resonating

@marhearted​

    ❝   I   k n o w   it’s   a   CELEBRATION   all,   but   Jak … .    Should   he   be   d r i n k i n g   THAT   much!?    ❞

          he was just here -- standing in this keep, laughing  &  taunting  the hero, surrounded by hordes of undead allies. it felt, without issue, that each  &  every time  he got close to him, the commander  ( what was his name again? ghirahim? )  would up  &  disappear, leaving behind only echos of his laughter. even when they fought, it’d end the same, without giving link time to land a hitting blow.

          so this time, where did he go?             the battlefield was theirs -- aside from a few posts  &  groups of monsters still running amock, those easily squashed -- yet an uncomfortable feeling of dread  scratches  &  bangs  at his mind, unwilling to let his guard down for a even a moment. SOMETHING was wrong. paranoia wracks his mind  &  body, forcing his tired body to continue its search.

          if he doesn’t find the enemy commander, something will happen -- he can feel it. he can feel it.

          he’d already paid in full, leaving in a hurry without even finishing his drink, only to be stopped by . . . 

          hell’s hot for good reason,  isn’t it. of every warrior, man, beast he could run into on a night like tonight -- it’s the dragon lancer,  VOLGA. a man he’s far from good terms with, but one he respects greatly, taking a step back as the hero tilts his head up enough to look at the man.

He’s  not  your  average  Krimzon  Guard  &  this  was  perhaps      not  your  average  “prison  break”,  although  in  the  beginning  he  didn’t  know  it.   There  were  never  an  awful  lot  of  details,  only  an  urgent  alert,  a  dangerous  escapee  threatening  to  make  a  fool  of  Baron  Praxis  &  his  finely  tuned  regime,  &   of  course  the  orders  terminate  this  threat  immediately.   A  little  sharper  than  many  of   his  scrambling  men,  Errol  decides  the  complex  fortress  exits  were  the  first  places  that  needed  to  be  swept,  after  all  the  alert  was  only  freshly  issued  &  he  doubted  the  unfortunate  soul  trying  to  escape  would  have  gotten  too  far  just  yet.

Signs  of  necessary  destruction  tell  him  hes  heading  in  the  right  direction.  His  ego  has  thus  far  prevented  him  from  signalling  back  up  ━  there  would  be  no  reason  he  couldn’t  handle  some  rag-tag  renegade  alone.  His  personal  &  intimate  knowledge  of  “prisoner  care”  assures  him  even  the  meanest  of  their  quarry  probably  wouldn’t  be  up  for  any  test  of  endurance.  Bound  to  be  suffering  malnutrition  at  the  very  least.   Easy. 

Arriving  on  the  roof  top  he  approaches,  gun  drawn,  ready  to  fire  a  kill  shot  at  a  moments  notice  ━   at  least  until  the  hunted  reaches  his  sights.  Not  a  normal  prisoner,  not  what  he  expected.  Suddenly  hes  not  as  confident  in  his  position  as  he  realises  he  knows  who  this  is…  A  ghost  from  the  not  so  distant  past,  the  pale  &  distorted,  but  unmistakable  form  the  solider  he  once  knew.  Its  the  smile  that  sees  him  lower  his  gun,  the  revelation  hitting  him  all  at  once. 

❝ Zephyr … ?   ❞

          “ you look like you’ve seen a  GHOST . "  the irony of their own words escape them, an almost distasteful joke in this already cruel & unjust world. the experiments head tilts ever so, as they watch the commander from their spot ; his surprise to see the  monstrosity out of its cage surely is expected.  “ is it that shocking? “ 

          obedient.  cooperative.  they were always the one that none had to FIGHT or beat into submission, yet they never feared. already a follower ; a sheep ; a quiet little thing. of course it’d be a surprise for them to choose to leave  ( not their idea, entirely, but it’d be rude of them not to try with all the effort he went through to get them out . . . ). a product of their past that kept such a vice grip on their instincts of survival.            until now.

