Disclaimer: Ok, I guess everyone puts one of these in here, so here's
mine. I obviously don't own Zelda or Link or any other characters thought
up by Miyamoto, or anything else Legend of Zelda related. I just like to
write about them.
Chapter 5
Through a large iron gate and towering white archway, a grand square is littered with people of every sort. There are some races I don't recognize at first site, mingling among hylians, gerudo, zoras, deku, gorons, and even an occasional moblin. These groups are yet again divided into the typical marketers: the wary bargain-shopper, the conning salesman, the impulse-buyer, the window-shopper, and of course, the occasional pick- pocket. My eyes are wide with curiosity and amazement at such a diverse set of people. I look up at the guard, who is smiling down at me, as if my shock was expected and almost hoped for. I give a quick smile back, then return my attention to the astonishing display of diversity. "Go on. I don't think you'll have to worry about anything inside the city. We haven't had any large crimes in the last ten years!" Ten years? I guess that means I won't be finding any work in this place. The soldier see's my now pouting expression, and with a chuckle he returns to his post outside the gate, which closes behind him with a loud clang.
I finally realize how loud the center of Baltica is when the clang is immediately drowned out by shouting and haggling. I whip around and take it all in. There's a fountain in the center, much like the one in Hyrule Castle Town but much larger and more elaborate. The square is also much larger, with at least a hundred different shops, some of them in small adjacent buildings, some in the middle of the street in the form of a decorated wheelbarrow. Little stands are erected in long lines with multi- colored canopies to shade the goods, and the pathways between them are very narrow. I take a deep breath and make my way through the chaos of the marketplace.
I walk through the first set of shops with no problem, but as I go farther into the crowded streets, I notice the pathways getting smaller and smaller. I bump into someone, a rather large lady with a gaudy red dress and huge pearls. Then another, a short, scrawny man shouting something about a refund. I "excuse me" my way through, my pace gradually becoming very slow. At one point, I am stuck between two hulking people, on my left a man who is practically sitting on me, and on my right a woman whose passion is apparently ugly jewelry. I feel as though my eyes are going to pop out of my head, and they don't even notice that I'm stuck between them. A site of hilarity, I'm sure, but not from the view I've got. It's downright wrong. I can't push them away, otherwise I'll get arrested for groping the woman or picking the man's pocket, depending upon which one notices me first. I would shout, but my face is buried in the man's belt by now, which will probably leave a line across my forehead if I ever get out. So here I am, squirming and screaming, and no one seems to notice, or care. Finally, the woman sees something she's interested in—I can tell by her high-pitched "Oh!"—and runs toward another stand, releasing the hold she had on me and causing me to fall flat on my stomach with a grunt. Getting stepped on by a goron persuades me to get up as quickly as possible, a feat during which I get yelled at, cursed, stomped on, and shoved into a booth. This place isn't so fun after all.
Finally I weave my way through the people to a small opening in front of a rickety booth with a dark purple velvet awning. There's a man selling something, but no one seems to want it. How intriguing. I walk up to the stand, panting, and slam my hands down on the counter. "Whatcha got here, Mr. Popular?" Either he has no sense of humor, or I smashed his hand when I slammed my fists down, but either way he grabs my collar with one hand and holds up a butcher knife in the other, as if to threaten me. He's got a mad—both angry and crazy—look about him. His eyes look freaky, like his pupils are dialated or something. His face isn't shaved evenly, and his clothes are ragged. Everything about him screams "I'm a crazy man and I'd kill my grandmother for a rupee." Startled doesn't even begin to describe my expression.
"You think you're funny, punk?" he shouts in my face, a slight lisp spraying spit all over me. Why does everyone with a lisp have to talk so close to my face? Now I know why no one would come to his booth.
"Actually, y—" I rethink the answer I was about to give him, since the massive knife is making it's way closer to my neck, "no." He just stares at me for a while, too long of a while, and I grow tired of staring back. So what do I do? Give him a great, big, fake-looking, full-toothed smile. Smart move, cowboy. Real smart.
