A gardener?

From a baker to a gardener, how very 'salt of the earth' from you. A baker doesn't get kicked out of his whole community - heck, an insolent teen aged smith that sought to singlehandedly down a guardian didn't get kicked out of his community.
The clever bastard had just shone a whole other light on the sundelion, however, and perhaps - perhaps Collin had judged the blond Sheikah all wrong. So what if the sense of wrongness was all vibes, no proof. He'd still get a kick out of getting under the young man's skin, even if it proved to be just for sports at this point.

"What won't I do, though?" Leaving his eyes lingering on the blond before snapping them to the other side of the table, continuing with much less smarm. "I was surprised Gao here knew what name to put to me." Still, for that situation Collin's preferred name had been used, if it had been Riot from the onset the initial conversation might have gone very differently.

"Wouldn't surprise me in the least if Cloyne had something to do with that. He gets those rewards for his game from somewhere's what I'm saying." Collin used to visit Lurelin more often - they'd often set up camp at the beach after a particularly good hunt and shared some roasted porgy, making a bit of a vacation out of it.
That was until a Gleeok decided to make Hylia bridge its home and getting to Lurelin got a fair bit harder - even for the most seasoned hunters. One of the many reasons Lurelin had come to fall in pirate claws for a while, they couldn't be everywhere at once and neither could the hero. "I was a hunter- I've retired my sword for a while. I travel," He shrugged, "taking jobs where I can."


By then Lani had come in with reinforcements and a grand spread of dishes. While they were making place for everything, Collin excused himself to get some things settled, one of which was a hungry hippo. And while he retrieved some things from the saddle bags he'd left slung over a fence, his fingers brushed a pocketbook. And while he hadn't exactly looked for it, it did give him an idea.

After leaving Fox nibbling on some oats, there was one other thing he still wanted to do. He'd said nothing when the rest of the party sought to pay or was having none of it and wanted to pay instead. However, experience had taught Collin some things just needed to get settled before they could be an issue - and if issues ensued nonetheless then let him be the whole issue, he'd get that settled too.


What the rest at the table could see from a distance, as Lani had returned to her serving station, was Collin having a conversation with her and the exchanging of some pleasantries. They could see him leaving a satchel with her - incidentally filled with the previous day's spoils, no one had to know that they'd come from a Dondon's back-inside.

"Thank you dear," was what they could probably hear when Collin made his way back, "I think we'll skip the Durian for desert, though."

After all; ordering went fine and no one had taken offense there. Besides, what could possibly possess anyone from getting angry about footing the bill and putting any leftovers towards what damages a young horse on a rampage may have caused.


With a *fwap* the book Collin had pocketed firmly hit the back of the blond's head. "Your posture is terrible for someone who takes so much care of their diet. But I think you'll find something in here for your gardener's heart." He left the book in Yuru's hand while he sat back down. "Also, as a thank you for the shell and sorry for the horse."

Collin looked to Gao- hoping that the conversation they were having before was put on hold for the duration. Gao had looked towards the sea like many men would look at a Gerudo- though Collin was sure it wasn't a fisherman's tale they would get to hear. "Anyway, there's more cocktails on the way, where were we?"

Scaled fingers brushed across polished wood. It smelled fresh - the varnish. Just like everything else here, gleaming bright with nary a speck of dirt in sight: brand new and brimming with expectation.

What was she doing here really...?

Indulging in a sigh, Raemi sunk down upon one of many pews. The classroom may have been both vast and empty, yet oddly she did not feel isolated within its grand expanse - nor lonely. There was a quiet relief to be enjoyed here - a tranquil solitude in bottled morning sunshine - as her gaze drifted over the lectern, chalkboard, and the countless desks which drew her line of sight in turn towards one of many grand windows to her far left. Through them she could see the city, its cobbled streets glistening with greenery and bustling activity. Muffled though it was, it still shone bright. She could hear herself breathe.

Carmie had convinced her to come here. She had confessed to him her interest in the Academy as soon as notice of its imminent opening was made public. Alchemy, to be specific. After her-... experience at Eventide, something within her had shifted, a realisation which had unlocked feelings she couldn't simply ignore - try as she might.

Her own power terrified her.

...But it was also fascinating.

She didn't believe - and probably never would - that her abilities were anything unique or spectacular, especially not amongst her own Apsara clansmen. Raemi had always been perfectly mediocre, and dance was an inferior artform. That was simply fact. Yet, she'd have to be blind to not acknowledge the great wealth of opportunity here in Hyrule proper, not just in its literal - physical - variety of materials, but in the complete lack of any sort of guardian's instructive protection. What limits were there? Truly...?

"Not that I can afford it anyway." Raemi whispered wistfully.

Even if the tuition here turned out to be more affordable than feared, realistically she wouldn't have time for any of it either. The generous sum earned at the Beaumont Ball had been enough to set Carmie and herself up for a whole year - if not more - but her income was still unreliable. Her future uncertain. Her home-... unknown. She had no family to kiss goodnight, and no familiar pool in which to rest. The waters here were cold and shallow and tasteless. Each day brought more faces than she could count, and yet she so rarely learned any of their names let alone share a kind word or warm touch with them.

Her existence was drifting, detached, as if at any moment too strong a breeze may snuff it out entirely.

If she was sensible, she wouldn't waste her time on petty ambitions. It would never amount to anything anyway. At the end of the day she was just playing with ink. She should be focusing on settling down somewhere instead.

What was she doing here really...?

...A pained grimace pinched at Raemi's lips. Emotions - too many of them - were bubbling up, but she bit down and blinked away the obscuring tears.

