Market Square
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The final noon bell echoed through the city, and Roscoe had felt a noticeable shift of weight on his shoulders. During the brief five minutes that the Rito had kept him entertained, Gus had cast his gaze about enthusiastically, pointing and shouting when he thought he might spy his target, then, when it would become evident that he was wrong, he'd then about and point in some other direction. Ever patient, Roscoe indulged him, despite the utter disappearance of the Keaton quarry. Yet, time waits for neither adult nor child, running swiftly on its course, for all are bound within its banks, and none save a chosen few might shift it.
The Prince's downcast demeanor had shifted immediately, however, as Roscoe congratulated him. During the knighting ceremony, an expression of elation spread across his face; it practically shown with his joy.
"My father," he whispered, taking the sword granted him by his Rito guide and guardian. Carefully, as if holding an item of immense value and heritage, he held his weapon aloft, sword-point to the sky. He retained the pose for a moment only, yet to any one familiar with the ancient myths and legends who might see him, young Gustavus would bear a shocking, and indeed frightening, resemblance to the Hero of Time.
Like a flash, he brought the sword down before him with a yell.
"Hah! Take that, you Moblin!"
For several moments, he spun about, slashing and stabbing at imaginary enemies before finally coming to a stop. The visual impression never quite went away, not until he stopped, panting. He looked up at Roscoe and grinned.
"We should go tell Dad that we're going on an adventure! He'll be
really happy! And maybe he'll want to come with us!" 'Sheathing' his sword into his belt, the boy spun on his heel and took off at a run, his exhaustion apparently forgotten. Naught but a few steps away, he skidded to a halt and turned back. "Er, I forgot! I'm Gus. Well,
Sir Gus, now, I guess! Anyways, you're coming, right? On the Adventure? I can't go without my partner!"
A hooded and robed figure bearing Hylian religious iconography turned the corner and stepped toward them.
∆∆∆
This could be it. If I find him, maybe Master Lyncrest will
finally give me that raise.[/I]
Normally, Quelin might have complained. This was
messenger's work, not an
attendant's. Bedecked in his best breeches, a shimmering violet with gold filagree, and pristine white blouse, and his regal golden vest, the Hylian prided himself in representing the Lyncrest family well. Indeed, he'd served Thomas Lyncrest for some twelve years, and if Thomas himself didn't always treat him well, at least Quelin was always respected by his peers. More than a few attempted to gain his attention with raised hands or calls. Nothing got to him, however; he was on a mission.
And he was pressed for time. If he knew Thomas ("And none better," he mused wryly), the patriarch wanted his son with him at the noon bell. And it was all too close to that. Time had been stolen from him, precious minutes, by the careless and distracted crowds. Few bodies moved on request, and Quelin was loath to actually
dirty himself by shoving through. Not that he considered himself prissy or foppish, but, well-
family representation mattered. It wouldn't do for someone to see the family butler sprinting through the street like some common filth, covered in filth himself… He shuddered somewhat at the thought.
A large man strode past him, the cloak he wore making him seem even more intimidating than his size already made him, apparently bound for the archery flights. Quelin paid him no mind. He had as yet seen neither head nor hair of his quarry, and his stomach was tightening rapidly. His mind cast about, considering what the boy may have done, or where he might have gone. Perhaps- no. Surely, Adam wouldn't have
returned to the tournament, to sit elsewhere, apart from this family? That'd infuriate his father worse! Damned boy. Shifting his path, Quelin hurried off toward the gathering audience.
And what a crowd! If he had assumed the entertainment had attracted people's interest, he didn't consider that it'd have gathered
this much interest. The assigned seating was all occupied by those who had earned them by virtue of their position or who had paid the honestly steep price for them, leaving standing room down the length of the flight itself. Some of the more creative audience had conspired to sit among tree branches or on balconies or eaves, but most were constrained to their feet only. Quelin found himself finally having to push and shove to get through and check for Adam, and more than a few audience members scowled in response, though the few monk-looking figures in hooded robes and Hylia iconography never budged. Quelin checked heads and shirts, seeking something familiar, but the crowd was immoveable.
