The Gathering Storm

On a windswept, black-stone mountain, a lowly innkeeper struggled to push his way through the bitter cold and tend to the animals his guests had lodged within his stable. The man's name was Renju – an honest, if a bit simple inn-keep and bar-man, who maintained the only establishment upon the mountain that travelers could seek shelter in.

Hidden upon the southern face of Death Mountain, near its peak, a great obsidian shelf jutted outward – offering the only stable, flat space of land upon which to build. Years before, adventurous miners and hunters had built a small gathering of cabins here – to free themselves from having to sleep in the dark, vermin-infested caves on the summit.

Later, when the mountaineers had widened and improved the roads, the King of Hyrule commanded that a great, stone watch tower be built – to provide a key lookout position and bastion of strength for the kingdom's northeastern territories.

Once the Tower of Hera was completed, the village grew larger – swelled with the king's servants and craftsmen. The movement of soldiers and goods soon necessitated an inn being built – and that is how Renju found himself here.

The past century had been kind to the kingdom – with pleasant summers and gentle winters. But for the past few years, everything seemed to be changing. Searing heat began to scorch summer crops with drought. Long oppressive rains would then come in autumn, and turn the landscape into a sticky, all-consuming swamp. Then, in the winters, the most bitter colds would descend from the north and threaten to snuff out what life was left in the lands below. Even Lake Hylia – far to the south – began to freeze over again, something which had not been seen in over two hundred years!

The men of the mountain feared the coming winter and knew that their time was growing short in the mines. The tower had already been abandoned by the army – the cost of feeding and equipping so many men in such a remote location was too much for the royal treasury – but gold, silver, and jewels could still be found inside of the old caves. By law, all precious metals and jewels were the property of the crown, but there were no royal inspectors here and the men were able to take small portions for themselves.

So, the tower passed from the ownership of one nobleman to another – as a sort of grand retreat or hunting lodge, but few ever came to actually visit it, and the mines remained open to any man willing to make the perilous journey up the mountain and work his pick. Those who had found success, built their own homes within the village and stayed year-round, but the younger (or more foolish) were forced to rent a room from Renju, and flee the mountain before the winter storms closed the paths.

Sadly, for innkeeper and his guests, the snows had come early this year and all were now trapped within his rough home. They had warned one another to leave quickly, but – as men who seek gold often do - they would groan again and again, "Just one more week! I've struck a rich vein and it could do me well!"

Now, instead of closing for the winter and caring for his ailing grandfather, the middle-aged Hylian was forced to keep nearly a dozen, disgruntled mountain-men alive and fed until the following spring. Something, that even in the best of years, would prove difficult to do.

The shudders on the stable's small windows were latched and the water and hay troughs filled. None of the beasts seemed eager to bolt – as the blizzard outside was far more terrible than the cramped conditions inside – so the innkeeper was satisfied that they would be well, and closed the doors behind him.

The sky had darkened and the wind and snow grew more fearsome by the minute. A great storm must have blown in from the sea and mixed with the freezing mountain air. Whatever the cause, Renju was forced to nearly crawl – leaning so far into the wind – as he struggled to cover the few paces back to the door of his inn.

Once inside, he bolted the door and brushed the snow from his shoulders and arms. Shivering intensely, he shuffled to the hearth – in the center of the room – and dropped several additional logs onto the weakening coals. "If it stays like this," he thought to himself, "We won't have enough wood to last till spring."

Fresh flames swiftly climbed upward and enveloped the wood, so he was able to step away and begin preparing the evening meal for his guests. Outside, the sun began to set beyond the western mountains and utter blackness fell over the village. The winter storm, however, continued to grow in intensity and the inn itself began to subtly rock and groan against its might.

Renju's larder was always kept fully stocked – incase of emergencies such as these – but the preparations had never been put to the test. "A little beef… half a potato… some greens for papa," he checked off in his mind as he gathered the materials for dinner. "Half a hand of bread… and ale – plenty of ale!" he finished, noting the heavy store of casks along the back wall.

Soon, the sizzling of the meat and the heavenly aroma that it cast off, drew the stranded mountaineers down from their rooms. All approached the bench with coins in hand. A few leaned over to look through the kitchen door and called to their host, "Oi! Renny?! Is it done yet? Let's have a pint out 'ere then!"

The owner tolerated them – to a point – so long as their silver was genuine and they didn't cause any trouble. Several had been quite useful; bringing news from the south or cartloads of precious supplies before venturing into the mines. But a handful had been rather quiet and evasive about where they were from, or what they were doing on the mountain. In his heart, Renju suspected these might be runaways or thieves – fleeing the constables and sheriffs of the south – but as long as they remained quiet… so would he.

