#kogoro

In human form, they still have rabbit eyes.

+ some LavieMois doodles, aka a rarepair I pulled out my ass that I ended up liking

For a great many people at the Shattered Mast Keys, the break between Farore Class’ third and fourth matches felt shorter than those previous.

For some, it was from all the opportunities to gawk. Six (no, seven!) entrants (can’t forget Vuk!) had debuted for the Keys’ middleweight division, and even watching S.M.A.S.H. Event Staff lashing tow lines to raise each victorious fighter’s portrait up to the Tournament Wall’s second tier was an exercise in excitement. Each portrait, affixed to ornate granite frames (when not tossed about by enthusiastic delivery rito), was handled by a small cadre of strapping individuals, mostly of the Goron and Gerudo persuasion. As such, even the act of recording victories came with its fair share of rippling muscle, grunts of effort, and sweaty backsides. Seeing those portraits raised to the second tier, knowing all the while that a fourth would soon be making its way up those rope cables, made people itch to see those work crews in action again.

For others, it was the lines and crowds. Early afternoon had arrived on the Shattered Mast Keys, yet there was still little respite from the blazing sun. Sunbrellas flew off concession stands as soon as they could be stocked, and cool drinks, korok leaves, and other libations were in high demand for anyone who couldn’t score a seat with at least partial cover from the elements above. A swim area enjoyed regular activity on the main islands’ west end, taking advantage of a cool inrushing tide, and Hylian, goron, and zora alike sighed in contentment as the sweat and grime of island life washed off in the rolling waves. 

Incoming waders were warned, however, by numerous signs and volunteer zora, to never venture north of Chell’s cove. Any that did so of their own volition would not be helped if they were caught in the Maelstrom’s currents.

After all, nothing came back from the Maelstrom.

For a great deal of the island’s guests, however, there was only the love of the sport. The thirst for action, the desire to see who could beat the living daylights out of who, and how spectacularly they could do so. These guests were here exclusively for the competition, for Chell’s machinations, and Ruidoso’s elated repartee. No barebacked labor, tidal swell, or offers of Noble Pursuits would block them from that noble pursuit.

Thus, as the bellbird’s familiar form began circling the skies, and Ruidoso’s summons echoed across the skies, the crowds flooded in to see the latest entrants in Chell’s sport of open combat.

“Well, well! Couldn’t keep you away, now, could we?” S.M.A.S.H.’s announcer joked, miming the pull of a rope in as the audience arrived. “Farore Class beckons - and as if rushed in by the Goddess herself, here you are.”

Ruidoso’s miming ended with an elaborate stumble backwards, as though the object he’d worked so hard to tow in had abruptly been cut loose. He crashed into the ceremonial instrument at dais’ center, great white shoulders catching around the kettle drum’s massive canvas rim, and he panted, his chest heaving a few seconds before playacting at regaining composure.

“Three battles! Six–six–warriors!” he intoned, raising a warding finger to those who would point out Chanticleer’s exclusion as he rose from the kettle drum to stride about. “Three are down, CAST ASIDE in the Tournament of Farore - and by Round’s End, a fourth shall join them!

“But do not weep for them,” he continued, pointing a dramatic finger to individuals in the crowd. “To lose in the Farore bracket is to accept the Trial of Courage: to stand tall in the face of uncertainty, to CONCEDE that you might LOSE IT ALL…and persevere nonetheless. To acknowledge the cruel whims of fate, to say damn the consequences, I will FIGHT - that is the HEART of courage, the HEART of Farore, the HEART OF S.M.A.S.H. itself!”

Ruidoso paced about the dais, his head down, his hands behind his back. He soaked in the melodrama, basked in it, allowing it to thicken as the torches on the Farore Tournament Bracket flickered in the early afternoon haze. When he turned to address the crowd next, he wore a grave expression, grimly shaking his head as though he hadn’t just performed a vaudeville routine a moment ago.

“I will not ask for a moment of silence on their behalf,” he said, raising his hands. “No. Nay!--I ask for celebration! A JOYOUS KEENING for those fallen in Farore’s honor! My magnificent S.M.A.S.H. audience, you lovely spectators, WILL YOU NOT JOIN ME?!”

Their shout was a cacophony of pealing screams, shouts, laughs, and howls.

“THREE ARE DOWN!” he continued, holding up three fingers as he shouted, just barely audible over the din. “...But THREE REMAIN - and A FOURTH SHALL SOON JOIN THEM!

“Now which one shall it be?!”

“Will it be THIS towering exile?” he asked, silencing the crowd with a sweep of his wing. “This Lady of the Desert, she who has chosen a life of asceticism and penitence over honor and protection? Could it be that Farore will grant her blessing upon this disgraced Royal Guardswoman, she who has sacrificed everything upon the Altar of Sand? Will SAHMIIRA THE EXILE beat the odds and become the final contender of our vaunted Farore Bracket?” @felczerzy

“OR SHALL IT BE THE FIST OF THE NORTH?!” he belted, swinging out his other wing. “Shall KOGORO be the Sheikah’s last chance for redemption? Kogoro, the last of his clan with the opportunity to CONFRONT the calamitous Balali, who so decisively claimed victory in our VERY FIRST MATCH of the Bracket? @songs-of-the-windfish

“Will Kogoro become our final warrior of the Farore Semifinals, or shall he be ground down by the self-described Sage of Sand? Shall Sahmiira emerge victorious, or will she meet her end at the hands of the snow-coiffed Sheikah?!”

Ruidoso brought his hands together, observing his ever-attentive crowd over the feathers of his fingertips. One could almost hear the onomatopoetic shiiiiiing of light reflecting off his eyes an beak before he finally spoke again.

“I suggest we find out…in THREE…”

“TWO…”

“ONE…”

dongggggggggg

“LET’S GET READY TO RUMBLEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

"graffart" can badges (a3)