Captain Jenno

.::Legend of Zelda :: Whispers in the Night::.

Magic 8pple?

.::Legend of Zelda :: Whispers in the Night::.

RBYDark said
Holy crap, I hope they transfer you properly soon o.o

You and me both. I've been keeping myself sane with my harmonica, but it broke this morning so I'm basically stranded.

.::Legend of Zelda :: Whispers in the Night::.

Archer and Zephyrus had conversed through glances and body language as Lethe told the congregation of their supposed duties:
“What are we to make of this?”, Zephyrus’ eyes had asked.
“You mean you don’t know?” A jerky head movement of Archer’s had responded.
“Calm down, Brother,” A thin, ill-practised smile had entreated.
“Screw that,” Archer had said very much aloud.
And it seemed he wasn’t the only one to share this sentiment, either: Soon enough, some boisterous women at the pack’s front had made it fairly clear that she, too, thought that this scenario was pretty ridiculous, and made a scene of her exit.
“And there goes the group’s collective common sense,” Archer murmured.
“I can understand her hesitance. We are, after all, about to trespass upon accursed soil.”
“… what.”
“The Shadow Temple.”
“… byyye!”

Archer turned to pursue her, only to find himself impeded by his brother’s hand, weighing heavily on his shoulder.
Zephyrus seemed always to serve as his conscience… and more often than not, that was a burden.
“What?” he threw an irritable glance over his shoulder, “That woman has the right idea, this is crazy!”
“Perhaps that is the case, but does that make it any less important?”
“It makes it a hell of a lot less appealing!”
“Nothing worth doing was ever easy, brother.”
“You kidding? Picking pockets is easy! Fixing card games is easy!”
“And was it worth doing?”
“It brought in the rupees!”
“But were you happy?”
“I was alive.”
“And was it a good life?”
“…”

Archer lapsed into silence, and exhaled pensively. Zephyrus squeezed his shoulder, supportively.
“Brother, there comes a time when we must do things for the benefit of people other than ourselves.”
“That’s… not in my nature, Zeph.”
“It’s in all men’s natures.”
“That’s all nice to say, but when push comes to shove… I’m a crook.”
“You were a crook. You changed your shape… you adapted.”
“Like water.”
“If you must think of it like that.”
“Sorry, Zeph, I just… I don’t buy into that stuff. I trust what I know, what I know has kept me alive for the last half a decade. And what I know is that this is a bad, bad idea.”
“You must learn to adapt-”
“Fire doesn’t adapt, Zeph. It burns, no matter where you put it.”
Zephyrus frowned, and both brothers shared a few moments of solemn eye contact.

“I’m going to do this, Archer. I won’t ask you to follow me, if you feel as though your interests lie elsewhere.”
“Bro, I…”
“It’s okay,” Zephyrus assured him, with another unrefined smile, “I won’t force you to do this.”
“But you’re going anyway?”
He nodded, “My loyalty is to the royal family, and to the people of this kingdom. It is my duty to protect them, if I can.”
“Can I talk you out of this?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Archer contemplated this, and his shoulders promptly dropped.
“… then I guess I’m coming with.”
“Oh?”
“You’re a killjoy on your own. I’ve gotta come to balance you out, otherwise you’ll bore these people to death.”
Zephyrus chuckled, although it was some hollow, cold sound that seemed unfamiliar to him, “I’m sure they appreciate your concern.”
“They better… we’re all a bunch of dumbasses, you realise that, right?”
“I’m sure they appreciate that, too.”
“Yeah, yeah…” he muttered, waving a dismissive hand.

“Oh dear, are you going to sulk through the entire journey?”
“I’ve earned a good sulk by virtue of being your brother, Zeph.”
“If you’re in so foul a mood, why not go and stand with Griz?”
“Didn’t you say Griz was a guy?”
“I said it was possible. It’s also possible Griz is a woman, although there is nothing to sug-“
Archer was long gone, having manoeuvred his way through the bevy of graveyard occupants. He took his spot at Griz’s side, and cleared his throat.
He swept his hair out of his eyes, and puffed out his chest as he straightened out his leather jacket, before turning to speak to them.
“…” nothing came out.
“… h-hey,” he mustered, before looking hurriedly away.
”Good job, Archer. A+ flirting. Your finest work.”