Plates and mugs were traded for silver and copper coins as the men shuffled to the tables nearest the hearth and began their evening meal. Two additional plates remained steaming on the bartop, as the host travelled around the room with a burning taper – lighting each of the candles mounted along the walls. With the room brightened, he hurried up the narrow staircase, and helped his elderly grandfather down – placing him upon a small stool near the fire. "T-thank you… good lad." He croaked, with a weak smile.

The men mostly ate in silence. A few muttered to their close comrades in hushed voices – discussing the prospects for ore or gemstones in the spring. But every mind was caught upon the same thought: "Will we survive the winter?" These were hard men, however, and not easily frightened by such things as 'the weather.' That is… until a particularly powerful gust of wind drafted down the chimney, and caused the hearth's fire to blow and shiver – sending a small shower of sparks onto the floor.

All eyes quickly darted to the flickering flames and every breath was held. The great oak timbers that made up the inn's walls groaned and flexed precariously as the blasting wind roared outside.

Late that night

Lightning flashed across the sky as the wind-whipped snow drew hard against the traveler's cloak. For several days and nights, he had wandered the broken passes of Death Mountain, seeking a way to the tower at the summit. Now, as the brutal mountain blizzard bore down on him, he finally spotted a small light high above as the path sharply turned upward.

He dismounted and led his horse forward through the storm. The cliff side was sheer, but a narrow stone path could still be found beneath the snow, climbing first one way, then the other, toward the summit. In his hand, the traveler held aloft a small crystal, faintly glowing with a red light.

As he approached, the snow covering the path would melt and give way to a narrow trench. After he passed, the raging storm quickly replaced it and obscured the path once again. Keeping himself wrapped in his long, dark cloak, the traveler soon came upon the small village of Hera, sheltered around the base of the great stone mountain tower.

Whatever sentries the village had were cowering within their huts, convinced no man or animal could survive in the storm outside. Thus, no one remained to challenge the newcomer as he entered and led his horse into the stable beside the inn.

Pocketing his glowing crystal, he was forced to fight his way through deep drifts, before reaching the small inn's door. The bolt was frozen, or perhaps rusted in place. The man beat his fist against the door and cried out for someone to let him in, but inside, the men huddled around the fire could only hear the roar of the storm and the constant creaking of the inn's walls.

The Dark Traveler in the Night

Suddenly, the inn's door burst open and crashed against the adjacent wall - allowing the furious storm to invade the room. In the blink of an eye, every candle was blown out and the hearth fire was reduced to a pile of brightly glowing coals. Smoke, ash, and sparks exploded upward, into the air, and quickly flooded the main hall - stinging eyes and choking throats.

"Close that blasted door!" bellowed Renju over the wind. In the sudden darkness, his order had been directed toward the men surrounding the fire, but none of them obeyed. All -save the old man- had thrown themselves down to shield the fire from the murderous storm. The traveler, invisible in the darkness, forced the door closed and managed to bolt it again, despite the powerful blast outside.

As the freezing air calmed and the dust settled, the men hastily threw additional wood into the hearth and tenderly coaxed new flames to life. The innkeeper, stumbling in the darkness, brought several fresh candles from under the bar, and carefully lit them in the renewed fire. "What the hell was that?!" he asked.

At the edge of the faint, flickering light, - still at the far end of the inn - the men could now make out a large, shadowy form. Keeping his eyes locked upon the shadow, Renju quickly handed several of the candles to the men around him, and cautiously stepped around the hearth. The traveler's cloak and hood concealed his features well, and cast an immense shadow against the wall behind him.

Hands now slipped to daggers and clubs as the terrified men anxiously watched the menacing shadow that had just invaded their inn. "A man?" one miner asked in a whisper. "Could be a Yeti," whispered a hunter in return, "Even they can become desperate for food in these storms."

As the stranger continued to silently study the terrified men, Renju frantically tried to think of who could possibly be traveling about the village in this storm. "C-Captain? Is that you sir?" he called. Perhaps something had happened, and the captain of the village's sentries had come for help.

For several, terrifying seconds, the shadow remained motionless and gave no reply. Then, without warning, it began to move and grow larger. Heavy footfalls on the timbered floor echoed toward them, as the stranger drew closer. "What's your business here?! ANSWER ME!" shouted Renju. Daggers were swiftly drawn and burning branches lifted from the fire. Shadows danced wildly around the room, as several of the men closed up and came beside the owner. "D-don't come any closer!" he cried, "we're armed!"

