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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
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These were feelings he had not dissipated whenever he saw the lake, even after all these years. This was the place he had met his first love and all the same lost it. Perhaps it was less so the love he lamented but the loss of a youth he could never regain. The Zora had spent much of his life avoiding this place because it had woke memories he had long thought buried. Black gloves sheathed over trembling hands as he netted his fingers together trying to still them. Still he needed a break and the rivers that cut through castle town were suspect, at best. The floating debris had made him unsettled. He walked from Castle Town towards Lake Hylia where he could still feel the touch of clean waters to his scales. He made the trip on foot, no need to tug his cart all over, besides it was a good way to excuse needing one member of the caravan to remain behind for a short while.
It was not as if he did not -- appreciate her company. He was not sure how to proceed with things. The Zora felt there was something he was failing to do, a step he was missing crucial in such relationships. But the thoughts seemed to drift to the back of his mind as he drew closer to the lake. The sweet smell of cattail weeds and fresh water hit his senses. Though he was often considered a Sea Zora by many Hylians, his River blood was called by the fresh waters to take a dive. Looking around the shark-toothed jelly would reach his arms behind his head and hurriedly shuffle off his cloak leaving him dressed down in his black, skin-tight body suit. At six feet and three the Zora was quite tall, but his form was lithe, if not lanky. As soon as his cloak was tossed aside he would too kick his boots off, the belt left on his hips so he was not left unarmed. He had to deal with being snuck upon by pirates and brigands in the past and even in water he was a touch remiss on being vulnerable.
He crouched at the bank's edge and looked around. His eyes scanned the horizon before hurriedly diving into its depths. His entrance left naught but a ripple as evidence as the aquatic creature shot to the bed of the lake with a single kick and lurch of his form. As soon as he touched bottom he would look up. There he could see the shadow of a person who had taken to treading water. Tilting his head the Zora blinked. He had thought, for a moment, he could fully relax and submerge himself, but here... men did still rule, didn't they? The Zora took a deep breathe in his gills and zipped through the waters. First to the west, than to the east, all the while watching the person above. His jaws would part, revealing his menacing set of teeth that looked more they belonged to a shark than a jelly-fish, but some forget that the title was merely that. Sinnie was a predator after all: a Zora born to the sea.
He ground his teeth for a moment before closing his jaws tight. "I suppose," He thought. "A lake has little more dangerous than snails." He pushed to the surface, though it was never an easy task as shifting between the sources of air caused his scarred gills to fumble he coughed a bit before his eyes would widen at the familiar face.
A sharp inhale caught in his lungs before he sank back down, a ripple and silent scream as he dove. He swallowed a mouthful of water to help push his gills into work faster. He sat just beneath the surface of the water, wide-eyed and floating within inches of the woman.
@ tag ● 654 ● There was a shark in the water and it was not him...
He reached up his gloved hand to rub at his face, the Zora feeling the heat still gripping at his chest and parching his throat. The Zora pushed forward as his rump barely left his folded cloak. Bit of sandy ground kicked up. He forced aside his mat before moving to collect his goods. One by one he would pack everything up, only to haphazardly toss what was left into a burlap sack. He stood to his full height, which one could forget how tall he truly was given his hunch or the loose clothing he often wore. Zora moved pull his cloak over his shoulders, draping the cloth in a way that it was loose, but remained close enough to his body to hide his thin form. He smoothed everything out, wrinkles having formed from his sitting on it. Kneeling down he scooped up the belt with his blade's holster and wrapped it around his hips. Though he did not look it the merchant was generally fit, when he ate properly or kept up with his sleep schedule. His lithe form irrelevant to his physical capacity. While not as strong as a Goron or a Gerudo: he was used to tugging the heavy loads on and off his cart so did not fall behind as many others thought. He would lift the the sack and carry it back to his cart, the old wheels creaking from use. With a soft grunt he heft the sack into the back, before he reached up to pull down the canvas, closing up everything.
"Your place...?" The sound rolling from his lips was akin to -- surprise, maybe? "You...you're not still living with--?" He thought back to having first met Maude.