"I'll beat that smile outta ya, you little piece of—"
"Hey, there's ladies present, you know." What the hell is wrong with me? Am I asking for a one-way ticket to Faroreland? He just screeches and hits me in the side of the head with the butcher knife. Thank Din he didn't use the pointy end. Now that he's reopened the gash in the side of my head from my clumsy moment earlier, the smile I had once before is nonexistent. Now I just want to kill him. Lunging forward as if I am actually going to accomplish something, I lock my fingers around his neck and start shaking him as hard as possible. He's making some weird noise that gets louder every time he goes up, and fades every time he goes down. Kinda funny, actually. I think I'm enjoying this, though I probably wouldn't be had he not dropped the knife in shock that I had the guts to attack him. He's still got the collar of my tunic in his right hand, though he's already ripped it halfway down. Damnit, this is my favorite tunic. I'll just have to kill him now.
And I probably would have, had the guards not grabbed me by the arms and flung me off. Great, now I've done it. Two guards have me in an armlock now, while two others have the creepy guy they pulled me off of. Then, once everyone's settled in, one of the guards, probably the leader, asks the stupid question: "Is there a problem here?" Once again, I could not help myself.
"No, officer. What makes you think that?" I try to look cute and innocent, but it doesn't work this time.
"Perhaps the sight of you trying to strangle this merchant led me to that conclusion?"
"Uh, is that a rhetorical question?" I ask, as if it will generate a positive response. The guard opens his mouth and is about to reply when the scary merchant interrupts.
"That heathen attacked me and tried to steal my precious merchandise!"
"What!? I did not—" I would have finished my sentence had the guards not tightened their grip on me so hard.
"Is that so?" questions the head guard, looking down at me as if he sees the most hideous moblin on the planet. He turns to the other guards. "Well, we'll just have to lock this one up, don't you—"
"That's a lie! He attacked me first! With a butcher knife, too! He has 'crazy' written all over him!" I'm frantic by now, though I don't see why. It's just a few senseless guards. I just don't like being accused of stuff when I really am innocent, I guess.
"Oh, yeah!? Prove it, twerp!" I find it hilarious that a guard picked up the knife just as the repulsive merchant finished his sentence.
"What do you have to say about this?" he asks the slimy salesman, who now has a dumbfounded look about him, as he holds up the large blade. Stuttering over the word 'um,' the poor fool gets led off by two soldiers, while the two holding me loosen up a bit and the lead guard stands in front of me. "Well, young sir, it seems I was mistaken. Take this as a personal apology from the Baltican National Guard." He presses a red rupee into my hand and walks away, leading his men back toward wherever they came from. I look around me to find, amazingly, that no one has even noticed the entire commotion that just happened. The townsfolk are just as obnoxious as they were before, and no one is even glancing in my direction. I find this unusual, but also to my benefit. I sneak over to the back of the wooden stand where the crazy man had been standing before, only to find that he has no merchandise at all, save a small black box hidden on a shelf under the counter. Entirely engrossed in my new find, the curiosity invading all of my senses, I decide that it might be a good idea to open the box. Wouldn't you?
Inside is a crumpled paper and three glass bottles no larger than three inches tall each. The bottles contain some type of dark blue liquid, and I uncork one to catch a whiff of the stuff. Violent sneezing doesn't even cover it. I sneeze so hard that I fly backwards, right into the large fountain in the middle of town. And now that I've made myself the laughing stock of the entire populous of Baltica, I find it convenient to grab the box and sulk off, my boots making sick squishy noises at every step.
I can't even see through my bangs now, which are plastered over my face. My tunic and underclothes are sticking to my skin, and every step is extremely difficult, since I weigh at least three times what I did a few minutes ago. The day is beginning to fade, and a cool breeze makes its way through the streets. I find myself in an alley nearly entirely enshrouded in a black shadow. It's kind of unworldly how dark it is back here, and there are no lights with the exception of the candlelight coming through a window in an upper-story window about twenty yards down. First I steal a black box with weird blue stuff and a crumpled letter—which I can't read until I get closer to the light from the window—and now this? My interest is easily peaked today. I just can't contain myself.
