As night falls a man returns back to camp, his arms full of wood for a yet unlit fire. The light fading he almost trips over a rope from one of the three tents that have been set up.

'That you, Oscar.' A figure sat on the floor shouts.

'Yeah, it's me.' He says nonchalantly 'I thought you and Mia were meant to be starting the fire.

'I'm working on it.' Mia pipes up. 'But Ike seems to be perfectly happy to sit around and do nothing.'

'I told you that I could use a fire burst to light it, but you told me to leave it to you, so, that's what I'm doing.' Ike responds.

'Last time you said that, you not only got the wood wet, you blasted it all over the camp. If by you managed to get fire you would've set fire to the entire camp.' She explains, while she created sparks by grating a knife against a flint. 'Ah, got it.' she says and small flames emerge from the dry grass, finally.

They feed the fire small sticks and put progessively larger pieces of wood on the fire as it grows in size and intenisity. Soon enough they have bulit the perfect fire to keep warm by, as the days get shorter and colder.

'Well, it's dark and we're sitting around a campfire. Let's share some scary stories.' Ike says.

'Nothing better to do.' Oscar says.

'Why not.' Mia says indifferently.

'Great. I'll start.' Ike says and begins to tell his tale.

Prince Llywelyn once received a greyhound from the King, and the hound soon became his favorite. Faithful as any hound had ever been, and gentle as a lamb, the hound was also a lion at the chase. One day, Llywelyn prepared to leave on the hunt, he gave call to his noble hound with his hunting horn. All his other hounds came at the call, but not his faithful Gelert. Llywelyn could wait no longer, and so left on his hunt.

When Llywelyn returned to his castle, who should be waiting to greet him but Gelert! As the hound bounded closer to greet him, Llywelyn was startled to notice that Gelert's lips and fangs were covered with blood. Now Price Llywelyn had a son, barely a year old, when he saw Gelert's condition, a terrible thought came to his mind. He rushed to his son's nursery, only to find the cradle overturned and the sheets covered in blood. Llywelyn looked frantically for his son, but couldn't find him anywhere, only the evidence of much blood and a struggle within the nursery. Turning to Gelert, whose muzzle was still wet with blood, Llywelyn came into a great rage and cried, 'Thou hast killed my only son!', he duly drew his sword and drove it into the side of the hound. Gelert yelped once loudly, and with a sorrowful look into Llywelyn's eyes, died at his master's feet.

At the sound of Gelert's last yelp, there was a small cry from beneath the overturned cradle. When Llywelyn righted it, who should he find beneath it but his small son, safe and unharmed, as well the torn and bloodied body of a huge wolf. Too late Llywelyn discovered what had really happened while he was away. Gelert had stayed behind to guard the child, and had fought and slain the wolf that had crept into the nursery in his masters absence.

In vain was Llywelyn's grief, for he could not revive his faithful hound. He erected a tomb in the valley in honour of his friend, calling it Bedd Gelert (the grave of Gelert). The little headstone can be seen there today for all to see.

'Wel,l what did you make of my story?' Ike asks expectantly.

'Not a bad story just... not scary' Oscar commented.

'Like you can do better.' Ike teases.

'Actually I think I can.' and Oscars starts his story.

Edward and Wilma, a typical Hylian couple had saved hard to build their dream house. When it was ready to move in they felt something was missing from the lounge.

'I know' said Elbert. 'What we need is one of those big saguaro cactus things. That'd look great in here.' So off they went to the shops to get one.

Three weeks later Wilma and Edward threw a house warming party. All their friends came,even though the night was stormy. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed and the lights went out. Everything went dark, but the guests didn't mind The party went with an even bigger swing in the dark. Until Wilma saw something in the shadows and screamed!

Everyone stopped talking and stared. Was it just the flickering lightning - or had the cactus come to life? Yes - there was no doubt. The gaint plant was wiggling and wriggling as if it were dancing! With trembling hands Edward lit a candle and walked towards the plant. Everyone began to scream as the top of their voices.

The cactus was alive all right! It was alive... with spiders. Deadly, poisionous, biting baby spiders. Thier mother had laid them as eggs in the cactus and now they had hatched. And the babies were hungry!

'And that's a scary story.' Oscar says proudly.

Ike just grunts and says nothing. 'You call that scary,' Mia says 'you haven't heard my story.' and she tells her story.

There was no food for the family and no food for the animals. First their cow died and the little girl cried. But tht night they had cow meat in their soup. So when the sheep died the little girl didn't cry at all! After a week with no food the children's father died and they buried him. After a week without food the children's mother died too.

'I'm too weak to bury her,' the boy said. The girl sighed and said, 'You wouldn't be weak if you had some stew! I'll make you some!' And the girl made some stew for her brother. 'This is tasty, sister!' the boy sighed. 'Where did you get the meat?' And the girl smiled and said nothing. The boy went off to bury his mum.

