There are many legends of which the people speak...
Before time began, before spirits and life existed...
Three golden goddesses descended upon the chaos that was Hyrule...
Din, the goddess of power... Nayru, the goddess of wisdom... Farore, the goddess of courage...
Din... With her strong flaming arms, she cultivated the land and created the red earth...
Nayru... Poured her wisdom onto the eath and gave the spirit of law to the world...
Farore... With her rich soul, produced all life forms who would uphold the law...
The three great goddesses, their labors completed, departed for the heavens,
And golden sacred triangles remained at the point where the goddesses left the world
Since then, the sacred triangles have become the basis of our world's providence
And the resting place of the triangles has become the Sacred Realm
Time passed, and the world grew restless. Those who would use the sacred triangles for their own ends became jealous, suspicious, and malicious. Blood was drawn and the people fell into madness and war. The goddesses commanded their servants to intervene-and intervene they did.
The tribes were separated and sent across the corners of the world. The Sacred Realm was sealed.
Ages passed again, and history was forgotten. Those who would use the power of the gods arose again. The goddesses, not wishing to destroy the world again, set out to solve this crisis in a gentler manner; and so the Hero Cycle was made. A single mortal hero would arise each time to protect the sacred triangles and save the people, each time drawing on the strength and legacy of all his predecessors to defeat the darkness. Each one a link in the timeless chain of the sacred trinity of villain, ruler and hero...
This is not one of those legends.
It is the year XXXXX HDS. (Hyrule Dating System) Hyrule, the ancient kingdom chosen by the gods, now an empire, leads the world in an age of freedom and prosperity. Trade and commerce has flourished and science and magic has grown in ways not even the primieval spirits would imagine. The Church has lost its stranglehold on society. A democratic Parliment has been established. General magic is available to almost all.
And yet the world is on the brink of war.
Rival nations quarell. Much of the world starves. Fanatical zealots commit murder in the streets. Wealthy merchants control the law and the poor are kept ignorant. There is speak of revolution.
Darkness spreads like a plague, infecting all with greed and malice.
There have been eight Heroes of the Cycle, each drawing on the might of one of the Nine Elements-Forest, Fire, Water, Wind, Spirit, Earth, Shadow, Light and Dark. Only the Hero of Darkness remains.
The Darkness has arrived.
The White Triforce
The Legend of Zelda: The White Triforce
OoC Thread: http://roleplayerguild.com/showthrea...e-Triforce-OoC
"All whom for evil dwells in the light and passing of time... to them, is this song played in silence; to them, is this the most perfect sound that is silence, the womb of all sound, born into all infinite expressions... to them, all whom hope and dream is this play and symphony for, actors and marionettes each pulled by the threads of fate into the truth that is the free will of life."
A moment passed, and the presence of light awakened.
It was time.
The clock struck the final chime; the young man closed his eyes as he stood there, still as the void itself on the edge of the slanted tile roof, hundreds of feet above the ground while the wind blew gently, and breathed in the air of this new era. It was time. He opened his eyes and gazed out over the city. The streets in the entertainment district were glowing with lights, buzzing with the noise of inns, bars, drinking, gambling, games and sex, jack-o-lanterns set up and images of demons, monsters and undead adorning the walls for Samhain the next night. The poor residential areas were as quiet as ever as those too poor to afford more than the lighting the city provided slept. The guild districts, the shops and wealthy sections were reasonably quiet and lit for the time of day when humans were designed to sleep and rest in the dark, save for the occasional ball or late customer. And the castle stood taller, prouder, and as impregnable as ever, as still as the statuesque stone that it was comprised of. Mages cast ocassional enchantments and sold magical trinkets in the streets lit by lanterns fueled eternally by magic; soldiers returned from the wars of empire and conquest laughed and raped the citizens, their swords, halberds, brigandine and plate armor making them unstoppable by the unarmed; the nobles made merry from the goods served by slaves and made by bloody labor of those extorted both in this kingdom and those conquered; and the ignorant blamed all the rest for their troubles, moving devouring each other and moving scarcely a finger to save themselves, concerned only with their entertainment and the holiday this night, the autumn holiday when the dead were said to rise and the veil between this one and the others thinned.
He looked down at his gloved hand and willed the power in his hand to life. A pure, absolute silver-white glowed underneath and lit his face, his white hair and faded blue eyes of a man ancient beyond measure looked down and knew.