Nonetheless, she WAS here. The rest of the tour-group may have gone on ahead, but she was still a visitor in these elegant halls and in truth she had already lingered too long. Curling her taloned hands into fists, Raemi cleared her throat - with half-choked effort - and braced herself to catch up with them.

She pretended it wasn't even a possibility that she could just leave early.


"I am glad there are already many questions!" Dgin guffawed, his own chest puffed with delighted pride. The air was abuzz with interest, excitement inspiring intrigue and plentiful opportunities all as fun as the next. (And the Zora was a telepath of all things? How incredibly fascinating!) Albeit the tempo of conversation unfolded at a rate which didn't allow much room for elaboration - certainly not to the degree he enjoyed! And what was a proper answer without plentiful seasonings and stories in tow? "But perhaps we could settle down somewhere else first, and have a proper chat there?"

"A-wheres WARMER." VaVas elaborated, clacking his jaw with a hiss of distaste. The placid pool of water nearby was giving him the ick, still as it was with NO bubbles in sight. Not even a wisp of steam!

...But at least that frightening monstrosity had departed. He had half a mind to quip a snarky remark on her abrupt spiral - served her right for looking at him like that! - but the twinge deep in his chest told him that such words wouldn't simply be spite, they'd be cruelty. So under the ever-watchful eye of Dgin, he had stayed his tongue as the spirit bid the duo a good rest, and chewed upon it with discomfort.

"With drinksss and snacketh hads." Yapped the lizard's maw instead, distracting himself with a rub of his gurgling belly. Very nobly he thought to keep his gaze away from Florimel this time - with all her vibrant temptations and spiky, mean sparks! "ONE WHOLES HOUR transpired now! Without a snacketh! NOT A SINGLE!!! My great-aunts-brothers-nephews-cousin did die a death after missing TWO hours! That is only ONE far!"

"Chatting over drinks certainly sounds pleasant." Nodded the Goron, beaming that bejewelled grin (tickled as it was with quiet humour) back to the rest of his company. "Are we in agreement, ladies? If I recall correctly one of the halls should have a spread laid out for the groups visiting today to tour this wonderful establishment. I'm sure they wouldn't mind us nabbing a few treats ourselves!"

"Not for youss tho." VaVas scoffed, scrunching his incredulous face up at Dgin.

This time it was the phantom's turn to chew on his discomfort, a great silence of remembrance crumpling his hair-laden brow. "...I shall live vicariously through you, mighty one."

Thank you for blessing us with another flood of delightful art, despite the horrors of life and its tumultuous current 😭 I'm so relieved you keep coming back to draw and paint!!! AND then share it with us. Please never stop.

- Inzir's outfit is SO interesting, woah. Such a satisfying silhouette and boobage with a whole puzzlepiece of promising details. I'm a big fan of how you've included so many different LoZ motif references but made it very much yours - and unique. Her alluring sass is absolutely justified.

- Xel being such a brat made me cackle 😂 He really was just a young lad once, eh. ...That's bittersweet. But it makes for some very compelling relationships that are a joy to read and learn more about. (And drawings which make me grin like a goof.)

- Nonetheless, yes, Xel grew up VERY nicely. The little details here are so tasty: the finnicky gestures of his hands, the annoyed ick of his expression, that uncomfortable slant of the shoulder 👏 I love how he wears those pants.

- ...Collin is such a menace. I don't think I've ever forgotten any of his dress-up episodes and I don't think I'll forget this one anytime soon too 😂 He's simply not allowed to look that good. AND HE KNOWS IT. Someone please slap that smug flirt off his face... and then give him a rewarding necklace to complete the look. 

- Of course I am especially in love with this trio piece!!! 🥰 These lines are clean as heck, my god! You communicate so much with such fluid ease. This whole thing oozes character and charm, and makes me crack the biggest grin everytime my eyes move to admire another part of it. Lucius looks truly meme-worthy I can't even-... 😂 incredibly apt.

- .... I did NOT expect THAT!!! ...But then I suppose I should've, given how easily he got caught up in Ciel's web eh. I want this to happen IC but I also fear that moment. Poor Ash. Same.

- GAAAAAAO!!!! IT'S GAAAAAAAAAO AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!! 😍❤️ And you portrayed him SO WELL!!! All of that coarse and rugged charm that by all means should be intimidating or even off-putting, but nah, nah there's that hesitantly warm smile and bashful awkwardness. Thank you for this beautiful gift and for wanting to draw him to begin with!!! I love it 🥰

- And now there's a coloured piece?! Oh heck, look at all those intertwining limbs! The complexity of this is some really impressive stuff, and delightfully intimate. It goes wonderfully with that very charged look they're exchanging 😂 I ship it.

Name: Yanai
Pronouns: he/him
Race: Hylian
Class: Illustrator, (monster) hunter (formerly)


Appearance: Yanai is a somewhat taller than average male Hylian. While middle-age is catching up to him, his physique not as chiseled as it once was, he does make a conscious effort to get away from his desk on the regular and stay active.
He is relatively broad shouldered and his arms and back are more toned than the rest of him on account of practising archery from a young age.

Having an ancestor who hailed from Lurelin on his mother's side is the reason for his slightly warm skintone, a trait which has also been passed down to his own offspring. Genetics are wild. In Yanai's case, they are also lucky, in that he can still grow a full head of teal-coloured hair at his age.
Said hair tends to be worn in a fade haircut, with the sides and back of his head shaven,  the longer hair on top slicked and pulled back into a short ponytail. The colour of his observant but gentle eyes are lilac.

While Yanai is inching into old far territory, there is still a juvenile youthful edge to his appearance due to a double pierced eyebrow and a small ear plug piercing from which a birdfeather earring bobs and dangles in the draft. A certain family member might have been prodding him to reconsider his choice of jewelry of late, but Yanai feigns blissful ignorance. Something about pots and kettles and goatees. There is a vertical scar over the right side of his mouth. 

