Post by Eldrin/Vai on Jul 9, 2012 20:04:09 GMT -6
The shifting sands swirled lightly around the feet of a young boy as he wandered across the endless expanse of desert that stretched across the horizon. All he could see, from every direction, a vast ocean of sand. Only the sky presented contrast, light blue against the yellow sands. A single cloud of fluffy white accompanied the harsh fire that was the sun in its domain. The boy silently begged the cloud the cross over the sun, to shield him from its burning rays, but it refused by drifting slowly away. He imagined that the cloud must be riding upon a breeze for sure, and even the sand at his feet could hardly be moving on its own. Yet, he felt no such wind.
The boy was clearly unprepared for the desert weather. He wore fur-lined hide boots, into which he had his heavy black pants tucked. He had taken off his two shirts and stored them in his bag in a feeble attempt to counter the heat. But now, the bare skin of his back and chest burned painfully in the cruel sun. A single hide bag hung from his left shoulder by a leather strap, holding all of his worldly possessions. He leaned heavily upon a scrimshaw staff as he walked, using it more like a walking stick. The staff itself was a brilliant white in the bright light of the sun, and easily taller than its owner. His long hair was messy and unkempt.
Flashback...
The boy stood at the gates of his tribe's wintertime village. The gate, as well as the fence surrounding the village, were nothing but sticks and bones tied together by straps of leather and covered by hide tarps in the hopes that the blizzard winds would not weaken the supports. The village itself was only an assortment of hide and fur tents, each with a tall plume of smoke rising from the center from the fire pits. He looked forlornly at this ramshackle village. It wasn't much, but it was home. He had never known anything but the tribe and their temporary settlements. He pulled his fur coat tighter and shivered as the winds whipped even more snow in his direction.
"Na'ako!"
The boy turned to see a girl about two years his junior running toward him. She looked just like him, as all of his tribe did. The same black hair and ice blue eyes. But this girl was special, he shared an unbreakable bond with her. She was the closest thing to a real sister that he'd ever known. She was bundled up heavier than he was, unsurprisingly. She never could handle the cold as well as he could. "Mikka..."
She nearly tackled him as she embraced him. He wrapped a single arm around her shoulder, the same detached response he always gave to her hugs. "You don't have to go. You could just say no. It's not like they can make you be a shaman!"
Na'ako sighed, putting a hand on her head. "I can't turn down my destiny," he said, ruffling her hair just enough to mess up the braid she kept it in.
Mikka stared up at him, giving him that cute look she always gave when she was upset. She stuck her bottom lip out over her top one and batted her eyelashes. Frosty tears ran down her cheeks. "Screw destiny! It's not your destiny unless you make it... I'm sure there's plenty of 'spiritually tuned' people out there that don't have ugly old Uli'ik to make them a shaman," she grumbled, letting go of him long enough to smack his hand away.
"Speaking of Shaman Uli'ik, I asked him to speak to the elders about you... It was going to be a surprise, but I guess not... He got them to agree to letting you be a hunter," Na'ako said with a smile, subtly stepping away from Mikka before she could grab him again. "They still won't let you train as a warrior, and you still have to do some of the women's duties... But at least you can hunt with the boys."
Mikka's eyes shined with delight as Na'ako spoke, and when he had finished she hugged him again. "Thank you, Na'ako! You're the best..."
Na'ako hugged Mikka back, this time as a full embrace. A single tear slid down his cheek, burning his skin in the cold winter air.
"Take care, Mikka."
Na'ako sighed as the memories of Mikka and his tribe faded. They were long gone. That was months ago, it was already summer. And the unforgiving desert was all he had now. Suddenly, in the distance, he saw the top of a building. A temple seemed to rise from the horizon as he got closer. It was a grand building, but it seemed to have taken quite a beating in recent years. The Desert Monks! His eyes widened with excitement and he picked up his pace as much as he could manage. The building quivered in front of him enticingly in the hot air. If Shaman Uli'ik had been right, it was a haven in the Gerudo Desert. A place where Sheikah and Hylian monks gathered to meditate upon their spirituality. Of course, it had been at least seventy years since Shaman Uli'ik had studied and trained at the temple. But Na'ako assumed that little had changed...