When he returned, he said, 'When I buried Mother, I noticed a strang thing...She had one leg missing. Where can it have gone?'

His sister smiled and said nothing.

After another week with no food, the boy ran in calling, 'Sister! Sister! There's a fireout side the old woman's cottage on the edge of the wood! She must have some food. Let's go and ask for some.' So the children ran to the little turf cottage.

The woman was as thin and as wrinkled as a cucco's leg. 'Welcome my friends! I'm so happy to see you!' The old woman grinned and her rotten teeth sparkled in the firelight. 'Have you any dinner?' the boy asked. The woman drew a gleaming knife from behind her back. 'I have now!' She cackled.

'Well.' Mia asked.

'Not, bad almost better than mine.' Oscar proclaims.

'Mine was the best. You guys don't appreciate good story telling.' Ike says, embittered from earlier events.

'That didn't take as much time as I expected' Mia says, changing the subject. 'I wish that we had some more stories to tell.'

'That's the only story I know. How about you, Ike?'

'No, I only know that one.' He says.

'There must be someone out there that knows another story.' Mia says.

'What are going to do, go out a find them?' Oscar jokes.

'Maybe they'll find us.' Ike jokes. They all laugh and sit round the fire once more.

OOC: If anyone has a scary story that they wish to share, feel free to do so here. It would be good if you could have a character who has walked into the camp telling the story, but if you just want to write the story you can do so. Most importantly have fun, and try not to have nightmares. Happy Halloween!

Darilan comes over and stops by the fire. Staring into it, he asks, "What's going on here? Story telling?"

Not expecting anyone, as Darilan speaks all three of the campers turn their heads simultaneously towards him.

'It was...' Mia started.

'...but we ran out of stories.' Ike finished.

'Do you know one stranger?' Oscar questions.

"Storytelling!" someone shouts. Walking briskly into the limelight is a boy, young, maybe just in his preteens. Clad in greenish-brown robes with pointed hat and cloak to match, he holds a medium-length pointed staff in one hand. After waiting a moment for any signs of protest against his doing so, he finds himself a seat near the fire and plops down. There is a slight jangle somewhere on his person.

He then gradually stretches his hands, palms outwards, toward the fire.

"Now. Who's up?"

He was up now, Darilan figured. There was a problem though: he didn't know any scary stories. He didn't want to deal with the embarassment of not having anything to tell. Being here, he needed to have something. When you interupt a group of people talking about a thrilling subject, you had to be prepared to join in. Right? At this point it is mandatory for him to start telling a story, real or not, as long as it is scary. If he didn't start now, he would look foolish. Why should he approach his fellow adventurers and remain silent?

The gears in his head start turning, and he thinks about what he thought about up on Peaktop. The evil guy that lives in Saria Town. For his story right now, the man would remain nameless and faceless.

He starts out:

Night... night in Saria Town is like night everywhere. It is covered with dark, and in that there is comfort, unrest, danger, and serenity. Silence, which is complementary to nighttime, rang out that night. The moon stayed unlit much like the other sources of light that linger along the sides of street. The lights of merchants selling products late and the like. That night was dead. Walking around in that darkness brought many an unsettling feelings. The dark was like a black canvas, like one an artist paints on, and you would see things that weren't there. Nightmares. One fellow was feeling a little restless as he was traveling home from the tavern. He had poisened himself with the popular, pleasureable beverage we like to call rum. He made way down the street quickly. Every so often he would stop, for he heard a noise. It was loud, and made its presence known, but it somehow seemed to come from inside him. The noise that stopped him was like a 'crack!' and in the silence it would be followed by a 'tat tat tat tat tat.' He had a long way to go, and he always stopped, listened, walked a little faster, and stopped. Finally, he got to the point were he ran, but he could not ignore that 'tat tat tats.' It was like they accumulated in his mind, and they drove him crazy. At that point he was running blind. An insect on a hot surface, trying desperatly to get away from the heat. No where to go. Something lashed out at him, caught him in the eye. It was cold, and it hit hard. A stinging sensation rang through his head. He grabbed his eye and saw, with his other, of course, that it was bleeding badly. This guy gets the idea that whoever attacked him left the other eye for a reason. He wanted the victim to see the murderer. The fellow was on his knees at this time, and as he looks up, he can see a man dressed in black. Although he hesitates, he is approaching on the guy's face. He never got that far. The weapon whips out and lashes him again, in the other eye. It was a chain, he could see with the last look of his life. He waits in silence, darkness, pain. From behind he heard this voice. "You would do better not to suspect me dead. I like my travels, but I always come back." Cold wrapped around his neck, the links tore into his skin. That night, he died cold, in a cold senseless death. To this day, many believe he is still there, at the spot of death, trapped in a dark void, in eternal pain.


Darilan sighs. He didn't know where that came from. He shivers, for the story scared him more that it may have had the others.