Yes, this was it. It was time to bring it all down. The end had begun.
The tall, cloaked figure shut the door with a quietness that seemed impossible with his obvious strength, and joined the ring of others in small tower room, only everlasting candles to light the darkness of predawn.
"Welcome, your Highness," those assembled whispered, bowing their heads. The new entry raised his hand, motioning for them to raise, then removed his hood. He removed his regal masquerade mask of red, white and gold, exotic and detailed finely with few rivals, revealing his short, thick gold beard and hair and royal blue eyes, strong nose and chin raised prominently. When he spoke, his voice was deep, proud, and as commanding as a lion.
"Welcome gentlemen. We must be brief. As we are here, I gather that we are decided?"
The others murmured, talking in pairs of two and three. Most of them were staunchly in favor, whereas one two were still hesitant.
"Is this really alright, Sire?" one of them, a slightly short, meeker man, asked desperately up to the lion-like man.
"What matters most is not the fairness or right of it," he said, looking down into his prey with the eyes of death, "what matters is the security of our nation and faith. We must have unity and safety in our state and church, regardless of who or what it costs. Yes, we surely are moments away now from staining our hands in blood. But this blood must be spilled, for the greater good."
"But what of the Resistance? Surely they must know, and are preparing countermeasures?" the other one not convinced asked, a tall, much more confident man. He was always trouble, for, unlike the other, he was strong, intelligent, and saw through masks like few others.
"They do not know. And if they do, they will reveal their informants by acting, as so few know of this. To save themselves, they must let this happen."
"And," he said coolly, unfazed, "what of him? Of the one in white?"
The lord scoffed, the bulk of his muscled chest nearly breaking his gem-encrusted brooch off his cloak. "You believe those rumors? That such feats are even possible, save by the Gods or their servants?" he said incredulously, his contempt plain.
"I believe it is worth paying attention to, Sire."
"Perhaps. I invite you to do so, then. Even if he is that one, he will not touch us. Our glory will be everlasting, and our empire will never crumble." He looked over the assembly again. "Are we agreed, then?"
All save those two agreed, and they spoke naught against it. "We are decided, then. Long live Hyrule! Glory to the Brotherhood!" he declared, his fist in the air.
"Long live Hyrule! Glory to the Brotherhood!" They declared with vigor, their own fists in the air.
"Long live Hyrule, and glory to the Brotherhood," the dark man said softly. He knew otherwise.
Lord Damien set the letter down, his forehead buried miserably in his other hand. He understood the message, and he agreed with the logic of it's writer completely; but why, damn it, why? He raised his other hand to his face and ground his dark brown against his palms in fear and frustration. The candlelight lit the room evenly and smoothly, the light gently shifting in gradient into the dark was entirely unlike Damien, the scrunched muscles of his face smooth and placid in comparison to the conflicting thoughts and emotions inside him. He thought of his homeland, his people, and all the others suffering under this abominable political state and felt hate towards those who abused it. He thought of his employees and servants, and pined desperately for the plight that would soon be upon them; he thought of his allies, his friends who shared his goals and beliefs and who had been forced to abandon him, and cursed them even as he willed them to succeed. And he thought of his wife and daughter, those closest to him, who knew nothing of his secret dealings yet still would be absorbed into the storm the letter forewarned him of, and he grieved. Grieved for his absence in their lives; grieved for his absence that would now surely come; and trembled, terrified, that they, too, would fall with him.
Yes, Damien grieved, and wet drops began to fall down and splatter on the wooden table, spreading like rain. He, who had mastered the masque and concealing his emotions, turning his very voice and face into masks as well, broke, and wept in the few minutes left before the coming sun lit the sky as others throughout the city prepared for the fate they knew they shared with Damien.
The little girl humphed and angrily snatched up an apple off the old man's table, took a bite, and chewed her frustrations out on the soft, sweet fruit.
"Don't get angry at me. I warned them they were being too reckless about what information they were using and how they were getting it. I told them this would happen. Besides," the old enchanter said, his eyes twinkling with amusement behind his round spectacles, "I survive you being angry at me."
"I know it's the smart thing," she said, swallowing the piece of apple, only to take off another too-large chunk, "I just can't stand letting our own get killed like this."