Upon arriving at the temple, Na'ako found the doors of the old sanctuary slightly cracked. With a little effort, he managed to fling open the heavy doors. He gasped at the sight within. Skeletons littered the floor of the temple, tattered monk's robes clinging to their bones. Weapons of various types lay discarded across the floor, rusted from years of abandonment. The temple had been attacked... Na'ako walked slowly, timidly, across the sandy floor. He deliberately avoided the skeletons; partially out of respect, and partially because they creeped him out. At the end of the chamber stood a pulpit, surely where some monk had once addressed his fellows. But that was not what interested Na'ako, upon the pulpit sat and old tattered tome. It was a huge book, connected at the spine to an old rusty chain. The chain ran down to the floor, where it was connected to the wrist of a skeleton. This skeleton also wore the robes of a monk, but they were ripped on the chest, where Na'ako assumed a sword had slashed him. Resting his staff on the side of the podium, Na'ako reached cautiously for the book. With shaking hands, he slowly lifted the front cover.
The book instantly fell apart. The binding snapped off, pages scattered across the floor. Na'ako gasped in horror and stepped back, but he bumped into something. The boy turned to see the monk's skeleton looming over him. It's empty eye sockets seemed to stare down at him. Na'ako screamed in terror. He jumped back but found himself pinned against the pulpit. The skeleton rose its hand, reaching for the boy's face. Na'ako grabbed his staff just as the skeleton's fingertips brushed his forehead. Suddenly, all Na'ako could see was a blinding light.
The light faded to reveal a world of shadows. Whispered voices seemed to linger in the air, saying things that he could not understand. The monks stood all around him, their bodies no longer skeletal, but instead full as they were at the time of their deaths. Each monk glowed with an aura, a wide variety of colors. Na'ako himself was glowing, a cold icy blue color, the same as his eyes. The monk closest to the boy spoke.
"Welcome, Shaman, to the afterlife..."
Na'ako's eyes widened in shock. "W-what do you mean?! I'm not-"
The monk shook his head. "No, you are not dead, but we are," he answered before the boy could finish his question. "You are merely a visitor to our realm... We could not appear to you, as you are not yet a fully realized shaman. So I was forced to possess my old body and transport your soul to the afterlife to meet us."
"Oh, I guess that explains the skeleton that just attacked me..." Na'ako said with a chuckle, scratching the back of his head nervously. The monks did not laugh at his little joke. "Well, um... What happened to you guys? Who did this?"
"Five years ago, this temple was raided by desert moblins. They slaughtered everyone in their path. We tried to resist, but we were outnumbered. Even though we were more skilled fighters, the moblins overwhelmed us."
"Oh," Na'ako said, bowing his head respectfully. He wasn't entirely sure what to say. He didn't want to just jump to the point, as that might seem rude. But at the same time, how could he respond to hearing that they'd all been murdered. "So, I guess my journey here was in vain..."
"No, young shaman. For a Desert Monk yet lives... His name is Azrael Siskin. Seek him out, ask him for guidance. Perhaps he will mentor you..."
Na'ako opened his mouth to ask another question, but before he could, the same light from before blinded him.
Na'ako awoke with a start, looking frantically around the room. The monks were once again skeletons, and the one who had touched him now lay collapsed over the pulpit. The light outside had faded, and now only bits of moonlight shone through the ceiling. He hugged his staff close to him and shuddered. The desert had gone from blistering hot to freezing cold in mere hours.
He dug around in his bag until he found his shirts. He put them both on to counter the cold. The first was a tight black shirt that hugged close to his body to conserve heat, with sleeves that reached his elbows. Over that he put on another shirt, this one white and fringed in black, sleeveless and open at the middle with a high collar. He had sold his coat back in Termina in payment for a carriage ride to Hyrule. He also took the time to tie his hair back with a leather string. It held his hair in a neat ponytail at the top of his head. This way, the hair didn't brush against his neck and irritate him.