The shadow slowed and halted a few paces from them – returning to its statue-like stillness. As the light from the hearth grew brighter, they could make out a dark hood, cloak, and black boots the stranger wore, but no face could be seen below the hood; only complete blackness.

A tiny "ping" of metal rang out as a flicker of golden light leapt from the stranger, thumped against Renju's chest, and clattered to the floor before him. The men started and stepped back half a pace as the terrified innkeeper searched his chest for a wound.

"The Chestnut mare in your stable will need accommodation," came his voice, "and so will I." Holding their makeshift torches out and casting a wider light, Renju was able to spot the Hylian Guilder the traveler had flicked to him. He marveled at the rare coin as he picked it up and turned it over in his hands. Only rupees were more precious, but they had become very difficult to find.

On the mountain, the common folk used silver or goods to barter with one another. Only noblemen carried gold, and even then, they very rarely spent it on the villagers. The innkeeper, more confused than ever, lifted his eyes back up to the dark stranger, and asked, "Will the master be requiring anything else?"

It was a bit odd, given the tension, but Renju was now afraid of angering a nobleman. After all, they had just threatened a man who barely escaped the storm outside. "A fire to warm my hands," he answered, as he brushed the snow from his cloak and hood, "and the finest bottle of red that you have. Two glasses please."

The darkness of his shadow seemed to subside and its form shrank to match the outline of the newcomer. The men blinked and rubbed their eyes - it must have been a trick of the light. As Renju returned to his bar to fetch the traveler's order, the patrons sheathed their daggers, dropped their torches back into the hearth, and cautiously returned to their seats. The stranger now lightly stepped forward and, after removing two smooth, black leather gloves, began to warm his hands over the fire.

A fair colored, beardless chin and pointed nose could now be seen just under the hood. His hands were also fair, with long slender fingers and well-kept nails. His cloak was drawn nearly closed in front of him, but they could see that his clothes beneath were the same deep black. His boots were tall, most likely knee-high, and very highly polished - the fire's light danced and reflected off of them onto the floor.

Renju quickly returned with a large silver tray: topped with two crystal goblets and a large, dusty bottle of wine. Placing it on the table nearest the stranger, the innkeeper did his best to smile cheerfully. "Welcome to Hera!" he declared as the traveler turned away from the fire and silently sat at his table. He seemed to take no notice of the innkeeper and gave no acknowledgement to the welcome whatsoever. With his hood still raised, the traveler uncorked the bottle of wine and poured a generous helping into the first goblet.

Unsure of what to do, the owner looked to his patrons, who shrugged and shook their heads in mutual disbelief. Determined to learn something about his newest guest; the innkeeper loudly cleared his throat, and set his hands onto his hips. The stranger paused briefly, and looked up at him. "Welcome... friend," he began, "What business brings you to the mountain?" Despite his obligation to be courteous and hospitable, Renju was still rather sore about the sudden appearance of the stranger and the fact that he seemed to be traveling in such a suicidal storm.

"My business is my own," he replied darkly, "and we are not friends, but I thank you for the offer." The host's cheerful smile faded and was quickly replaced with an insulted scowl. "Begging the master's pardon, sir," he began through gritted teeth, "But you are a stranger here and traveling at strange times! To say nothing of the sudden fright you gave us!" "Speak for yourself!" chuckled a few of the men by the fire.

He angrily waved at them to be quiet and continued to stand defiantly beside the newcomer. "Did I frighten you?" the stranger replied, "I am greatly distressed to hear that." His voice was cold and emotionless. He slowly turned in his seat to face Renju, and slipped his hand toward his side - beneath the cloak.

The innkeeper took a step back as the men around the fire once again darted for their own weapons. A small coin-purse, a little larger than a fist, dropped onto the silver tray, spilling additional guilders. "Bread, cheese, meat, and… some ale for my friends." requested the traveler in a much warmer tone.

Renju stared dumbly at the small pile of gold on his tray. He had never seen such wealth within his inn before. "Now, if you please! I'm quite hungry!" the man pressed, slightly annoyed. "O-oh... yes, sir." The owner muttered, as he quickly shuffled back to his storeroom.

As the stranger returned to his goblet, a long piercing whistle came from one of the men sitting by the fire.