While they had been amicable, once she learned that Farrah -- Well she had interest in him she became quite defensive. It wasn't as if he had the same interest in her! Well at least that was what he had told himself, over and over. Sometimes he would catch himself staring at her when they would travel. Thinking about taking actions that she would find pleasing. That was the trouble with bringing others with you when you traveled! As Nex stood in his reminiscing his mouth fell open, eyes staring straight ahead. He clenched his gloved hands, arms falling to his sides as he shook his head.
His brows softened as he looked towards the woman. "You don't think --?" He reached up to rub the back of his neck, hand slipping behind his robes. "Farrah you don't -- hate me do you?" His voice was soft, cut away from his usual, abrasive tenor. "I left unexpectedly." He was aware of what he did.
He ran away. He hated himself for it. He had always thought himself, if nothing else, he was strong enough to face his enemies, his fears. But the last thing he wanted to do was to bring Farrah into the middle of his family problems. The Zora finished tying up his horse. It was an old horse. Gelding by the looks of it. Its fur was pallid, dun makings along its legs giving it the appearance that it walked on shadow. The Zora would pull at the lead, luring the horse from its wait position. He would look to Farrah, reaching behind his head so he could pull his hood up to better deflect the sun from his eyes.
Farrah Abad ● 567 ● He was afraid she would have forgotten him.
It was a dream he couldn't wake from. The haunting melodies of the Stalfos pacing across the open fields as their blades tapped against their shields and rusting metal armor clicked against exposed, knobby knees, tore asunder any remnant of sleep that Sinnie had clung to. The man often had waking nightmares of the terrors he's seen. The bellowing voices of his past often drowned out the silence of slumber. It made it difficult to focus and impossible to see. His eyes were hazy, but it was enough to pick up the indiscernible lights from the distant lanterns. At least he feared. He could only hope they were lights from fire bugs. His head rest in his hands as he slumped from the exhaustion. The cavern could hide only so much from view, but it made it harder for the Stalfos or Poe to spot the dim flame of life left in him.
His horse continued to graze just outside. The approach of another horse caused the equine to call out in excitement. Unable to find peace in slumber Sinnie's head shot up, gloved hands having nearly slipped from his face. He pushed to his feet, arms tucking to his side, nearly vanishing as the loose cloak gave him no discernible outline. It was as he preferred because it made it easier for people to dismiss him and let him reach for his blade more discreetly. The glow of the flames danced in his cerulean eyes, giving them a seemingly unnatural glow. Shifting his weight the tall figure would make sure the sole of his boots tread even ground. He need not fall heads over heels in front of a stranger.
Every inch of this person was examined, every detail taken in before he turned his gaze to the fires. "Hyrule." He breathed out as his arm shifted, showing he had a piece of driftwood in hand in order to feed the fire. The wood hit the smoldering flames, breathing into them new life. "Maybe." He added before turning to look to the shapeless figure again. He could not discern them man nor woman, but he could never tell with Human nor Hylian just what they were until it was too late. "Dangerous out at night, sure you wanna stay out there?" While the invitation into the cave was floating on the edge of his question, there was the worry of being in a small space with a stranger.
He remained standing behind the fire. Behind him was a crumbled sack he was like using as a seat. All he owned. The bag was burlap and was torn in some places, giving a light peek as to what he carried. It looked like junk, as did his cart. A drifter perhaps? The ends of his cloak were worn, tattered, and he wore a loose blouse, underneath a skin-tight shirt that had a collar going up to his neck. He did not seem to be wearing any armor, but with boots so worn it was hard to say if the man could even afford a sharp blade.
Memories were a burdensome thing. He had thought, perhaps, if he buried them deep enough he would no longer be able to feel the weight of them as they pressed on his chest. He recalls the many nights floating in the open sea as he tried to wash away his sins and let the pain sink to the dark depths. Yet the pain sat there, on his chest and refused to leave. He had done many things he was not proud of, but they were actions he felt were necessary for his continued survival. When he was young his small voice failed to reach the adults. Even now he found ways to disappear into the shadows and avoid the convoluted circumstances of a complicated existence. Sometimes he just wanted to have a simple choice. It haunted him. No matter what he did he could never bury it deep enough. Even now the memories washed in as Farrah stood before him and seemed to mock his weakness of heart. Who was he to find means to control this? He felt his head spin as the tightness in his chest became unbearable, causing him to cough out at her utterance of his being adorable. The tears that threatened his eyes were pushed back as his shoulders pulled up and his head sunk lower. He'd nearly spit with frustration.
