( @herswxrd )

"—Alright,"

Kohga revs up his vehicle’s engine and blasts his SUPER BLINDING ZONAI LEDS on full brightness. The only thing that would make this moment and the anticipation that comes with it any better was if he had some good music to play—

"—that's IT."

@herswxrd inquired: for mipha teeheee gameverse or pre game up to youuu teehe [ src ] " We do the best we can. "

⁕| Various TV Shows and Movies |⁕

" I…suppose we do. " But saying so didn’t make Mipha feel any better about their situation. Just within the last year, the rates of monster attacks have risen past anything she had ever seen. Past anything her father, with all of his years, had ever seen. It was frightening to behold...and this was only the beginning.

The Calamity will rise again. And Mipha had been enlisted in the fight against it. Hyrule has succeeded every time the Calamity struck, but Mipha couldn’t help but feel terribly apprehensive… She doubted those eras of the past had faced as many obstacles as this team of Champions has. Princess Zelda still hasn’t unlocked her powers…but as Link said, they do the best they can.

His horse comes to a halt, neighing loudly as Link pulls at her reins. There's no need to run anymore, after all: the Hinox he noticed just a few seconds before falls, unable to deal with the pain casued by the single arrow he shot directly in its giant eye, and the stranger he caught fighting it was safe. "There, girl", the boy pats his steed's side, calming her down from the sudden action, and finally turns towards the man. Finds himself frowning. That's- is that a Gerudo? Weren't they supposed to be all women? And why, now that they can finally look at one another, he feels a terrible sense of dread clenching at his heart? A familiar one. "Do I know you?" Woah, hey! Manners! He didn't even notice he actually said those thoughts out loud, leaving him positively confused. Try two. "I mean- are you allright?"

He needed a distraction. His steps were heavy under the burning sun, one foot in front of the other, pacing, irritated, nervous, the mind clogged with contrasting thoughts constantly chasing each other, fighting each other. Anger and sadness and despair and envy and jealousy and so many more things, all that wanted to come out with a fist closed tightly and a skull crushed under his grip, all his instincts screaming violence, violence, violence!, and he needed a distraction, he needed a distraction so bad. When his eyes met the figure of the Hinox in the distance, he didn't hesitate one second. Heavy steps became a determined march towards it, without a moment of hesitation.

They had been fighting for a short while when the arrow arrives, catching the Hinox in the eye while it was holding him - and him it. An easy shot, if he has to comment, one that only makes his irritation spike up once again while he sees his distraction collapse to the ground, without having been of any help, only the cause of a heavy breath and a few bruises that will wear off in a couple of hours. He inhales sharply, then exhales slowly through the mouth, eyes closing for a moment and then opening again to meet whoever decided to interrupt him.

Finding him.

For a fraction of a second, his anger grows so suddenly and violently to threaten to come out of his body. He winces, his hands instinctively closing into fists so tight to hurt himself, as he feels it growing, bursting, ignite. And then, surprisingly, it suddenly disappears. His shoulders relax, his hands open, his eyes fall to the ground. Every fragment of anger and rage is simply... gone. Leaving behind just an empty husk of a man, with no emotions left inside. At least it will be done quickly, he thinks with almost a hint of vague... serenity? Hell if he knows, something positive still, he thinks. Meeting casually wasn't something he was expecting though, he'll be honest.

Like his following words.

He blinks at them. Rises his gaze to meet the hero's, that... child, looking back at him with just a hint of what he was expecting to see. For the most part, he seems instead... confused? Lost? He watches him as he realizes what he said, and corrects - if correcting could be defined - his sentence, with one just as odd, almost paradoxical. He's asking if he's alright? The hero? Asking the villain about his wellbeing?

He keeps quiet for just a short moment, a moment filled with a universe of questions. Is this a bluff? Is he joking?... Is he for real?

@herswxrd asked: " Let's turn around, hunt someplace else. "

The Last Unicorn

Hunt was an interesting term to use for it-not an incorrect one in any case, but it brought to mind gathering food instead of monsters like the champions had been tasked to do. It wouldn't hurt to do either, at some point they did have to eat but Revali felt like he was still going strong.

❝ Hmmph. You don't have to tell me twice, I was already getting ready to do so! ❞ He responded, placing his bow away on his back. There must have been something wrong with the information they had been given for this, as there were literally no monsters to be seen anywhere. Looking around in the area was probably the best idea, anyway. Just not... here.

Lessons of the Past || Always Accepting

I N S P I R A T I O N

"With age comes bias. With bias breeds dissent."

