Destruction Abound

With the announcement of the construction of Impa, Hyrule Castle Town became a city whose lights never stopped burning, even in the dead of night. Renewed vigor was brought back to the dormant city, which had long slept in its peace. Now, tired indifference had been replaced with lively action; even the children seemed to feel it, though they knew not what was occurring around them. The the slums seemed to be teeming with life; with returned hope of reclaiming some portion of their dignity, through fighting the army of darkness, the Goron populace was just as ready as the rest of Hyrule Castle Town, for the construction of Impa. Strolling through the streets, Dogath couldn't help but notice the determined eyes, which seemed to glint from every passing face.

He wasn't nearly as enthusiastic about the construction of Impa. That's not to say that he wasn't excited, though. He could already hear the ring of steel upon steel, could feel fire pumping through his body as he thought of the oncoming battles. He reveled in it, found comfort in the sweet song of blood and iron. He grinned to himself, though it was a secret smile that no other could see, concealed beneath his red scarf. He was in a rare mood this day. Perhaps it was the weather, which was forgivingly hot for his seething body. Or maybe it was the fact that today was the day; the day that he was to meet with a representative of the Castle Town, to be given a mission of much importance to the building of Impa. Either way, he couldn't help but chuckle, steam still escaping from the front of his hood, though it was a hot day.

Taking a seat on a metal bench, just outside of a bar, he closed his large, white eyes. Bringing his gloved hands up to his face, he pulled his shawl up higher, concealed part of the bottom of his eyes. He relished in the feeling of the hot metal beneath him, which would stay a nice and toasty temperature. In such a cold world, Dogath clung to any source of heat that he could, cherishing it like a child. Though the sun was nowhere near as hot as the blazing heat of Subrosia, he enjoyed its warm rays on particularly hot days. Slowing his breathing, he let all thoughts slip from his mind, letting sleep overtake him. If all went according to plan, he would leave this very night, and would desperately need his sleep if he were to travel as far as he expected to. As his consciousness slipped towards the abyss, Dogath began to dream of glorious battle and the ring of steel.

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The breaking of glass disturbed Dogath's sleep. His eyes snapped wide open, looked around at his surroundings. His hand automatically went to his cannon, which was sitting across his lap from his nap. Then, he relaxed. The source of the commotion was several, apparently drunk, patrons of the bar across from his bench. Standing up from his seat, leaving his cannon on the bench, Dogath let out a feline yawn, stretching his arms and and legs. Feeling his joints pop, Dogath was satisfied and let his arms drop of his side. Just about then, several people ran from the bar, fleeing the terror that was apparently wreaking havoc inside of the bar. Not worried that anyone would take his cannon, the Subrosian began to stroll towards the bar, smiling to himself.

Pushing through the wooden double doors, which swung closed behind him, Dogath analyzed the situation. There was a particularly large Hylian standing atop a table, kicking glasses to the floor, spewing out some sort of dogma to the rest of the bar. The barmaids, and owner of the bar, could only look on helplessly at the man, whose table was surrounded by several of his lackeys. There were those who yelled at the man to get down from the table, who was continuing his sermon, but none had the courage to start a brawl within the bar. The man's mouth worked loudly, though Dogath paid his drivel no mind. Aside from having to do with "leaving the Southern Hylians to rot", Dogath didn't catch much else of his speech.

"Weak filth." Dogath said quietly, referring to the entire collective in front of him. Those who could not put this whelp in place were just as bad, in Dogath's eyes. The drunken man had apparently heard Dogath. He turned to the Subrosian, who was a foot and a half shorter from the large man, and spoke. "What was that?" he asked, a feral growl tugging at the edges of his voice. Dogath looked to the barmaids, then to the owner himself. "Allow me to take out the trash." Dogath spoke a little louder this time, making himself known everyone within the room, hands in his pockets.

Hopping down from the table, the drunken man grabbed Dogath by the neck of his robes and lifted him from the ground. "Care to say that again?" his eyes made no empty threats; though the man was drunk, Dogath could tell by the callouses that he had seen on the man's hand, and the old sword at his belt, that this one knew how to use a sword. The man's putrid breath entered the front of Dogath's hood, who curled a lip at the stench. No discipline.