A scrawny, lanky man rose and leaned over – stretching his neck - to get a better look at the gold on the tray. Since no one knew his real name, the men just called him "Blot" for the unsightly birthmark on his face. He was a pickpocket and sometime brigand of the mountain roads - making his living at the expense of innocent travelers and merchants. Everyone who met him despised him, but he always paid Renju for his ale and sometimes brought news from the south; so the innkeeper tolerated him as long as he was quiet.

"Blot", picking his teeth with his dagger, slowly stepped toward the stranger. "That's alotta gold for a fancy-lad all alone in the mountains!" he jeered, "Where'd you steal it? hmm?"

From the larder, above clattering sounds of plates, mugs, and cutlery, Renju shouted, "Leave him be Blot! I'm not listening to your filth tonight, it's too cold!" But the thief had caught the scent of gold and would not be deterred. "Nah nah!" he returned with a disgusting snicker, pointing his small blade at the traveler, "young lad, all alone and dressed up in fancy boots, lays the king's gold here? What? You pickin' my roads are ya?! Who're you anyhow huh? With your fancy boots and your fancy words huh?"

The stranger remained calm and continued to sip at his wine, not even bothering to look at the thief. "I am no one that you need concern yourself with friend. Please, sit, and enjoy the fire." he said quietly. "Friend?!" echoed Blot with a laugh, "So we's friends now is we?! Tell ya what, why don't you hand over them fancy boots friend and I'll let you keep the gold?"

As he made his demand, Blot flicked the point of his dagger toward the traveler's feet. "I said leave him be Blot! or so help me!" growled the innkeeper as he made his way back into the room, carrying two large trays laden with food and drinks. Blot twisted around and shouted, "Shut it!" at him, but when he turned back to his would-be 'victim', the point of a razor-sharp long sword hovered only an inch from his eye.

In perfect silence and blinding speed, the traveler had drawn a brilliant sword from under his cloak, and risen from his chair. The thief gave a surprised gasp and leaned back away from the weapon as the traveler slowly stepped toward him.

"My friends," he began with a rising voice, "Know that I only give sound advice Blot." The wretched brigand stumbled backward and fell onto the floor, dropping his dagger. He hurriedly shuffled backward as the traveler continued to advance - keeping his sword right to Blot's eye. "My friends," the stranger began to shout, "are wiser for the advice that I give!"

The circle of gathered men opened once more, as the thief scampered backward, knocking over several mugs of ale. "Oh dear! What have you done now?!" the stranger shouted mockingly, "Wasted Ale in this storm?! Now more of us have a good reason to kill you Blot!"

The terrified brigand now pressed his back up right against the edge of the hearth, and leaned precariously backward over the fire. "P-p-please..." he whimpered, as the stranger roared at him: "I AM NO ONE YOU WILL CONCERN YOURSELF WITH BLOT!"

The firelight now revealed the face of a young man, twisted and crazed. His eyes were opened wide and seemed to be lit by golden-orange light. His smile was equally wide and deranged - with menacingly bared teeth. Blot had never been so terrified in his entire life! This madman, surely, was going to run him through or burn him alive.

Many of the other guests had risen to their feet. Some were enjoying Blot's humiliation with satisfaction; others were afraid they would have to pull him from the fire and confront the stranger's wrath.

As the thief's clothing began to smolder and smoke, the traveler suddenly snapped to a very calm and peaceful voice; finishing, "And you are not being very wise are you Blot?" Desperate for any escape at all, the captive furiously shook his head "no" with several beads of sweat dripping from his brow.

"Then heed my words Blot," the swordsman began again, "I am no one you will concern yourself with, now please, sit and enjoy the fire!" He flicked his sword away and sheathed it once again beneath his robes. Blot scampered quickly back to his stool, furiously patting his own clothes and whimpering at his small burns.

Renju delicately set the food down as the traveler returned to his seat. Unsure of what to do, everyone in the room (save Blot) stared at the dark swordsman in silence. He began to break apart the loaf of bread and prepare his dinner – completely undisturbed by their stares.

"Begging the master's pardon, but by what name may we know you sir? Travelers are rare and... suspicious things in these mountains… sir." The innkeeper tried timidly, as the traveler raised his head slightly and looked into his eyes. "M-m-meaning no disrespect to you s-sir," the host stammered, "if we knew your p-p-purpose, some here might be able to help you sir, by directions or whatever you may require." His hands shook as the traveler continued to stare at him.

Those bright green eyes… seemed to bore into his mind and search him for something.

