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Slur · #5 [ ] 01-18-2008, 04:38 PM

CHAPTER I

Not a single creature prowled through the desiccated Hyrule Field; human or monster. Puffs of wind rolled lazily across the arid provinces, whistling a bass aria to the north, south, east, and the west. Wisps of white stroked the sky above Hyrule; idle. Dashes of vermillion dot the progressing clover laden knolls. Clusters of horse nettle, alabaster flowers in full bloom congregate at the tops of hills under deep jade foliage. A small wooden bridged arched over where there used to be a stream that snaked across the lowlands of the field. A placid brook it was, the sky making a clear reflection in it, imitating each detail the heavens displayed. Nowadays, a slight trickle of water feebly cascaded across the parched ground, which depleted in size everyday.

Drought was having a relentless affect on Lake Hylia situated in the western, Lanayru Province of Hyrule. The formerly serene environment, blooming with life and activity dried out into a desolate, bleak milieu. Nonetheless, splendor persisted and fought on; hawkweed blooming on the edge of the shallow lake, struggling. Lake levels were severely low; quaking grass and cocksfoot shooting up where waters once serenaded and murmured on a luminous midsummer’s morning. There are no divine tears to revive the flaccid land. Was it the absence of strife, and the abundance of peace?

Death Mountain, steaming in the far distance could be faintly heard today, the sound of the infinite roaring over. When viewed from afar, the mountain was fairly small in appearance; a rugged titan up close, yet a hazy, cinnabar nymph at a distance. Resting at the foot of the mountain was Kakariko Village, a quaint settlement that witnessed the occasional terrors of Death Mountain first hand. A dusty town hemmed in a valley; townsfolk seldom traveled to the castle town or saw the far reaches of the kingdom. They may be deprived of riches, but that only adds onto their benevolence and charm.

Surveying the land know as Hyrule from an enclosure made one feel isolated from the proper beauty of the kingdom. In spite of that fact, King Daphnes Nohansen of Hyrule did precisely that everyday for fear that evil may return, shattering the placidness of the land. For over a century now, there has not been a war, uprising, rebellion, or anything of the like. And that is the way King Daphnes desired for it to remain like for the final duration of his life, and even following his own death. The land may be peaceful at the present moment, but his intuition told him time and time again that evil was merely at ease, situating Hyrule and its people in a lucid repose.

Daphnes, staring out of the North tower of the castle caught the soothing breeze, which grazed his coarse, ash beard and ruffled the collar of his silk robe. For each instance this occurred, it sent a quiver down his spine, causing goose bumps to erect on the surface of his old, rough skin.

He sighed as the minutes, fleeting as they were, lazily disappeared into nothingness, never to be seen or used again. These were the kinds of days sentimentality got the best of him and the considerably naïve villages in Kakariko and the castle town below. The golden grasses of Hyrule field and the crimson flowers, abundant in seed, growing within the castle town caught the eyes of all sentient beings. It was the ambience of the day; of the generation; that slowed down mentality that causes people to see the things overlooked on a daily basis.

The relentless rays of the blaring sun were momentarily snuffed, snapping Daphnes out of his illusive state. He smoothed out the hairs of his mustache as he shifted his glance downward from the field to the castle walls where a lookout slept in the shadows of the sun, pike across his breast. Trying to wake up, Daphnes massaged his temples, but it did quite little help.

As the sun started to lower in the sky, the gossip of the castle town’s aristocrats reduced to a low murmur. Faintly drifting over to the North Tower was the tone of a violin fiddling the Song of the Royal Family, cleanly and with delicate elegance. The legatos were silk waves gliding along a distant dream. Infrequently, a tremolo shuddered; a flickering, iridescent flame that was made to dance. An airy style was present, fanning the quivering blaze. It synergized in a chromatic, melodious phantasy. A smile emerged on Daphnes’s face as he listened to the violinist play in perfect tempo and pitch, but just as immediately as the smile came upon him, it evaporated. Sighing to himself, it dawned on him that he whittled away most of his day, dreaming and gazing at the clouds.

In the distance, the sound of wings beating faintly boomed, distracting Daphnes from his sudden feeling of depression. Daphnes looked out at the field, shrouded in the dusk, the horizon bearing a vanishing strip of illumination; a fallen hero, breathless. Evil trampling over him as he tries to cling onto his life; as he tries to preserve the bliss reigning over the land, but is defeated. Yet, when all is done and said, and the last prayer is voiced, he will ascend from the suffocating obscurity, repelling malice far beyond the eye’s reach. Under the moonlight, he thought he caught glimpse of a keese or guay, waltzing in the silver ocean, deviously flitting about, mockingly to him. But the notion of even spotting a monster was soon dismissed, as he recollected that a monster had not been seen in the field for upwards of fifty years.

At last, the final diffuse twilight glow washed out of the speckled ebony night sky. Daphnes rose and picked up a tattered book on the small cherry end table next to him. Containing simply a single window, a stool, and a miniature end table, the room of the Northern tower was cramped. Bricks of feldspar granite built up almost the entirety of the North Tower. Despite the size, the room was an escape for Daphnes. He felt more transcended then ever; like an omnipresent divinity watching over the kingdom and its people.

Book clasped securely in his hand, he staggered down the narrow spiraling stairway, leaning against the wall and stumbling as he made his descent. Making his way to his room, the corridors were murky, with only the soft radiance of an occasional candle. Resignedly, he walked through the throne room, the silvery illumination of a waxing gibbous leaked through a stain glassed window, dispersing washed out colors and shadows.

At length, the eleventh hour struck, Daphnes was asleep in his room, seeing the chromatic world with eyelids tightly shut.

______________
Chapter 1: 1,123
Prelude: 115
Total: 1,238