There's a nice pipe sticking out of the brick wall that leads straight to the window. My life would be so much easier if I had my hookshot, which is resting peacefully in Magyre City, along with all of my other belongings. I think I had a few friends there, too. I should probably visit soon, if for no other reason than to get my stuff, that way I can get my way out of the messes I make a little more easily. Now, about this pipe. I'm fairly limber when it comes to acrobatics, but I'm vertically challenged. I can go down, sideways, and diagonal, but up has always been a real problem for me, even with my hookshot. Oh, well. Here goes nothing.
I carefully place my right foot on a bracket holding the pipe in place, then the left on the other side, slowly making my way up the wall with only one hand, since the box is held tightly in my right. I slip a couple of times, each of which nearly give me a heart attack. I'm not especially fond of heights, and perhaps that is why I have trouble making myself climb higher. It is inevitable that I will be at a height after a while, I suppose. Still, I must make my way up, and miraculously do just that within a couple of minutes. I'm about a foot below the window now, and I can here a few muffled voices. Instead of jumping right into trouble, I wait and listen for a moment.
"What are we gonna do if he tells the whole world that our base is in this city, boss?"
"They won't believe him, even if he does try to tell them. The poor idiots think that this town is perfectly pure and void of all crime. They think they ended my little party ten years ago."
"But what if they believe him? We'll be ruined!"
"Don't doubt me, Chateus! Your insubordination shall be your undoing someday. So don't get too hasty and try to make that today." Wait, I know that name. That's one of Hellpahrn's minions! This must be the great and secret hideout of the legendary band of thieves! Legendary alright... they don't even have a name for themselves.
"Sir, what if he finds out about our plans?" a new, yet somewhat familiar voice speaks out. Where have I heard this voice before?
"He will not discover our true intentions until they are properly introduced to him by myself."
"Very well." I can hear a door slam shut, and a few murmurs among the men in the room, probably the thieves.
"The boy will trust him when the time comes to—be quiet!" Uh, oh. Something is definitely up, and I don't mean me. Oh, Farore, I just made myself look down, and now I'm getting a bit queasy. I can hear footsteps coming toward the window, and I'm not sure which I'm more worried about at this point: falling and dying, or being caught and dying. Either way, I'm as good as—
"Come here!" I don't even have time to react as a pair of gloved hands grab my collar and pull me through the window. My life flashes before my eyes when I'm suspended in midair, if only for a second, and when I'm hurled to the floor in the middle of the room I suddenly feel relieved. Of course, that lasts about a half a second. "Well, well, well. If it isn't our little hero." Isn't it past your bedtime?" I gasp at what just happened, my reaction a bit late due to the temporary loss of my senses when hanging over a twenty-foot drop.
"How did you know where I was? I didn't make a sound!" He only laughs at me, but stops and looks rather suspiciously toward me.
"You are very predictable." Eh? Come again? His eyes move up and down my body, searching for something. "Ah, you brought them to me, just as I knew you would."
"Huh?" I didn't even realize I said it out loud. How does he know about the black box? Wait, maybe he is talking about something else. He walks up to me and grabs the box from under my right arm, but I hold on with both hands. Tug-of-war is a fun game when people play fairly, but one might have a tendency to lose when punched in the face.
"This is no time for your antics, boy," and Hellpahrn's fist is the last thing I see before I black out.
Black. Everything around me is pitch black, with the exception of a pair of large, white eyes staring straight at me. They are cold, lacking every emotion I have ever known. Perhaps they are the same cold eyes that Ganondorf owned, though his yellow-tinted eyes possessed an anger even I have come to understand. Anger and envy ran deep through his irises, coloring his eyes with an evil aura. So if these white eyes are the exemption of feelings, why is it that I keep seeing them. They almost remind me of Hellpahrn's eyes, only his still have a tint of blue shining through. I stare into the eyes, suspended in the black nothing that shadows my surroundings. I must be floating, though my limbs are held tightly back as if to restrain my movement, and I can only move my eyes, silenced to watch, powerless, whatever comes before me.