"I am not adorable." He chided.
How could he be? When people looked at him he took note of the length in which they lingered on his features. Even though he smiled he was looked at with fear. Even though he did all he could to mimic their gentle words they would hesitate. His mouth did not move well and his eye, well it could not see. He was self-conscious of the injuries on his face and would pull up his right forearm to rub the back of his wrist against the paralyzed side of where the tattoo sat. The injury had not been so terrible. He looked upon the scars, that his cousin had given him, every day. He had lamented the shame they had brought to his father's name. They were a reminder that he was weak. One day he was unable to look upon them any longer and, in a fit of pain, he had reopened the injury with the blade he had stolen from his uncle and forced the ink into his flesh. They called him weak, a spineless jellyfish. But the biri were serene and could stun even the most mighty of warrior with a single touch. So he drew it onto his face so that when they looked at him they could see it. It was the old, Zoran letter that represented the biri. It was so he could not forget that when they looked at him they saw him for what he was: a spineless jelly.
He tried not to let the tears fall, rubbing his arm over his face and forehead, feigning the wiping of sweat as he looked up to her with his sharp-toothed sneer. "Don't be r-ridiculous. Who would w-want that?!" He tried to tough out the words, turning his head slightly to scoff.
Though he had turned his sharp gaze from her, he only did so in order to cool off. With her so close the temperature under his swimming suit seemed to just rise. While normally he would aggressively fend off the mere consideration of proximity, Farrah had floundered that boundary ever regularly until the issue waned. It was just too exhausting to fight her off. He hissed, feeling as if he was steaming, though he was visibly smoking as he felt the sun getting to him, just a little. It had been some time since he had seen her. She had matured, physically, and it was hard to ignore. He visibly bristled at the offer, cerulean eye slowly drifting back towards her. It seems she had piqued his interest with that. He pursed his lips, as if truly considering her words. he looked down from her face, back up, and finally to the side. He sucked his fangs, a reluctant acceptance of his fate.
He did like when she wore pink...
"You can't have any of my stuff, gotta make a profit, but..." There was a chance! He pushed to sit forward, reaching into one of the baskets. Eventually he fished out a beaded bracelet. It had pink and egg-blue beads strung together with a shined, conical shell dangling from it. "This." He held it out to her. "...I was waiting to give it to you." He muttered under his breathe. "...sooner than I expected." He moved to stand, exhaling as he looked around. "Can we go somewhere cooler?" He asked.
It was about time he packed up anyway. He was finding it harder to concentrate as his body was boiling in this ungodly weather. How did these women stand it?
Farrah Abad ● 820 ● I never thought I'd see you again, so I prepared to mourn you
The Desert city was too much for the Zora. While he was glad to have a space in which to sell his wares and keep him from grinding elbows with the crowd, there was still so many people to deal with. He was camped aside beneath the shade of his wagon's awning: the tarp pulled out to create a small tent to allow those with a vested interest in his wares to make a stop and not be dissuaded by the sun. He had removed his cloak, the robes working only to hasten his demise in this inhospitable temperature. It was folded beneath him to give him cushion as he sat for hours with a patience only abided by the opportunity to make ends meet. Laid out on his mat were a few bits of jewelry carved of seashells. Books piled to the side, only two remain, but many seemed disinterested. A small, woven basket sit to his left, filled with multi-colored shells polished to a shine in order to entice the wandering eye. Of course he had other wayward goods such as metal tools and contraptions carried all the way from Holodrum. It was likely discarded junk that he scavenged to make profit of. Those who stopped to asked questions would receive stories of his intimate knowledge with antiques, his family's shop in Holodrum stacked with ancient relics, but he preferred the open roads. In a way it was true as it kept him away from his family. As much as he cared for his mother he could not idle under the cruel machinations of his cousin who insisted on haunting him every hour of the day in an attempt to regain favor as an heir to their clan. Without his cloak he wore a full suit of black that did well to hold moisture close to his skin when he was forced to suffer this sort of weather and reflect away what it could to keep him at a fair temperature, as much as one could be in the scorching desert.
