Z-RP was created by NAVI. LEGEND OF ZELDA was developed by NINTENDO. All content belongs to its respective creators.
All images belong to their respective artists. All codes and scripts belong to their respective coders.
The skin was created by Alcove. Board Layout was made by NOVA for ZRP exclusively. Do not attempt to steal or emulate anything on this board.
A LEGEND OF ZELDA ROLEPLAY
Welcome to ZRP! We are an non-canon RP site with an original tale taking place within the
lore of the Zelda Franchise. While the events of this site are entirely non-canon, we take advantage of the canons of other
games to explain its story fully. As such, we are located within the CANON TIMELINE. Do you like what you see? If so, feel free
to register and join our story! If you have any questions, you can join our discord, located in our important links!
3/14/20 The staff are working dilligintly on the next plot and introduction to ARC 3 of the site. Over the next couple weeks,
we will be transitioning the plot, organizing boards, and a new location will be added to the site! Please note that Termina will be removed from playable locations
during this process. Thank you for your patience!
The pieces were all put before him, shards of metal that held the legends of many before him. This blade was his legacy, and here it sat, shattered into shards because of him. To free him. It was his duty to re-forge this blade, his sacred task. The Master Sword was the sword that would vanquish evil. But, not even a week ago, he’d been afraid to bring it back to life.
But now he didn’t have a choice.
The heat from the Goron forge was rather intense, and he found himself topless, tunic set aside as he looked over the dull glint of the blade shards. The legends said that the blade of the hero contained a great sword spirit, one that would only die if the Hero did. Touching the hilt always gave a sense of familiarity with the blade, but now he knew why. And it was his job to save this spirit mentioned in the legends.
Almost hesitantly, the Goron assistants helped him sweep the shards into the crucible, along with several more chunks of their finest iron. There would be loss if they just melted the shards down, making the blade smaller and more fragile. They had to be careful. Even if the metal was blessed, it was still metal. The smallest imperfection would lead to a broken blade.
Tongs grabbed the crucible, and Link found himself carrying the crucible to the kiln, putting it in place. He had to keep a close eye, according to his Goron assistants. Their forge melted metal faster than any other. No more than a minute, or the ore would be ruined. He watched the metal melt down, those beautiful etchings fading. It was almost sad. But the sword was being given another chance he had
It was rebirth.
When the metal was down to a liquid in the stone bowl, the tongs once again grabbed it, and Link made haste, careful not to spill a single drop. The mold was already prepared, and it was just a matter of pouring the ore inside it. It went flawlessly, and he was grateful for his brief training. The rectangle of ore would be the start to his long task. He still had far to go.
So, as it settled in the mold, Goron assistants threw coal on it and straw over it. Then he waited.
The bar of ore that he had was a dull silver, looking nothing like the sword it once was. But, somehow, it held some degree of divinity to it, a deep luster that offset its roughness. It had cooled enugh for him to handle, very briefly, before the head smith gave him a hammer and chisel. He knocked certain pieces of the ingot off, setting them aside. They would be the edge. But for now, he had to make the spine.
Blade entered forge, billows going to stoke the flame as the bar was heated to a white-hot state. The Gorons had welded a temporary bar to it, so he could hold that while hammering, and put him in a leather vest that stuck to his skin with sweat. It was unpleasant, but he had no time to worry.
His hammer fell almost automatically on its first strokes, bar taken out and put upon the anvil. Half of it was hanging off the anvil, which he knocked to a right angle, then flipped the bar, putting one part atop the other. A few heavy swings welded the pieces together. Then, it was back into the forge, to be brought to temperature again. And again. And again.
Thirty-six folds later, he began lengthening the blade.
It started with a subtle stretching, hammer hitting so each blow pushed the metal out further, thinning and elongating it. With his previous folding being so hard, he found this task calming, and relatively simple, making small adjustments when suggested. Soon, he had reached the desired length, and had beveled the proper shape into it.
Before him sat a rough of the spine of the blade. Another wipe of his forehead, then a last treat before it was put into the oil. The liquid ignited at the slightest touch of the cherry red blade, but stopped when it was withdrawn, cooled down. But his work was far from done.
Next was the chunks set aside, meant for the edge. While his spine cooled, he worked these into a sort of bar, working it the same way as the previous metal, but with much less folding. The thin bar was split into two with the help of the head smith, and each bar was shaped to one side of the spine. Each was heated, and with the blow of the hammer, red hot metal fused in a weld. It took a few passes, and a couple oil treatments, before they stayed on, and he moved to the second forge, a lower temperature one. When the sword was blued enough, hammer beveled the edges, and the shape of the blade really came to fruit.
Sun was replaced by moon and sun again by the time he was done. The blank of the blade sat before him. He took a seat, drinking greedily from his waterskin, but he was relieved.
It was out of his hands now. He could sleep.
When he woke up, he was presented with something he was convinced wasn’t what he made at first. The blade sat before him, the grinds finished, and polished to that shining silver. With great care, and review of the old texts, the etchings of old had been re-applied, and the sword had been blued, giving it the appearance of a rainbow when it caught the light.
It was done. All that was left was putting it together, a duty they left to Link. Crossguard was slid down the tang, followed by a spacer, and the new handle, at Link’s request. It was crafted of the branch of the Deju tree. He didn’t know what possessed him to do it, but the old tree seemed ever so eager to contribute. This was leather wrapped, And fit well in his grip. All that was left was the pommel. For some reason, he felt nervous to put it on, but took a breath and screwed it onto the end of the tang. With the last turn, he swore he felt a wind blow, even this far underground, and looked around.
A voice popped in his head.
It was done. He had succeeded.
“Hello, Fi. It’s been a while.”
“I always knew you’d come back. It was only probable.”
((This is just a little drabble that came to mind, and I felt like getting something up on site. Consider this supplement to my submission, or disregard if you're so inclined.)