This is the first story I have ever written with the intention of completion. You may note that it is thick with mistakes, so I welcome anyone who will take the time to please inform me of them; I'm badly in need of constructive criticism. This story will probably be pretty predictable; it's no epic. I have the plot all planned out, but suggestions would still be appreciated. This story is supposed to take place around a year before the events of "The Twilight Princess", whatever they may be; we don't know yet, do we? If it is completed, this fic will be taken down in October, just so you know beforehand.
(Disclaimer: No characters are mine— Except that ominous monster over there tearing off that guy's face and handful of other beings you should, if you've played the game before, distinguish immediately as my own. But otherwise I will not take credit for anything else and I won't sell this crap to anyone. And yes, I have no idea who Colin is exactly... So his character is made up by me, but he really belongs to some Japanese dude.)
Endless planes of black sands stretched towards the jagged horizon, bitter and devoid of life. The skies, however, exhibited a beaming sun and a colossal expanse of azure, dotted lightly with puffs of cloud. Overall, the optimistic atmosphere contrasted sharply with the sultry aroma of death that flowed into the air from the bloodstained earth. Several hopeful buzzards, drawn to the scent of death, glided across these plains, never landing upon the black soil, ever waiting for an idiot to attempt an unprepared crossing. The only dead thing left in the land was the land itself; everything else was either picked clean by the buzzards or swiftly devoured by the scorched dirt that slowly melted through cloth, flesh, muscle, and bone, leaving only metal objects untouched.
It was a completely uncharacteristic day, however. There was movement upon the terra, movement that made the only sound to be heard for miles: the pounding of hooves against the earth. A sole rider and his steed trotted across the desert, making their way towards the foreboding Death Mountain and the lands of Hyrule beyond that rose up in the distance. Holding his nose to stave off the powerful stench that had flooded his senses even before the planes were in sight, the horseman jolted his gray gelding into a canter and then a run, keen to exit the infertile badlands as soon as possible. As he tightened his grip on the reins, he took note of the way his charger was now heaving with exhaustion, sweat rolling down the beast's russet sides. But he could not give the animal the rest or water it craved for, not until they were clear of the treacherous flats. Slowing down would be too large a risk, and stopping would be suicidal. The horse's metal shoes were the only things keeping its hooves from dissolving in the topsoil altogether, but stopping could hurl the sand up onto the mount's legs, which could be dangerous. There were no other paths to the home of the Gorons inconspicuous enough, no other trails to Death Mountian that were not being watched. This was the only way.
Within fifteen minuets, the horse was ready to keel over, but they were now galloping in the shadow of haloed mountain. Just as the horseman was feeling secure enough to slacken his grip on the reins, his chestnut gave a wild downward jerk, and all at once, the horse went tumbling foreword, into the groping earth.
The gelding landed on top of its master, whinnying crazily as it flipped off of him and onto the blistering earth. Before the horseman could gather his thoughts, his steed was off, racing away from him and around the mountain until it was gone from sight. Swearing loudly, the man arose, clutching at his side and coughing huskily. Without a second thought, he sprinted off the black sands just as his skin was beginning to grow raw. After doing a little jig of panic, swatting the rest of the pitch grains from his clothes and skin, he faced the problem at hand. It was a foolish idea to ride a horse across the desert, but now that the horse was gone, he would have to hurry up one of the side trails instead of the main trail as he had intended to do from the start. Feeling relatively sore as he reached the cliff face, he peered hopelessly up at the towering peak before him. So, after a short respite, he started up a small narrow side trail towards Death Mountain's pinnacle.
The climb was tedious and problematical. The footing was unstable, and he slipped often. As he inched towards the summit, the sun inched towards the horizon, and the air grew steadily colder. Long after the sun had finally set, the man was standing just above Goron Village, exhausted and wishing desperately for the climb to end. Quietly, he attempted to wind onto the main path towards the pinnacle without being noticed, but—
"…What are you doing out here at this time of night?" The bass, heavily muffled voice of a recoiled Goron inquired from somewhere to his left. Spinning around, the man searched frantically for the source of the voice, but his efforts were unsuccessful, and inwardly he cursed Gorons for being able to curl up like that. For one fleeting moment, there was an awkward pause, before the man brought himself to answer in a nonchalant voice: "Oh… I came to see the moon from the summit."
It was a stupid answer, but he thought it would work, which he found a second later was a mistake. Many people, including the horseman, had the tendency of dubbing Gorons as mindless, but the tranquil reply the horseman received was of higher intelligence then most would believe possible coming from the lights of the hefty mountain-dweller. "Oh, really? I've been watching you since your pony landed on your face. Tell me, why would a stargazer travel across that dangerous rout, scale the mountain by one of the more unsafe trails, then try to sneak around our village, all to stare at the moon? I mean, you can see it clearly from anywhere, can't you? And from our summit of all places, where the clouds block your view?"