He was not the most sociable person, but his cold honesty and intimate knowledge of the shells and jewelry he sold allowed him a fair amount of interest and drew a steady number of people to approach, despite his bristly demeanor. A lopsided smile aided his personable visage, but it was just that: a mask. He was little interested in making a lasting impression and he was quite good at maintaining a low profile when he needed a break from the crowds. He would tuck away his merchant's spirit as soon as the back's of others were turned away. He forced himself to remember that he needed to make a profit, lest he return home, when he did, to a cold reception. The only kindness coming from his kin was when he could succeed. He needn't make a profit here because his ultimate goal was to reach Castle Town and find something of value, using these steps to light his path. A voice called out declaring their desire to abscond with all his goods. Their method of payment: their body. The merchant bristled at the wholly perverse thought. Such a declaration made him sound shady and the very concept made his stomach churn. A sharp glare pinched itself onto his features before he whipped his head around, only for the figure to be mere inches from his face.
Whoever they were: they had crawled in on his right side somehow and stayed out of his peripheral. He lurched back, hand moving to his hip, where his scabbard lay. He always wore his knife's holster beneath his robes, but here brandishing a weapon in an open air market was a bad idea, so he had folded it into his cloak that he had been sitting on. So when he reached for it -- he grabbed air. As panic roiled through him the hyperventilating Zora was on high alert. His good eye traced the figure up and down, down and up. His cerulean eyes landed on her face and though only one could see it was enough to piece together a few of the memories. Once again her words rang in his ears.
'If you let me pay with my body, of course.'
His face turned a bright red, just about the only visible skin on his form as even his hands were covered in gloves and the thigh boots he wore guarded his ankles. "W-what are you, stupid?!" He spat out, pulling to sit up, moving back to his cloak. His hands frantically pulled back his hair as he puffed his chest out. "Like it's worth anything!" Though he had not meant it, fully, the woman's stupid comment caused him such embarrassment that he could figure naught else but to lash out.
How long had it been? A year? A few months? He had honestly lost track of time after their last departure. At first he thought it, perhaps, a ghost. He had remained a while in Holodrum attempting to sort his family's works. There was some troublesome figures that didn't like he was in charge because they felt his interests aligned too much with the Ocean than their own in Holodrum. It was difficult for Zora to get a footing in the capital because they were Zora and this created a status quo that was in favor of Human and some Hylian. Still he was able to get his estate back on track and quell some of the concern in his clan. After all rumor had reached the elders, somehow, that Sinnie was idling his time with Geurdo women and Hylian girls. They assured him that they would be arranging a marriage for him. He refused and leaned threat that if they meddle with him he would be less forgiving than he had been with his uncle. After all as far as many in his clan know his uncle left when Sinnie challenged his role... only one knew the truth of the matter and he suspects they were the ones that whispered to the elders of his-- infatuation.
He would lower his head, sulking as his heart continued to run amuck in his chest. Moving his hand over his aching muscle the Zora would feel the energy drain from his body. "Why are you like this...?" He lamented. "You could have just..." A hello would have been nice, but he supposed after he hastily departed the last time it was her right to just scare him to death. "I'll haunt you." He swore feeling himself on the edge of death. His heart just wouldn't stop screaming.
Letting his hands fall onto his lap he looked over to the woman, his gaze sharply peering out from his cobalt bangs. Though he spake no words there was a deeply concerning question on the tip of his tongue.
The night had fallen faster than the merchant would have liked. He could see the sun quickly dipping under the horizon as the shadows on the trees became longer. His left hand began to shake as he gripped the lead of his horse. The old cart, pulled by an even older horse, was much lighter than it had been, but it never felt light enough when making haste became imperative for survival. He had left too late from his last stop. The lurking remnants of a band of highwaymen had caused Sinnie to hesitate in heading out first thing, come the morning. He was quite tempted to leave despite. Kakariko Village oft had many of the Lake Zora visiting and they were much too social for Sinnie's own sanity. They stood too close when they spoke and did so with an overabundant level of energy that he could not match. He was exhausted just after waking, finding supplements of the local brew to be lacking. It hardly had the strength to carry him from the depths of his ostracizations. Once the bandits departed, dissatisfied with being unable to find themselves a target, the Zora would pack up and head out from Kakariko Village and into Hyrule Field. His covered wagon had seen some repair. One of the spokes had been damaged in an incident prior and he would barely arrive at the village with time to spare.
