Ganon's Message - The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past OST (Orchestrated)
*The Great Sea - The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker OST
*Blizzard ambience
*Miserable Spectacle - Tales of the Abyss OST

In a life that had (especially recently) precious little to be relaxed by, it did truly did Severa some good just to lie on her princess' breast and listen to her heartbeat- just to have that human contact from which she had been largely starved. Nonetheless, she could not help but wonder something about her past, perhaps related to the conspicuous bang hanging over her eye. "Lady Camilla..." she began gently. "I've been wondering about something for a while now."

Camilla gave a tired sort of smile at her retainer. "Of course, Selena, sweetie. What did you want to know?"

"Anyway, I was wondering...is there a reason you prefer to love women?"

Gently placing her retainer upon the pillow, the princess paced about the bedchamber, her lilac hair swaying as she so did, finally pausing in front of a mirror. "I suppose it's because they're less likely to leave me." she confessed. "Nohr is kind of a...macho culture, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Yeah, I'll say!" remarked Severa, mentally kicking herself for almost revealing her true origin. But nonetheless, felt Severa her heavy heart sink into her stomach once again. "But if you'd rather not talk about it, I won't press you, Lady Camilla."

The princess gave a tired sort of smile. "Thank you." she said gratefully, clearly not wishing to dredge up many of those old memories. "But can you promise you won't leave me alone again, Selena?"

Severa paused, swearing to herself. Naturally, she wanted little more than to make and keep this promise. But her true origin and mission in this world both made it an impossibility. Fortunately (or so it seemed), she was left another out for this particular conversation. "You know I want to, Lady Camilla." she began guiltily. "But this thing your brother- er, the king- is having me do...he made it sound pretty important."

Camilla's expression visibly saddened before settling on a sort of resignation. "No, I understand completely." she replied heavily. "Duty and all that."

Again, the princess gave that same tired smile that seemed to age her somewhat, pecking Severa on the lips. "Please be safe for me, Selena."

The redhead chuckled arrogantly. "Now that, I feel better about promising you."

As she dressed herself and began to wander the corridors of the castle, Severa pondered the promise she had made to her lady. Barring some freak occurrence, it wasn't technically a promise made in vain, she thought to herself. Hell, she had survived quite a lot, whether due to her own skill or pure dumb luck, already. Then again, while they were also technically on the same side of whatever this mysterious royal task was, taking into account Pietro's known arrogance, cruelty, and disdain for those below him-

So caught up in her own thoughts she was, Severa scarcely noticed literally colliding with Azura until it was far too late. "Ow!" she exclaimed, realizing what had happened and helping Azura to her feet. "Sorry about that."

"No, no, it was nothing." insisted Azura politely. "But what brings you out and about this late, Selena?"

"Nothing really. I was just thinking about this...thing that the king has me traveling with Pietro and his guards for."

Azura's golden eyes widened slightly. "Hm, will wonders never cease? He has me accompanying Sir Pietro on some task as well."

"Well, either he can be in two places at once, or we're going to be doing a bit of traveling together."

"So it seems."

While her expression was neutral, the gears in Severa's head were beginning to turn and she did not like it- perhaps it was the general atmosphere in the country making her more suspicious- but she could not exactly shake the suspicion that the highly-secretive, dangerous task was to serve as a way to hopefully be rid of both the women, she thought. Judging by her expression, even more pensive than usual, Azura was having similar thoughts.

Meanwhile, the castle's audience chamber was never exactly a particularly pleasant place. If for no other reason than the present company, Matteo thought.

"-I fail to see any better options available to us." came the distant voice of its master. "If you see it necessary, go right ahead."

"Thank you, thank you, my liege!" came the nasally, simpering voice of Konrad. "By your leave, Your Majesty."

So overjoyed by another of his experiments getting official royal sanction, the twisted scientist scarcely took notice of a Matteo taking an increasing interest in whatever it was that was being discussed without him.