Yanai prefers to wear loose-fitting blouses over breeches in neutral or muted colours, and when out in the field he typically wears an olive-and-taupe coloured frock coat with a big hood over these lower layers. Its material are excellent at shielding him from the elements. At waist-height it has two narrow belts with brass fasteners, and it has a number of convenient pockets, at least one of them carrying a sketchbook and something to draw with at all times. The coat's sleeves can be detached when temperatures are warm, having been laced to the rest of the coat through ingenious use of grommets. That was his son's idea. Yanai is very proud of him.

Yanai has published a compendium of illustrations on Hyrule's wild- and plantlife, and is in the midst of producing the next volume. He has high hopes for it, but he has yet to complete his research on some of the more elusive species of Hyrule. More fieldwork is in order!

Peer, the donkey, is fitted with saddlebags and a trusty companion to Yanai on these research outings.

Back at her home, Alyson shifted this way and that under the covers. Sleep eluded her, as it often did if she didn't work herself to exhaustion, and now an additional factor made rest seem an increasingly distant possibility. She groaned and rolled onto her back, staring at the shadowed ceiling, with nothing to distract her from thoughts of the upcoming task and the myriad of ways it could go wrong.

What if not even the four of them could take on an army of veteran assassins?

What if she froze up and got her comrades hurt or worse?

What if the Yiga wielded weapons none of them had ever seen before, or had any idea how to counter?

What if, even if their group won, they ended up on the wider Yiga Clan's hit list?

Her fears blurred into one another as they clawed their way to the forefront of her mind, fighting tooth and nail for attention. Hour after hour trickled by. She curled up, resigned to a night of little to no sleep, right before a dangerous mission during which everyone would need their wits about them...

Movement in the corner. Silhouettes looming by the wall, the open window. One poised right beside her bed. A gleam of moonlight against a blade. Crimson staining metal, glistening, dripping. An iron tang in the air.

Alyson tried to jolt upright. Her body wouldn't cooperate, heavy as a felled log. She couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't run to warn the others. The Yiga, they'd been spying, caught on to their plan... A blur. A weight. The nearest figure suddenly at the foot of the bed in a catlike crouch.

"What's the matter?" A hissing, mocking voice. "Can't put up a fight after all? Just like your friends couldn't?" Cold flooded every vein as the reason for the sword's bloodied state became horribly clear. It raised. Plunged.

Her body jerked into motion. With a yelp, she flailed, limbs tangled in sweaty sheets. Gasping, she stared around. The weak sunlight streaming in revealed her to be the room's only occupant. A breathless laugh of relief bubbled from her throat. Pushing the covers off and sitting up, she wiped her forehead with the back of a trembling hand and took a moment to compose herself. Well, she'd gotten some sleep in all right.

Once her heartbeat slowed to a near-normal rate, she rushed to prepare for the day and gather her belongings, almost knocking over stacks of planks and crafting supplies in her haste. She wouldn't be able to fully calm down until she met back up with everyone else. Irrational thinking, she knew, but nightmares had that aftereffect. She ran out and burst into the inn to find none of her companions there, although a piece of paper on the common room table caught her eye. A note to Reverie, in Lucke's handwriting, mentioning to find her at the lake.

Alyson headed straight back out, hurrying through the streets of the half-asleep town, and climbed into the railcar. If everyone else was still up for building a cart, that would keep their minds occupied, at least for now.

No sooner had the railcar reached the end of its course than she leapt to her feet at an explosion from the Zonai area. Flinging the door open, she sprinted over to the racetrack, a tailwind buffeting her back with a flick of her fingers. "Lucke!" Drawing to a halt, she stumbled a little by the dazed red-haired heap at Axel's feet as the gust petered out. "You alright Lucke? What happened?"

She held out a hand to help the swordswoman up. "Heh... Wouldn't be the Zonai site without an explosion or two! Of course, explosions aren't usually the desired outcome. Unless rockets are involved, that is! A rocket would give a cart quite a boost, if something needed transporting fast! Buuuut that'd be pretty situational, and wouldn't really suit our purposes right now, no matter what a dramatic entrance it'd make! Ahaha! Besides, the whole cart'd have to be made of Zonaite, or something else suitably tough and non-flammable... Best to just stick with a standard one for now!"

She caught her breath, cutting short the tangent brought on by seeing her comrades. Well, two of them. "Anyway, have either of you seen Reverie?"

She was trembling. But with a frill of her gills she sighed, breath lost to the submerged waves as her hand withdrew below the surface once more. She clenched a fist at her quaking heart and drew to a close her shaking gaze. Melodies of nature - the whispers of memories - awoke in her mind's eye.

The rustle of the wind through the grass.
The usher of the trees.
The chirping of birds.
The increasing quake of panicked hooves.
A soaring spear.
The scatter of wings.
The crackle of fire.

She breathed it all in, smoke and all.

Away she allowed herself to melt, her sense of self unfurling like a blossom which shed its petals into the deepest slumber of her consciousness. She was not Raemi. She was never Raemi. Raemi was gone. For this scene to live she must become it, from every dew-dropped blade of grass to the panted breath of a squealing boar - she was it all.

She drank it in, humid stank and all.

Tremors of emotion tickled across her scales. In the haze of her meditative state she popped open the cork of one flask as a multitude of pearled tentacles deftly uncorked many more. It was a silent motion and the liquid which spilled forth was respectful of such, the tranquil blooms of mulberry darkness expanding exponentially into all-consuming clouds graceful and soft. Raemi was gone. Lost in mind. Lost from sight.