But now was the trouble of making it into Hyrule Town proper. He was hardly unfamiliar with the journey. It required preparation and experience to ride it alone. In truth this would be only the second time he's ridden to Castle Town on his own, so he lacked experience.
The night was falling and traveling at these hours served a death sentence for any fool enough to wander with naught but a knife in his possession. Nex was finding out he was the fool. Even bandits knew not to brave the darkness under-armed. He needed to find reprieve from the darkness that quickly swallowed the fields because while Nex was disheartened by people and their general existence: nothing sent him into absolute terror like the rattling bones of those dearly departed or the haunting wails of the disillusioned ghosts that wanted yet still to live their former selves. While the living were not his favorite the dead sent him into fits of manic denial. He would absolutely refuse.
He could hear the sifting movements as the ground was disturbed. This was the curse of the Hylian lands. As soon as the sun set the spirits of the damned became restless. Sinnie placed his right hand over his ear, trying desperately to will away the sensation of crawling over his flesh. Soon the Zora was able to find shelter in a cave that was carved into a hillside along the roads. The aging gelding was tied up outside, a stake run into the ground hastily as the fiends drew too close for comfort. The cart emptied of what few goods he had, leaving the wagon’s bed scattered with a few worthless items of scrap such as old driftwood and some seashells. What he sought to protect from curious bandits was tucked away into a burlap sack, and carried with him into the shelter so he could rest upon it in the stead of the stony ground. A fire was started with some of the dry wood he had carried with him. It took a bit of finangling and memory, but he would manage to catch a spark on the dried grasses he tucked between the wood. The flames faintly crackled, painting the cavern walls a faint hue of yellow. There he would attempt to wait out the night, wait out the wailing Poes and rattling Stalfos, of which the pallid pony he made use of was named for. After all the horse needn’t be a target to the doomed victims of war wandering the fields. They were only after the flesh and spirits of man.
Aiz ● 671 ● The light of a Poe's Lantern mimics the light their soul once carried, a traveling bard once told me.
Mission Goal: Searching for the vestiges of habitation along the Valley of Twins Sinnie is in search for artifacts of minor repute such as abandoned earthenware, tools, or signs of culture such as written words. He wants something he could sell or trade on his next trip to Castle Town.
A PAST UNSEEN,Hahephobia; Touch breeds a debilitating pain that ensures the touch of others burn, a fear brought on by the pain wrought upon him by others. Alexithymia; His ability to express, let alone understand his emotions or others rose from the cold attitudes of his kind towards his mixed blood and strange sense. PTSD; an attack on his mind from the torment of his closest kin. Weak Jaw, Blinded Eye; repose from the unwanted attacks and self mutilation of a freshly tattooed face, poisoned in marking him forever in more ways than one. Socsociopathy; a nervousness born of emotional combativeness, making it difficult to learn from his past and a tendency to covet the affection of others most greedily. Panromantic; He finds distraction in attraction, being inclined to make romantic connections to those closest, regardless of their biology.
• Prince or Pauper - Sinnie is a merchant, first and foremost. As such he seeks to become rich and throw his rags to the wind, but this is wholly circumstantial on his reputation. The direction of his wealth weighs solely on the man's ability to maintain meaningful connections with those in power. Be it barons, dukes, kings or other public servants: if he can convince them he is worth being sponsored he could grow in power, but any of these same figureheads could grind him to dust in a moment's notice. It is a well tread game of balance that the oafish Zora has trouble walking. (Character Growth)
• Mama, I've Killed - Though born in the sea, Sinnie is a mix of a River and Sea Zora. He was carried to Holodrum via the migration of his family. His father sought to return to his roots and become apart of his family's growing wealth in Holodrum, but the two brothers, Sinnie's father and uncle, were at odds and constantly bickered. Because his uncle was the eldest his son would be next in line to succeed the family's business, but an fight between the men ended with the disappearance of Sinnie's father and, eventually, his uncle as well. Many claim the boy had killed him and his being carted off to train as a soldier for the Sea territories was a ploy by his mother seeking to shield the boy. His family desperately seek to remove the half blood from the bloodline and place Panos as head, where they feel he was meant to be. (Character Growth)