Suddenly a bright white light bursts forth from the giant eyes, and they soak the world in red. Scarlet drops fall from the sky, and a deep crimson floods the ground. The black is entirely washed away in this dark red, which now seems to pour from the eyes, staining their perfect whiteness. It's almost as if they are crying tears of blood, and the very sight makes me sick to the stomach. As if sensing my unease, the eyes slam shut, and in turn my eyes shoot open.
A small room with a wooden floor and ramshackle walls invites me back into the real world. I'm held fast, to some sort of wooden chair, and I can't seem to move my arms or legs. My neck hurts badly, probably from having no support while I was out. I look around for any signs of life, or perhaps that black box, or just something sharp to cut me loose. The room is empty except for me, the chair, and the ropes binding us together. Why couldn't I have stumbled upon a woman's kitchen window, where maybe some good soup was cooking, and maybe she would ask me to join her. I'm so hungry I'd eat anything at this point.
I have got to get my mind off of food. I look around again, hoping that something has magically found its way into the room to come to my aid, but the floor and walls are still bare. I lean forward and put all of my weight onto my feet, then attempt to hop to the door. This must be a ridiculous site. I get to the door rather quickly, but it takes me a few minutes to get my hands near the knob. It's locked. Great. I hop over to the window, the chair still attached to me and making it hard as hell to move around. Even if I did get myself out of the window, that would be a pretty hard fall, though I suppose it would break the chair and thus release me of my newest bondage. Though, I'm awful scared of heights. I guess you have to face your fears sooner or later though, right? A tough decision: stay here and starve to death or jump from a window to the ground and die on impact. So little time, so many deaths to choose from. Hell, let's take a walk, or jump, on the wild side. I'll take my chances with choice B.
I sit back in the chair and try to think of a way to get myself out of the window. My heart is pounding at the very thought of it, but I've got to do it. Maybe I'll get lucky and someone will catch me. Or maybe little pink birds will fly down and form a rainbow that will make me have the ability to fly. Or maybe monkeys will fly out of my ass.
Back to the window. My wrists and ankles are, once again, tied up. The thieves have no sense of creativity when it comes to keeping their captives immobile. Maybe if I face the doorway and lean backwards, I'll be able to fall back and into the street. Then I run at the risk of hitting my head on the street below. Wait, I hear voices. Peering over the window ledge, I see two women chatting and holding baskets of clothes. I didn't even realize it was morning. I must have been passed out all night. Oh, well. I probably needed the sleep. Now would be the perfect time to jump. These girls look like the hospitable type. If I fall and get injured or knocked unconscious, they would be the type to nurse me back to health in a quiet, sheltered home. Perfect.
Edging myself against the window and leaning onto my feet again, I coil myself like a spring and with every ounce of energy I have, push off into a somewhat larger hop. Not quite. All I do is hit my head on the window frame. Just a little higher and I would've had it. One more try. I recoil, and push off...Holy crap! The scene is impeccable: I fly out of a window tied to a chair, screaming the whole way down like some infant, the two girls look up just in time to scream along with me, and I hit the ground with the flat of my back, the chair shattering under me. The loud crack worries me for an instant, as I feel as though I've just broken every bone in my body, but the sensation doesn't last long. Hard to feel anything when you're slipping into a coma.