"I called you here because you're among Nohr's finest scholars." came King Leonard's voice, somehow lower and more urgently. "There is a task which I require of you- tell no one- not even your own flesh and blood about this task."

"It would be my honor, Your Majesty." came the second voice whose owner Matteo could not exactly place.

Apparently, the king handed over a scroll of written instructions. "Study these- memorize them. And let no one, I mean no one, see these words. Once you've done the preliminary scouting, you contact me immediately. Do you understand, Sir Johan?"

"Of course, milord."

Matteo swore to himself, straining to get a better look at the written instructions to little avail. Of course, his moment of careless curiosity gave him away.

"Well, well, Duke Toscana," remarked Leonard, struggling to keep a lid on the boiling fury at being interrupted in this crucial task. "you may as well show yourself now instead of scurrying around like the rat you are."

Uncharacteristically sheepishly, the arrogant duke revealed himself to the audience chamber and its master. "M-milord," he stammered. "I was just-"

The king silently dismissed the scholar before continuing. "I know what you were doing, Matteo." he seethed. "I'm not stupid."

"I-I never would dream of saying such-"

"QUIET! As I've said before, I could excuse your many failures had you paid with your life like your fellow dukes did for theirs. But spying on me on top of all that?!"

All of his scheming, all of his cleverness, all of his charisma, all his promises, kept or broken, had seemingly come to naught for the wily duke. Seeing little, if any, way out of this predicament, he turned to the only thing left to him- pure instinct. Throwing himself to the floor, Matteo prostrated himself before the king. "Please, Your Majesty!" he almost sobbed. "Please have mercy upon your foolish servant!"

Leonard held up one gauntleted finger menacingly. "Once more." he said. "Once more and only once, will I tolerate your shenanigans, Duke Toscana. Unless you can provide me with some tangible success- any more botched schemes, intrigues, or general fuck-ups- I haven't decided what exactly I'm going to do with you, but it WILL be VERY painful, I can promise you that much."

"Th-thank you for your mercy, milord! I-it won't happen again, I swear it!"

"Enough! Now get out of my sight before I change my mind!"

The arrogant duke did not need to be told twice.

Well, this was quite a fine fucking mess, Matteo thought to himself, pacing about the cavernous corridors of the castle. Nearly all of his co-conspirators, whether due to their own ineptness or participation in his myriad schemes, lay dead while he simultaneously was treading upon his king's last shred of patience for his cloak-and-dagger antics, possibly even his life. Truly, even the recent downturns in the war seemed out of sight and out of mind at this point. No, by this point, Matteo was not focused on glory, wealth, or even power, but purely survival.

Recently, however, he had taken to doing one thing which he could have never foreseen himself doing were the circumstances not so dire- using the woman, ever since his father had introduced them all those years ago, he'd been generally keen to ignore as a sounding board. "I don't know what you're so worried about." said Desdemona lazily. "His Majesty is a regular sweetheart."

Matteo winced, somehow both frustrated and grateful for his wife's ignorance on the topic of his failures- he could only imagine what those gossiping hens they called noblewomen would be saying about his schemes. "That's easy for you to say, Desdemona." he responded sourly. "He actually LIKES you."

The raven-haired woman smirked lasciviously. "Yeah, you could definitely say that."

Making more eye contact with the tiling than his spouse as he walked, Matteo continued. "I just need something- anything! That can get me back in his good graces. Or at least give me SOME leverage."

Desdemona rolled her dark eyes. "Oh, yes. My frigid husband can't warm up to people. Even to save his life."

"You know, I never thought much of your mind, Desdemona, but it's actually appropriate you put it like that."

But as fate would have it, the pair would soon pass a certain noblewoman's chambers, Desdemona took in a whiff of the lingering lilac scent. "Fuck, even that woman's perfume is sexy." she remarked.

But Matteo, interested in any other human being only so far as he could make use of them for his own ends, paid no attention to the princess' perfume. He was more interested in the impressions left by the quill on her desk. He'd never had the impression of the princess particularly as a woman of letters, but judging by the wastepaper basket at the side of the desk, she had put a lot of thought into this particular correspondence. Digging through the basket, the duke picked out some of the most complete iterations of the letter. "'Give him my love for me.'" read Matteo softly. "'Loves him very much..."