• Cattails - Luring the affection of another was difficult when you barely understood the trite and tried traditions of tactless torment, otherwise known as romantic adventure. Age as he might the Zora often found it difficult to abide or accept the addled attempts to answer or adhere to the presumptuous practices of passion. So he would try to garner the affections, attentions and adoration of another in his own negligent, meandering, morbid, musings. He would find his way, perhaps. (Romance)
• Feats of War- Sinnie is hardly a warrior, but he had always dreamed of being a fighter people could look to with confidence. Maybe it was a long lost dream from youth, but the man always tries to become better so that he could protect himself on the road and defeat old enemies if they were to ever come out of their graves. (Combat)
• Fixer Upper - A face only a mother could love. Over time Sinnie has gained many debilitating distresses that make his life difficult. His cold attitude is a result of pain and torment from his eldest cousin. His physical aversion was a result of harsh treatment at the hands of allies. His scarred and twisted face a case of damage done by his own hands from a pain only words can cause. He is not fully lost and in some cases can be saved, but in others can be twisted down a darker path. (Character Growth)
• plotname - blurb
OBJECTS OF INTEREST
• Pink Coral Dagger: Stolen from his Uncle's corpse. • Pink Coral Bracelets (x2): Belonged to his mother. • Books: Annals of Golden Era, Dark Beast of Twilight, Below the Sea
A FISH OUT OF WATER, Point blank pandering, prophetical premonitions, and potentially pragmatic propositions that provide a man with the ideas to identify the intrinsic intrigues of a model molded and manufactured for more mercantile marauding. A king of knowledge, a prince of peddlers: he alone has taken up a mantle to ensure his people survive another thousand years in the stead of dwindling away in the waters, fearful to expand into the great seas that await them.
• Nerina Lif - An old friend, his first crush. • Farrah Abad - Currently holding hands with this one. A mouthy Gerudo with a quirkiness he has an unabashed affection for. • @maude - Farrah's mother, she's okay. Has pumpkins. • @name - blurb
• Pan - Cousin, harasser, obsessive stalker. Can Zora drown? • @name - blurb • @name - blurb
Strange how the mind changes time and time again. Things once important now pale in comparison. Hand on heart. A promise, a word, and a voice. Hand on heart. A rhythm of hope and a vision of choice. Hand on heart, promising I'll never go - hand on heart - for reasons you'll never know. I promise, girl. Hand on heart.
Tragedy was about all he knew and it only ended when he realized could not sell his own soul. [break][break] His Death: it began when he was born in the Zora Sea, but he was the only of his clutch to survive. He was his mother’s one and only Sinnie. She told him his name means: One who swims on the Darkness of the Moon, a poetic name that belonged to his great grandfather. But soon after he learned to count before he walked his merchant family was on the move. There they traveled to Holodrum to meet with his uncle so that his father and uncle could grow their business. His uncle owned a shop that sold antiques and his father made friends with everyone he met. It was only natural that his father become the salesman who met with every customer and knew everyone’s name. For a long time Sinnie had wanted to become just like him. But one day his cousin and him had gone fishing, but the foolish fries had decided to brave a Biri’s nest and Sinnie was scarred. The right half of his face lost its muscle function, the bite of a coral knife his cousin swung to fend off the jellies had cut him instead, right beneath his eye. When they returned Sinnie was blamed and his uncle locked him in his room, forestalling treatment of the wound, which was not tended to until his mother and father returned. HIs uncle had insisted the boy refused his help and put his cousin in danger. Sinnie’s father scolded him and heard not the pleas of his son. That is when Sinnie lost the pride he had for his father, who was more worried of his ties in his uncle’s business than his wellbeing. It was not long after that where his uncle and father went on a trip to the Goron’s land to trade, but his father never returned. His uncle said that he was lost in a whirlpool, but Sinnie knew the evil in this man and so he took that very knife that scarred his face and...he is now the prince of his family’s empire and there was no stopping him. He painted over the scar on his face with a tattoo, as red as the blood he spilled. The marking read b-i-r-i in the ancient Zora language. [break][break]
