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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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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!
edited on Jul 13, 2020 14:56:27 GMT -5 by Zala'Vas
Post by Zala'Vas on Jul 13, 2020 14:55:08 GMT -5
Expediency is the mere shadow of right and truth; it is the beginning of disorder.
Zala’Vas decided that he liked Circe almost immediately; her almost reckless confidence, to walk into the middle of the most defended place in his realm and demand his attention, was almost intoxicatingly wonderful to behold. So many of the nobles that had petitioned to become his advisers and strategists were nothing but yes-men and sycophants. For some reason they thought he could be flattered and worn down by empty platitudes. It did more to exhaust him than it did elevate his spirit; he wished to rule, not be worshipped.
So when she did her parlour trick to show off her magical ability, his eyes were alight. The guards along the edges of the room reached for their weapons, but stopped when they heard a single word, uncharacteristically loud from Zala’Vas, more a battlefield command than his normal fare. “Hold!” A handful of seconds passed, all eyes on him, as he ensured each guard relaxed back into position before he gestured to Circe, “My apologies, please continue.”
He listened with the same active interest he had been showing before. Once she finished, he nodded graciously, and spoke with the humility befitting his station. “You have certainly come to an impressive understanding of my people for someone with so little foreknowledge. And you seem to know of our quarry in the Realm of Light and her… frustrating way of turning our assassins into her allies. I would be most welcoming to any sort of assistance you could provide with your knowledge of your realm in tracking her down.”
He sat high in his throne then, his eyes almost taking on a lavender glow. “But what is it you would ask of me in return?”
Expediency is the mere shadow of right and truth; it is the beginning of disorder.
One of the things Zala’Vas was finding to be surprisingly easy was diplomacy with the realm of light. Under his order, a few select portals were opened in areas of Hyrule that were difficult to stumble upon, guards were placed both inside and outside said portals, and couriers began delivering messages to various interesting figures who piqued the King’s curiosity. While none had visited as of yet, he had received some general interest from the other side, and some sweetly-written letters.
Word reached him nearly instantaneously of the Zora interested in an audience with him. Though he had been in the middle of something at the time, this change in events was interesting enough to lead him out into the throne room. Since this was the first Twili to approach his court in person, he allowed himself to be dressed in his finery, the multi-coloured coat, the high boots, the sparkling crown beset with dark amethysts, gold, and seeming to slowly spill shadow around the sides of his head like a crown of darkness.
He had barely sat himself upon the throne and received his goblet before she forced herself into the room. A sharp grin lit up his features; not only was she the type to take what she wanted from a situation, but he could sense magic in her. That was good; from what Midna had said of the outside, magic was much less common in the light realm. This Zora, the first he had seen, was fascinating to look upon, and he leaned forward to listen to what she had to say.
“Intriguing,” he said, handing the goblet back to one of the servants, who quickly deposited it elsewhere, “you enter my realm, push into my court unannounced and unsummoned, only to request an audience of me directly?”
Something about her stirred the hunter within him. The bloodlust that sat beneath the ice responded to her presence, rising in his spine like it had found another like him. It was the same response he had to Vitani when he had first met her. The rising of the hunter’s call did more than enough to offset the freeze, as long as he continued to stoke it. “Fortunately that’s exactly what I am looking for in an ally. I am Zala’Vas, King of Twilight, and you are welcome in my court. Please, my lady, what should I call you, and what is your offer?”
If there was anything more satisfying to Zala’Vas than successfully taking the throne, it was passion. He was excited to see a wildfire burning in the eyes of another, shaping it to his whim, and using them where they would do the most good for him. Vitani’s passion was deep and insatiable, passion not only for him, but for the cause in which they both believed. There was no tool at his disposal more dangerous or loyal than the huntress, and he made sure she was used as often as possible. Fortunately for them both, it took a lot to tire her out.
He took amusement in her shock and prostration upon recognising him, and a dark smile spread across his features as he stepped around her and into her quarters. He knew their game, as did she. After their acquisition of the castle, Zala’Vas had originally assigned her a different room, but given the progression of their relationship in the time since, he had moved her closer, where he could call on her whenever he had want.
It was only upon stopping in front of the window that he spoke. Most of his subjects, including his advisers, were surprised at how calm and friendly he came across, but with Vitani his voice was sharper, more commanding, and never without a hint of suggestion. “I trust today’s hunt didn’t leave you exhausted?”
edited on Jun 28, 2020 12:34:54 GMT -5 by Zala'Vas
Post by Zala'Vas on Jun 28, 2020 12:23:05 GMT -5
heavy is the head that wears the crown
As he walked through the halls of his palace, Zala’Vas looked upon the glowing runes and cold stone around him. For millennia this place had stood almost entirely unchanged, and he could not help but wonder how the ghosts that lived within the stone viewed him. A tyrant? A king without a claim? A usurper no better than Zant? If they had any particularly effusive opinion of him, they were certainly opting to remain quiet about it.
