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Posted: Sat Jan 19, 2019 2:04 pm
Into the courtyard of the great Castle Town came trotting at a leisurely pace a graceful young mare of redwood brown with a golden mane. Its deep brown eyes shone brightly to match those of the man atop her saddle.
Glancing about at the stalls and rough abodes that littered the ancient plaza, this man's clear, clever eyes sought for someone they would not find. Nonetheless did his spirit soar as he eyed the sights that he had once known so well. Time's work was quick, but many of her projects stayed the same.
Sporting a clean chestnut jerkin double-bound with mismatched scabbards, the young man with the careworn but carefree face dismounted and led his fine friend Eponita by the reigns towards a ramshackle stall selling various provisions.
"Come, 'Nita," spoke the man in hushed tones as he advanced on the small shop. "Water and feed, and some carrots for your efforts. We eat as kings today, or less like paupers than we have known so recently."
His deep red hair was cut short and neat, and indeed his boots were the roughest aspect of his features, closely followed by that face which had seen so much yet kept such a countenance of agreeableness. Despite his quip about recent undernourishment, he was a strong, tall fellow, and he walked with a confident gait.
At the stall he was surprised to find a few of the peasantry, assisted by a burly Knight he remembered well, harassing the proprietors of the meagre business. His surprise fled from his knowing face as he saw that the shopkeepers were a pair of 'Blins. A scrawny Moblin and a small Bokoblin were in a heated exchange with the Castle Town residents, and evidently the Knight was to take the side of his racial brethren. Terror seized the features of the shopkeepers. Their starving eyes spoke well enough of the injustice being carried out.
“Stay a moment, Osforth� he called to the Knight, for he recognized that flinty voice in an instant.
Taken aback by the interruption, the burly fellow rounded angrily on the horseman. “It is Sir Osforth, of Harkinian's Guard.� Seeing that he was recognized by this impudent newcomer on the scene, the Knight studied that face shrewdly before whistling his surprise. “It's you, then, is it?�
“None other,� smiled the young man back at the official.
“A dream this is then, for I saw you fall in battle, to your death, along with several others of your adventuresome fellowship.�
“A dream this must be, Osforth, for it is truly not in the waking world that I would see you grown to be the antagonist to honest merchants.�
“It is Sir Osforth, of Harkinian's Guard,� repeated the well-vexed Knight in thundering tones. “And you speak of these folk, these swine, as honest merchants?� The scrawny Moblin began to protest to the term swine in his gargling, swine-like tongue, his pig face growing more haughty at this slight. He was quickly checked by a backhand blow of Sir Osforth's thick steel gauntlet.
“I recall a young Osforth of Blackswamp, south of Saria,� returned the adventurer in a taunting, playful tone. “He indeed had dreams of the high office of Knighthood and escape from the life of a modest bootblack. Surely he went on to win great renown against the Hordes if he be the same fellow standing before me now.�
“That he did, and may hell drag down the man who questions the authority of SIR Osforth, of Harkinian's Guard, this day.� The Knight's lips were beginning to show foam as his rage increased, his face red as the setting sun behind the visor of his helm. He spat, not caring that his rheum landed impetuously on the sad stall of the 'Blin traders. “I would welcome you as a friend and mentor, old man, did you not cast your lot with these foul beasts, who so boldly hawk their wares upon my people, forgetting the infamy of Lord Hog's beastling host that they assuredly belong to.�
“Worn by time and care I may be, friend Osforth, yet 'old' is a stretch even for your imagination, and you will recall at once the flat of my sword. Have you proof, then, of the infidelities of these merchants? Have they a crime to answer for, or is this but more ill-advised vengeance on those who remind us in appearance only of our great Enemy by the so-good Knights of Hyrule?� The relaxed, friendly eyes of the red-haired man had grown fixed and ready, and a gleam of reproach stared back at the Knight.