But still the ink spilled forth, errant sparks of magenta glittering in the mass as it reached ever upwards to the ceiling of the ocean. It spread. Stretched out. Inches into meters into half a dozen yards and more. From up above the swelling darkness could be observed stretching all the way to the shore of Eventide, tracing a wide and inviting path.

Clatter. Clink. Cla-clack. A hum sweetly vibrated through the stained waves, a melody of a spring's lullaby-whisper over the growing rumble of hoof-fall. Raemi was singing. So too were her limbs, deft movements unseen plucking at the strings of countless coral chimes. Cla-clack, clickety-clack. She spun and wove the melody of dashing boars, while grass bloomed up above, a bountiful turf of luscious fields spouting from the water's surface.


A warhorn blared and the battleship crashed, the bellowing roar of hollowed bone announcing an echo of the cacophony which swiftly followed. Without remorse the vessel beached itself, tearing asunder the northern shoreline in a blast of shattered tides and splattering waves of sand. The wood creaked and screamed, the sails slapped and the oars splintered, but its calls of pain went unheard: for from the propulsion of its barbaric sacrifice were launched hordes of pirates, blotting out the sun as they piled forth. 

Some tumbled, others bumbled, but many fearlessly leapt straight into the fray, a current of monsters high on adrenaline and drunk on bloodlust. While some clambered up and over one another, the rest weaved through the thickening ranks, spears glinting and stained clubs already swinging while overhead streaks of fire-tipped arrows rained. More smoke to fuel the fires of ruin.

The 'Lynel' was at the head of it all, striding across the surface of tumult at his command with feet that stepped from heads and shoulders as if they were giant pebbles bridging a stream. He almost appeared to glide in his long lunges, each movement another powerful pounce which launched him ever further and always onwards.

Then at last, he met the greeting waves of enemy forces.

Lips peeled, grin feral, Gao tore up his trailing halberd to tear asunder the glaring sunlight and swing it-


Right down the middle the inviting path of once rich black now bloomed with a haze of verdant greens. This was not water. This was grass - a field! Look how it shimmered! How it waved! Lush and sweet, asway against a gentle breeze. You could smell it. The weeds and the wild Hyrule Herbs, the earthy thyme and peppery sage, the dandelions and daisies that starred its blanketing expanse. 

Thrumming clackety-clack, went the hooves, a sound which emerged from the distant centre in a billowing form which never settled and never sunk. It was no figure. Nor was it any essence of a creature. It was smoke beaten forth from the racing boars which escaped its swirling mist of candy-rose pink. Trailing sweet Muddle Bud petals the wispy cloud spun and leapt, unmasking the horde of prime meat ready for the hunting, eager to squeal and already dashing for the distant horizon one after another.

It was almost as if you could taste the roasted meat. An aroma - crushed from Stinking Iris petals - filled the summertime air, thick with the promise of a hearty satiation that wetted the tongue and dried the throat. It was so easy to imagine the crackle of the fire below it, Charred Bark smoking the seared flesh, and a warmth, subtle but persistent against your face - an elusive but persistent touch of Ruby Powder's magic.

Raemi had successfully conjured forth a rich and verdant illusion of a perfect hunting ground.

Yet any who waded into its waters raced upon its turf would find their senses spun askew, their hunger amplified into a savage hunt. They would not see comrades: they would witness only squealing boars, only to perhaps choke on their own squeals as they succumbed to the waters' merciless grasp. Monsters drowned easily. So too were their tempers easily riled.

But the illusion was relentless - Raemi was merciless.

Though masterfully masked as she was, her performance was far from its end. Forever spilling forth more clatter-hooved prey. Always whispering across the grass and budding flowers. Sprouting luscious bushes only to dash them asunder in the panicked hunt. She painted each stroke of the boars' coarse hide and stomped the daisies below their pounding feet. The wind would billow, tracing tides through the field. And all the while the tantalising heat of cooked meat would prevail, in hot pursuit of every shifting movement and spirited illusion.

Occasionally this fantastical world would flicker - ail - but the Apsara Zora had faith in her companions to cast her extra ink when such moments occurred.

And her increasingly lethal exhaustion?

It was of no consequence.

For she was not Raemi
She-he-THEY were the spirit of the hunt.

T̶̨͗h̴̯̿è̵͚y̶̬͗ ̵͇̇w̵̻͌o̸͙̓ũ̴͓l̸͎̒ḍ̸̎ ̵̫̌k̵̺͠i̷̭͂l̵̬̀l̵̠̃ ̵͎̽t̶̼̕h̷̟̍ḛ̸͠m̷͙̍ ̴̨͆à̴̳l̴̮͗l̶̬̐.̴̝̚

Jamil

Name: Jamil
Alias: Malika
Pronouns: Any
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Class: Wishcrafter
Job: Chronicler
Appearance: Standing at 7'6" tall, Jamil has a slight, almost mousey, build with brass coloured skin and long, wavy, strawberry blonde hair that is often done up in a high ponytail along with several braids on either side. Said braids are often decorated with different baubles or charms in shapes like stars, moons, or the Gerudo crest. Beneath their bright, emerald green eyes they often wear a broad veil decorated with the Gerudo crest that covers their surprisingly delicate features, at least for a Gerudo.

Jamil often wears what would be considered by the Gerudo of Hyrule to be Vai clothing. With vibrant colour, flowing accents, and various types of decoration hanging from their hips or arms. At their hip they wear a blade similar in design to the Scimitar of the Seven, and on their back they carry an ancient but well kept shield with Gerudo design along a surface that looks akin to a tarnished mirror.