Zephyrus looked on towards them amusedly, fortunately blessed with a stature that permitted him the ability to gaze over the crowd.
However, whilst watching he caught sight of another face, seemingly frozen through consternation.
He approached- slowly- Felicia’s side, and spoke in a tone that was soft and as warm as a man like Zephyrus could muster.
He smiled, too, but through the gesture his history of introversion became clear: It seemed an unfamiliar act, punctuated by attenuated lips. Still, in his eyes it was clear enough that he meant well.
“You seem troubled,” he observed, “Are you quite alright?”

Moderators - The Virtual Abyss

When Kirina found Oliver, he was a sight to be seen: His body lay limp and motionless amongst an assortment of fishery equipment.
One arm was entangled in a wiry net, old, frayed and wrapped so tightly around his elbow that even his armour seemed to have torn, earning him a nasty wound upon impact. That hand was twitching, pathetically.
His visor was cracked to the point of potentially shattering, too, its red glow demoted to a simple flicker, and its once smooth surface structure fractured to the point of better resembling a mosaic.
When Kira reached him, he was struggling to maintain consciousness.
“No… Kira…” he rasped, in a voice far coarser than his own, “The people… help the people… help the…”

Fortunately for him, his team didn’t seem the type to listen to orders.
Kira had outreached her hand to him, instead: Oliver, however, didn’t feel as though he had the power to stand.
Still, one hand was available: The one that clutched to the crumbling hilt of his data saber, Hauteclaire.
With great effort, he unfurled his fingers and allowed the dulled weapon to drop to the unforgiving concrete of the floor.
With even more, he reached up, and grasped Kira’s offered hand…
And then it happened.

As though some invisible circuit had been joined together, a surge of energy passed between them: A rush of blue light, which left Kira’s hand and passed into Oliver’s, where it promptly became red… and surged through his suit.
A blinding light pierced the cracks of his visor, and the wound at his elbow, to boot, pouring through each opening like water through stone.
Then, in a display of regeneration, the cracks began to disappear.
The visor, and the suit, seemed to take the form of liquid, moulding back together as if they’d never been parted: Within moments, Oliver was fully restored.

He shook the net from his other arm, and Hauteclaire leapt from the ground and into his grip, renewed just as the rest of him had been.
“Of course… the suits! That virus must’ve drained my energy!”
Oliver hurriedly pulled himself to his feet, his strength restored, and firmly shook Kira’s hand.
As she dusted him off, he looked down at the residual energy flowing through his palm.
“Thanks, Blue… I guess I owe you one.”
He wriggled his fingers, “I wonder what else these things can do…”

Red-101 didn’t have time to contemplate this for long, however.
Just as things had gotten a little better, they got a whole lot worse.
Kira had strayed from his side to retrieve her weapon… and just as quickly as she’d left his line of sight, she’d been snatched up by his attacker, and dragged into the air.
Oliver was quick to leap into action, but lacked the physicality and skill to do anything: He found himself swatting aimlessly at the limb which’d seized her, all whilst more encroached upon his flank.

Soon enough, his attention was drawn by others, as he began slicing his way through a small collection of creeping, fleshy claws: That is, until the loud, unmistakable ringing of a gunshot breached the air, and the world seemed to come to a crashing halt around him.
He became acutely aware that Kira was falling, and before he knew what he was doing, he was sheathing his sword, and moving.
Instinct had overridden common sense, and in an instant he’d snatched Kira’s halberd, and begun a charge towards her.