"Are you too drunk to understand my words? You are nothing but horse shit." Dogath could see the veins popping out of his forehead, just beneath his hair, which was plastered to his sweaty, red face. Letting out a heavy breath, the drunk gripped Dogath's cloak even tighter, tried to lift him over his head and throw him to the ground. Instead, Dogath fell to the floor from his grip, and try as he might, he could not lift him again. Dogath laughed at the pitiful man who stood n front of him, utterly perplexed by Dogath's change in weight. Dismissing his Iron Boots, Dogath took a step back. The man recalled his manly pride, looked at the Subrosian with rage in his eyes. Charging towards him, his left fist shot towards the completely shadowed face, whose large, white, eyes mocked him.

Removing his left hand from its pocket, his hand moved in a black blur, bringing the object it held up to meet the man's fist. Holding his palm out, gripping the round sphere with his fingers, the drunk's fist collided with hard iron, cracked as bones took the impact from hitting the cannonball. Bloodshot veins throbbed in the man's eyes, as he let out an angry and pained cry. Falling to his knee, clutching his shattered hand to his chest, he looked up at Dogath, pure hatred burning in his eyes.

"I expected better. Now, let me return the favor." Walking up to the cowering man, he lifted the drunk by his collar with ease, using only one hand. He heaved the man out the front door, the thump of his body audible from the inside of the bar. Walking slowly towards the door, he pushed his way out of the bar, followed by a small crowd, whose interests had turned into that of observing a gladitorial fight. As he stepped back into the sunlight, Dogath realized that a larger crowd had already surrounded the bar. Din be damned. I'm going to be late, trying to get through them... Truth be told, he was rather bored with his toy; it didn't seem capable of putting up a fight at the moment.

"I was wrong, you're not even horse shit." Dogath sneered, looking at the man who was struggling to get up with his broken fingers. Whipping his body around, frothing at the mouth, Dogath realized that the man was now beyond communication. The man lost control of his body functions, a trail of liquid trickling down his hands. Dogath growled, knowing that this was when a man was most dangerous. The man, who now had adrenaline throbbing in his blood, grasped at his sword with his good hand and drew it, holding it in one hand. Dogath looked at his stance, could see his experience, though the man could no longer think properly. "Still too weak." Dogath said under his breath. Of all the sights he had seen, this fallen warrior was perhaps the most sad.

His body language was too telling. As the man slashed at Dogath again and again, the Subrosian nimbly avoided, easily reading his body language. Stepping to the left, a lunge piercing the air where he had just been, Dogath decided that he could stand no more of this tomfoolery. He had already wasted too much time. Blocking an overhead strike with the cannonball in his left hand Dogath sent a swift punch towards the man's still moist crotch. The man's knees buckled out of impulse, Dogath pushed the sword to his side, letting it fall to the ground. Dogath sent a second punch cracking into the man's forehead, sending his eyes rolling into his head, his body crumpling to the ground.

Wiping his right glove off on the man's dirty tunic, Dogath pocketed his cannonball, walked back over to his bench. The crowd gave him his space. They dared not clap, not in the wake of the swift and brutal fight they had just witnessed. A brave barmaid, who was still intimidated by the Subrosian who was a good deal shorter than she, ran up to him, offered him a sack of rupees. "Useless." He said in one word, dismissing the gems. He was in a foul mood now. He was greatly disappointed in the man whom he had intentionally baited. He thought that he'd pass the time. Instead, he was left utterly bored. Walking past the girl who'd brought him rupees, who looked as if she'd been slapped across the face, Dogath pushed his way through the ground, slinging his cannon over his shoulder. He hoped that his meeting would be fruitful, and that the resulting battles would not be nearly as disappointing as this one...

The day was no longer pleasant. The pathetic excuse for a battle had left a sour taste in his mouth, like bad milk. He couldn't help but grimace and snarl as he walked down the streets, scaring off the curious children that had tugged at the hem of his cloak, undaunted by his show of strength and prowess. They came to him, giggles and smiles, and left terrified and crying. He walked through the streets, memory guiding his steps, as he replayed the fight within his mind. It made him furious. Dogath saw that the man had skill, in the swiftness of each stroke of his blade, and the near perfect form of his stance. Yet he had let anger, and too much drink, control his body, which had ultimately led to his defeat. "Why?" Dogath muttered to himself. He could not fathom why such a man, who was clearly an experienced swordsman, would fall to such a stupor.

He let out a deep breath, decided to pay it no mind. What these surfacers did with their lives was no business of his; as long Dogath got what he wanted, they could go sod themselves. Walking into the consulate's office, walking through a set of guards at the doorway, Dogath made his way to the back of an apparently long line. They were all likely there for the same reason; the King had sent out a call, a call for assistance from experienced warriors. Without explanation, the Subrosian was sure he knew why they were needed already; being so close to Death Mountain, one could only imagine the perils that surrounded the intended area that would be Impa. Not to mention the natural dangers that would lay on the road to such a place. Many a blade would be needed, in order to cut a bloody path to the Eastern Sea. But the Castle Town could not spare so many of its own guards, which would leave the city itself wide open to attack. The solution: sell-swords.