---

Personality

Positive	Negative
+Studious +Warm +Attentive +Curious +Humble	-Overambitious -Soft-Hearted -Mildly Hedonistic -Audacious -Reckless

---

Background:
Thousands and thousands of years ago, some time before the imprisoning war, the to-be King of the Gerudo, Ganondorf, was born. Male Gerudo were incredibly rare, only one being born every one hundred years or so. For many among the Gerudo people this was seen as an auspicious occasion, however for a pair of seeresses, it soon became an omen. The twins foresaw great destruction and gloom following in the boys wake, a great shadow of hate and malice that dwelt in his heart and only grew with every passing day. They prophesied that calamity would be the king's only gift to the Gerudo.

Many disregarded the two's prophecies as false or misinterpreted somehow. But some wholeheartedly believed the witches' words, as they had never steered those who sought them out wrong before. In time as Ganondorf grew in age, and in power, those who believed the twins and those who were not blinded by the ideal of a golden age for the Gerudo grew concerned. If they spoke up, they could be seen as dissenters, if they remained silent they would become complicit. And so it was that a third choice was taken. Gathering food and water and supplies, a mass of Gerudo left in the night, traveling far westward, out of the land of Hyrule.

Through the seemingly endless desert they met a kingdom of ninjas, clad from head to toe in their robes, leaving only their oddly glowing eyes to be seen. They eventually pointed the travelers along a winding path, further south through the sands, where in time they came across a beautiful land of rolling hills, tall peaks, and lush forests. Along their journey they met many peoples, both familiar and distinct. After traveling along the land for a number of years, seeing the sights and meeting the peoples they decided to settle along the western coast of the desert, north of a cold and snowy mountain, as it reminded them much of their homeland.

Over times, both good and bad, the Gerudo tribe lived and thrived and spread. Some stayed in their new desert home, while others set out further from shore and out to sea. Those that stayed behind in the desert, kept what tales they could of their home inscribed in numerous tomes and enshrined in a number of relics they had taken along with them during their exodus from Hyrule. Over the centuries, still no male Gerudo were born to them. Until one was. And then many years later another. Then soon another. And sooner still yet another. Distanced from their old ways, and with their seers and seeresses foretelling no disasters, these births were joyous yet free of the weight the once carried. Though still quite uncommon among the tribe, nearly every quarter of a century a male child is born.

Jamil was one such child.

Born to one of the villages' Chroniclers, those descended from the Sorceresses of old who worked as not just seers, but storytellers and protectors of their village, Jamil was taught in the ways of prophecy, magic, story keeping, and the power of words and names. Something to which the boy took to with great aplomb. From the tales of the Eight Heroines, to what records they had of their departure from their homeland, and the few stories they had kept from even further back, Jamil immersed himself into them like a fish in water. Tirelessly working through day and night to make his people proud.

Jamil trained not only his mind though, but his body as well. The desert provided, as did the seas, but so too did they bring danger, it was important among the tribe that one's body be as sharp as their mind. And so he trained with the traditional weaponry of the Gerudo as he grew as well.

In time, as Jamil came of age, he would be entrusted with more responsibilities and more access to older records and relics, a fact that delighted the young man and stoked the flames of his curiosity and love of knowledge all the more. Being able to read from first hand accounts of journals and scrolls written by those who left their homeland so far ago was just as wondrous to him as exploring the new homeland they had made. Something that was a touch at odds with most other Chroniclers of the village.

Where most stayed close to home to assure the safety of the village, when Jamil was old enough he traveled further into the desert or off into the mainland, bringing back trinkets and stories shared by those who lived there. And which made him quite popular among the other youths and the old gossipy woman who weren't so spry as to go gallivanting about as they used to.

It was this love of stories and history, both within and without, that lead Jamil to wonder about their home they left behind. About the land of Hyrule. Old documents and passed down memories could only paint so much of a picture and no two viewed something in the exact same light, and further still many of their most wonderful relics had fallen into disrepair, none among them holding the knowledge on their upkeep. What had become of Hyrule? Of the Gerudo Desert tribe? The disaster that lead them to leave so long ago had surely passed by now, but did anything remain? Were there any yet alive who could tell their tales, let alone repair what was worn? And what of the other myriad peoples who lived in the realm? What stories did they have to share?

With all these questions and more burning in Jamil's mind, (though it took much begging, pleading, and pestering at all hours of the night) he finally gained the approval from the head Seeress, his mother, to begin a long journey to Hyrule with one of their sacred relics, the Mirror Shield. If there yet lived someone that could return the Mirror Shield to its former glory, they were certain that any number of the rest of their relics could be repaired the same.

And so, gathering food and water and supplies, Jamil left at first light, traveling eastward, out towards the land of Hyrule... But not before his mother gifted him one last change of clothing, Those of a Vai, along with a measure of knowledge. Many moons ago, long before their people left Hyrule, male Gerudo were even more rare than they were. There was no telling just how they would react. For his sake as well as their, perhaps a disguise might be in order.

Jamil found this a touch silly. Surely it wasn't so strange of an occurrence. Then again though, there were many superstitions among all peoples out there. Better to be safe than sorry. Perhaps going by his family name may not hurt either...