     So INVOLVED was he into his photography that Henry momentarily forgot the fact that Link is currently observing him. He would see the man having to position the camera at a CERTAIN ANGLE to achieve the best picture, a few snaps of the button before he’s to finally notice. A soft laugh is heard as he straightened up, wiping off the grass off himself. “…I apologize, Link. Photography is uh… A fairly mundane hobby that doesn’t bring much excitement.      However..! You would be amazed by what you can find…in nature itself. Are you not…someone who appreciates such? It’s fine if you aren’t..! I just…believed that…” 

            his enthusiasm is almost . . . . ADMIRABLE.  after countless battles  &  soul crushing discoveries, the warrior has nearly lost all enthusiasm  &  care for anything mundane. as bright as his gifted light may be ; as beautiful as the land around him continues to thrive ; he, himself, hasn’t felt it much since then. the thrill of battle had been his only saving grace during such dark, dreadful times.

          a gentle, albeit nervous smile spreads on the knights face, nodding a bit in response to henry’s question. it’s not that he doesn’t . . . appreciate it. it’s simply hard to be so . . . HAPPY about it now. it’s rather disheartening, even when he tries in vain to force himself, to look at the beautiful scenery  &  feel no joy or warmth, such as he used to. 

The  wasteland  was  as  good  as  any  place  to  run  into  an       old   adversary.    When   he   found   out   what   happened   to   Jak   there  was  no   helping   the    elation.   It  brought   a  soothing  sense   of   delight,   the   likes   of   which   he   was   sure   he’d   only   feel   again   once   he   was   crushing   Haven   under   his   newly   metallic   boots  &  asserting   himself   as   its   rightful   ruler.   The  true   successor   of   the   great   Baron.   All   in  good  time  though.   For   now   he   can   only   regard   the   outlaw   with   that   eternal   sense   of   superiority,   the   conceited,   unfazed    &   yet   antagonistic   approach   that   had  been  so  uniquely  Errol.

There   comes   a   mocking   sense   of    pity   with  his  retort,   his   voice   distorted   &  electronic,   much   like   his   face.   Twisted  &   scared   with   pieces   of   crude   metal   substituting   bones  &  tissue.

❝  Busy  doing  what,  exactly ?  Keeping  the  sand  out  of  your  boots ?  Poor  Jak.   Yes,  I  have  heard  all  about  your  exile.  You  really  thought  the  rabble  of  that  miserable  city  cared  about  you,  didn’t  you ?  Such  a  shame  no  one  told  you  that  no  good  deed  in  Haven  goes  unpunished. ❞  

He   wasn’t   just   saying   that   to   get   a   rise   out   of   the   young   hero   either,   there   was   bitter   truth   behind   his   words   of   which   he   fully   believed.    Haven   had   always   been   a   harsh,   fickle,   paranoid   &   unforgiving   place.   Its   sheepish   denizens   needed   the   firm   hand   the   Baron   had   provided   to   them  &   he   hoped   to   further   illustrate   this,   again,   in   time.

         he merely  SCOFFS in response, eyes rolling in an almost exaggerated manner, shifting instead to rest the morph gun onto the ground  &  then his forearm atop it. almost casual in his stance as he regards the  THING  that once tormented him within dark prison walls ; a reminder of mockery  &  pain, just seeing him makes the scars spanning across his body flare once again.

         “ i knew that damn city didn’t care about me -- the SECOND you  &  your guards dragged me off  &  no one even bothered to bat an eye. “  it’s SICKENING TO THINK ABOUT, sometimes. he didn’t know where he was, what was going on. he never did, until he was neck deep in a  WAR he didn’t truly care about.  ( revenge, revenge, revenge. it’s all he wanted -- wants? maybe. )  &  what’d he get out of it? a thank you, a pat on the back? a second to breathe before being thrown into this hellish wasteland? what a reward.

          they’re all so busy,   running around like ants down there. they stay sat atop a building, staring down below with an almost fond smile. were they part of that, they wonder. the ever moving crowds of people, rushing from place to place ----

          thoughts cut short quickly, left dangling where they’d never be picked from again, as the sound of boots against metal catch the creatures attention. so different from the norm,  &  so close... head lifts slightly, turning to glance behind them. a sight they should be frightened of, but all they do is smile. 

          “ i never expected the  commander  to pay me a visit  himself.  have you come to take me back, already? “