Dogath looked at the other mercenaries with an appraising eye. All looked reasonably tough, and battle hardened. Several had muscles upon muscles, and had large blades. Others were smaller, had weapons that required more finesse. Finally, Dogath could see shadows in the corners, where the truly strong let the aura of power surrounding them speak for itself. Dogath estimated that less than a third would be left alive, by the time this venture was over. Everywhere he looked, there was a facade of cool experience. But the keen Subrosian sensed their apprehension, a hesitation that would eventually get these men killed. It was those that the mercenaries shied away from that would survive. Like himself, there was something about the other men that made others feel uncomfortable near them. As Dogath walked forward, he looked behind and ahead of him, saw that the men were giving him ample room. Perhaps it was the large cannon, slung over his shoulder, or the unnatural body heat emanating from his robes. Either way, the extra space suited him.

It was an hour of waiting until he was finally at door to the office of the King's representative. Well armored guards stood at each side of the door, their halberds blocking the way into the next room, as the representative discussed business with one of the mercenaries. Dogath raised an eyebrow at the two guards. Does he think that someone will try to assassinate him...? Dogath wondered to himself, peeking into the room. The representative was a fat, sweaty looking Hylian. Just the type he hated. As the mercenary within the room stood up, the halberds lifted, the guards allowing for the man to exit. He seemed disappointed. "Name, race, and specialty, please." One of the guards asked, politely, if not stiffly.

"Piss Off, Picori, and plowing your mother." Dogath replied with a grunt, walking into the room with authority. The guards were too stunned by Dogath's quick-fire insults to react, and bar his way. They ran after him, apologizing to the consulate for their reticence, just as Dogath stood in front of the desk. He looked at the pig-faced man, their gazes locking. "Tell them to leave." The sweaty man stuttered, looked at the short man cloaked in white, whose eyes bored holes into his soul. He tried to speak, spluttered, then tried again.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry, but y-you're going to h-have to l-l-leave i-f" Dogath slammed his fist on the table, as the man tried to speak. The guards were standing next to Dogath, their halberds where his neck would be, beneath his cloak. "Out with it!" The Subrosian yelled nastily. The Hylian cleared his throat, then tried one last time. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to leave if you won't cooperate with our rules." He wiped at his forehead with a handkerchief, whisking off the sweat that was dribbling down his pudgy face. Dogath snarled. "If that's what it takes, fine. Dogath Helkite, Subrosian, and kicking the asses of piss-ants like yourself." The consulate eyed the guards, waved his hand. They removed their halberds, if a little shakily, from their proximity to Dogath's head. Nevertheless, they stayed in the room.

"Are you here for the foray towards the Eastern Sea...?" The fat-man asked tentatively, his voice cracking, but not faltering at the very least. Good. At least he's manning up. Dogath grimaced. He looked at the guards, looking from his left, then to his right. "If I wanted to kill you, pig-face, you would have heard me coming. And my little friend, too." Dogath arched an eyebrow, patted Sharon, which was now hanging at his side, its open mouth aimed at the belly of the representative. Standing up swiftly, his chair falling to the ground, the man slammed his ham-like fists against the desk. "I am a representative of the King! I will be shown my due respect!" He managed to find his courage in the face of the Subrosian.

Dogath let out a chuckle, which turned into a full bellied laugh. Wiping at his eyes, he smiled, though none in the room could see it. The guards stood there shaking, either out of fear or rage. Dogath figured it was a mixture of both. "Good. It looks like you've grown a pair. We can do business now. As I am a Subrosian, I will oblige you by not sitting in your wooden chair." He said dryly, though laughter still laced his voiced. He grabbed a feather pen from the man's desk, dipped it into the ink. " I'm looking for an old Subrosian technique. However, I've been estranged from my home, you see. I've come to believe that information on this particular skill is held within your Library. I want that information, and the spell paired with it. In exchange, I'll go to Impa for you. I'll destroy any enemy that stands in my way. Any." Dogath ended rather pointedly, looking right into the still-sweaty man's face.

