Milk"
Those who weren't staring at the stranger saw him now. Talo had a look of shock on his face. Spectators outside turned to peer through the windows. Even the ravens stopped picking through the trash. No one ever ordered a beverage without alcohol in it; it was an insult to everyone in the bar. A drink like milk was a symbol that stated that all the drinkers were weaklings. Total silence buzzed in the air. Zane was becoming agitated that this new intruder had stolen the attention of all the inhabitants of the bar from him. Miraculously sober, he stood up and drew a long, slender blade he called throat-cutter. Several others who were more aggressive followed suit.
The stranger looked at all the menacing fellows around him as if noticing them for the first time. He met the eyes of each one, before finally settling on Zane, who was licking his blade and narrowing his eyes to slits, a common sign that one was skilled and threatening. The stranger laughed through his mask.
"Be careful with that, you might cut yourself."
That was all the temptation that Zane needed. He stuck out his sword and charged toward his opponent. The stranger continued to sit at the counter and stare. Talo backed away in fear. Throat-cutter came closer and closer to its next victim. The stranger got up, and began a leisurely stroll toward the threatening weapon that wanted to take his life. He jumped, grabbed Zane's wrist, and flipped delivered a swinging kick to Zane's extended arm. Throat-cutter dropped to the ground and clanged about a few times. Zane backed away from the masked stranger, hissing in pain, his arm limp at his side. The stranger bent forward, and picked up Zane's treasured blade. He removed his mask, making sure that most of his face was concealed by the hood of his cloak, and spit on throat-cutter, before throwing it back to Zane.
Zane was enraged; the stranger had just insulted him in one of the greatest ways possible. All respectable swordsmen refused to commit such a crime toward other nobles. Such an action was usually reserved for dirty thieves. Zane reclaimed his sword with his other hand, and charged once more, failing to see that his actions were futile. The masked man easily sidestepped the clumsy attack, and tripped him. He grabbed Zane's filthy cloak, and flung him into the nearby corner. All the drinkers scattered away, forming a quarter of a circle around the masked man and the hurt Zane, too scared to stay, yet too awe-filled to leave.
The stranger grabbed throat-cutter once more, and advanced on his moaning opponent. Zane must have sensed him there, since he quickly backed up against the walls, eyes fleeting back and forth, probably trying to find a way to escape. It was too late, for he found himself face to face with doom. The stranger laughed again.
"It's become a tradition of mine to show my true face to anyone I'm about to kill," he stated. A hand reached up to his face and closed around the corner of his heart-shaped mask. Slowly, he lifted the mask, finally revealing his true face. Unfortunately, only Zane could see since the others were behind the skilled fighter. Zane's eyes opened wide in shock, and his mouth opened wider to let out an earth shattering scream.
The scream never left his body, for the stranger plunged throat-cutter into his skull.
The greatest insult to a swordsman is to kill him with his own sword. Few people really care about it though, since they're more worried about dying.
The stranger turned around, mask already on his face, as he bellowed out his orders.
"I am Majora, and you are my army. Anyone who wishes not to give their soul to me…"
He waved a hand at Zane's body, which was crippled with ghostly agony.
The others who had wanted to draw their respective swords now took them out, crouched down, and raised them horizontally, as if offering their swords to Majora.
Not a single one dared to refuse his offer. One man remained standing, Talo himself. He shivered, eyes glued to Zane who had always been a strong fighter, and now was nothing but a corpse attracting flies.
Majora stalked over to the counter where he once sat. He stared the young bartender in the eyes.
"I'd really like that milk now…"
A/N Yay, I've finally gotten to Majora's introduction. This will be one of the longest chapters I've written, if not the longest.