At last, he saw that tell tale mop of black hair sticking out from behind a mask. Adam looked to be standing with an odd-looking Rito, and they shared the occasional comment, though what it was they said exactly was covered by the general noise of the gathering, as well as the musical twangs of the bows being loosed. Quelin, with a good deal of insistence that people in his way
move, managed to grab the boy's shoulder.
*Adam!" he shouted over the din. "Your father is very worried! You must come join the family at once!"
Then the screaming started.
∆∆∆
The laughter had started again. The salesman frowned, trying to ignore it. What could that fiend do, anyway? It was trapped, embodying a
mask, and it wasn't going anywhere. Indeed, said mask was locked tightly within a chest of thick oak planks, hidden beneath stacks of boxes and blankets. And other masks. Too many masks.
There hadn't been enough sales. The salesman cast a curious eye around, desperately looking for the roving eye. Yet most had wandered off, drawn by the promise of excitement of skillful archers. There were still shoppers, to be sure, but the crowd was significantly thinner. Perhaps they would return after the competition? In his experience, it wasn't likely; the morning hours were the best time for selling, leaving the afternoon to be full of stuffed bellies and lethargic drifters. Perhaps it would be better to cut losses, pack up, and-
A young Hylian woman raced by, oddly familiar. The salesman looked ahead, trying to anticipate her path. Ah! She was headed to a booth. They were neighbors, of sorts. There was- hm. Ah, of course. She needed something, something he could provide her. A mask? Hm. Yes. The salesman nodded, understanding. She needed a mask.
"Miss! Miss!" he called, a wide smile pulling at his face. "You look like you are looking for something! Perhaps I can help you find it."
From below the booth front counter, he retrieved a disk-shape wrapped in a tattered, gray cloth. Carefully, he placed it on the counter and gestured to it.
"Yours. For free. You'll need it. But...keep it hidden."
The salesman's grin broadened even more, as if threatening to split his face, and with a silent chuckle, he dropped the booth's cover, shutting him away. On the counter still lay the wrapped disk. Beneath the cloth, should it be moved, lay a white mask that ended in one point on the bottom and three points on the top. On its face was crudely painted a blood red eye with a large, red tear drop falling from its center. It was the symbol of the long ostracized Sheikah clan. To Leia's eye, long used to esoteric information, would recognize it immediately. As to its use, if it had any, that was anyone's guess.
Suddenly, back toward the archery flight, came the sounds of combat.
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Aedris nearly collided with the passing crowd. It was thicker, the direction he'd gone, though it was still generally in motion as each member gravitated toward the archery tournament. Those he had passed had given him little thought and less attention; a waif of the streets, save that he was tugging at a purse or pocket, he was not worth the concern. He passed Goron and Zora, Rito and Gerudo, Hylian and Hyrulian. As if he needed the reminder, Leia did indeed seem the special friend; despite his obvious concern and frantic movement, no one paid him any mind.
Nor was there any sign of the Prince. Already small and slight, the boy's unpredictable goals made finding him less detective work and more simple luck. He was the smallest of needles, amidst a courtyard of hay. Yet, under benches, over booths, up vines, down ladders, there was no sign of him.
Eyes roving, Aedris only narrowly avoided impact with someone wearing religious garb and iconography related to the Goddess Hylia. Lightning fast, a gloved hand snatched the boy by his lapel. Fingers closed on cloth in cold disinterest, and the hooded head turned toward him. As fast as the grab was, the shift of attention was almost leisurely. There was nothing to see beneath the hood, though that was likely a trick of the deep contrast between noon light and the deep shadow within.
"What. Is. The. Hurry."
It was as if the sentence had a knife taken to it, with each word chopped cleanly from its neighbors. As if they fell from a jaw clenched and locked. From its looming position above Aedris, the hooded head lowered down to stop half a foot from his own. The hint of a stench followed, apparently wafting out from the darkness on the individual's breath, except there was neither sound nor movement of breath. The effect was alarming but inescapable, short of Aedris slipping free of his shirt. The individual held him there for several seconds, doing nothing, save emanating that odor, which was rapidly becoming obvious was the odor of rot.
