♈ { αυтσ }

[[I’m just nervous to approach you ><]]

          so I have like two hundred followers, but every time I post a plotting or starter call, I get 1-3 anons telling me that they WOULD message me or like it, but they're intimidated??

         How long had it been? 

              The years had blown by like a violent wind, swept into a vortex of a peaceful, yet TORNADIC nature. Countless hours he'd thought of his move, of reaching out and plucking it from that blasted pedestal and tossing it about the temple. Shattered windows were his home in a familiar grove, the once-beautifully desolate forest on the surface left UNPOPULATED once again. 

                What made her so much more PERFECT than he? So coveted and loved by the masses that she was sealed away until the world would, undoubtedly, need her once more. Both she and that terrible little CHILD that had once struck him down, that had seen him in his rawest form at the lower pit of the Sealed Grounds. Just thinking about the possibilities made him sick. 

                Long legs carried him in silence, white-gloved fingers reaching out in mock-hesitation. If only he could pull her from it, if only he could use his magic to DESTROY that searing-white surface. Oh, he'd love to watch her fall-- piece. by. piece.

           A DASTARDLY SURPRISE--

     this was indeed, leaving the Demonlord speechless before the exact copy that stood before him. Perhaps this was the product of the Gate of Time within that wretched temple, left open and traversed through with the intent to CONQUER? but that little body 'pon his shoulder... was that?! COULD IT BE?

      His heart leaped with joy and filled with the prism of a thousand, burning stars!  O, true, he could simply die.

        while ganondorf is just as GLAD as his followers that the battle had been won—that the blood of their enemies had been spilled across the very sands that ganondorf had grown up on, sands that had seen blood so MANY times—he does not really feel like talking. especially not to ghirahim or zant. no smile is offered. golden hues flicker towards the demon lord, who is DWARFED by ganondorf’s gargantuan size.

        ` flattery will get you no where, ghirahim, i know quite well how i did in battle. `

        ganondorf sinks down on a boulder, begins cleaning his blades of the blood that stains them. ` the VALLEY OF SEERS is next. we have no time to waste. do you understand? `

--The way his NAME was uttered.  

                A long, forlorn sigh escaped the lips of the demon blade, both arms coming up to cover his face in shame. Of COURSE his Master did not need the praise of a lowly TRINKET, and yet how he   l o n g e d   to be wielded in battle once again.  The sound was long, like the sheltered sob of a young girl, and it ultimately ended in a flurry of diamonds, flashing golds and crimson rhombuses scattering from the spot where he once stood. 

               Yet, the sound of an overjoyed Ghirahim sounded from nearby, the magician reappearing with a low, exciteable bow. The VALLEY OF SEERS, the land where that WRETCHED witch rested in wait for the return of the Hero's spirit. Oh, how he owed that boy the throttling of a lifetime. Did he not promise him, once upon a time, to make his ears BLEED from the sound of his own screams?  

THERE WAS SO MUCH BLOOD!!           

          A genuine expression of GLEE was writ' upon the face the glittering demonlord, arms held outward to embrace the warmth of the sun. Yet it was around them that the real fires burned, settlements of renegade bokoblins left glowing in the embers and pooling with blood. True, his lesser companion, Zant, was... odd, at best, but truly did know how to deal with his enemies! Like a beautiful dance on the battlefield, they'd leaped into action. Now, they would REAP the spoils. 

          Ghirahim turned to the red-haired ruler that had summoned them to this desert, 

     RIDICULOUS.

            a look of sickening ANGER was masked below the heavily painted lids of the scarlet-swathed Demonlord, hands curling and uncurling rapidly in an attempt to simulate the much-needed sensation of STRANGULATION. 

   UGH, WHAT WAS THAT STENCH? 

                It reeked of unknown origins, of a gross FLY on the wall that he couldn't point out. Heightened senses of the spirit were targeting something in particular-- and yet, it had a hearbeat. Ah, yes. How QUAINT. Living, breathing, so effortlessly unique, perhaps HIDING in the mess of what would one day be a battlefield. No doubt Ghirahim would be better off going to find the blasted witch or the brutal dragon knight, but he also held pride in his own capabilities. 

                 with a snap and a loud sigh, dramatics all a'flare, the demon lord stood from his perch and hopped down, white leotard reflecting the harsh sun's rays in his lengthy strides. an ebony blade had appeared in his hand the moment he clicked his fingers, a flare of diamonds circling his form. the fields were clear-- or so it SEEMED. Ah, but he knew better.

   WELL, WOULD YOU LOOK AT THIS

               little thing! had it wandered too far from its dirty, little hovel? No doubt the INFERIOR being would come unprepared for the dangers beyond his home, no? Oh, Ghirahim could only hope to encounter such stupidty from a race of imbeciles; those far more likely to drown in a pool of their own vomited INEBRIATION than to contribute to the world as a whole.

                               Ho, ho, perhaps he was a bit bitter. Still, he made eye contact.

OHHHH! MY, MY, MY-- MY, MY, MY, MY!!

            Was that a CHILD that had wandered onto the battlfield? No DOUBT shivering with anticipation for the death that would welcome her, hmm? Yes, yes, no doubt about that-- certainly teeming with false EXPECTATIONS of how she would parade herself around and dance in cobblestone streetlamps. Oh, but Ghirahim -- the prestigious demonlord himself, would not ALLOW that petty lizard, Volga, to interfere with his SLAYING, this time! 

            A generous stroke of his tongue snaked along the sharpened edge of his blade, the TANTALIZING sensation of stinging pain and a delightful metallic taste filling his mouth. Oh, it would do nicely, certainly enough to provide for him the amusement he'd been robbed of the moment that witch CRASHED his little game of charades. 

           Large, brown eyes took in her form-- lithe, perhaps a bit lazy in how her limbs did look. Tsk, tsk, tsk, that was no way for such a lovely LADY to act! Much less in the presence of the haughty lord of his motley, little troupe. Red daemons and Bokoblins alike, of course, all heading straight into the settlements to terrorize the villagers.