"It can't be helped. If we move to get them out now, before the arrests start, we'll give ourselves away, and that will get even more of us killed."
"So we just abandon them."
"We'll save as many of them as we can after it starts, though we can only muster up enough strength as though we didn't know and were just reacting, not preparing. And, if you keep inhaling that," he said, pointing his finger worn thin with age and use, "you'll end up choking."
She huffed, leaning on the edge of the table with her free elbow, not looking at him.
"Efa," he said, strongly now, in a voice that demanded respect. She looked at him.
"We will do what we can. You know that. You know me," he said, looking into her eyes, knowing and demanding as her equal, ally, and even friend.
"... I know. I know you will. I'm sorry," she said, looking away for a moment. Then she returned her gaze to him, and looked at him with concern and worry. "You're really not leaving? They might find you out."
"Perhaps, but I have my children to think about. While old to take care of themselves, they're still foolish and need me."
"Especially since we know that everyone here is about to become even more xenophobic."
He made an irked face, unhappily acknowledging the case. He, a Sheikah, and his children born to a now-dead Gerudo mother, were indeed subject to the racism that gripped society by the neck. And, yes, it was about to get worse.
"... sorry," the little blonde-haired girl said quietly, pulling him out of his thoughts. She was pulling at her green dress, her hands clenching the fabric, in the way that she only did when she actually showed her distress. It was a sign of her trust in him that she did that in front of him, and he knew it.
"I just... you know that's a bad subject for me. And that I've seen it."
Ah... "Ah. Yes, I do. And you're right. After what they did to the Kokiri, this will make things much worse. They will have to be careful." He reached out and tussled her pretty, chin-length hair. "Thank you." He looked towards the pack on the table and walking stick set against it, knowing what must be inside. "Be careful."
She turned to him and fell forward, hugging him. "You, too."
The people began pouring into the streets in strength now, precious few minutes after the sun had passed over the mountains in the horizon. City dwelling merchants, travelling peddlers and a handful of farmers and craftsman come to sell their wares set up their stalls in the market squares and sidewalks,. The guards increased their number for the daylight activity, cuiresses and halberds and state-employed mages making beginning their rounds. Shops and mages-for-hire opened their doors for business as the wealthy rose and their servants dressed them. Airships, floating by magical-fire-heated balloons and lifted by wings began their travelling cycles of ferrying passengers and cargo. Goron began crafting and building, Zoras fished and managed the waterways and boats, the Gerudos performed, the Koroks tended to the gardens and parks, the Rito began their humble days as monks or made their deliveries as postmen, and the Hyrulians intermingled in all affairs. In the shadows, Resistance members met in secret, preparing for the coming storm. Adventurers and mercenaries awoke from the inns and returning from dungeons, escorting travellers and fighting battles to collect their dues or sell their findings as the middle class and peasants began waking, making and eating breakfast and the youth slept, waiting for one more day of entertainment and crushed dreams.
Today began a period of respite and merriment for many mages and maskmakers, dressmakers and jewelers, as today began was the day of a grand masquerade ball for the wealthy and the 'dark holiday' for the commoners, and many had sold fine, expensive clothes and trinkets to those who could pay for such pieces which demanded the price of a house as easily as they did for butter, and a more reasonable wage for the costumes the children would wear that evening, disguising them as poes, stalfos, goblins and the Fair Folk. Thus, they had completed a cycle of intense labor and had filled purses and wallets, and that wealth now spread into the hands of others that day as they spent their earnings on seasonal food, drink, trinkets and plays and songs. The markets buzzed with a greater life, nevermind the much larger force and greater hostility of Sheriff Mathias. Let the fat, corrupt aristocrats have their night of masks, dresses, fine food and politics and mystery; they had life and little extra today, and today they would live life to the fullest.
And, in one inn in the city awoke a boy on the onset of manhood from Ordon. A journalist who bore the name of the Hero of the Hero Cycle, and had already been recognized in secret by the Royal Family. Today, he planned only to ask and write, to change the world for the better from within the system of society, to play by its rules even as he buried his doubt in them. Destiny did not agree as he dressed in his green vest overlaying a white shirt and black pants, took up his notebook and pen and began his day. No, destiny did not agree at all.
So began this day. So began this last day, the dawn of the war, of the song, of the revolution that would change the world forever. So began time's end.