"Hm. I. Thought. But. No." The vise-like grasp loosened, and suddenly Aedris fell free. The hooded head raised once more, speaking quietly as if to itself. "Too. Old."
The individual and its three companions drifted away, as if carried by the general movement of the masses, leaving Aedris alone. And the people continued to ignore him, save to yell at him to shift off the path.
From the direction of the archery flight, laughter turned to wails.
∆∆∆
The first round was beautifully done. Every archer shot cleanly and well, with even the less experienced finding purchase on their respective target. About each archer's booth, the people cheered, slapped the wooden walls in solidarity, and clapped their hands. There had been whispers in the days leading up to the Centennial Celebration that some races might prove more adept at the sport than others, leading to injured pride and bad blood. Yet those fears were proved baseless, and the tournament was looking to be a close competition all the way to the very final shot.
King Gustavus leaned over the arm of his throne where it had been set upon the dias, speaking to his daughter Zelda. He looked remarkably interested in the goings-on, eyebrows raised in inquiry, and he gestured on occasion to the archers. He fell silent, and Zelda responded, indicating first one end of the field and then the other before mimicking the draw of a bowstring. Gustavus grunted, nodding, before sitting back to rest his bearded chin in a pensive hand. Behind the princesses' seat, Link stood at loose attention. He was after all not royalty, and though Gustavus had insisted on numerous occasions that Link sit with them, the Captain never could bring himself to. But his martial bearing was softened by the small smile at hearing his wife explain the finer points of archery to her father.
The Master of Ceremonies bowed low to the King as attendants cleared the targets of arrows.
"Your Majesty," Crestus cooed. "Perhaps you might command the second round?"
Gustavus did not immediately reply, appearing instead to think it over. His brow furrowed, but he nodded. As he stood, Crestus stood aside, gesturing at the heralds. Their trumpets blared, and the crowd quieted to a murmur.
"I thank you, people of Hylia, for attending this, the Centennial Celebration!" King Gustavus opened his arms broadly, as if he would take every person present in a huge hug. "Just as this celebration is the more successful for each one of your presence, so, too, is the Land of Hylia the greater a land for the cooperation of our peoples! We have experienced a full century of peace! Goddesses allow that we should have yet another after it, that our children might know prosperity as our parents and grandparents never knew before us!
"And now," he spoke, raising one hand above his head, "Let the second flight begin!"
His hand dropped, and once more the musical
twang of bowstrings filled the air. It was quickly drowned out by the cheers and applause of the crowd. But the joy changed to terror in a moment, and first one and then another scream rent the atmosphere. Knives flashed from beneath robes, fire lanced from rapidly incinerating gloves, and small bolts of ice like needles buried themselves in wood and skin. Religiously decorate hoods and robes weaved back and forth through the crowd, blades slashing and magic impacting apparently at random. The tang of blood filled each breath as it escaped from dying lungs, and few were able to mount anything of a defense.
Dexton leapt to his feet as his mind registered the first developments of the violence. His hand smashed against Mau's chest, drawing the Zora's attention. The Lieutenant had found them actual seats near the royal dias, and the spectacle up to that point had been, well, spectacular. But the furtive movements of the robed figures, Dex had become rigid, and as they moved to act, so too did he. Without waiting for Mau to acknowledge his notification, he rushed forward, himself slashing with his own blade. Slash. Thrust. Chop. Only sometimes blocked, never parried, and he never left a foe standing. Yet, as Dex shifted to meet the next enemy, he felt the bile rise in his throat.
His sword was bloodless. And the foes that he had dropped were beginning to lift themselves off the ground.
∆∆∆
Plot! Finally! So, battle is a-foot, and there is danger all about. For those of you in an archer's booth, feel free to take what arrows remain from the tournament (say, 8 left a piece), and engage the threat. Or, of course, feel free to use other weapons! And everyone can feel free to write hooded figures for enemies! Just bear in mind the detail I included: no blood, and after a moment, they pick themselves up again.
Let me know if you have any questions!
Thanks!