-------
A/N:
Ok, if that link didn't work last time, here's another try to show off my horrible sketch of Hellpahrn: Go to theherochronicles.com, then click fanart, then look under "Gabrielle" and it's the last pic on there. It's not that good, but hopefully it will give you some idea of what I was attempting to portray. Oh, and I tried to make this chapter a little longer, and attempted more humor. If it was a failed attempt to be funny, let me know. Also, if it is horrible, let me know. I'll try to fix it up to your liking. Or not. You never know. On to chapter 6 outlining!!! [Yeah right, like I really outline...] O.o
Chapter 5
Through a large iron gate and towering white archway, a grand square is littered with people of every sort. There are some races I don't recognize at first site, mingling among hylians, gerudo, zoras, deku, gorons, and even an occasional moblin. These groups are yet again divided into the typical marketers: the wary bargain-shopper, the conning salesman, the impulse-buyer, the window-shopper, and of course, the occasional pick- pocket. My eyes are wide with curiosity and amazement at such a diverse set of people. I look up at the guard, who is smiling down at me, as if my shock was expected and almost hoped for. I give a quick smile back, then return my attention to the astonishing display of diversity. "Go on. I don't think you'll have to worry about anything inside the city. We haven't had any large crimes in the last ten years!" Ten years? I guess that means I won't be finding any work in this place. The soldier see's my now pouting expression, and with a chuckle he returns to his post outside the gate, which closes behind him with a loud clang.
I finally realize how loud the center of Baltica is when the clang is immediately drowned out by shouting and haggling. I whip around and take it all in. There's a fountain in the center, much like the one in Hyrule Castle Town but much larger and more elaborate. The square is also much larger, with at least a hundred different shops, some of them in small adjacent buildings, some in the middle of the street in the form of a decorated wheelbarrow. Little stands are erected in long lines with multi- colored canopies to shade the goods, and the pathways between them are very narrow. I take a deep breath and make my way through the chaos of the marketplace.
I walk through the first set of shops with no problem, but as I go farther into the crowded streets, I notice the pathways getting smaller and smaller. I bump into someone, a rather large lady with a gaudy red dress and huge pearls. Then another, a short, scrawny man shouting something about a refund. I "excuse me" my way through, my pace gradually becoming very slow. At one point, I am stuck between two hulking people, on my left a man who is practically sitting on me, and on my right a woman whose passion is apparently ugly jewelry. I feel as though my eyes are going to pop out of my head, and they don't even notice that I'm stuck between them. A site of hilarity, I'm sure, but not from the view I've got. It's downright wrong. I can't push them away, otherwise I'll get arrested for groping the woman or picking the man's pocket, depending upon which one notices me first. I would shout, but my face is buried in the man's belt by now, which will probably leave a line across my forehead if I ever get out. So here I am, squirming and screaming, and no one seems to notice, or care. Finally, the woman sees something she's interested in—I can tell by her high-pitched "Oh!"—and runs toward another stand, releasing the hold she had on me and causing me to fall flat on my stomach with a grunt. Getting stepped on by a goron persuades me to get up as quickly as possible, a feat during which I get yelled at, cursed, stomped on, and shoved into a booth. This place isn't so fun after all.
Finally I weave my way through the people to a small opening in front of a rickety booth with a dark purple velvet awning. There's a man selling something, but no one seems to want it. How intriguing. I walk up to the stand, panting, and slam my hands down on the counter. "Whatcha got here, Mr. Popular?" Either he has no sense of humor, or I smashed his hand when I slammed my fists down, but either way he grabs my collar with one hand and holds up a butcher knife in the other, as if to threaten me. He's got a mad—both angry and crazy—look about him. His eyes look freaky, like his pupils are dialated or something. His face isn't shaved evenly, and his clothes are ragged. Everything about him screams "I'm a crazy man and I'd kill my grandmother for a rupee." Startled doesn't even begin to describe my expression.
"You think you're funny, punk?" he shouts in my face, a slight lisp spraying spit all over me. Why does everyone with a lisp have to talk so close to my face? Now I know why no one would come to his booth.
"Actually, y—" I rethink the answer I was about to give him, since the massive knife is making it's way closer to my neck, "no." He just stares at me for a while, too long of a while, and I grow tired of staring back. So what do I do? Give him a great, big, fake-looking, full-toothed smile. Smart move, cowboy. Real smart.