One of the guards righted the chair for the man, who slumped heavily into its velvety confines. He let out a heavy sigh. He looked at the other guard, who stood at the ready. "You have a deal. Go fetch the Librarian, and a court mage, so we can get the cursed being out of my hair." He rubbed at his eyes wearily. Dogath smiled a second time. He always got what he wanted.

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Walking towards the Southern Gate of Castle Town, Dogath looked at the letter that was in his hands. Contained within it was the explanation of the technique he had wanted, known as Heat Sync. He had already committed the words to his memory, but it did not hurt to have a second copy, just in case. As per their agreement, Dogath was now on his way towards Impa, in the dead of night, when the roads would be the most dangerous. To ensure their agreement, the court mage had placed a curse of him. If he did not arrive at Impa within the week, the curse would bind him in ice, effectively killing him. That was perfectly fine with him, as long as he got what he wanted. Once he arrived at Impa, he was to meet another mage, who had been sent ahead to establish some sort of base of operations, in order to have the curse removed.

"Mercenary." He told the guards at the gate. At the words, they opened the door, let him through. The trip would be long, to be sure. However, if all went as expected, Dogath would be wading through pools of blood, like a girl skipping through daisies.

Dogath pulled his cloak tightly around him, shielding himself from the cold, night air. He had chosen to brave the heartless cold, though. If he were to make it to Impa within the next few days, he had to make haste through the fields south of Hyrule Castle Town, heading south east to reach the intended location for Impa. "Blasted surface..." He muttered, ducking his head low as a particularly offensive breeze washed up against his hood. The journey would take a few days, at the very least. Though Dogath had stamina, and could continue the same pace for hours on end, he lacked in lightness of foot. Drudging through the dirt road, Dogath was taking the long way towards Impa- he couldn't risk running through the fields and accidentally creating a wildfire. Though the heat didn't particularly bother him, the local populace wouldn't have taken it nearly as well. Pressing on, into the moonlit night, Dogath made his way towards Impa...

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After several hours of walking, and nothing particularly exciting having happened, Dogath was seriously beginning to reconsider his trip to Impa. He was the only one still traveling on the road at this ungodly time of night, and because he was taking a main road, he had yet to run into any aggressive wildlife or monsters. He'd heard that the fields were famous for Poe appearances during the night, yet he still had yet to witness the flickering of a tiny flame, set inside a metal lantern. He'd spent the past few hours listening to the chiming of wind, brushing lazily through the grass to the sides of the path. His cloth booties were beginning to brown with dirt, though the hem of his cloak stayed relatively clean, by some miracle of the goddesses. Perhaps the most interesting occurrence in his trip thus far was stumbling upon a fork in the road, with a post. There were two signs, one pointing towards Death Mountain, the other forking to the left, leading towards the Eastern Sea. While he was sure that the former would have led to far more excitement, Dogath was by no means stupid. Plus, he had a curse that still needed to be lifted.

As he rounded a bend in the road, a particularly large boulder blocking him from seeing what lay further down the path, Dogath's eyes picked up a faint glimmer of light, the soft sound of a horse whinnying tickling at his ears, followed by muffled cursing. All thoughts were banished from Dogath's mind in that instant; he reverted to his base instincts, sensing that all was not as it seemed. Back to the boulder, Dogath inched to the side, peered around its rocky face. He wasn't particular shocked, or even mildly surprised but what he saw. An overturned carriage, horses still tied to it, five men, faces covered, milling around the carriage. By the looks of it, some hapless fool had been set upon by highwaymen. Without even thinking, Dogath understood what had occurred. The highwaymen had laid in wait for any late travelers, on their way to Impa in order to create a name for themselves early on. Waiting for the perfect moment, they struck, taking what apepared to be a merchant coach by surprise.

From the looks of the dead body of what appeared to be a guard, and the strewn goods, Dogath could tell that the merchant was most likely of average wealth. The man could not afford to hire more than one guard, it seemed, to protect his goods. Looking at the clean gash across the guard's chest, it had not even been a fight for the bandits; it was likely that at least one of them was well trained with the blade. All five carried longswords of roughly the same length, though two held crossbows in their hands, bolts loaded and ready to be loosed. The thought of even passing up this opportunity didn't even cross Dogath's mind; to him, this would be a wonderful distraction from the horrid, gnawing boredom. However, as the next few seconds passed, he saw something that he did not expect.