---

Abilities

Equipment		Offensive		Defensive
- Scimitar of the Eight: Similar in design to the Scimitar of the Seven in Hyrule, Jamil's sword is an expertly crafted scimitar of Gerudo design. Where it differs however is the inclusion of opals embedded into the crossguard. These enchanted gems allow the weapon to create water around it which can then be swung to fire sharp 'blades' of water at a distance. The water can also, of course, be used to fill canteens or douse flames. - Mirror Shield: An ancient Gerudo relic kept in relatively good condition, considering it's unknown age. Records indicate that this shield may have once upon a time been wielded by the Eighth Heroine during their journey. It was once described as having an immaculately mirrored surface capable of absorbing and reflecting nigh any magic thrown at it. However the surface has long since tarnished and is only capable of blocking spells rather than firing them back. Jamil hopes to find a Gerudo smith capable of restoring the sacred relic to its former glory. - Chronicler's Quill: The pink pinion of some kind of bird, this quill has been enchanted to, when activated with a turn of its nib and supplied with ink, write whatever its owner dictates to it. Aside from being used for the obvious tasks of writing letters or magical scrolls if one uses enchanted inks, the quill can also be used to temporarily write words of power along the body of those willing. At which time as so desired, can then be activated to trigger whatever spell they contained, after which the ink harmlessly burns away. - Wishcrafter's Tools: A collection of various divining instruments, magical foci, and other implements, these tools can be used to not only aid in the search of prophecy, but to bend fate to one's will. Chroniclers will often use these to help and bring about rains or good harvests to the village, but they can also be used to grant ones wishes if used properly. However it is not perfect when used for such. Many times what one wishes for and what one gets may not be what one expects. - Sand Rod: A seemingly simple rod holding a white gemstone in the center of its head, this handheld magical implement is a staple among the defenders of Jamil's village, allowing one to summon an manipulate sand in various ways. While limited in use outside of areas with already plentiful sand, inside those areas the Sand Rods can be a force to be reckoned with.		- Koume's Blaze: Simple yet effective, Jamil channels flame magic through his right hand, firing blasts or beams of fire and heat at a target. If using some sort of wand or channeling tool, these projectiles become larger and far more impactful - Kotake's Blizzard: In kind with Koume's Blaze, Jamil channels ice magic through his left hand, sending out frigid, cutting winds or sharp shards of ice or sleet towards a target. Similarly, if using a wand or other magical implement, the strength of the magic grows. - Nabooru's Guidance: Seers look not only towards the future to guide their people, but also towards the past to learn from it. Calling upon the wisdom of some of the Gerudo's greatest ancestors to aid them, Jamil is able to imbue himself or another with preternatural grace and strength for a period of time, allowing them to perform feats of skill and combat normally out of their reach. - Wrathful Wish: Sometimes violence is the answer. And in times like that, Jamil can take time to divine some harmful fate to befall a target. When done swiftly this can range from simply tripping, dropping their weapon, or some other negative effect. But with enough time to prepare and invoke his wish, can lead to disaster for the unfortunate soul. -Eight Waves Style: Channeling magic into his scimitar, Jamil creates seven identical swords made of water that hover and float around him. These aqueous blades mimic the swing of Jamil's own sword, even firing out water blades of their own, but can also be commanded to act semi-independently of him, either striking or blocking blows as the need arises.		- Koume's Comfort: Flames can represent not just destruction, but renewal as well. Conjuring a field of warm, healing flames, Jamil soothes aches and staunches the wounds of those in its radius. The longer this spell is channeled, the larger its area grows and the greater the restorative effects near the center. Channeling for too long can become tiring however. - Kotake's Cover: Ice can freeze but so too can it preserve and protect. Conjuring walls of ice for protective barriers, Jamil can block oncoming projectiles or other blows. The longer this spell is channeled, the harder the ice barriers become. However much like Koume's Comfort, channeling for too long becomes tiring. - The Eighth's Courage: Invoking the memory of one of the Gerudo's greatest if oft forgotten heroes, Jamil conjures forth a sphere of light that follows alongside him. Those in the radius of the light find their fears and anxieties melt away, allowing them to face whatever task is ahead of them with a clear head. - Warmest Wishes: Violence is not always the answer. And in times like that, Jamil can lend a helping hand for those who must fight. Taking some amount of time, Jamil can divine a beneficial wish to guide or aid the target. Arrows may fly truer, strikes may land harder, or they may find some treasure they seek more easily. With enough time to prepare and invoke his wish, these can oft times lead to great fortune on or off the battlefield. - What's In A Name?: Knowing something's True Name can give someone a good measure of power over it, but learning a True Name can take a deal of time. However even without someone or something's True Name, a name spoken with enough authority and magic behind it can give pause to even the mightiest of warriors. Speaking someone's name in such a way, Jamil issues a simple but difficult to resist order that the target struggles to not follow. If Jamil knows the target's True Name, resisting is nigh impossible. And while someone unscrupulous could use this to nefarious ends, Jamil uses it to diffuse situations or disarm opponents.

There was nothing but darkness. Her legs threatened to give out with every step, but she kept running. Her breathing, shallow and quick, struggled to keep up. She would normally have been long asleep by now, safe from the cold of night, among her family. Though their lives were often hard and required daily work and upkeep, it was a comfort to be so protected, so safe. She wouldn't have been able to live with herself if she had chosen such comfort while Lucke... There was nothing but darkness, and also nothing but snow. The cold whipped around her, the blizzard whipping up dunes and threatening to turn her around. She could only hope she was going the right direction. The cloth wrapped around her nose and mouth, around the top of her head, kept her from freezing, kept her lungs from betraying her body by expelling precious heat. But it also threatened to choke her, withholding more air than it allowed through. A small discomfort.

"What do I do?" she had asked her parents. Her mother, the appropriately-named Winter, with her flowing white hair and withdrawn disposition. Her father, Lobak, with his dark blue hair and eyes, the colour of the sky just before dusk. He always deferred to his wife, and it was she that spoke first. "You are my daughter, you are my mother's granddaughter. You already know what to do."

The calm waters of her father's voice, a rumble barely felt. "If you go, we cannot come with you. If we were seen to have a part in this, it would threaten the safety of the community. But I know not to stop a Reneaux when her family is in danger."

