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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
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 light was bright and early on the Holodrum Plains, a foul southern wind blew sharply overhead. Ploy remembered what his father used to say about the wind: that it could bite the very soul from a man with a torrent in some places, thresh bone from flesh all the same. And yet, here in the gentle, roving plains the worst Ploy had ever felt here was the steady drizzle of summer rain. It was so different from the mountains here, in the plains.
In the depths of its ravines, the apexes of its spines, like a great and foul beast the wicked wind could very well rend a man in twain. But here, in this gentle medium between sieve, sand, and summer there was peace... And Ploy hated it.
Being a rather stout fellow he threw his weight around, striking out against the unruly creatures that slithered and climbed along the mountain passes. He grit his ax against his issues, and never found a problem brute force couldn't solve. So when he found himself set out to the a far flung corner of the lands for no better reason than 'not being a good fit for the establishment' he reckoned it'd be a good excuse to whack a few things. And yet, here he was, oddly without his usual brand of violence. Though this was not to say Ploy was a savage by any means: he didn't leave on bad terms either, just not on terms he'd agreed with. But that seemed to be his luck, a funny thing he kept running circles around him, missing him by like days on a mountainside.
Where was the glory? The eternal struggle between evil and good in a place like this? Why knight someone when there's no need for it?
The question rattled in the back of Ploy's head like dried corn in a cucco's nest. He just polished his large Kilo-ax, a sign of one good adventure, and looked out to the horizon. The young fellow did a double take from seeing a lone rider going through the plains.
"It's probably a mirage." Ploy brushed the bits of dirt and brushed its eyes, "nope, real."
The plains stretched out in a long expanse, scarcely broken up by the occasional splint of tree or brush that guarded the horizon. The sky was overcast that day, but Holodrum's sky refused to pour down its violent rains today, instead opting for high winds typical of the Doldrum: a geographic area splitting through the Holodrum Plains defined by sudden and violent winds. Despite the milky white cloud cover above, the sky still seemed a bit too bright. At any moment it seemed the fabric of the sky would drape over and the sun would shine through once more. The beauty of the world was in its capacity to change, so said a man Ploy met years ago when his head stood no taller than a shrub.
And in these quiet movements of the world, Ploy could not blame him for thinking that way. This was a beautiful day, perhaps not in the conventional 'blue sky' kind of beautiful; more like a 'quiet hike through the Goron Mountains' kind of beautiful. The beauty that hangs rather than walks or sits in place. Away from the skies, Ploy was currently gathering small bits of brush, stoking the beginning embers of a fire, and setting up from the remains of an old camp to save up on resources. He hunched over the flame in his armor, contemplating to himself the value of protection when his back will be sore come tomorrow.
With a bit of elbow grease, he attempted to stir up the flame into a great fire, only for a strong breeze to ease the steady flame back into embers. Ploy gave out a sigh, as he stirred up the flames once again, only for the breeze to kill the flames a second time. But the third time, he was smarter, and decided to put his back to the winds, blocking them. Like the other times before, he finally began to start up a good flame, but then the fire just stopped going. He tried to blow on it, but it only seemed to lower the embers back to ash.
In a stroke of utter brilliance, Ploy began to kick at the fire, completely snuffing it, only to plop down on the ground and hear his stomach growl.
"mumble...Some Warden I am: I can't even start a fire when the winds are high. Years of training, maybe one or two years in practice? All I got are 4 rupees, an axe, and an empty stomach. I knew I should have just listened to those snobs up north and did their dirty work for a year. Just had to be big and mighty over breadcrumbs. Big fool I have to be here, setting camp in the Doldrum, no foothills for ten thousand paces, at least. And I've just about gone mad and started talking to MYSELF!"
Ploy looks around, hoping no one heard his tirade. He especially hoped no one of note was hearing the young knight sounding particularly vulnerable at the moment. It would shatter his image quite terribly. The occasional canvas billowed in the wind, swearing he might have heard someone or something.
Ploy Purembo was born in the mountains North of Hyrule, in the ruins of Snowpeak Fort, a garrison that once showed the allegiance between the land of his birth and the nobility of another land.
From the very moment he was born, he was christened with the bizarre name, for he was named for a Goron warrior that saved his mother's life from rampaging monsters outside of the reaches. His mother, Peredith Purembo, longed for the boy to grow up noble like his father before him. But Ploy was a wild child, too busy swatting bugs with a net and wandering into caves to rile up Pengators. Any attempt to 'civilize' him resulted in utter failure.
Ploy inevitably grew, but as he did so, he would meet the wayward travelers from near and far. He'd strike up conversations in the hopes of a good story, and a good story he received. The legends of old were astounding epics of heroes who braved insurmountable odds to reclaim artifacts, right wrongs, and scour the land in search of adventure. He dwelled in them, identified with that need to be free, and he couldn't fathom a life in some drab little mansion for the rest of his days.
One late winter, he spoke his mind for what he said. His father, Sir Dulcen, took him to see the aftermath of a battlefield. A necessary lesson to sate the young boys appetite. All it seemed to do was instill a sense of duty in the boy. He learned that great battles are the result of letting too many wrongs fester in the world. It was the duty noble and just people to keep the evil within and without at bay. But he played his part, understanding his father needed a knight, not myrmidon as an heir.
And so, Ploy traveled, training with the Gorons at the south against his father's wishes, he journeyed to meet with exiled Zora in the capital for their wisdom, and he even spoke with the occasion Hylian merchant for a bit of perspective. If he was going to be well learned, he would rather be worldly than let people rot around him. When the time came, he rode to the capital to be recognized. It was surreal to see a human city. He was appalled by the hopelessness it created, and once he arrived, he accepted the praise, but refused to hail the guards. He set out from there, taking up whatever plagued those around him. He spent some time in the city to do this, but eventually he could not cope with the rules and regulations imposed on him so he left for the land itself.
[attr="class","Vappitemstext"] The Kilo-Axe: A large battle axe built by an Goron artisan after clearing out a den of skulltula living under his study. Poor fellow was deathly terrified of spiders. It is a weighty weapon, even Ploy finds himself spinning with the weapon at times.
[break][break] Survivalist Pack: A series of essentials for life out in the open road. food, utensils, and the like.
The Best Skipping Rock: Whenever he gets to a big lake, Ploy will let this one fly. He hopes to skip it 10 times or more.