“They are Moblin scum!� protested Sir Osforth. “You would defend them, you, who once killed so indiscriminately the most helpless of these rogues?�
“I would defend the innocent among them, for I know now that not all are made equally to engage in the dark task we assume they would carry out. Proof, Sir Osforth, of Harkinian's Guard, or desist in this folly.�
Having nothing of the sort, the peasants and their Knight glanced askance briefly, but quickly returned haughty eyes to this strange fellow, of their own brother race, who would defy the justice of a sanctified Knight against folk who, in their eyes, must surely face the punishment coming to them on behalf of their fallen tribe. The men brandished sorry knives and sad cudgels and sympathetic staves, knowing that a struggle was imminent. The Knight Sir Osforth, of Harkinian's Guard, drew his two-handed greatsword and spat once more. The women had all fled – battle was nigh.
“Come then, you who are so clearly turned, against all odds, to the will of Lord Hog. What did you offer him but your eternal service, in return for your resurrection? For surely you did die, as surely as I did see the pile of reptiles drag you to the ground as I made my retreat from that sad scene.�
The newcomer grimaced at the horrid accusation, and drew his breath in a sorry sigh as he drew his swords from the sheaths at his back. Eponita huffed knowingly as her master prepared himself for danger. “Fear not, my 'Nita, for 'tis only a common brawl, the likes of which we know well.�
Wielding in his right hand a fine, clean blade of the finest steel, and in his left a sorry, charred relic of a wooden sword that looked like a child's plaything lost to a house fire, the man advanced. He was circled about by four stout peasants and at his face stood the unscrupulous Knight he had known in the past.
“I never come to this great citadel looking for a fight, and yet I am always met with one,� whispered the man to himself. A tear ran down the left side of his face in recollection of battles fought in days past. “Truly time has changed nothing.� In spite of this tearful remembrance, he smiled as he came on.
“Stay your soliloquizing, slave of Ganon!� shouted the Knight, now in a thick rage, and he swung his immense sword with deadly intent. The peasants advanced slowly, unsure of themselves and not wanting to be unwittingly killed by their own guardian. The accused jumped quickly back away from the sword, unharmed, and then sprang forth with a grin. With a swift dual swing of his arms, the blades cut at the weak points in the thick plate worn by the towering foe. The steel clattered smartly off the armor, not doing much harm to the man beneath, but leaving a great dent in the polished steel.
The old sword of hardened Deku wood burst into black dust on contact, leaving only a hilt and an inch of wood remaining. The man shook his head and cast the second sword away, and resumed a defensive stance.
“One blade will have to suffice for you, Sir!� laughed the man as he dodged another swing of the Knight's sword but took a blunt cudgel to the back by one of the peasants who had gained some small courage.
The odds were indeed hopelessly stacked against the young would-be saviour of the day. Seeing this, the 'Blin merchants had quickly stored their wares, put down the canopy of their stall, attached two large oak wheels to the sides, and had made a hasty retreat across the open drawbridge and into the vast fields of Hyrule. They were too small and sickly to assist, and having no weapons, they knew that should the young man fall and die, they too would follow soon after. It was only a matter of minutes until another patrolling guardsman would arrive on the scene, and then all would be lost, life and livelihood both.
Fear of death was a powerful motivator to the man and was all that remained of his fighting spirit now that the innocents, of the ancient servile tribes of the Dark Lord but clearly not of the same disposition, were free from the tyranny of the day.
He glanced about for reinforcement, dearly wishing that those he had once known were still regular features of the Castle Town, but he had no time to hope or search as he parried blows by those who sought to end his short life.
On he battled in vain. If none were to force a brave rescue of the poor defender, this would be a sorry end to a sorrowful life.
Glancing about at the stalls and rough abodes that littered the ancient plaza, this man's clear, clever eyes sought for someone they would not find. Nonetheless did his spirit soar as he eyed the sights that he had once known so well. Time's work was quick, but many of her projects stayed the same.
Sporting a clean chestnut jerkin double-bound with mismatched scabbards, the young man with the careworn but carefree face dismounted and led his fine friend Eponita by the reigns towards a ramshackle stall selling various provisions.