The labyrinth rose up before her, more an absence of snow than a visible structure. A light, a fire just outside the the entrance. A red-robed figure drawing a sword. It was more instinct than thought that helped her draw her own, to meet it. A dodge, a deflection, a kick to his knee to bring him down. A-

Her eyes opened, her heart pounding in her chest so loud she worried it would wake the rest of the room. It was still the middle of the night. It seemed that even exhaustion could only get her so much sleep. She let out a breath and sat up, pulling hair away from her face and allowing it to settle along her shoulders. She didn't feel tired, which was a problem for the future, probably even later in the day. Pivoting gently, slowly, careful to not awaken any of her admittedly-also-exhausted companions, she pulled on the boots at the edge of the bed and eased to standing. She had slept only in her tunic and breeches, her armour protected beneath the bed. Her sword, freshly honed and oiled, stood against the side of the bed in its sheath. The armour would be too loud to carry, but not the sword.

The darkness of a land without snow was something she still struggled to comprehend. Reverie had only known the snow and rocky landscape of Hebra. During storms, the darkness was impenetrable, but it wasn't always storming. The moon, even the stars on nights wherein the moon was less prominent, glittered across every surface. And, of course, they were often blessed with the bright colours and lights in the sky. Navigation was easier than she found it here, where the dirt and grass absorbed more light than they reflected. She was still able to reach the land bridge connecting Tarrey Town to the wider expanse of Akkala.

To be in this place was surreal. Her grandmother had spoken of it often. Had spoken specifically of the citadel, a place she would have died. But Akkala had been important to her and the Reneaux family prior to the Calamity. She wasn't sure how- nobody had ever expected the opportunity to travel this far, so despite the endless stories, this was not one she had heard. Reverie crossed the rocky footpath, enjoying the cool night air. At the other end was a wide grassland with rolling hills. To the south, she could see the highlands reflecting the moonlight. To the north, the land continued lowering until the forests blocked her view.

It was peaceful out here.

All the sounds of people died away.

The sound was replaced by the whisper of the wind, coming up from the sea to the north and east. It spoke through the countless blades of grass, through the trees dotting the space. She also shared the night air with the insects, who sang to her. They had previously sang to her along the Castle Town outskirts, cutting through the impromptu tent she had fashioned for herself and Lucke. This felt... different, though. Without the anxiety of immediate borders, she could enjoy the sounds for what they were. Rhythmic, precise, regular.

Reverie knelt down in the grass. Laid her sword in front of her, hilt to the left, point to the right, still fully within its scabbard. She matched her breathing to the land's song, and let her thoughts drift. She crossed the market square of Castle Town as it was taking shape, signing back and forth to Lucke as they talked about how they would navigate a duel through the streets she saw a flash of red through the flap of their tent and scrambled for the sword before realising it was a bird the feeling of flying on Alyson's great contraption the feeling of her sword piercing through his sternum seeing the distant Akkala Citadel overgrown with plants and trees crumbling stonework feeling the weight of a body for truly the first time as she dragged it through the winding pathways of Lomei Labyrinth feeling the sword piercing through his sternum how cold the body was even after a few minutes her breathing wasn't in line with the space around her anymore how the blood looked on the snow

She opened her eyes.

She took a breath, held it for a few seconds, and released it to regain the rhythm.

She closed her eyes again, jaw set.

Akkala Citadel in the distance, the space so important to her grandmother her grandmother's voice cutting through, sharp and accented in that strange way she sometimes spoke "Sweet Riberie" gone for only a handful of years how she would have loved meeting the queen and Link she had known them before after all how her voice seemed more alive against the backdrop of the insects "when I look at you, I am so proud." "Grandmother, how do I get through this?"

No answer.

She opened her eyes again. This time, she felt calmer, more centred than she previously had. She stood up, drew the sword, and held it in front of her in both hands. The way her grandmother had taught her to carry it, the way her mother had reinforced constantly through drills, no matter how many times she tried to use it with one hand in order to grab or hit her opponent with the other. With the rising and falling energy of the song, she slowly lifted the sword over her head, and then slowly lowered it back into first position. As she felt the strain begin from the control, she changed her technique. Now she lowered to first position, then pulled back, then thrust, then lowered, flipped the blade, sliced upward, flipped the blade back to first position, then repeated. As she continued the exercises, she picked up speed, until she was swinging the blade from position to position, throwing in the occasional blocking manoeuvre or dodge step to one side, multiple times within one rise or one fall. She felt her arms begin to shake, saw the sweat begin to steam in the cool night air as she continued.

Eventually, she stopped, frowned at the place where the blade joined with the hilt. Her grandmother's sword had been perfect, balanced and extremely well maintained. It had also been the originally-forged blade for the hilt. Ever since they had reforged it post-Upheaval corrosion, it had never felt right. The balance was just very slightly off, and it bothered her.

"Killing a monster, a creature, no matter how intelligent or dangerous, is never the same as killing a person."

"My first kill was when I was 25. A Yiga patrol threatened our community. I couldn't let them escape to their leader. Your grandmother killed most of them, but I took out an archer who had been hiding. His face stuck with me for years."

"A young man came to the castle one day to request an audience with the King. He was a good looking man, young, with brown hair and green eyes. I believe htey later said he was from Lurelin. As he was meeting with His Majesty, I saw the smallest of movements. Being trained for these things and trusting my instincts, I reached for his wrist. He produced a poisoned throwing knife, attempted to assassinate the King. I was able to stop him, but in the struggle, he was cut with his own knife."

"I-"

She stopped, worked the words over in her mouth, and sighed. "I was half-blind in the snow. I think he attacked me first. I-I..."