Either this was a letter to some secret paramour of hers or...this was exactly the leverage Matteo needed. "I think I'll hold onto these for the time being." he remarked, incinerating the contents of the wastebasket with a point of his finger.

"What?" asked Desdemona in a tone more befitting an impatient little girl. "I don't get it!"

It may have been something of a stretch to call the recent eruption of violence in Notre Sagesse a civil war, true. Then again, the only thing technically preventing this was the large Nohrian garrison on the island actively aiding the six remaining council members with violently suppressing any and all opposition to their "elder brother." Of course, being at the forefront of the resistance, the technically-leaderless Legion were their primary targets, their deaths more often than not being made a very public (the Nohrians seemed to be growing especially fond of crucifixion) example of.

It was under these trying circumstances that Horace, having lost his idol and many of his brothers, gazed seriously at the contents of the chest sitting before him in the pre-dawn hours one morning. "And you're absolutely certain?" inquired Helena, the widow seeming even more somber than usual.

"I fear we have no other choice, madam." he answered, polishing the shield contained in the chest once more in some combination of anxiety, regret, and restlessness. "Your late- The Captain- always instructed me, that when the time came, no matter what, I was to seek him out and return these artifacts."

"The one with the hero's spirit?"

"That very same. I fear our time is growing even shorter than we first thought."

Helena sighed heavily. Especially after losing her husband in such a treacherous, violent manner, she did not fancy the idea of the man who had become something of a surrogate younger brother going on a dangerous sea voyage in search of a man who may not even exist. But seeing as both they- and the country itself- had no better options for the time being...

"I'll take care of things here." she said resolutely.

"If I've not returned in six months, assume I-"

"You'll find him. I know you will."

Heaving the chest onto his vessel, Horace measured the chilly wind- the perfect direction to reach the mainland in a timely fashion- before doing his last checks of his supplies and equipment. Waving farewell to Helena and his beloved homeland, Horace set out on his high-stakes journey to locate this world's hero and return his effects- one truly capable of wielding the blade that destroyed evil.*

Truth be told, it did not sit right with a part of Varius, doing away with the Nohrian captured after one of their many attempts to take the temple- the consistently-bloodied snow provided a stark reminder of that fact. "And that should be the last of them." he remarked, more than no pride behind their stalwart defense of the tribe's holiest site.

"For now anyway." spoke a grizzled, older warrior. "You really think they'll stop coming until they take the temple?"

Varius smirked confidently. "That's exactly what we're here for, isn't it? To keep that from happening."

Leaning against his blade in fatigue, a second warrior interjected. "Of course, sir. But he's also got a point- it seems like for every one we kill, ten Nohrians take his place."

It was an involuntary motion, for sure- his hero had constantly drilled it into Varius' head not to let your own emotions bleed over to the men in situations like these- but he could not help but grimace when recalling the real and practical necessities of war. "You." he said, gesturing at the quartermaster. "What's our supply situation like?"

The quartermaster returned a similar expression to Varius. "Not great. But not terrible either." he answered. Even without resupply, I figure we can last...another few months easily."

Varius, not especially hot-headed by nature, needed more time to reflect upon this situation before deciding on any additional course of action. However, as fate would have it, he would scarcely get the chance before being interrupted. "Sir!" called one of his warriors. "We have a convoy! Refugees!"

Well, this could be potentially problematic, Varius thought. While they needed every sort of supply available to them and needed it yesterday, as a highly-disciplined, highly-motivated warrior for his people, he was scarcely one to leave them to the tender mercy of the Nohrians to do what they did, especially considering tales from the Flame Tribe's envoys.

"Take me to them." ordered Varius. "Even if we can't house them long, we can at least get them out of this weather."