"Come, 'Nita," spoke the man in hushed tones as he advanced on the small shop. "Water and feed, and some carrots for your efforts. We eat as kings today, or less like paupers than we have known so recently."
His deep red hair was cut short and neat, and indeed his boots were the roughest aspect of his features, closely followed by that face which had seen so much yet kept such a countenance of agreeableness. Despite his quip about recent undernourishment, he was a strong, tall fellow, and he walked with a confident gait.
At the stall he was surprised to find a few of the peasantry, assisted by a burly Knight he remembered well, harassing the proprietors of the meagre business. His surprise fled from his knowing face as he saw that the shopkeepers were a pair of 'Blins. A scrawny Moblin and a small Bokoblin were in a heated exchange with the Castle Town residents, and evidently the Knight was to take the side of his racial brethren. Terror seized the features of the shopkeepers. Their starving eyes spoke well enough of the injustice being carried out.
“Stay a moment, Osforth� he called to the Knight, for he recognized that flinty voice in an instant.
Taken aback by the interruption, the burly fellow rounded angrily on the horseman. “It is Sir Osforth, of Harkinian's Guard.� Seeing that he was recognized by this impudent newcomer on the scene, the Knight studied that face shrewdly before whistling his surprise. “It's you, then, is it?�
“None other,� smiled the young man back at the official.
“A dream this is then, for I saw you fall in battle, to your death, along with several others of your adventuresome fellowship.�
“A dream this must be, Osforth, for it is truly not in the waking world that I would see you grown to be the antagonist to honest merchants.�
“It is Sir Osforth, of Harkinian's Guard,� repeated the well-vexed Knight in thundering tones. “And you speak of these folk, these swine, as honest merchants?� The scrawny Moblin began to protest to the term swine in his gargling, swine-like tongue, his pig face growing more haughty at this slight. He was quickly checked by a backhand blow of Sir Osforth's thick steel gauntlet.
“I recall a young Osforth of Blackswamp, south of Saria,� returned the adventurer in a taunting, playful tone. “He indeed had dreams of the high office of Knighthood and escape from the life of a modest bootblack. Surely he went on to win great renown against the Hordes if he be the same fellow standing before me now.�
“That he did, and may hell drag down the man who questions the authority of SIR Osforth, of Harkinian's Guard, this day.� The Knight's lips were beginning to show foam as his rage increased, his face red as the setting sun behind the visor of his helm. He spat, not caring that his rheum landed impetuously on the sad stall of the 'Blin traders. “I would welcome you as a friend and mentor, old man, did you not cast your lot with these foul beasts, who so boldly hawk their wares upon my people, forgetting the infamy of Lord Hog's beastling host that they assuredly belong to.�
“Worn by time and care I may be, friend Osforth, yet 'old' is a stretch even for your imagination, and you will recall at once the flat of my sword. Have you proof, then, of the infidelities of these merchants? Have they a crime to answer for, or is this but more ill-advised vengeance on those who remind us in appearance only of our great Enemy by the so-good Knights of Hyrule?� The relaxed, friendly eyes of the red-haired man had grown fixed and ready, and a gleam of reproach stared back at the Knight.
“They are Moblin scum!� protested Sir Osforth. “You would defend them, you, who once killed so indiscriminately the most helpless of these rogues?�
“I would defend the innocent among them, for I know now that not all are made equally to engage in the dark task we assume they would carry out. Proof, Sir Osforth, of Harkinian's Guard, or desist in this folly.�
Having nothing of the sort, the peasants and their Knight glanced askance briefly, but quickly returned haughty eyes to this strange fellow, of their own brother race, who would defy the justice of a sanctified Knight against folk who, in their eyes, must surely face the punishment coming to them on behalf of their fallen tribe. The men brandished sorry knives and sad cudgels and sympathetic staves, knowing that a struggle was imminent. The Knight Sir Osforth, of Harkinian's Guard, drew his two-handed greatsword and spat once more. The women had all fled – battle was nigh.