When he'd finished with this, Na'ako turned his attention back to the temple around him. It was pretty creepy at night. He figured it would probably be better to travel at night anyway, seeing as he was more accustomed to the cold. Of course, he had no idea where to look for this Azrael Siskin guy. But he figured he'd just travel to the closest town and ask around. He was just about to leave when his stomach growled angrily at him. "Hm... I wonder if the monks had a garden..." he said aloud, picking up his staff and peering around the temple.
The boy was clearly unprepared for the desert weather. He wore fur-lined hide boots, into which he had his heavy black pants tucked. He had taken off his two shirts and stored them in his bag in a feeble attempt to counter the heat. But now, the bare skin of his back and chest burned painfully in the cruel sun. A single hide bag hung from his left shoulder by a leather strap, holding all of his worldly possessions. He leaned heavily upon a scrimshaw staff as he walked, using it more like a walking stick. The staff itself was a brilliant white in the bright light of the sun, and easily taller than its owner. His long hair was messy and unkempt.
Flashback...
The boy stood at the gates of his tribe's wintertime village. The gate, as well as the fence surrounding the village, were nothing but sticks and bones tied together by straps of leather and covered by hide tarps in the hopes that the blizzard winds would not weaken the supports. The village itself was only an assortment of hide and fur tents, each with a tall plume of smoke rising from the center from the fire pits. He looked forlornly at this ramshackle village. It wasn't much, but it was home. He had never known anything but the tribe and their temporary settlements. He pulled his fur coat tighter and shivered as the winds whipped even more snow in his direction.
"Na'ako!"
The boy turned to see a girl about two years his junior running toward him. She looked just like him, as all of his tribe did. The same black hair and ice blue eyes. But this girl was special, he shared an unbreakable bond with her. She was the closest thing to a real sister that he'd ever known. She was bundled up heavier than he was, unsurprisingly. She never could handle the cold as well as he could. "Mikka..."
She nearly tackled him as she embraced him. He wrapped a single arm around her shoulder, the same detached response he always gave to her hugs. "You don't have to go. You could just say no. It's not like they can make you be a shaman!"
Na'ako sighed, putting a hand on her head. "I can't turn down my destiny," he said, ruffling her hair just enough to mess up the braid she kept it in.
Mikka stared up at him, giving him that cute look she always gave when she was upset. She stuck her bottom lip out over her top one and batted her eyelashes. Frosty tears ran down her cheeks. "Screw destiny! It's not your destiny unless you make it... I'm sure there's plenty of 'spiritually tuned' people out there that don't have ugly old Uli'ik to make them a shaman," she grumbled, letting go of him long enough to smack his hand away.
"Speaking of Shaman Uli'ik, I asked him to speak to the elders about you... It was going to be a surprise, but I guess not... He got them to agree to letting you be a hunter," Na'ako said with a smile, subtly stepping away from Mikka before she could grab him again. "They still won't let you train as a warrior, and you still have to do some of the women's duties... But at least you can hunt with the boys."
Mikka's eyes shined with delight as Na'ako spoke, and when he had finished she hugged him again. "Thank you, Na'ako! You're the best..."
Na'ako hugged Mikka back, this time as a full embrace. A single tear slid down his cheek, burning his skin in the cold winter air.
"Take care, Mikka."
Na'ako sighed as the memories of Mikka and his tribe faded. They were long gone. That was months ago, it was already summer. And the unforgiving desert was all he had now. Suddenly, in the distance, he saw the top of a building. A temple seemed to rise from the horizon as he got closer. It was a grand building, but it seemed to have taken quite a beating in recent years. The Desert Monks! His eyes widened with excitement and he picked up his pace as much as he could manage. The building quivered in front of him enticingly in the hot air. If Shaman Uli'ik had been right, it was a haven in the Gerudo Desert. A place where Sheikah and Hylian monks gathered to meditate upon their spirituality. Of course, it had been at least seventy years since Shaman Uli'ik had studied and trained at the temple. But Na'ako assumed that little had changed...