For several minutes, the traveler studied him silently, then broke his gaze and returned to eating his meal and drinking his wine. He was enjoying their uncertainty, their fear. It would help him find what he was looking for.

Blot continued to whimper and delicately touch the small burns on his backside. He had had enough of the dangerous stranger, a did not dare to look at him again. "Pathetic man" the swordsman thought to himself - eyeing Blot - "Should have been put down years ago."

Finally convinced that he could get no information out of his newest visitor, Renju gave a deep sigh and began to turn away. Suddenly, the traveler cleared his throat and made an announcement to the room, "I am called Ulric. I am looking for someone." He dropped his bread and lowered his hood; shaking loose his golden hair.

Ulric and the Elder

He was young, not yet twenty-fice; the innkeeper thought to himself. "Who is the young master looking for?" he asked as he passed the fresh mugs of ale to the men around the hearth. Several lifted their drinks to the traveler and nodded their thanks as he lazily raised his own glass in return. "I do not know his name." Ulric answered, chewing another bite, "but I am told that he lives near the Tower."

The inn's patrons shifted and glanced at one another nervously. Everyone who made their living on the mountain lived in the village or within the tower itself. "What else can you tell us about this man, bounty hunter?" one of them asked. Ulric's ears twitched at the new title, "I seek only the man, not a bounty." He answered.

Taking another deep drought of his wine, he savored its flavor before continuing, "It is said, that this man is a great story teller and lore-master. He knows every myth and fable from the five kingdoms, and… when he speaks," the swordsman paused and dramatically waved his hands out in front of him, "the mind itself is carried away and shown visions of his tales."

The men glanced at each other, puzzled. Why would a rich swordsman climb Death Mountain... for a story teller? "No doubt, you seek him for your lord... eh?" croaked the old man sitting by the fire opposite from Ulric, "To amuse his children... eh?"

The young man lifted his tray and moved around the hearth, to a table beside the elder. "Hush now papa," whispered Renju, rushing over to the old man's side, "You're not the man he seeks. What do you know of stories?" His grandfather groaned as he turned himself on his stool to face Ulric and give his back a chance to warm by the fire. "Young one," he answered, "You well remember the stories I used to tell you and your sisters by the fireside. They were my pride and joy to recount!"

The swordsman's eyes seemed to brighten in the firelight. The others could now see an eager intensity within them, as he studied the old man. The elder was old… very old… well past eighty years. The top of his head was bald, but the hair on its sides hung in elegant, white sheets down to his shoulders. His grey/white beard reached beyond the sash of his dark robes.

Sadly, his eyes had become frost-covered with age, and he could see little more than a foggy glow coming from the fire. One feature that stuck out to all, however, was his cloven right ear. In his youth, he had once borne the proud, pointed ears of a Hylian man, but at some unfortunate stage in his life, all but the first inch of his right ear had been cruelly cut off.

Ulric poured a generous amount of his wine into the second goblet and - approaching the old man - gently guided the elder's hand to it. "Oh-oh, what's this?" he muttered as he brought the wine to his lips, "ahh, a wonderful vintage... I thank you Sir Ulric! I am honored to be served by your hand! mm-yes, wonderful vintage!"

The stranger gave a light bow, as the old man reveled in the rare treat, and returned to his stool. "And h-h-how can I repay such kindness sir?" the old man questioned when his glass was half drained, "You have sought me out... you have refreshed my voice... what can I do to be of service on such a bitter night?"

Everyone continued to watch them as the innkeeper quickly moved around the room, relighting the extinguished candles. The swordsman scanned each of the men in turn, slowly studying them. None of them knew who he really was, and he did not care for who they were, only the old man concerned him now.

"I have heard of your speech-craft, old man, and the skill with which you tell your stories." he began as he leaned forward and softly lowered his voice, "and I wish to hear one of your tales." Renju's hands shook as he lit the last few candles; constantly darting glances back at his grandfather and the strange swordsman.

"O-oh! Such a treat then!" smiled the elder nervously, "What tale shall I tell? What does the young warrior wish to hear hmm? A tale of adventure perhaps? O-or maybe a story of love gained and lost hmm? That usually speaks well to most young men! Or p-perhaps, a good tragedy hmm? To suit the night?" he finished, waving his hand about to signal the storm outside.

Ulric now lowered his voice to a whisper, "I wish to hear a legend, old man." The elder furrowed his brow and his mouth hung partly open, "A... A 'legend' you say?" he stammered. His grandson now returned and stood behind him - resting a hand on the old man's shoulder for comfort. The others, still gathered around the hearth, sat in captured silence, watching the strange swordsman and the old man speak.