“Come then, you who are so clearly turned, against all odds, to the will of Lord Hog. What did you offer him but your eternal service, in return for your resurrection? For surely you did die, as surely as I did see the pile of reptiles drag you to the ground as I made my retreat from that sad scene.�
The newcomer grimaced at the horrid accusation, and drew his breath in a sorry sigh as he drew his swords from the sheaths at his back. Eponita huffed knowingly as her master prepared himself for danger. “Fear not, my 'Nita, for 'tis only a common brawl, the likes of which we know well.�
Wielding in his right hand a fine, clean blade of the finest steel, and in his left a sorry, charred relic of a wooden sword that looked like a child's plaything lost to a house fire, the man advanced. He was circled about by four stout peasants and at his face stood the unscrupulous Knight he had known in the past.
“I never come to this great citadel looking for a fight, and yet I am always met with one,� whispered the man to himself. A tear ran down the left side of his face in recollection of battles fought in days past. “Truly time has changed nothing.� In spite of this tearful remembrance, he smiled as he came on.
“Stay your soliloquizing, slave of Ganon!� shouted the Knight, now in a thick rage, and he swung his immense sword with deadly intent. The peasants advanced slowly, unsure of themselves and not wanting to be unwittingly killed by their own guardian. The accused jumped quickly back away from the sword, unharmed, and then sprang forth with a grin. With a swift dual swing of his arms, the blades cut at the weak points in the thick plate worn by the towering foe. The steel clattered smartly off the armor, not doing much harm to the man beneath, but leaving a great dent in the polished steel.
The old sword of hardened Deku wood burst into black dust on contact, leaving only a hilt and an inch of wood remaining. The man shook his head and cast the second sword away, and resumed a defensive stance.
“One blade will have to suffice for you, Sir!� laughed the man as he dodged another swing of the Knight's sword but took a blunt cudgel to the back by one of the peasants who had gained some small courage.
The odds were indeed hopelessly stacked against the young would-be saviour of the day. Seeing this, the 'Blin merchants had quickly stored their wares, put down the canopy of their stall, attached two large oak wheels to the sides, and had made a hasty retreat across the open drawbridge and into the vast fields of Hyrule. They were too small and sickly to assist, and having no weapons, they knew that should the young man fall and die, they too would follow soon after. It was only a matter of minutes until another patrolling guardsman would arrive on the scene, and then all would be lost, life and livelihood both.
Fear of death was a powerful motivator to the man and was all that remained of his fighting spirit now that the innocents, of the ancient servile tribes of the Dark Lord but clearly not of the same disposition, were free from the tyranny of the day.
He glanced about for reinforcement, dearly wishing that those he had once known were still regular features of the Castle Town, but he had no time to hope or search as he parried blows by those who sought to end his short life.
On he battled in vain. If none were to force a brave rescue of the poor defender, this would be a sorry end to a sorrowful life.
_________________
A Collection of Profiles
Blank
Str :6 Def :17 Agi :4 Int :4 Spi : 1
Physical Damage Escape Rate : 17 + 2 (DEF + Agi) = 19
Spl :12 HP :51
Willpower :9
1H Deku Sword DMG : 5 + 6(Str) = 11
Dual Wield DMG [1H Deku Sword] : 11(1H Deku Sword DMG) X 2(L3 Dual Wield) = 22
FIRE DMG : 10 + 4 + 1 (Level + INT+ Grunt Base) = 15
A Collection of Profiles
Blank
Str :6 Def :17 Agi :4 Int :4 Spi : 1
Physical Damage Escape Rate : 17 + 2 (DEF + Agi) = 19
Spl :12 HP :51
Willpower :9
1H Deku Sword DMG : 5 + 6(Str) = 11
Dual Wield DMG [1H Deku Sword] : 11(1H Deku Sword DMG) X 2(L3 Dual Wield) = 22
FIRE DMG : 10 + 4 + 1 (Level + INT+ Grunt Base) = 15