"I'll beat that smile outta ya, you little piece of—"
"Hey, there's ladies present, you know." What the hell is wrong with me? Am I asking for a one-way ticket to Faroreland? He just screeches and hits me in the side of the head with the butcher knife. Thank Din he didn't use the pointy end. Now that he's reopened the gash in the side of my head from my clumsy moment earlier, the smile I had once before is nonexistent. Now I just want to kill him. Lunging forward as if I am actually going to accomplish something, I lock my fingers around his neck and start shaking him as hard as possible. He's making some weird noise that gets louder every time he goes up, and fades every time he goes down. Kinda funny, actually. I think I'm enjoying this, though I probably wouldn't be had he not dropped the knife in shock that I had the guts to attack him. He's still got the collar of my tunic in his right hand, though he's already ripped it halfway down. Damnit, this is my favorite tunic. I'll just have to kill him now.
And I probably would have, had the guards not grabbed me by the arms and flung me off. Great, now I've done it. Two guards have me in an armlock now, while two others have the creepy guy they pulled me off of. Then, once everyone's settled in, one of the guards, probably the leader, asks the stupid question: "Is there a problem here?" Once again, I could not help myself.
"No, officer. What makes you think that?" I try to look cute and innocent, but it doesn't work this time.
"Perhaps the sight of you trying to strangle this merchant led me to that conclusion?"
"Uh, is that a rhetorical question?" I ask, as if it will generate a positive response. The guard opens his mouth and is about to reply when the scary merchant interrupts.
"That heathen attacked me and tried to steal my precious merchandise!"
"What!? I did not—" I would have finished my sentence had the guards not tightened their grip on me so hard.
"Is that so?" questions the head guard, looking down at me as if he sees the most hideous moblin on the planet. He turns to the other guards. "Well, we'll just have to lock this one up, don't you—"
"That's a lie! He attacked me first! With a butcher knife, too! He has 'crazy' written all over him!" I'm frantic by now, though I don't see why. It's just a few senseless guards. I just don't like being accused of stuff when I really am innocent, I guess.
"Oh, yeah!? Prove it, twerp!" I find it hilarious that a guard picked up the knife just as the repulsive merchant finished his sentence.
"What do you have to say about this?" he asks the slimy salesman, who now has a dumbfounded look about him, as he holds up the large blade. Stuttering over the word 'um,' the poor fool gets led off by two soldiers, while the two holding me loosen up a bit and the lead guard stands in front of me. "Well, young sir, it seems I was mistaken. Take this as a personal apology from the Baltican National Guard." He presses a red rupee into my hand and walks away, leading his men back toward wherever they came from. I look around me to find, amazingly, that no one has even noticed the entire commotion that just happened. The townsfolk are just as obnoxious as they were before, and no one is even glancing in my direction. I find this unusual, but also to my benefit. I sneak over to the back of the wooden stand where the crazy man had been standing before, only to find that he has no merchandise at all, save a small black box hidden on a shelf under the counter. Entirely engrossed in my new find, the curiosity invading all of my senses, I decide that it might be a good idea to open the box. Wouldn't you?
Inside is a crumpled paper and three glass bottles no larger than three inches tall each. The bottles contain some type of dark blue liquid, and I uncork one to catch a whiff of the stuff. Violent sneezing doesn't even cover it. I sneeze so hard that I fly backwards, right into the large fountain in the middle of town. And now that I've made myself the laughing stock of the entire populous of Baltica, I find it convenient to grab the box and sulk off, my boots making sick squishy noises at every step.
I can't even see through my bangs now, which are plastered over my face. My tunic and underclothes are sticking to my skin, and every step is extremely difficult, since I weigh at least three times what I did a few minutes ago. The day is beginning to fade, and a cool breeze makes its way through the streets. I find myself in an alley nearly entirely enshrouded in a black shadow. It's kind of unworldly how dark it is back here, and there are no lights with the exception of the candlelight coming through a window in an upper-story window about twenty yards down. First I steal a black box with weird blue stuff and a crumpled letter—which I can't read until I get closer to the light from the window—and now this? My interest is easily peaked today. I just can't contain myself.
