Standing just before the steps leading up to Kakariko Village stood a shrouded figure not of this land. Around him walked many, young and old, dressed in green garb and looking excited. The unique markings on his robes caused him to both be inconspicuous and stand out at the same time, but only to those who would give him more than a passing glance. Whether anyone would even recognize him for what he was, and wasn’t, would remain unseen for the moment.
Roruuk gazed up at the steps, the words from the ominous phantom voice still echoing in the back of his head like distant music in a dream. The Garo let out a short huff of a sigh before looking down at his feet and the dirt just beneath them.
Crouching down slightly, Roruuk reached his bony hand from within the sleeve of his robe and touched the dirt with two fingers, bringing the slightly moist soil to his lips. The tip of his tongue took in some of the earth, the taste revealing its quality. It was good for root vegetables. Potatoes. Carrots. Ginger and the like. But it lacked what Roruuk liked for leafy sprouts.
Even if only temporarily distracting himself from the seemingly divine tether that was pulling him in the form of an urging whisper, Roruuk found solace in the soil. It made him feel less like an outsider and more like a simple observer. With a small sprig of confidence in him now, Roruuk began to ascend the steps steadily, careful not to bump into anyone who would rattle his fragile frame.
After all, who knew? Maybe going crazy wouldn’t be so terrible, and he could always purchase some seeds while he was at it.
Seven figures, one tall and six small, moved across the fields of Hyrule. The tall form was unusually tall today, but only due to the stolen steed she sat atop. Lady Peregrina peered over the plain, judging both the distance to Kakariko as well as the potential presence of attackers waiting in ambush. Attack did not seem imminent and so she let her eyes rest for a moment as one of her followers lead the horse by rein down on the ground. Tuk. Sweet, stupid Tuk. He was always the most eager of the six Bulblins to impress her. Not that anyone would recognize them as Bulblins unless standing directly before them. From more than a few feet, their tiny toupes and face pain made them appear wholly as harmless youths albeit hunched over and sickly ones.
The other five members of the ABC Troupe scampered along in their tailored dress clothes and tiny bowties as if they had been raised as such. Peregrina could not deny the pride she took in having transformed the miniscule monstrosities into viable performers. Kakariko would be their first stage since regaining their confidence after a disastrous encounter with several overly zealous, anti-fun humans attacked them for no reason other than being Bulblins. It was ignorance. And Peregrina refused to have any of it. So what if she had had to sic the troupe on them with a righteous anger. Bumpkins need not be entertained anyway. At least that was how Peregrina saw it.
As the summit of Death Mountain appeared just over the horizon, Peregrina’s hand moved to her hip and took her flask in delicate hand, flipping open the small canister and tilting the pumpkin brew to flow past her lips. It was not liquid courage she needed, but liquid patience. Liquid patience and something to make her forget about the voices. Originally she had thought it to be Ergonimus or Ironymus having finally learned to speak. It was only to her horror that she had quickly realized they were still their oafish selves and she was likely haunted.
Still, the reminder of such a gathering was nice. Maybe, just maybe, she had been hearing that “conscience” thing everyone seemed so interested in following.