His First Love was a woman with a bucket. It had a hole in it. He had met the Hylian woman as she attempted to play a song, taking a break during her chores. The bucket she collected water with had a hole at the bottom of it, so no water would stay. In her clumsy motions: the instrument fell from her hands and sank to the bottom of the river where the young merchant floated, pensive of his trip into Castle Town. He floated in quiet meditation where he would hear the discordant song of a pipe being played, only to rouse as it stopped, the precious belonging coming to sit by his head in the mud and sand. He came to the surface to return her instrument, and eventually they began to talk. He didn’t hate the music, and fancied this girl. He would desire to become a Hylian soldier so he could remain by his beloved so, in his love-struck adolescence, he trained against the wishes of his family. He had come so close to to carrying the spear of a proud Zora soldier, even tattooing his head-fins, but it was not meant to be for after he concluded his training he would be unable to find her. He desperately searched, butt none could claim knowledge of her. This was his first and last love. He would drag himself back to the family's business. After the heart crushing loss he could only find the ebb and flow of meeting customers a life consumed by self-serving persons whom he eventually sweeped beneath him. Body after body -- they served as pawns to his ultimate goal. He learned instead to trade and filled the growing isolation with an obsession of biri: collecting them as pets or specimen in his room throughout his youth. In hi drive to fill that emptiness he sought to become a biri. They lived in large and small groups. They had no purpose, no responsibility. They were perfect. And so he would become a biri and perfect his Magicka, mimicking their perfect defenses. [break][break]
His Tragedy had appeared in the form of a Knight. He had bent the machinations of the cruel and heartless world as far back as he was able. He would once again meet with his lost love, only to be plagued by the darkness of her clouded psyche: her memories shattered by tragedy and he only remembered as the Zora who listened to her practice. It was crushing and he had lost another piece of his spirit that day. It was that knight who had poked and prodded him: a Hylian who thought himself a hero. All he did was bite, berate and bitterly question the Zora as if he were the one who killed his father. As if he were the one to scar his own face . . . He was a merchant prince and this lowly knight would dare question his prestige, his honor, his ...purpose in life. After everything he had lost there was nothing left for him. HIs stubborn pride would not let this man spread rumors and so his nigh infinite patience would snap -- he took his tongue. He was free from his lies. [break][break]
His lost life had meant nothing to him. Only his titles and reputation had held any value. Then he met a Gerudo who languished his existence as much as he. They did not get along, and it was only she he trusted to tell him the truth in the most dire of circumstances. And so he asked her: was it wrong to avenge his father, to fall in love, and to cut out the tongue of the betrayer? And she told him earnestly. He was an idiot to care. It painted an intriguing picture on how she viewed his life. She had nothing, he had everything. And yet he could not have her. His money meant nothing to her, his prestige may as well have been a filthy handkerchief because his sins had been so easily washed away by her unaffectionate malcontention with him. So perhaps there was value left in his life. [break][break] His life now had become something different and so he travels again as a merchant, not of death nor of antiques. What he sought were treasures to fill his cove and mount on his family’s walls so that they could forget the blood that stained their history because he now sought a treasure that could alter memories and undo evil. He wanted to purge his sins even if that meant he committed a few more along the way. So he would become a relic hunter, using his knowledge of trade to fuel his new obsession. And so the seas would find just one still swimming in the Darkness...
SPELL OR ITEM NAME: [break][break] Shock: While such fora Zora seems ironic to specialize in electric attacks this ability is more akin to the shocking sting of the Biri he is so obsessively fascinated with. When threatened by a grappling hold Nyx can produce a sting of electricity over his forearms and torso, temporarily stunning his enemies. To use this ability he must not only be under duress, but in close contact with the aforementioned body parts. It is not a suitable ability for active combat, but more so acts as a deterrent from grappling. Because it can only be used in bursts Nyx cannot hold a sustained shock to do very much, if any severe damage to a person beyond stunning them. If he tries to maintain or prolong it he electrocutes himself in the process. [break][break] He must be touched on his torso or forearms. [break] He must be in active combat to trigger it. [break] It can only be used in close range. [break] It can only last a second per shock. [break] It cannot incapacitate, or kill. [break] He can hurt himself with it. [break][break]
RACIAL ABILITY: [break] + Gills and Fins: Zora are able to breathe underwater without the help of blue dye or a breathing apparatus. [break][break] + Swim Champions: All Zora swim at ease underwater. They are fast, able to fit in narrow spaces, and can outmatch any other race in the water at ease. [break][break] - Weak to Electricity: Zora are not very strong against electricity - especially since it spreads like wildfire in water. It can be fatal if exposed to enough, and they will take much more damage than other races.