[There is someone in Kakariko - someone present, but not all there. Should the Sheikah's gaze linger amidst the shadows of the rooftops or trees, he'll find nothing. No brethren to greet him welcome or question his return. For now, the man is alone.
Zelda watches not from the shadows, but within plain sight. She leans against the side of one house, arms crossed, true identity hidden by a mask and more, all but invisible to the naked eye. A tool of hers is responsible for the optical illusion - a valuable wristwatch that none shall get their hands on, lest they're in dire need for a dagger in their back.]
[Long had he equated this place with that prickling at the back of his neck, that little warning spark that he was being watched. It comes as no real surprise, but he does snap to being instantly more aware, perhaps done a little too quickly - it's possible that when your death toll hits four, you become a little paranoid.
Not that there's any ripple of that as he tilts his head just so, taking a cursory glance, as if he needs to reacquaint himself with the village, with this home that is no more. It is End World he longs for, End World and the black sand and crumbling buildings. A minute smile crosses his face, bordering on sardonic, and he mutters a few words he's heard so much by now:]
Commala, commala, commala... and the shadows grow darker.
[Could that toll hit five before night falls? Zelda has to pick and choose who she reveals herself to in this backwater land. She can trust no one - it's in the job description - yet she must seek the aid of others more familiar with the surroundings.
As soon as the Sheikah moves again, Zelda begins to follow, keeping a relatively safe distance from the peculiar young man. Who, or what, is he? Each person she's either met or seen so far has had elf-like ears, and their style of dress was outright bizarre. This man covers his face as well; the faint similarities in their clothing isn't lost on her.
She keeps her steps light and slow, caution going hand-in-hand with her curiosity. Though her invisibility watch keeps her from being seen, it won't keep her from being heard.]
[Not very likely, as far as Sheik is concerned. One was enough, and he's already on guard (isn't he always?) and waiting as he walks. There's definitely something amiss - someone afoot, in fact, and hear the other he does. The footsteps - unsurprisingly - are almost recognisable themselves.
His style of dress may well be more absurd than much of what the other has seen. It's more eclectic, pieces taken from Hyrule and pieces from Gaia, pieces from Manhattan and people from Winterfell. But he has the ears, peeking out from braided blond hair, and it's blades that he's armed with.
Slow but sure, he passes close to the well and all its three features, eyes slipping sidelong to look for a reflection which - again, unsurprising - is not there.
But he knows something is. When he speaks up, it's soft and even.]
[He can almost hear the murmur of the shadows as they move, and he knows the sound itself, but it's still strange to see another so like himself appear in such a fashion. Magic? He heard tell that some of his people could weave the darkness in such a way - he himself was never one of them. And so it is with guarded interest that he regards this newest likeness of himself (Goddesses, Riqis would detest this place).
He returns the greeting with a dip of his own chin, curt but not impolite, his expression mild considering he has just switched worlds again - really, it's becoming something of an irritant by now.]
It's been some time since I walked these paths... [Half to himself, half to the pale-haired stranger. He tilts his head to look at him.] As of like, it was follish of me to think I would not do so again.
[Foolish, indeed. He should have known better.]
[ooc: kfhysudyhf I'm thrilled, seriously c: and throw them allllll at me.
[Folly. Ah, how well he's known it, and a small smile, bordering on wry, ghosts over masked lips as the other approaches. He glances at the neat little rows of graves, those yet fresh and those with names and carvings stolen by time. His own is one of those, but he searches not for that -
He searches for a doorway, a path to take him back to littered streets and broken skies.]
I may as well. Home is left behind, after all.
[He looks back down to the village, where a few windows are winking gold. Kakariko is calm, quiet, peaceful, as it ought to be. Welcoming, even, but Sheik will feel welcomed in this place no longer, whether through stubborn homesickness, or feeling he has long since overstayed it. It is with trepidation that he continues a little down the path, but that does not show. The dog tags around his neck are growing heavy.]