"Yes." answered Ulric, "Tell me of... Power... of Wisdom... and of Courage!" The traveler's voice could barely be heard, but it carried a threatening firmness; He would not tolerate resistance in this request. The old lore master shuddered as a few of the other guests quickly rose and retreated to their rooms, shaking their heads.

"What you seek... is forbidden," the elder croaked, reaching up and touching his damaged ear, "such tales... are not to be spoken of in the King's realm." The innkeeper now stepped around his grandfather and placed himself firmly between the elder and the swordsman. He folded his arms and did his best to put on a stern face, but inside, he still trembled with fear at the man before him.

Ulric frowned, then retrieved a second bag of gold from under his robes and tossed it onto the floor beside the old man. A large number of guilders poured out and around their feet. The other men who had stayed, even Blot, slid their chairs backward away from the gold. Renju hurriedly dropped to his knees and began to gather them up - returning them to their purse.

At any other time, these men would have been struck dumb at the sight of such wealth. Gold currency and jewels were incredibly rare on the mountain. "W-well... I..." the old man stammered – tempted by the lifetime of wealth his grandson was gathering up. "No one will know of this, I assure you, grandfather." Ulric soothed, "And you will come to no harm, you have my word."

Having retrieved all of the coins, the innkeeper quickly turned and held the purse out to Ulric. His eye flashed into a withering glare, forcing Renju to withdraw his arm and continue to hold the purse. "There is... o-one tale... a 'legend'... as you say sir," the elder began, but his grandson swiftly cut him off: "No papa! Don't!" The old man reached up with a weak smile and patted the innkeeper on the arm, "Hush now child. This knight has come for me, not for you. Be at peace."

The old lore-master drained the rest of his wine with trembling hands, and Ulric carefully refilled his glass. "Bring him whatever he desires." he commanded the innkeeper, never taking his eyes off the elder. "There is... a 'legend'... that my grandfather taught to me when I was a very young lad. He had learned it from his grandfather before him. It is... a tale of adventure... of love... of great tragedy... and... of..." he quietly trailed off as his frosted eyes turned to look right at Ulric, "of the three." he finished.

The swordsman and the gathered men, sat motionless as they waited for him to continue. With a deep sigh, the grandfather lifted his head and turned his eyes up toward the ceiling. "Where to begin?" he muttered quietly to himself. "Well… to tell it properly… one must start at the beginning."

"It was very long ago. In a time when the great spirits of the forests, fields, and mountains still showed themselves to men. When the sun shone brighter and the world was much fairer and green…"

Ulric sat, leaned forward, with his chin on his right hand, as he listened and watched intently. "In that time... there were tales, or 'legends' of a great... g-golden p-p-power... hidden within the Kingdom." continued the old man, but the remaining men in the room shook their heads and covered their ears.

Speaking of the "Golden Power" or of "Power, Wisdom, and Courage" together was considered taboo in the Restored Kingdom.

"Many sought this power to fulfill their own desires. Some traveled on great quests to find it. Others, would use magic and divination to seek it its location, then attempt to claim it. Many left their homes and families, never to return. A few would give up their foolish search and return disappointed... but one man..." the elder now leaned close to the swordsman and whispered, "One man... found that which he sought."

"The Great Thief." Ulric added. The lore master raised his eyebrows in surprise, "You know of him?" he asked. "Only whispers and myths," the swordsman answered, "but not the complete story." A few moments passed in silence as the old man sipped at more wine. His nerves were badly strained, and he feared what this stranger would do to him or his family once the tale was finished.

"I doubt any know 'the complete story' as you say, young master. Time has a cruel way of obscuring, burying, or blending the truth." he replied. "But you," countered Ulric, "You know more of that truth than any living man."

The elder pressed his lips together and sucked at his teeth. In his youth, he had been quite proud to be the village lore-keeper and wiseman of the tower, but now, it seemed that his knowledge had become a curse. He tried, desperately, to think of any way to escape the swordsman or to send him on his way with some false fairy-tale; but the young warrior knew too much already, and would not be deterred.

Breathing a deep sigh, the old man surrendered to his fate, and began again: "This story, is as old as Hyrule itself. Countless generations have passed in its telling... even my grandfather could not say how many years had passed since it began."

As the blizzard raged outside, the small gathering in the inn silently listened to the Old Man's tales. Despite the late hour, weariness did not seem to come, and all were carried away in the mind's eye to see the events of the forgotten past.