For ten seconds there was silence, but that must have explained everything to the Goron, because he was the one to speak first. "So, what are you really doing up here? …And don't try to lie again."
For a few moments, the horseman contemplated making a run for it, but decided against the rash idea once he remembered the fleetness of a rolling Goron. So, he decided to try his luck with another lie, this one more calculated then the latter. "…Fine. I was going up to see the Great Fairy and I didn't want anyone to know. Our meeting was supposed to be private. She warned me not to get caught."
The Goron thought on this for a moment, before saying in his low, growling voice, "Oh, really?… I never knew she planned secret meetings… I will keep this between us, but only if you give me your name."
Not so clever, are you? Thought the horseman with an inward grin, crossing his arms over his chest but keeping his face void of emotion. "My name is Ijauh. Yours?"
"…Rahami." The camouflaged individual muttered, and Ijauh distinctly heard the creature roll away moments afterwards, apparently satisfied. The outsider took advantage of the sudden departure, and without a word of farewell, started on his way. The volcano was silent tonight, no random eruptions that usually resulted in heavy mounds of rock and soot being tossed wrathfully through the air at stray hikers. This made everything simpler, and by the time Ijauh passed the Crater Entrance and climbed up the last precipice to the crater's lip, his heart was pounding with tension.
The ring of cloud that made up the halo of Death Mountain blocked off most of the sky, as the Goron had pointed out, but it also cast a shadow on the level pinnacle of the volcano that hid most of the volcanic activity from those dwelling in Hyrule. He stood on the rim of the crater, pulling a small item out of one of his pocket. Mixed emotions flickered in his eyes as he opened his hand to stare down at the polished ebony box resting in his palm. With bated breath, he faced the crater, raised the article over his head, and sent it hurtling towards the boiling magma below him.
Seconds after the box made contact with the melted rock, a silent explosion took place, its effects hidden by the ringlet of cloud. The outburst sent the horseman hurtling back down to the crater entrance. Several breathless seconds passed before a second explosion occurred, this one sweeping Ijauh off the ground and tossing him high into the air. He shot through the air, building agility, his thoughts scrambled. Just as he was ready to vomit from all the spinning, he was brought to a shattering halt as his side connected with something, breaking his fall and knocking him cold. He had collided with the thick, wooden flagpole standing in the crossroads to the Mountain Trail and Goron Village. The flagstaff broke in half during the impact, embedding knifelike splinters in his side as he fell still farther down the mountain, finally coming to a stop a few yards away from the ruined post, limp and bleeding.
Something was stirring now within the crater, rising up from the magma unharmed, heavily armored body heaving with the effort to flex muscles that have not been used for centuries. Its spiteful eyes darted around the massive crater with distaste, snorting as it brought its wings up and down in a rhythmic pattern, rising into the air until it was hovering above the mountain, soaring around the crater in the ring of cloud. A vibrant red vapor began to discharge from the opened maw of the beast, settling down upon the rock-strewn terrain like a thick, pungent blanket of fog.
A few Gorons who had noticed the new scent in the air uncurled themselves to stare curiously at the fog. Rahami, who was the first to uncurl and stand upright so his head was above the vapor, took more interest in the broken flagpole rather then the fog rolling down from the crater like lava. Carefully avoiding inhaling the crimson haze, as its genre and effects were unknown to him, he strode slowly down the sloping mountainside and, sure enough, he found Ijauh laying there, the whole right half of him bruised and bleeding profusely. After a few seconds of consideration, the sympathetic side of the Goron took control, and he lifted the bleeding traveler into his strapping arms and carried him into the mountain village.
While Rahami was treating Ijauh's wounds, however, he was oblivious to a sudden uproar that had erupted overhead as half of the Goron race became fully aware of the threat now upon them…
"Hay! Wake up, sir! I have a package here for Mr. Link… Sir, you need to GET UP!"
The loud, annoying voice of the postman broke through the delicate sleep Link had fought for hours to acquire. With a moan the Hero of Time rolled over, right onto the hard wooden floor of his cabin, before stumbling awkwardly to his feet and answering the door. The postman, who had been screaming through the window (which had been left ajar), now strode briskly back over to the porch to push a letter into Link's fumbling hands.
"Thank you," The fair-haired Hyrulien yawned, nodding to the postman, who was now rushing off to pester someone else about mail. An atypical gray morning had dawned upon the quiet Toaru Village. The cool smell of rain drifted in the dawn breeze and the usual sound of a cucco crowing echoed around the waking community. Link, now a 22-year-old shepherded living quietly miles away from his original homelands, yawned again and rubbed the sleep from his sapphire eyes as he retreated back into his abode, shutting the door and groggily pulling on his tattered herdsman clothing. He was no longer clad in his trademark forest garb. His old tunics, shields, weapons, and masks had been locked away in a chamber beneath his cottage. He made it a point, as well, to lock away the Ocarina of Time along with the other items, for it reminded him of things much more… painful… then his other experiences.