Being lead to the outermost gates, Varius, while the commander in him being somewhat aggrieved, was somewhat at least somewhat satisfied by the description of the situation: The convoy did in fact, consist of refugees from the advancing Nohrian army, mainly women and children in a generally haggard state of affairs. While his fame was nowhere near that of his hero, the refugees still hailed Varius as a hero of their people with whatever strength they could muster. But his spirits were buoyed further by the appearance of an old friend:

"Varius!" came the voice of Bela. "It's been years, my friend!"

"Bela!" answered the warrior, embracing him like a brother. "That it has. That it has. But I take it this is no friendly chat."

Bela's sharp features (convincingly) darkened. "No, it's not. I was staying in a village when the Nohrians attacked, and, having heard about your new promotion, thought the survivors would be safest with you."

Varius' eyes widened in admiration. "You risked your own neck to get them out of harm's way?" he inquired. "That's the friend I remember!"

Ushering the other man away from the convoy, Varius lowered his voice as not to alarm his new charges. "Just between us, Bela- we're not in that great of a state, as far as supplies go."

Bela smirked widely. "Leave it to me. I've become a...businessman of sorts. It shouldn't be any great task to get more food up to the temple."

"Oh, I knew I could count on you!"*

Due in no small part to its haste, the ride to the frigid north of Nohr was not an especially pleasant one for either Azura or Severa. Perhaps it was due in part to the increasingly rugged terrain, the sinister, conspiratorial smirks and chuckles shared by the men that made Severa grip her dagger even more closely, or the arrogant (even moreso than usual), evil glint in Pietro's beady eyes, or some combination of these factors. Nonetheless, by the time the armed caravan reached the Ice Tribe territory a few weeks later, Azura had the distinct feeling that there was something very, very, very wrong with this mission. And she had no idea just how wrong things were until they reached a village of considerable size for this latitude.

With the blaring of a bugle, half of Pietro's men gathered the villagers in the square, a pile of weapons, improvised and not, located in its center. "You there!" sneered Pietro. "This is the entire village, right?"

"Yes, sir." groaned the mayor, choking back bile, perhaps with some inkling of what was to come. "More or less."

"What do you mean 'more or less?' Because if I find out you're holding out on me..."

"I mean, this is pretty much everyone, save for the young men."

Pietro gave a wicked smirk of satisfaction. "No, I believe you."

Perhaps of the same instinct as Azura, Severa dragged her off away from the soldiers "guarding" them. "Does this seem strange to you too?" she inquired.

"Hm?" she answered. "How so?"

At once, the village square was filled with the mayor's screams, accompanied by the horrible smell of burning hair and flesh. the magical lance's master's eyes lit up in wicked glee. "Like that." Severa muttered.

As if on cue, the men surrounding the village square set upon the civilians, stabbing, slashing, impaling, burning any living being upon which they could lay their weapon of choice, the village square shortly running red with blood. Naturally, the poor wretches attempted to escape this carnage- while some did, most were either run through, cut down, or simply slashed by the soldiers having lost any semblance of soldierly discipline. Those who attempted to flee into the nearby woods were either shot down with arrows or magic, only to be savaged by their fellows, any pleas for their lives falling on deaf ears.

Given her life experiences, Azura was a woman who rather disliked being right about the world around her. In her heart, she had some inkling that this was a very real possibility. "Sir Pietro!" she pled. "What exactly is the meaning of this?" Surely, this can't be-"

Pietro smirked that same evil expression. "'Surely, this can't be,' what?" he inquired facetiously. "The mission?"

Stabbing a fleeing mother with her infant, Pietro afterwards gestured to one of his men. "You four!" he barked. "Wait outside that hovel! Barricade the exit!"

"At once, sir!" came the soldier's dutiful reply.

Shortly after his minions barricaded the domicile's sole exit, Pietro, with a burst of flame from his lance, set the home ablaze, the screams of those trapped inside music to his ears. The couple that did escape were dealt with in systematically brutal fashion.*

Once the village had been exterminated, the smell of death hanging heavy over it and his men had their share of pillage, Pietro wore a rather contented expression that neither women had ever witnessed- one of content. "Excellent work, men. You should all be proud." he congratulated. "Get some rest. We march on the hour."