[It is an undercurrent, an awareness. For he knows of some other, some other force. And in that moment, he thinks of Ganondorf, of bowing before the Black King for the first time and feeling that rush, that heady sense of being thrown into sharp, sharp relief... And yet he knows it is not him. It is a different sort of power, not the raw burn of the Forger but something young and old at once, something hot and cold, beyond time, beyond reckoning -
He knows. For he has walked in Link's footsteps, and he has seen (not even two weeks ago) Termina, Clock Town and the Skull Kid and the spirit of that mask, the one that knit the rest together and brought so much more... He knoes who it is that walks these worn down paths, before he's even seen. And see he does, the dark gleam of the armour, the ghost pale skin.
There are no words to give; Sheik doubts they would come even if he had them. The growing night about him seems far darker than it was moments before.]
[He almost surprises himself with his own calm in the face of the god, his voice soft and even, as it always is. He casts another glance out over the graves - feeling that odd duality of youth and age he's often struck with, made all the more sharp by the presence of the deity. Darkness, yes, it hangs about him, clings to him. And he reeks of the end of the world, something like sea water and ashes and those roses.]
But the darkness brings no more than the day does, in truth.
Comments 28
Zelda watches not from the shadows, but within plain sight. She leans against the side of one house, arms crossed, true identity hidden by a mask and more, all but invisible to the naked eye. A tool of hers is responsible for the optical illusion - a valuable wristwatch that none shall get their hands on, lest they're in dire need for a dagger in their back.]
Reply
Not that there's any ripple of that as he tilts his head just so, taking a cursory glance, as if he needs to reacquaint himself with the village, with this home that is no more. It is End World he longs for, End World and the black sand and crumbling buildings. A minute smile crosses his face, bordering on sardonic, and he mutters a few words he's heard so much by now:]
Commala, commala, commala... and the shadows grow darker.
Reply
As soon as the Sheikah moves again, Zelda begins to follow, keeping a relatively safe distance from the peculiar young man. Who, or what, is he? Each person she's either met or seen so far has had elf-like ears, and their style of dress was outright bizarre. This man covers his face as well; the faint similarities in their clothing isn't lost on her.
She keeps her steps light and slow, caution going hand-in-hand with her curiosity. Though her invisibility watch keeps her from being seen, it won't keep her from being heard.]
Reply
His style of dress may well be more absurd than much of what the other has seen. It's more eclectic, pieces taken from Hyrule and pieces from Gaia, pieces from Manhattan and people from Winterfell. But he has the ears, peeking out from braided blond hair, and it's blades that he's armed with.
Slow but sure, he passes close to the well and all its three features, eyes slipping sidelong to look for a reflection which - again, unsurprising - is not there.
But he knows something is. When he speaks up, it's soft and even.]
You need not hide yourself, shade.
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
He returns the greeting with a dip of his own chin, curt but not impolite, his expression mild considering he has just switched worlds again - really, it's becoming something of an irritant by now.]
It's been some time since I walked these paths... [Half to himself, half to the pale-haired stranger. He tilts his head to look at him.] As of like, it was follish of me to think I would not do so again.
[Foolish, indeed. He should have known better.]
[ooc: kfhysudyhf I'm thrilled, seriously c: and throw them allllll at me.
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
He searches for a doorway, a path to take him back to littered streets and broken skies.]
I may as well. Home is left behind, after all.
[He looks back down to the village, where a few windows are winking gold. Kakariko is calm, quiet, peaceful, as it ought to be. Welcoming, even, but Sheik will feel welcomed in this place no longer, whether through stubborn homesickness, or feeling he has long since overstayed it. It is with trepidation that he continues a little down the path, but that does not show. The dog tags around his neck are growing heavy.]
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
He knows. For he has walked in Link's footsteps, and he has seen (not even two weeks ago) Termina, Clock Town and the Skull Kid and the spirit of that mask, the one that knit the rest together and brought so much more... He knoes who it is that walks these worn down paths, before he's even seen. And see he does, the dark gleam of the armour, the ghost pale skin.
There are no words to give; Sheik doubts they would come even if he had them. The growing night about him seems far darker than it was moments before.]
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
[He almost surprises himself with his own calm in the face of the god, his voice soft and even, as it always is. He casts another glance out over the graves - feeling that odd duality of youth and age he's often struck with, made all the more sharp by the presence of the deity. Darkness, yes, it hangs about him, clings to him. And he reeks of the end of the world, something like sea water and ashes and those roses.]
But the darkness brings no more than the day does, in truth.
Reply
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