There's a nice pipe sticking out of the brick wall that leads straight to the window. My life would be so much easier if I had my hookshot, which is resting peacefully in Magyre City, along with all of my other belongings. I think I had a few friends there, too. I should probably visit soon, if for no other reason than to get my stuff, that way I can get my way out of the messes I make a little more easily. Now, about this pipe. I'm fairly limber when it comes to acrobatics, but I'm vertically challenged. I can go down, sideways, and diagonal, but up has always been a real problem for me, even with my hookshot. Oh, well. Here goes nothing.
I carefully place my right foot on a bracket holding the pipe in place, then the left on the other side, slowly making my way up the wall with only one hand, since the box is held tightly in my right. I slip a couple of times, each of which nearly give me a heart attack. I'm not especially fond of heights, and perhaps that is why I have trouble making myself climb higher. It is inevitable that I will be at a height after a while, I suppose. Still, I must make my way up, and miraculously do just that within a couple of minutes. I'm about a foot below the window now, and I can here a few muffled voices. Instead of jumping right into trouble, I wait and listen for a moment.
"What are we gonna do if he tells the whole world that our base is in this city, boss?"
"They won't believe him, even if he does try to tell them. The poor idiots think that this town is perfectly pure and void of all crime. They think they ended my little party ten years ago."
"But what if they believe him? We'll be ruined!"
"Don't doubt me, Chateus! Your insubordination shall be your undoing someday. So don't get too hasty and try to make that today." Wait, I know that name. That's one of Hellpahrn's minions! This must be the great and secret hideout of the legendary band of thieves! Legendary alright... they don't even have a name for themselves.
"Sir, what if he finds out about our plans?" a new, yet somewhat familiar voice speaks out. Where have I heard this voice before?
"He will not discover our true intentions until they are properly introduced to him by myself."
"Very well." I can hear a door slam shut, and a few murmurs among the men in the room, probably the thieves.
"The boy will trust him when the time comes to—be quiet!" Uh, oh. Something is definitely up, and I don't mean me. Oh, Farore, I just made myself look down, and now I'm getting a bit queasy. I can hear footsteps coming toward the window, and I'm not sure which I'm more worried about at this point: falling and dying, or being caught and dying. Either way, I'm as good as—
"Come here!" I don't even have time to react as a pair of gloved hands grab my collar and pull me through the window. My life flashes before my eyes when I'm suspended in midair, if only for a second, and when I'm hurled to the floor in the middle of the room I suddenly feel relieved. Of course, that lasts about a half a second. "Well, well, well. If it isn't our little hero." Isn't it past your bedtime?" I gasp at what just happened, my reaction a bit late due to the temporary loss of my senses when hanging over a twenty-foot drop.
"How did you know where I was? I didn't make a sound!" He only laughs at me, but stops and looks rather suspiciously toward me.
"You are very predictable." Eh? Come again? His eyes move up and down my body, searching for something. "Ah, you brought them to me, just as I knew you would."
"Huh?" I didn't even realize I said it out loud. How does he know about the black box? Wait, maybe he is talking about something else. He walks up to me and grabs the box from under my right arm, but I hold on with both hands. Tug-of-war is a fun game when people play fairly, but one might have a tendency to lose when punched in the face.
"This is no time for your antics, boy," and Hellpahrn's fist is the last thing I see before I black out.
Black. Everything around me is pitch black, with the exception of a pair of large, white eyes staring straight at me. They are cold, lacking every emotion I have ever known. Perhaps they are the same cold eyes that Ganondorf owned, though his yellow-tinted eyes possessed an anger even I have come to understand. Anger and envy ran deep through his irises, coloring his eyes with an evil aura. So if these white eyes are the exemption of feelings, why is it that I keep seeing them. They almost remind me of Hellpahrn's eyes, only his still have a tint of blue shining through. I stare into the eyes, suspended in the black nothing that shadows my surroundings. I must be floating, though my limbs are held tightly back as if to restrain my movement, and I can only move my eyes, silenced to watch, powerless, whatever comes before me.