It is one of the rules of conquer, of assimilation. One that every warlord should know. Past, present, and future. Empires have fallen to those who do not abide by the rules of conquest.

Fariah is not afraid of this facet of her existence. She may not have seen true warfare just yet, a low excitement pooling in her chest as the armada carves its way through tropical waters to their destination. But she knows this important part of who she is and who she is meant to be.

Papa is a force, standing next to her in his full war regalia. Sleek plate in art, formed to fit his body and his alone. The peek of it through strategic points on his silken garb, a reminder not all armoring is visible. Imperial Sidhe has perfected warfare and combat over many generations. To them, it is an artform. Beautiful lines and motions like a rehearsed dance as expected of a bloodline born and curated from a war goddess.

Sidhe warfare is considered as magnificent as it is horrific. An aesthetic masterpiece of death and despair, and all commanders-in-chief show it.

She does not have such a set of plate yet. This is her first acquisition. She wears something more akin to what a common soldier would wear, more for protection than to line her young gangly body. She has not even hit puberty yet, all awkward angles and strange limbs. Her armament is a basic sword from the infantry's armory.

But she has bested her father in sparring combat. A proud moment in Papa's life, his broad smile and the affectionate wobble of his head enough to tell her so. A proud moment in hers, armed with such sharp teeth of youth. She is ready to accompany him into real battle. She is here now to do so.

It is a small principality, run by nothing short of a feudal lord in stature. But he has made some ostentatious claims of toppling his neighbors, the Imperial Sidhe. Such claims have reached the ears of the Imperium, and the Imperium is preparing to teach any would-be upstarts here a firm lesson.

The little island is open to the world, no walls or fortification to speak of. Papa says this is stupid and arrogant. No protection means people and things can enter unhindered and unchecked. He is not surprised to see the glowing eyes and dripping form of a mermaid within town limits. He warns his soldiers to watch for prowling faer. One mermaid is hardly a threat, but it may not be the only thing hiding in the shadows here.

They make landfall with disturbing ease and no resistance, ignoring the scattered fishermen on the night-drenched beach as they scurry for cover from the invading force. Fariah follows close to her father as he makes his way inland, watching and listening to his army as they swarm through the avenues between houses. Adversity meets a swift end, be it an opposing force dispatched on landfall or those things he knew would be hunting among them.

"We leave those citizens who are not hostile. It eases the social transition later, my pup. For a territory conquered without people is hardly a conquer. A kingdom is no kingdom without the people in it, an empire crumbles without population.

"We are not here to clear and gather resources. We are here to remind hubric others of our power. We are here to teach a lesson."

Papa's lessons are always so forthright. He does not seek to massacre, despite the pull of Katya's influence. He does not seek to drench streets in unnecessary blood, unlike Manis the Demon King who married the war goddess and is therefore as intrinsic a part of the lineage as Katya. He seeks to make his bloodshed a statement in the treacherous politics of the south tropics. He seeks to remind others of Sidhe's unwavering shadow over them, conquests or allies.

"Our lord has a son. He is not very old, a few months younger than you. But that is too old to teach. He already knows bias, and bias breeds dissent."

The Zenith begins to sing as Papa pulls the meteoric blade from its sheath, his coronation gift from the Clouded Isle when he was crowned Emperor, long before she was born. The lord's estate looms before them, the fighting against any form of resistance having been passed with little consequence to the Imperial party of the Emperor and his Princess and a couple of Imperial guards. Papa lays his eyes, glowing reflective in low light of torches nearby, on a window of the second floor where a shadow of a man looks down at the sweeping wave of carnage moving closer.

Fariah can feel it, her father is using the hive to orchestrate the movements of the army behind them. The way they ebb and flow through the streets, fueled by ripples of rage and malice. She is not susceptible to this, a small twinge of the emotion rooting in her for her task ahead because she allows it, being of the direct lineage herself. She already knows what she must do.

"He has an infant daughter. She will survive. She can be taught."

Papa is grinning.

A broad sinister expression. Every one of his shining teeth is bared before he roars his battlecry from the base of the steps in front of the manor ahead. The world erupts in a returned audial fury behind them and to feel every emotion of rage and brimstone as it reverberates over the hive back to her makes her heart stutter and her nerves alight with the want to join. He is slowly losing his faculties to rationalize thought, though he turns to his pup still near to his side with eyes ablaze in battlelight.

"K̡ Iͯ̐ L L̰͜͡ _ T̟̬͌ H̤ E _͑ͯ W̮ Hͬ E L̿ P͎ !̓!̠"

The command is screamed as the High Emperor of Imperial Sidhe loses himself to the bloodlust that is his inheritance from his goddess ancestor. He flies across the ground with blazing wrath, his guard not far behind with glazed eyes as he automatically pulls taut the hive's tethers.