While Azura could scarcely make eye contact with anyone, intermittently muttering something to herself that sounded suspiciously like "a failure," Severa took the next several hours to process exactly what she had witnessed. Sure, she had seen more than her share of fucked-up things- atrocities, even. But this...it wasn't the usual instances of chaotic carnage or isolated acts of sadism (although there had been plenty of it), but there was a disquieting sense of premeditation behind the massacre of the Ice Tribe village.

So caught up in her own thoughts she was, that by the time they had made camp for the evening, Severa even took scarce notice of the large group of unfortunate Ice Tribe men, women, and children being herded into a ravine before being burned alive like so much firewood, or even the whoops and taunts of Pietro's men. "Hey." began Azura gingerly. "How are you holding up?"

"Huh? What do you mean?" she answered stiffly, keen to play down the knot in her stomach.

"You've just been staring off into space for a while now."

"Oh, that. I was just...thinking."

While tilting her head in some confusion, Azura definitely did have an inkling of what the other woman was thinking. "Thinking? What about?"

"Look, it's nothing, okay!"

Looking rather defeated, Azura shirked away in her body language. "I see. Well, I'll leave you to your thoughts."

The dagger in its scabbard seemed to weigh increasingly heavily on Severa's hip. Almost like it was challenging her to plunge its blade into Pietro's black heart. And the more she thought on that fact, the angrier she became. She knew godsdamned well exactly what kind of "secret mission for the king" this was. How many more innocents would have to be slaughtered like livestock before she could finally woman up and do what needed to be done? Surely, her dear mother would never let innocent civilians be treated like this under her watch. Swearing loudly, Severa stabbed the log she was sitting on and stormed away, scarcely even able to look at the implement, let alone think about where it should have gone ages ago.

Much as almost any society, there were hierarchies which had to be followed if one knew what was good for them. And the mages of Nohr's Royal Guard were no different. Oh, of course, the king was at the absolute peak of said hierarchy- especially considering his skill with magic- come to think of it, from time immemorial, they'd scarcely had a king more skilled in the magical arts.

However, acting in his stead, there was Konrad: Greasy-haired, thin, simpering Konrad flanked by his mysterious, axe-wielding knight. While he would obey his orders as a dutiful member of the Royal Guard, inwardly, Johan seethed. He had been the one entrusted by the king himself to locate the power under the ruins of the savages' capital- not Konrad. He understood that there was a general sense of desperation at the fall of Sir Bohdan in battle, but how were they even so certain this "secret weapon" of his would even work?!

"Mmhm," Konrad muttered to himself, pacing about the magic circle. "That rune here, that glyph there..."

"Preparations on this end are complete, sir!" spoke one of the mages.

"Good, good." congratulated the unscrupulous scientist. "And the other?"

"Just as you specified, sir!"

"Excellent."

Stepping into the middle of the circle, with four of his aides at each of the cardinal directions, Konrad pulled an ancient tome from his bag and began to chant an incantation from its yellowed pages. Shortly, the magic circle became illuminated with a sickly, purple glow, illuminating the early morning sky as though it were noon. As the light dimmed from the circle, Konrad gave a sick sort of smirk. Even if he had to return to the king empty-handed, either way, it could not be denied that this was one hell of an experiment.

Dashing through the forest, having finally escaped his captors and dealt with them in an appropriately draconic manner, the speed at which Kali found himself racing could in no world compare to how his thoughts raced: Centuries of memories, good and bad, of his homeland, Goldoa, and this strange new world, all slurred together in one maddening mental cacophony, his skull feeling as if something was banging on it from the inside.

Time having ceased to have any meaning, at some point, Kali fell to his hands and knees, a pain beyond pain surging through every fiber of his being. Even to scream was excruciating agony, but scream he did as he felt the very familiar sensation of transformation coming on. Yet, in whatever little presence of mind he had left, he could still realize something was very, very wrong.