Upon his left wrist was a conspicuous golden tattoo of the legendary Triforce, which he had gotten during his last big jump through time, when he finally released the legendary Master Sword. This marking was one of the two noticeable things that set him aside from the other villagers within the town; the other was his lenience with beasts. Otherwise, he was almost as normal as the other residents.
Link kept his background to himself. After the events of Majora's Mask, at age 12, he had continued his exploration of the land for 3 years until he found the rural settlement. He was drawn to the serenity that seemed to constantly encase the town, and within a fortnight he had set his mind to remaining there permanently. From the very beginning, most of the townsfolk would hearsay about him behind his back; it was not often the town received shadowy newcomers, and Link was probably the biggest mystery the small rural community ever contained. A few of them even had the backbone to confront the former hero about his past. But Link, without any explanation, had pushed all of the inquiring neighbors politely away. It was bad enough that he had to revisit the unforgiving events of his past in his dreams, let alone chatting with nosy gossipers about them. After several months of unfruitful pestering, the townsfolk's efforts tapered off, and they began to simply refer to him as a "taciturn unruly escapee". He did not mind this, however. At least they were leaving him alone because of it. Besides, the children were less inclined to throw eggs at his house, which, in Link's eyes, was a big improvement.
All the village people knew of the Hyrulien's pastwas that he was an expert at swordplay. There were rumors going around about his talent from the very first time he came, because he always seemed to carry a sword on his back at all times, but his skill became clear when two thieves had tried to steal a portion of his livestock. The fools didn't even make it out of the corral with all of their limbs. Before he knew what hit him, one intruder had been knocked forcefully to the ground by a sudden shower of accurate blows to the shoulders and legs. Before he could collect himself, he was struck in the head with the hilt of a sword and knocked cold. When the other felon realized what had happened, he turned and skittered for the exit like a frightened mouse. It was an unwise choice, however. He'd barely gone ten yards before he, too, was lying on the ground, struck across the back by a length of cold, sharp steel. The robber barely had enough time to stand up and withdraw the blade from his back before a torrent of fierce blows came crashing down upon him, two of which detached his left leg. He managed to block two blows at the most, but he did not stand a chance against Link's wrath. He, too, was concussed with the hilt of a blade.
The brigands awoke in the town's prison before the dawning of the next day, bleeding and crippled, unaware of how they got there. Link had managed to clean everything up before anyone ventured from their houses, but everyone still seemed to know what had happened during those prior hours of darkness, despite how well he had covered up the evidence. For weeks the Hyrulien had to put up with prying visitors and conversations until everything finally died down.
Now, years afterwards, the townsfolk were very familiar with the quiet herdsman, and they had grown much more comfortable with his presence as he tended to his goats on foot or atop Epona. After seven years of this, Link had built a strong mental wall around himself and he became more dark, quiet, and aloof then ever before. Hehad never really tried to get along with any of his neighbors as much as he did Ilia, the mayor's daughter, and Colin, a young unconfident stable boy.
Ilia was the first to greet Link politely, and throughout the years, she never tried to force stories from him. Colin, on the other hand, was the only stable boy who Epona seemed to trust, and that alone was enough to earn Link's friendship. The both of them had kept a respectful distance, but at the same time managed to treat Link like a normal person, which he began to appreciate more and more as the other villagers became increasingly inquisitive. Things between them were not exactly as relaxed as Link's friendship had been with Saria or the other Sages, but he was still glad that there were people he could approach without fear of a long, sharp scrutiny.
Link dropped the letter on the table without opening it, knowing it was probably just the landlord barking about Epona's bad behavior. The faithful mare, though kind to Colin, did not show the same mercy towards anyone else (besides Link and Malon, of corse). Guessing the name of a groomer that must have gotten injured by his mare, the former hero snatched the sheath of the Biggoron's Sword from its resting place near his bed and tied it onto his back. Even in this peaceful area, he never left his house without a sword at hand. The townsfolk loved to say it was because he was scared of getting arrested, and was always prepared to fight his way out of the law's grasp, but if truth be told Link had never really let go of his vigilance. He was still as wary as ever, constantly ready for a sudden nonexistent attack on him by a random tektite or keese.
However, as he unlocked the barn door and strode towards the stable where Epona was being kept, he was literally knocked over backwards by the sight that meant him within his mare's cubical.
Two weak, lame wannabe-cliffhangers in one long, boring chapter. Fun, no? Could this story get any worse? Yes, actually, it could! If you think I should continue, or if you think that I should just kill it nowand leave its carcass to rot untilOctober (when this story will definitely be cremated completely), please review and tell me! Your thoughts are appreciated, weather they're positive or negative on my behalf. Next chapter will be a bit more exciting if I do decide to go ahead and write it. Review please!