Upon arriving at the temple, Na'ako found the doors of the old sanctuary slightly cracked. With a little effort, he managed to fling open the heavy doors. He gasped at the sight within. Skeletons littered the floor of the temple, tattered monk's robes clinging to their bones. Weapons of various types lay discarded across the floor, rusted from years of abandonment. The temple had been attacked... Na'ako walked slowly, timidly, across the sandy floor. He deliberately avoided the skeletons; partially out of respect, and partially because they creeped him out. At the end of the chamber stood a pulpit, surely where some monk had once addressed his fellows. But that was not what interested Na'ako, upon the pulpit sat and old tattered tome. It was a huge book, connected at the spine to an old rusty chain. The chain ran down to the floor, where it was connected to the wrist of a skeleton. This skeleton also wore the robes of a monk, but they were ripped on the chest, where Na'ako assumed a sword had slashed him. Resting his staff on the side of the podium, Na'ako reached cautiously for the book. With shaking hands, he slowly lifted the front cover.
The book instantly fell apart. The binding snapped off, pages scattered across the floor. Na'ako gasped in horror and stepped back, but he bumped into something. The boy turned to see the monk's skeleton looming over him. It's empty eye sockets seemed to stare down at him. Na'ako screamed in terror. He jumped back but found himself pinned against the pulpit. The skeleton rose its hand, reaching for the boy's face. Na'ako grabbed his staff just as the skeleton's fingertips brushed his forehead. Suddenly, all Na'ako could see was a blinding light.
The light faded to reveal a world of shadows. Whispered voices seemed to linger in the air, saying things that he could not understand. The monks stood all around him, their bodies no longer skeletal, but instead full as they were at the time of their deaths. Each monk glowed with an aura, a wide variety of colors. Na'ako himself was glowing, a cold icy blue color, the same as his eyes. The monk closest to the boy spoke.
"Welcome, Shaman, to the afterlife..."
Na'ako's eyes widened in shock. "W-what do you mean?! I'm not-"
The monk shook his head. "No, you are not dead, but we are," he answered before the boy could finish his question. "You are merely a visitor to our realm... We could not appear to you, as you are not yet a fully realized shaman. So I was forced to possess my old body and transport your soul to the afterlife to meet us."
"Oh, I guess that explains the skeleton that just attacked me..." Na'ako said with a chuckle, scratching the back of his head nervously. The monks did not laugh at his little joke. "Well, um... What happened to you guys? Who did this?"
"Five years ago, this temple was raided by desert moblins. They slaughtered everyone in their path. We tried to resist, but we were outnumbered. Even though we were more skilled fighters, the moblins overwhelmed us."
"Oh," Na'ako said, bowing his head respectfully. He wasn't entirely sure what to say. He didn't want to just jump to the point, as that might seem rude. But at the same time, how could he respond to hearing that they'd all been murdered. "So, I guess my journey here was in vain..."
"No, young shaman. For a Desert Monk yet lives... His name is Azrael Siskin. Seek him out, ask him for guidance. Perhaps he will mentor you..."
Na'ako opened his mouth to ask another question, but before he could, the same light from before blinded him.
Na'ako awoke with a start, looking frantically around the room. The monks were once again skeletons, and the one who had touched him now lay collapsed over the pulpit. The light outside had faded, and now only bits of moonlight shone through the ceiling. He hugged his staff close to him and shuddered. The desert had gone from blistering hot to freezing cold in mere hours.
He dug around in his bag until he found his shirts. He put them both on to counter the cold. The first was a tight black shirt that hugged close to his body to conserve heat, with sleeves that reached his elbows. Over that he put on another shirt, this one white and fringed in black, sleeveless and open at the middle with a high collar. He had sold his coat back in Termina in payment for a carriage ride to Hyrule. He also took the time to tie his hair back with a leather string. It held his hair in a neat ponytail at the top of his head. This way, the hair didn't brush against his neck and irritate him.
When he'd finished with this, Na'ako turned his attention back to the temple around him. It was pretty creepy at night. He figured it would probably be better to travel at night anyway, seeing as he was more accustomed to the cold. Of course, he had no idea where to look for this Azrael Siskin guy. But he figured he'd just travel to the closest town and ask around. He was just about to leave when his stomach growled angrily at him. "Hm... I wonder if the monks had a garden..." he said aloud, picking up his staff and peering around the temple.