Then he leapt, and with an arcing motion, summoned his hookshot into that same hand.
It happened in a blur: By luck alone it’d struck a warehouse’s upper-wall, and it’d wrenched him skywards with the same fierceness it’d displayed back at HQ…
And as luck would have it, right into Kira’s path.
He’d wrapped his arm around her waist, and clutched onto her as hard as he could manage- which admittedly, wasn’t very hard- before both of them shot hurriedly upwards, and out of gravity’s reach.
Oliver closed his eyes tightly as they did so, and braced himself for the impact…

”Ach!”
It hadn’t been a… smooth, landing. But it’d involved a whole lot less broken bones, and that had been the main objective.
They’d collided roughly with the warehouse- Oliver taking most of the impact- before finding themselves suspended a good twenty or so feet above the battle, hanging by a glimmering metallic chain.
Oliver took a moment to account for everything- his limbs, his wits and the contents of his stomach- before managing an infirm, but nonetheless relieved chuckle.
“Haah… we’re… that worked! Haha, maybe I’m not so bad at this Moderator gig after all, huh Kira?”
Slowly, the two began sinking towards the ground.
“… we’re sinking. Why are we sinking?”

The chain they’d been suspended from was lengthening, producing and more and more of itself from Oliver’s palm as it slowly lowered the Moderators to the floor. Once it’d done so, it quickly dissolved into a cloud of data.
But instead of returning to Oliver, it instead rushed to Kira, synthesising with her suit, and restoring the energy that the virus- unbeknownst to her- had stolen.
Oliver took his arm from around her, and handed her the halberd she’d left behind.
He smiled sheepishly, “I think I just expended all of my luck for this lifetime. You’re going to need this. And, uh… I guess this makes us even.”
And with that, he turned, and- without another word- rekindled his weapon’s blade, before rushing back into the fray.

Hundreds upon hundreds of those limbs were beginning to creep onto the mainland, now, climbing the harbour walls hurriedly and clambering over one another as they hurried to escape the maelstrom’s grip, like carnivorous vines.
Unfortunately for Michelle, there seemed to be no head in sight: Just an awful lot of hands.
“Keep your distance everyone!”, Oliver barked, upon clearing two or three of them in twain, “This thing feeds off of the power of our suits! Don’t let it get a hold on you!”

.::Legend of Zelda :: Whispers in the Night::.

Baklava said Also ( just as a heads up) I'll be gone all next weekend. Moving across the country and such. Fun times. Coincidentally, that's the reason why Jenno's been absent as of late. Moving biz and all that.

Yeah, sorry about that, folks. They basically annexed my house and didn't tell me when I'd be transferred. Then they said it was this week, now it's been put back...
I'm in a shelter is my point. I've still got wifi though, so I'll be trying to post still!

Moderators - The Virtual Abyss

As each Moderator filed systematically into The Ethernet Corridor, they were overcome by a most preternatural experience: For the moment their data-clad feet spanned the portal’s threshold, they found themselves dazzled by a flare of white light, before they were whisked away to somewhere else entirely.
Before it was even truly apparent what’d happened, they were soaring, weightless as they careened through some long, brass conduit: A tunnel, seemingly woven together out of thin, flaxen metals.
Every few moments, a powerful golden pulse travelled its length, gaining on the Moderators from behind, before surging forwards and out of view…
The Moderators pursued, at slowly increasing speed.

All around them, data lingered: Thin screens of translucent material, which looked almost like glass, but- upon being touched- exhibited the consistency of water.
Each screen betrayed a different collection of data: Profit margins, Q&A answers and dating profile details all came to orbit the team, before they slowly lost momentum, and disappeared behind the Moderator’s flanks.

Oliver had taken the liberty of aligning himself horizontally, lying flat on his stomach with his arms to his side, his head craned towards the distance, where an inviting light- all shades of warm, autumnal colours- awaited them.
He remained still, and stoic… save for when a passing data chit loudly declared an interview with the ‘legendary Blue 42’, at which point he punched outwards, and shattered it into pieces.
“Virus did it,” he announced, unflinching, “Everyone steel yourself. ETA ten seconds. Nine… eight…”

“… one,” and as promised, they were delivered: Upon contact with that light, the Moderators passed out again into the real world.
And as they egressed, they felt their mass return to them: Oliver had shot forwards upon their exit, falling into a crouch and grazing his knee in the process.
Still, he’d leapt to his feet moments later, keenly drawing his blade, and raising the sword skywards, “Worry not, the Moderators have arrived!”