Perhaps that was for the best.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, just between his eyes, to combat an oncoming headache. There was a lot of work to accomplish today, and despite his deep, dreamless trance of a sleep, the burden of legacy sat squarely upon him. No matter the good deeds he accomplished, the strength of his people and his realm, at the end of his reign he would be known primarily as the usurper. It had been ages since Midna had fled, and the whispers persisted, always at the edge of his ears, always just out of sight.
Of course, he wasn’t alone on this walk either; a handful of advisers formed a semicircle behind and to his sides, chattering in tandem at him. There was an uprising of dissidents in the far reaches of the city. Food supplies were at a low due to the number of farmers moving to the more prosperous cities. The token assassins he had sent to ensure Midna did not come back this time hadn’t reported back in long enough to draw suspicion. None of these surprised him; a new reign, especially after centuries, prompted people to think over their lives and attempt to start anew. Within months they would be back to normal, accepting the new status quo, hopefully with a feww more benefits than they’d enjoyed previous.
“Your Majesty,” one of them, a particularly spindly man, spoke, “perhaps your image would improve with a queen at your side?”
Zala’Vas stopped moving, his long, colourful cloak coming to rest around his ankles. The other advisers, most of whom were old enough to know the reason for this stop, became deathly quiet. The one who had spoken, only a couple hundred years old, suddenly seemed fearful. The king took a breath, held it for a second, then released it. “You never knew Vhendra, did you?”
“I’m sorry,” the adviser said quietly.
“Do not fear,” he continued, “your suggestion is a good one.” He began walking again, but kept speaking, “This is a complex situation to navigate, but I’m open to the idea.”
“Yes, your majesty,” the adviser was silent for the remainder of the walk. Zala’Vas preferred not sitting still if he could help it, and often walked while discussing the more basic elements of his rule, saving the important things for the council chambers and the petitions from the commoners to his throne room. Eventually, the advisers were dismissed and the King of Twilight stood in front of a door, upon which he knocked three times.
The king sat low on his throne, slouching enough that his mother would have chastised him, crown or no, were she still alive. In his left hand, he clutched a goblet half-full of pungent wine. His eyelids were partially-closed over eyes that seemed to be focused on nothing in particular, dulled by the alcohol. His thoughts swam slightly on the edge of this buzz, the ever-present cold he felt just at the edge of his consciousness, held at bay for the time being. A commoner from the city stood at the base of the stairs to his throne with his hands clasped together. “My king,” he pleaded, “your zealots need to be stopped. I have no allegiance to Midna, but they ransacked my store, please help me.”
Please help me echoed in his mind, memories of his daughter asking for help lacing up her boots, his husband asking him to look over a speech. His own words for the guard to their cell. He sat up, hand surprisingly steady on the goblet front. “What kind of shop do you run, sir?”
The man nodded at nothing, “I’m a clothier, sire. I and my daughters make lovely clothing for the nobles. In fact, it was my father who made the coat you wear right now.”
“Very well,” Zala’Vas said, blinking some of the cobwebs from his brain, “in our kingdom, we look after those who do the right thing. Reimburse this man for what he has lost, with an extra ten percent, and station guards at his door. If anyone harasses him further,” he grinned with excitement, “I will deal with them personally. Sir, please accept my -our- humblest apologies. Please let us know if you need anything else from the court.”
“Thank you, thank you!” the Twili seemed on the verge of tears as he left the throne room, ushered to where he might be paid his recompense.
“Your Majesty,” one of his advisers said, “we simply can’t afford to keep reimbursing the people harmed by roving bands of the faithful.”
Zala’Vas took another drink and turned to the adviser. “My predecessor presided over two civil wars and lost both of them. She ran away from her people not once, but twice, and did only the bare minimum to make up for the problems she caused upon her return. We will not be making the same mistake. We are just, and fair, and even if we are not directly responsible for the harm inflicted in our name, we will make it right, no matter the cost.”
Of course, he wasn’t entirely honest. While he truly believed he was the best man to sit on the throne of Twilight, he had no delusions about his position. He knew that Midna wasn’t at fault for either of the civil wars: the responsibility for those laid at the feet of Zant and himself. But she had run away from the danger and didn’t stand to help, and for that she deserved death. The responsibility for the deaths in his family lay at the feet of two people. He wasn’t there when Zant was killed, but he would be there when Midna was. The blood pact demanded it. He took another drink. “Send in the next one.”
[attr="class","Vappfreeformtext"] Zala’Vas doesn’t remember much about his childhood. It’s to be expected; it was uneventful enough and over 400 years ago, but it still sits wrong with him that something most people consider so important to their development is just blank for him. His family, the Wergilds, are an ancient noble family owning a series of deep mines. From their stock came the stone and metal that built the great fortress of a capitol, as well as the city around it. The second son of the family, he was never destined to inherit the business itself, and instead was raised to represent the family in the Twilight court.
Charming and handsome, Zala’Vas found that learning tact, diplomacy, and manipulation came easily. He was well-liked and relatively popular when he took his place in the new Princess’s court, and set to work immediately ingratiating himself to not only Midna, but to her advisers and the members of the guard. He married a fellow courtier at 130, and by 150 they’d adopted three sons and a daughter. Zal and his oldest two sons would go out hunting, while his partner and the remaining children would stay in the city. And while the marriage was certainly one of political convenience, a true affection grew between them, the soft glow of a genuine, loving friendship.