Suddenly a bright white light bursts forth from the giant eyes, and they soak the world in red. Scarlet drops fall from the sky, and a deep crimson floods the ground. The black is entirely washed away in this dark red, which now seems to pour from the eyes, staining their perfect whiteness. It's almost as if they are crying tears of blood, and the very sight makes me sick to the stomach. As if sensing my unease, the eyes slam shut, and in turn my eyes shoot open.
A small room with a wooden floor and ramshackle walls invites me back into the real world. I'm held fast, to some sort of wooden chair, and I can't seem to move my arms or legs. My neck hurts badly, probably from having no support while I was out. I look around for any signs of life, or perhaps that black box, or just something sharp to cut me loose. The room is empty except for me, the chair, and the ropes binding us together. Why couldn't I have stumbled upon a woman's kitchen window, where maybe some good soup was cooking, and maybe she would ask me to join her. I'm so hungry I'd eat anything at this point.
I have got to get my mind off of food. I look around again, hoping that something has magically found its way into the room to come to my aid, but the floor and walls are still bare. I lean forward and put all of my weight onto my feet, then attempt to hop to the door. This must be a ridiculous site. I get to the door rather quickly, but it takes me a few minutes to get my hands near the knob. It's locked. Great. I hop over to the window, the chair still attached to me and making it hard as hell to move around. Even if I did get myself out of the window, that would be a pretty hard fall, though I suppose it would break the chair and thus release me of my newest bondage. Though, I'm awful scared of heights. I guess you have to face your fears sooner or later though, right? A tough decision: stay here and starve to death or jump from a window to the ground and die on impact. So little time, so many deaths to choose from. Hell, let's take a walk, or jump, on the wild side. I'll take my chances with choice B.
I sit back in the chair and try to think of a way to get myself out of the window. My heart is pounding at the very thought of it, but I've got to do it. Maybe I'll get lucky and someone will catch me. Or maybe little pink birds will fly down and form a rainbow that will make me have the ability to fly. Or maybe monkeys will fly out of my ass.
Back to the window. My wrists and ankles are, once again, tied up. The thieves have no sense of creativity when it comes to keeping their captives immobile. Maybe if I face the doorway and lean backwards, I'll be able to fall back and into the street. Then I run at the risk of hitting my head on the street below. Wait, I hear voices. Peering over the window ledge, I see two women chatting and holding baskets of clothes. I didn't even realize it was morning. I must have been passed out all night. Oh, well. I probably needed the sleep. Now would be the perfect time to jump. These girls look like the hospitable type. If I fall and get injured or knocked unconscious, they would be the type to nurse me back to health in a quiet, sheltered home. Perfect.
Edging myself against the window and leaning onto my feet again, I coil myself like a spring and with every ounce of energy I have, push off into a somewhat larger hop. Not quite. All I do is hit my head on the window frame. Just a little higher and I would've had it. One more try. I recoil, and push off...Holy crap! The scene is impeccable: I fly out of a window tied to a chair, screaming the whole way down like some infant, the two girls look up just in time to scream along with me, and I hit the ground with the flat of my back, the chair shattering under me. The loud crack worries me for an instant, as I feel as though I've just broken every bone in my body, but the sensation doesn't last long. Hard to feel anything when you're slipping into a coma.
-------
A/N:
Ok, if that link didn't work last time, here's another try to show off my horrible sketch of Hellpahrn: Go to theherochronicles.com, then click fanart, then look under "Gabrielle" and it's the last pic on there. It's not that good, but hopefully it will give you some idea of what I was attempting to portray. Oh, and I tried to make this chapter a little longer, and attempted more humor. If it was a failed attempt to be funny, let me know. Also, if it is horrible, let me know. I'll try to fix it up to your liking. Or not. You never know. On to chapter 6 outlining!!! [Yeah right, like I really outline...] O.o