After struggling for a few more moments, she sheathed her blade and walked around the forest until she found a splendid ridge from which she could watch the sunrise over the distant ocean. The sound of the water, so far below her, carried a weight and heft that she found relaxing, almost grounding. It was possible she dozed for a few minutes here and there, but it didn't feel like it. She was prepared for the day, as well as she could be, and found herself walking back across the land bridge to town when she heard a distant explosion, and began to run.

"So much for a simple errand."

After years of traversing a kingdom that had yet to get back on its feet, Rowan knew better than to expect such. Even for those who stuck to the well-travelled paths, trouble had a way of cropping up like a band of highway thieves. This particular spot of bother had stared them in the face in the form of notices over every sign and settlement as soon as they and Wildberry had trotted into Central Hyrule, the cart loaded with sacks of horse feed blend grinding through dirt behind them. Of course it wouldn't just be a matter of dropping them off at the various stables and discussing the network's future over mugs of Hyrule Herb tea.

Resigned to the inquiry they'd have to make, they tightened their grip on the reins with a heavy sigh as smoke rings came into view over a cluster of trees, followed by the Malanya-headed tent that was Riverside Stable. Wildberry remained unfazed, his cantering as lively as ever.

"Journalist," Rowan muttered to their mount, forehead creasing. "Just had to be freaking journalists, eh?" There was a good chance these reporters had spent more time sensationalising any missing person case to rake in the rupees than actually doing much about it, especially if they were part of such a shady company as the Lucky Clover Gazette. Rowan wouldn't be surprised if a detail or several on the notice had been blown way out of proportion.

Yet they couldn't ignore something like this. Not if people really were missing.

When they eased Wildberry to a stop outside the stable and dismounted, the horse huffed and fidgeted, shifting his head towards the path that stretched onwards to the bridge. Not even pulling the heavy cart had done much to tire him. "Don't you fret," Rowan soothed, rubbing Wildberry's neck and ruffling his mane. "Malanya willing, we'll be on the road again soon enough." Even if there was no telling when "soon enough" would be.

Stretching the aches out of their back and legs, they turned their weary gaze to Ember, who approached the front booth. "Well, here's that new Tabantha Wheat bran based feed." They mustered a flicker of a smile before getting right to the point, their expression darkening once more. "Also... The 'darling damsel in distress' case, as it's being called." They fought the urge to roll their eyes. "Please tell me it's exaggerated."

Name: Rowan Peregrine
Race: Hylian
Pronouns: They/Them
Class: Stable Associate

Appearance: In their early 30s, with a lean and wiry musculature from their work, Rowan stands at 5'10". They wear their chestnut-brown hair in a braid that reaches just past their shoulder blades. The braided part is short, with most of it flowing loose like a horse tail, and two smaller ponytails hang in front of their ears. A smattering of freckles covers their lightly tanned skin, particularly across their nose, cheeks, and upper arms. Their eyes are hazel, with green flecks.

They usually wear a long mulberry-coloured vest, cinched at the waist with a belt, that flares out over a beige tunic and tan trousers (and sometimes a fringed skirt, when they choose to present as more femme). A small scarf around their neck is secured with a bronze brooch shaped like a horse's head. They're rarely seen without the cone-shaped hat, also red-purple, which marks them as a member of the Stable Association - and which they have to secure tightly when their horse goes all out.

Biography: Stables, for Rowan, have always been more than mere rest stops - they're a way of life. They grew up in Rito Stable, the first such yurt established in the kingdom, accommodating travellers and steeds alike who sought respite from the cold and the Calamity. It wasn't the most glamorous lifestyle, but as a descendant of the nomadic tribe who originally founded the stables, Rowan took pride in it.

It was during the Upheaval, however, that they learned relics have a way of being lost to time. When business began to struggle due to freak weather, the Lucky Clover Gazette seized the opportunity like a pack of wolves targeting a limping pony, and the oldest stable in Hyrule was no more. Thanks to the Stable Association connecting every yurt, Rowan and their family were able to secure jobs at Tabantha Stable, yet it never felt like home in the same way the old one had. And with the closure of Gerudo Canyon Stable a few years later for similar reasons, the future of the network grew uncertain.

Even once the Upheaval died down, existential threats remained. Zonai transportation increased in popularity, and with it came a small yet noticeable decline in horse riding. People still visited the stables, the Pony Points scheme helping in that regard, but some of the vehicles spooked the animals. Fears arose among some workers that with transport becoming faster, there may eventually be less need for travel stops - and that even if they survived as inns, they'd be shadows of what they once were.

Rowan took to travelling between stables across the kingdom, in order to discuss how best to adapt to a changing world and preserve what they can of their culture. Recently, there have been whispers that Lon Lon Ranch, the former hub of the network, may soon be rebuilt, which could prove a lifeline to it.

Notes:

• Their regular mount is a brown-and-white marbled horse named Wildberry for his pink nose. While he's mostly well-behaved, he isn't the easiest to keep up with, being energetic and growing irritable if not frequently ridden, but he's part of the reason Rowan travels more these days.
• They're skilled with archery, both on and off of horseback. Best to know how to keep the stables safe havens, and how to defend oneself on the road, after all.
• Despite their practical and no-nonsense nature, they paint, in a surprisingly detailed and delicate manner no less. It's a skill Galli taught them, and they're aware that artwork of local scenery helps attract guests to the stables.
• For obvious reasons, they have a LOT of beef with the Lucky Clover Gazette, and a distrust for journalists in general.
• Although they're fine on horseback, in carts, and in carriages no matter the speed, mechanical transport is another matter whenever they have to use it. They'll be uneasy on it at best, and if it goes fast, they'll get dizzy and nauseous.