Behind them, a rigid amber monolith, embellished with pulsating white binary, descended slowly back into the ground…
Around them, there was nobody. Oliver’s cheeks burned a red so fierce that they began to match his outfit.
“… I-Is what I’ll say, when we meet panicking people,” he added, clearing his throat and puffing his chest out, “Come on Moderators, let’s investigate.”

He led the group northwards a few metres, before a writhing crowd of worried onlookers became apparent: Clouds of steam seemed to be billowing into the air before them, and those who orbited the scenario were quickly backing away.
Oliver stopped the nearest civilian, an elderly figure with a firm brow but a slack jaw: He wore a fishing hat, and a tatty blue fleece.
He looked startled, and was made no more comfortable by Oliver’s interference.
“Hey, civilian: Can you tell me what’s going on here?”
“Shouldn’t you be tellin’ us that?!”, he asked, clearly caught between the throes of terror and exasperation.
“Uh- Well, I-”
“The ocean’s boilin’, that’s what’s happenin’! It’s swallowin’ up ships left and right, those boats’re our livelihoods!”
“Well, we-”
“What took you so long?!”
“I-”
“An’ what’s with that accent? You wasn’t always Australian, Red, surely!”
“… I’m trying something new. Vacate the premises, we’re going to do what we can.”
“’Bout damned time!”, the older man huffed, before shuffling hurriedly away. Some of the crowd followed suit, but many stayed.

Oliver turned to the rest of his team, “I want these people outta here, pronto! We need space to manoeuvre and I don’t want any casualties on our first mission! After that, follow me!”
Then he turned, and disappeared into the crowd, shoving and shunting his way very impolitely towards its forefront.
There, he stared down into the harbour: The boardwalk- which had been made of a fairly sturdy metal-and-wood combo- had been completely demolished, leaving only the harbour walls between the ocean and Proto City.

The water below was caught in some bellicose maelstrom: A watery twister, which thrashed chaotically about the place, and snarled all the while.
It spat thick, malicious foam as it churned away below, letting forth primal growls and sharp hisses…
All about it were pieces of ships, made of both steel and wood alike, crushed and torn apart as though they were naught and left to drift as ghosts of once mighty sea-fairing vessels.
Slowly, they were blackening, breaking down as their data joined the murk beneath them, or disappeared into the thick, viscous clouds of gas which were rising from the whirlpool’s centre.
Oliver pointed his blade down at it, his jaw locking as he was faced for the first time with true threat.

He lingered there a moment, savouring the sensation of his father’s jackets upon his shoulders.
It was time.
“Halt, virus!”, he called down to the growing disaster beneath him, “You have met your end, the moderators have arrived!”
It gave no response, save for a seeming seething.
“… You better start listening to me, and quick! I am Red-101, the crimson glare of justice! The blade of law, the-”

Suddenly, some long, moist limb shot from the ocean’s depths: A spindly thing, thin and made of what looked to be scarlet bone, surrounded at each side by wet, mottled muscle.
It struck Oliver full-force in the head with its end, launching him backwards and sending him hurtling into the concrete wall of a nearby storage locker.
He broke right through- with another sickly thump - before disappearing into the dark.
Slowly, more of those limbs began to clamber out from the maelstrom’s centre.

Twenty Seconds to Sundown

SuperTitch said
What'cha gonna do, JenJen? MIGHTY MIDGET OVER POWERS YOU.

HEY GUYS GUESS WHO FORGOT THEIR OWN BIRTHDAY

.::Legend of Zelda :: Whispers in the Night::.

It didn’t take a particularly long time for Zephyrus and Archer to espy the graveyard's distant form, even without Veitaru’s guidance.
Of course, this was partly down to the brothers knowing the territory- Kakariko was, after all, no great venture from their homes in Castle Town- but even then, there seemed something more.
There was some inexplicable part of Zephyrus which could almost sense the presence of the temple it played host to: Its location almost shone to him, as though some long defunct homing instinct within him had been awoken.
No, no shone was the wrong word… it was no bright influence. It was not some sparkling new venture to be beheld.
It was a darkling place, a crypt that Sheikah knew better than to approach. An omen of death.
Why, then, was he headed there? Had that murmur in the night really intended them to trespass in such a place?

