Shifting and keeping hidden within the crowds, Izzaz made past Kaiver’s sight and made himself hidden among the festival attendance. Nearing midday, the streets, and attractions would be crowded, filled with laughter and joy, something Izzaz felt that he could rarely be a part of due to his outlook and the direction of his life where it was headed. To him, it looked bleak and grim. He took himself into the shadows from the crowds just for a moment in order to think. The Rova Twins would still be able to track him, knowing that they fed off of his anger, and hated that. When he reached the well in the shadow of the windmill, he looked down to try to discern the stony bottom, only for him to see his reflection as the sun peaked over the creaking blades.
He pressed his hands against the stone of the well, and looked down. “Master Izark… It’s been a long time…” Izzaz spoke to the water looking down upon it.
Izzaz smiled upon the water and a serene calm came to him. He remembered attending Izark’s furneral as his ashes were thrown down the Kakariko Well, as where is spirt lingered to this day as the proof lied in if one poured a strong enough alcohol down the well. Izark’s life often revolved around two things: combat, and drinking, but more so of the latter in his later years and Izzaz’s teens. His mentor was unorthodox in this fighting style and teaching, even as he would later become a drunkard, was often in a happy stupor, and develop a fighting style under that, he still deeply respected the old man that would easily beat Izzaz even under heavy intoxication in a legitimate fight. He was not as respected as much as the other elders, but for Izzaz, Izark would be the one that he would at least call a father figure. Almost every year, Izzaz would pour down the strongest ale he could afford and pour it down to see if Izark would drink it, thinking that bubbles would come up to see if his spirit would communicate with him.
So far, he did not have any luck despite the rumors of the ‘Drunkard in the Well’ that would come to others.
He couldn’t tell if he was talking to himself, or communicating to the spirit of his master, but at least he was talking to his watery grave and looked around to see if anyone, only an obese Hylian child with candy and a stuffed toy in hand as he held a green rupee. Izzaz glared at the kid as the child was startled and slowly walked towards the well in fear of the Shiekah’s presence. As soon as he got to its edge, he lifted his hand and dropped the rupee, and ran off in fear without saying a word, leaving Izzaz alone to his master’s grave.
Looking back into the water, he wondered if he could at least summon Izark’s spirt, and for now, he only had his potent moonshine. He checked his inventory and found the glass of clear liquid Izzaz had made himself. He only thought for a moment if he would crush some berries to sweeten it, or pour it down raw.
“Hmpf… why bother… I’m always buying the strongest ale for you. How about something special? Here is a little brew I cooked up. I hope you like it.“ He grabbed out the bottle of the clear, but potent moonshine. He took the cork off of the top and sloshed the liquid around to stir it, as he continued to look down the darkness of the well, only to take a sip, then giving the well a taste of the liquior.
Nothing happened, but Izzaz wasn’t ready to give up that easy. He then poured a little more of the liquid, only to have the same result. Finally, Izzaz out of mild frustration poured the rest of the bottle, empting it out. He waited for a moment, to find that for the third time the same results came to him. He scoffed and grew annoyed, closing the stench of the liquor in his bottle and began to think that it would be futile to get his attention. He started to breathe deep and hold in his anger as he headed off until he heard a few pops from the well.
Looking back, he grew curious and rushed back to the well. The water now dark and nearly black at the bottom, but he could see a faint reflection of himself within the disturbed waves only to have them smooth out to see it changing to the presence of an old and grey eyed man, with a long, white beard and a toothy grin, looking up at him.
“Master Izark… Is it you?” Izzaz looked down in question as he spoke to the figure. Was he speaking to his ghost, or was it his imagination playing tricks on him?
The ghostly figure’s laugh echoed a bit in the well and continued to smile in a taunting manner, as was the nature of the old Izark.
“You did a fine job, Izzaz. Hahahah…..” the ghost crackled and laughed at him, as he smiles using Izzaz’s reflection as cover. Izzaz immediately recognized it as Izark. Oh, that old spirit would have to answer for those times Izzaz tried to see him.
Izzaz began to glare at him, confused and angry. “What do you mean? What are you talking about you drunk fool?” he barked at the water.
The spirt kept laughing and crackling in a hysterical and mocking manner.
“Ganondorf is coming my child. All will soon be consumed… by him! Hahahaha…”
Izzaz had enough of the spirit’s laughter and reached down trying to grab the figure out of the water, only to grab merely the water and the reflection of his former master had disappeared. The ghostly laughter died down as the water turned clear, as high noon gave the notion that a shadow moved within the well and retreated further down into the catacombs under Kakariko Village. There was only one way he was going to find his master within those catacombs… and that was though the Shadow Temple. He would have to make his way to the graveyard for that first.