The shock of Zant's betrayal of Midna rippled through the Twilight like nothing that had come before. And while he was hurt to see Midna exiled in the way she was, Zala'Vas knew that, for the sake of his family, he had to keep his head down. And he did; the adviser continued to advise, continued to negotiate on behalf of the Wergild family, continued providing for his family and his country. And for that, he was punished. Though he did not know of it, Zala'Vas's husband had been organising a resistance against the Usurper among residents of the capital, and had been caught at one of the rallies with their youngest son. Despite his service to Zant, Zal wasn't even able to be there for the execution of his loved ones; he and his remaining children were imprisoned beneath the castle, left to rot in the dark together.
And then Midna came back with her hero, the shining knight, and retook the throne. She cleared the city of Zant's remaining followers, freed all of his prisoners, returned all of the stolen property. Zala'Vas, along with his sons and daughter, left the city for a time. They were given the space to grieve and bury those they lost, spending time at the Wergild estate. But eventually even the silence wasn't comforting anymore, and Zal knew he had to return to work. Along with his remaining children, he returned to the court, took up a position organising the guard, and began losing himself in the bustle of a newly-freed regime. He drank extensively, he partied with the others of his caste, celebrating the life they had been given anew, but he never forgot, never stopped simmering. The icy cold clutches of a calm wrath sat beneath his otherwise calm exterior. Against reason, the rage was centred on Midna herself, the loving princess who had not been strong enough to hold her throne, but was given it freely upon her return, winning it on the back of a legendary hero from another world.
A century after her return, he began his new life's work. Hearing rumours of a small pocket of Zant cultists in the city, he sought them out. He'd always loved hunting, and tracking other Twili was surprisingly easy when one was driven by purpose. He approached them behind a mask, charmed and fought his way to the top of the cult. Fortunately for him, he was the only noble in the group, otherwise someone was sure to recognise his sword and fighting style. He bathed his sword in his own blood, then bathed himself in the blood of others. That icy rage that threatened to destroy his heart was sated a bit with each death. He had room to breathe for a moment before it overtook him again.
Under his management, the cult grew and began attracting further attention, including that of the court itself. As a higher up in the guard, he was able to manipulate patrol routes to avoid the concentrated pockets while making sure that one or two were caught here and there. As an old and trusted courtier, who had every reason to despise the memory of Zant, he was able to spread concerns over Midna's ability to lead. She seemed so tired, didn't she? She wasn't able to defeat Zant on her own, and now she wasn't even able to defeat his ghost? It took decades to build the support he needed, but Zala'Vas had patience. He wasn't against the Twilight, quite the opposite actually. He loved his people and he loved his home, it was just that it needed a proper leader. One that could protect everyone, or die trying.
His cult was spectacular. So many members so eager to hear what he had to say. They didn't know who Zant had actually been- a pathetic coward who had never done anything without the permission of his patron- and came to believe in a warped Twili nationalism that Zala'Vas fed them. They appreciated the nobility; after all, Zant had allowed most of the nobility to live and remain doing their work. It was Midna who was the problem. That was the one thing Zala'Vas told his cultists that he actually believed, with all his heart.
When the cult stormed the castle, the nobles he had swayed remained in their quarters. The guards under his control stood aside. It wasn't bloodless- Midna was well-loved- but it was clean. Following his choreography, the initial confrontation was with only a few of his elite warriors. Then, slowly, his cultists entered in greater and greater numbers until they filled the chamber. They were under strict instructions to be polite, but not reverential, toward Midna. So when she asked them to remove their helmets, they did. She didn’t know any of the initial group, but Zala'Vas stepped in behind them, walked to the front, and removed his own mask. The hurt in her eyes made his heart sing. But he didn't get to say anything before she, true to form, fled through a portal to the Realm of Light. He sneered, but it didn't matter. He had won, and finally sat upon the throne he had earned through his hard work.
"Well," began the first official declaration of the new King of Twilight, "get to it then. Let's have a coronation party, all in the kingdom are invited."
SPELL OR ITEM NAME:Lovers’ Quarrel: An uncommon-level falchion, Quarrel was forged of dark-tinted metal supplied by the Wergild mining operations. Beyond that, Zala’Vas is tight-lipped about the sword’s makeup or history. When Quarrel comes into contact with his blood, it lights up, arcing indigo electricity from the points of blood on the blade. This energy acts no differently from normal electricity, finding a point of contact and burning as it travels through.
RACIAL ABILITY: + + Shroud: Twili have the ability to become one with the shadows around them, making them masters of stealth. They can hide in a shadow of any size while they are in the Realm of Light. [break][break] - Weak to Light: Twili are vulnerable to light based attacks and sunlight, taking extra damage from those kinds of magic. [break][break]
OTHER: A blood-red locket sits on a loose chain around his neck, hanging in front of his heart. If one toys with the complex mechanism, they will find a picture of his husband and son who were killed.