This introspective, and Zephyrus’ steady pace, were suddenly impeded by the outstretching of some long, leather-clad arm, which pushed suddenly against his chest and rendered him motionless.
Both brothers came to a halt, with the graveyard’s path quite clearly in view, and its silhouette clear against the rock-face that flanked it.
“Hey,” Archer addressed him, suddenly, “We lost the kid.”
“I am well aware that the child has diverted her path, yes.”
“How long have we not been following the kid?”
“I don’t believe it matters.”
“It doesn’t matter?! Why are we even here, if not for the Gerudo?”
“Because I suspect this may have something to do with our concurrent night terror.”
“The nightmare we both had?”
Zephyrus nodded.
“And what makes you think that?”
“In your naivety you did not sense it, but I suspect that child knew more than she cared to say.”

Archer glanced around, to ensure nobody could hear his next words, “Keeping secrets? Well, I suppose she is—”
Zephyrus lifted his hand, and pressed it firmly over Archer’s mouth.
“Gewoff”, the younger brother grumbled.
“You mustn’t generalise so. I will remind you, you yourself belong to a race of great suspicion.”
Zephyrus withdrew his palm, and Archer scowled.
“I half belong to the Sheikah.”
“Your brother belongs to them in full.”
Archer hesitated, scowled, and then sighed, “Yeah… yeah, alright. I’ll watch my mouth.”
“That is all I ask.”
“But hey, one question?”
“Hm?”
“Why are the Sheikah so…”
“Suspicious?”
“Yeah!”

The older brother contemplated this for a second, averting his gaze to follow the direction of the wind, as his expression softened slightly.
“Because we are a race of secrets, and people fear that which they do not understand.”
“Then… why not tell them those secrets? Why keep it all hushed up?”
Zephyrus returned to looking at Archer, “Because the secrets we are burdened with protecting are far, far more terrifying.”
“… you fill me with confidence.”
“We would much rather have people fear us, than have them fear for the fragility of their own existence.”
“Seriously, great pep talk. Really loving this whole ‘being a Sheikah’ thing.”
“Perhaps it is fortunate, then, that you are- as you say- only half a Sheikah. Embrace your Hylian nature, if you fear such responsibility.”
“And do what?”
“Find a wife, start a family.”
“And what if I don’t want a wife?”
“Then a husband, I care little either way.”
“I meant what if I just wanted to be a ladies man!”
“Oh,” Zephyrus nodded, caught in momentary thought, “Mmn… no, I see no risk of that coming to pass.”
“You’re a jackass.”

A shuffling sound then drew attention to a somebody atop the rocky cliff face that made up the shallow chasm of the graveyard path. In a blur of signal orange and midnight blue, the person leapt with great dexterity off the edge and into the sunlight. Upon landing on the path just before Archer and Zephyrus, it became immediately obvious that the person before them was a shiekah.

The shiekah wore standard black and blue shiekah armor-- unremarkable, but practical nonetheless. A long signal orange scarf, wrapped around their head and pinned at the shoulders, spilled behind them almost like a tail as they landed with barely a sound. Bandages engulfed the stranger’s forearms and hands and a pair of intricate twin blades, one noticeably larger than the other, gleamed at the men from the stranger’s back as s/he faced the other direction. For a moment it almost seemed as though the brothers had gone unnoticed, but such speculations were soon dashed as he—or she-- turned to face them.

Beneath the scarf, bandages could also be seen wrapped around the forehead and crossing over the right eye. The left eye, bright red with long lashes, stared placidly. A black mask completely covered the rest of the strangers face from the bridge of their nose down. The Eye of Truth in red marked their leather breastplate-- eery as ever. It was nigh impossible to determine whether the shiekah was male or female. Their frame was very lean and muscular with legs that seemed to better resemble bamboo poles than human appendages. From what little skin could be seen, they seemed almost sickly fair. Nonetheless, the shiekah seemed to demonstrate strength as they stood there openly, rigid as a tombstone with head held high—taking in the appearance of the pair.

The eye widened with recognition and the shiekah seemed to motion towards the graveyard by looking ahead and looking back. Without a word, they turned once more and took off down the path, crouched and wary—running beneath the shadow of the cliff face beside them.