She is overwhelmed with being at the epicenter of the activity, waylaid by the force of the hive swirling around her, the command of her father adding weight against her will. Whether it is that she is young and doesn't know how to stand her ground in such reckless use of her Emperor's power or that she feels Katya's blood in her boil, she surrenders to the deep thumping heartbeat and the fire in her veins. With a high warcry of her own and a glaze of her eyes, she feeds into the feeling of elation she has yet to understand, only knowing that it leaves her craving more.

Fariah does not remember much of her own advance, the haze over her head blocking out what it deems to be unnecessary details, only recalling that she draws her own blade before slipping around the main battlefield. But she does remember the singing arc of light that is the Zenith blade. That Papa is as much a dancer as he is a warrior and a soldier. That her father moves like air and water in broad beautiful strokes, quick and precise, that tickle the remainders of rationale in her brain and inspire it.

The screaming and crying of the main hall is behind her as she descends further into the manor on her own set task. Hunting, drawing on every sense to propel her gangly mess of a body through halls and up stairs, stopping to check rooms and corners, corridors and shadows. Her ears twitch and flick, zeroing in on the sobbing shuffle of children in a room on the second floor. An infant crying, the sounds of a boy.

The pull of the hive is lessening now. Moreso that she is a little more aware of her surroundings. The soldiers and security that would be stationed here have been pulled to the murderous rampage of Papa's massacre in the main hall. A woman is all that is left to watch and protect the lord's son and his daughter. The baby is ignored, it is not Fariah's target.

Gilded eyes harden as she levels them into the boy's. Emotion is wiped off her face as she observes. He is as promised. A few months younger than she is, Papa said. That makes him ten, almost eleven. He is pleading. Not for his life. He pleads for his sister. It's an astute trait for a child his age, despite not being too much younger than she. She says nothing in response, no assurances or rebuttals in the case of the infant.

She just stares. Analyzes. Her ear twitches as she simply decides when to perform her given goal. There is no internal struggle, there is no inner monologue about the 'pros and cons' of letting the boy live. There is only the command. The driving tone embedded in her memory, echoing in her head. Children are supposed to listen to their parents.

He tries to get up and run as she enters the room. He is spry, as ten-year-olds are, especially fueled by the panic of impending death so near to them. She has the advantage already of a soldier's discipline. Swift and precise.

Her sword doesn't sing, not like the Zenith. The arcs are a little clumsy still, due in part to being unfamiliar with this sword's balance. But with only a couple of broad strokes, as she has seen her father perform, it doesn't take her long to dispatch her victim.

It is a strange feeling to her. She has not taken a life before this. It is surreal, not one she is used to. What was alive is now dead. How easily the blade moved through him, how short of a window to carve him to a point he is incapable of registering anything more. He stares straight ahead from where his crumpled form has fallen, the last spark gone. It is hard to process any emotion she is feeling at the revelation that she has ended a life so suddenly.

Fariah is vaguely aware with a twitch of an ear of the muted sound of the infant still crying, the waning of the energy before calming her heartbeat and silencing her nerves. Papa is standing there when she turns around to see the woman of before. She too is dead. The Zenith sticks out of her chest, a gory trench carved over her neck as precursor to being stabbed through. He is holding the baby now, delicately as a proud father, the spark of recognition back across his face and eyes.

And he is very proud. Proud of his pup, of her first conquest.

"Bias breeds dissent. But with this little baby girl, she will be Sidhe and she will help Sidhe maintain its presence here, whether she knows it or not."

A continuation of his lessons to her. A conclusion of her first campaign. They have absorbed a smaller nation, and she has been instrumental in their victory. Any residual feelings of apprehension melt away now. They are replaced with a swelling sense of pride for her family and her country, and pride of herself for being able to serve both.

She is eleven. She has conquered and killed for the first time.

Chess was not an overly complicated game. You moved your pieces where they needed to be, captured what you needed to capture, and killed the queen. Astor, seer to the royal family of Hyrule, had always found the game to be rather simple, really.

A shame that real life could not behave quite so elegantly. Despite the fall of numerous pawns and the death of his queen nearly a decade ago, Astor was still playing the same old game, moving knights and rooks and managing a bumbling king. It was exhausting.

But all games eventually came to end, he reasoned. And if Astor’s visions were correct—and they were—the time was drawing ever closer. Soon, he could put this game to rest. Soon, a new world would be upon them, blanketed in rich, glorious darkness. Soon.