Both siblings watched in silence as this new figure- who seemed to claim to be their guide, albeit wordlessly- beat their hasty retreat into the path beneath them.
Archer watched them leave in bemused silence, jaw hanging slightly ajar as he took a few moments to stare up at the cliff face, then back to where the newcomer had landed.
He repeated this a few times.
Zephyrus, however, was captured instead in rapt concern, frowning faintly through thin lips.
“I am beginning to empathise with your hesitance, brother,” he spoke, when the newer Sheikah had gained a fair distance.
Archer didn’t respond, not until Zephyrus clasped his shoulder, and motioned for him to walk.

“Sheikah are insane,” he eventually mustered, as his rigid form bent to Zephyrus’ encouragement and finally began to move again.
Zephyrus offered no retort, only information.
“Their name is Griz,” he began, adopting his own mild wariness, “And they are an anomaly even amongst the Sheikah.”
He spoke in a tone mild and quiet, for he intended no ill will, “They’ve never spoken a word to anyone... I’ve seen them only once before.”
“When?”
“When mother died,” he breathed. Archer paused, and then placed a reassuring hand on his brother’s back.
Neither sibling made mention of it.

“So… is ‘Griz’ a bad omen, then? You don’t seem too happy to see her.”
“Not necessarily… it’s one of many rumours. I know all I do from word of mouth, and gossip amongst the Sheikah is rare.”
“Right… what else do they say?”
“That Griz is a spirit of vengeance, sworn to silence until they can slay their parents’ killer.”
“Yikes, bad mojo.”
“Of course… others have suggested that they were forsaken for their oddness. Left to our clan by another Sheikah family… anonymously.”
“Damn. Either way she doesn’t have luck with parents, huh?”
Zephyrus nodded, almost sadly. Pitifully.

The two lapsed into quietness, and Archer watched as Griz moved on.
He chuckled lightly, with a sudden and nervous smile.
“Hey, bro,” Archer whispered.
“Yes?”
“She’s sure toned, huh?”
“I... beg your pardon?”
“Griz is all… fit.”
Zephyrus blinked in a mild confusion, and furrowed his brow inquisitively.
“It is expected of Sheikah to be fit,” he explained, “All of us are in the peak of physical health. Even our elders treat their bodies like temp-”
“I don’t mean it like that,” Archer hissed, gesturing for Zephyrus to keep his voice down.
“Oh? Oh. Oh.”

He glanced between Griz and Archer, but looked no less confused.
“Brother, you have a most… interesting, palate.”
“What? I bet she’s real pretty under all that stuff, it’s always the ones you least expect.”
Zephyrus turned his gaze forwards again.
They were approaching the gates now: Two massive, dilapidated wooden obstacles suspended from wooden walls by rusting, groaning joints.
“Very well.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re hiding something. What’re you hiding?”
“I am not the type to withhold information unless it is of great importance, brother.”
“What, do you not like her?”
“It is simply very possible that she is a he.”
“What? No way!”
“I’m afraid so. Nobody knows a thing about Griz, it’s all hearsay: That includes their gender.”
"But she looks-"
"- Androgynous? Looks can be deceiving."
"But the legs-"
"Are very thin, and no indicator of gender."
“... mrmn, alright. Lose interest in Griz, got it.”
“Are you so vain that gender guides your heart?”
“Yes.”
“So be it.”

Soon, the two were passing through the gates, having gained considerably on Griz in the process.
Upon entering the graveyard, Archer first noticed Veitaru, looking somehow decidedly less innocent.
Zephyrus, however, saw everything: How telling that was of their relationship.
His cerise eyes coruscated with interest: They saw shadows cast without cause, and a large armoured figure which lingered somewhere to the graveyard’s side…
And yet amongst them, Hylians, perfectly calm.
“Fascinating,” he breathed.

Twenty Seconds to Sundown

SuperTitch said
Nyehehe

You just waiiit.

Moderators - The Virtual Abyss

Companion isn't feeling well so I've given her sanction to take a day or two to recover. We'll be the ones doing the countdowns, thank you.