The merchant, his wife, and two daughters were pulled out from behind the overturned carriage; Dogath had not seen them before, because they'd been hidden from you. Cursing silently to himself, knowing that this complicated things, he watched as they were led to the horses, piled on like sacks. I better make a move, before I lose my quarry... he thought to himself. He set his cannon down quietly, letting it rest in the dirt. His hand groped in the darkness, found his right pocket. Grasping a sphere in his hand, he loaded the bomb into the cannon, grasped the pull string. The bandits were disorganized, their horses strewn simply about, and they themselves not taking any sort of formation; clearly, they did not expect company at this time of night. One of the crossbowmen, and one of the men with just a longsword were busily going through a chest, looking for anything of use. The other two men were throwing the nicely tied and tressed family onto some horses, which had been cut off from the carriage. Sitting atop his horse was what appeared to be the leader, waiting patiently for the rest of his gang to finish their business. I'll save the best for last...

He pulled the cord, the sound of exploding gunpowder splitting the air like thunder. As the men looked towards the boulder in shock, the bomb hit the ground next to the two men by the chest. It exploded, taking one man's leg, and sending wooden shards from the chest into the other. Their screams was like sweet ambrosia to Dogath, whetting his appetite for more. Of the remaining three men capable of fighting, only the leader kept his wits. Kicking at the sides of his horse, he drew his sword and charged towards the white Subrosian, who shone brightly in the pale, night light. Grasping the front of his cannon, Dogath ran towards the horse, to meet the Hylian with his own charge. Holding the lip of the cannon with his left hand and dragging it across the ground as he ran forward, his hand grasped another bomb, pulled it out of his right pocket. Diving forward, just beneath the Hylian's stroke of the blade, Dogath cast the bombs behind him as he leaped towards the other bandits, the bombs exploding behind him.

They didn't hit their mark, but the loud explosion was enough to sufficiently scare the leader's hrose, sending him to the ground as the mare bucked. Yelling out a stream of obscenities, he yelled at his lackeys to kill Dogath. The remaining swordsman was headed straight towards Dogath, his longsword grasped with both hands and held overhead. His partner with the crossbow stayed where he was, letting loose his bolt. The shaft sped Dogath's way, but was met with a sweep of his cloak, which caught the bolt, which pierced through only slightly. It's remaining force was absorbed by the armor that Dogath wore beneath his cloak. Shaking the cloak, sending the bolt into the soft dirt beneath his feet. Continuing his made rush forward, Dogath tugged his left arm, made to swing the cannon up from the ground and into the man's side. Seeing the artillery piece begin to lift from the ground, the swordsman wisely stepped back. However, as he did so, Dogath grinned, let go of the cannon, and send his balled fist into the man's chest.

Though small, Dogath is surprisingly powerful for his size and race. The blow sent the swordsman reeling back and to the ground, gasping for air. As he fell to the ground, another bomb was thrown forth, hitting the ground near the man with the crossbow, who was busily trying to reload. His eyes widening, he abandoned his task, dove to the side, letting go of the shaft in his hand. Dogath whipped around to meet the leader of the group, grabbing an iron cannonball from his left pocket with his left hand. Bringing the sword down in an overhead smash, Dogath met the swing with his cannonball, but the blow proved nearly too much. Put on his knees, Dogath grit his teeth from the force of the blow, vibrations sending shocks down his arms. Strong! his mind elated, happy with this revelation. Perhaps this battle would be more entertaining than he had hoped. Pushing on the iron ball with both hands, he pushed the sword to the side, jumped back as the skilled swordsman slashed horizontally at his chest.

Hearing the rustle of plants behind him, Dogath knew that he had little time; the man with the crossbow was probably recovering from his initial daze, while the swordsman he had punched sounded as if he were trying to get up, his chain mail preventing him from moving swiftly. The leader pushed his advantage, trying to get Dogath to back up into his underlings. Not so fast! Edging to the side as well as possible, Dogath turned the battle so that he was now headed towards the coach. Passing the cannonball to his right hand, and grasping a second in his left, Dogath met blow after blow with an iron ball in each hand, steel clanging against iron. "You're good!" the Subrosian breathed out, losing his breath in the flurry of strikes. Remembering the technique he had just learned, he began to pour heat into his left hand, forcing the metal of the cannonball to eat it. Red hot within a few moments, and sparking with each strike of the blade, Dogath waited.

"But not good enough." Throwing his fist forward, he threw the glowing ball of iron towards the leader's face. Out of instinct, and because of his proximity to Dogath, he brought his blade up, blocked. The Subrosian watched with satisfaction as shock, fear, and rage mixed on the man's face as the ball exploded into molten metal, showing his chest and face with searing liquid. Screaming and dropping his blade, he clawed at his face and body, trying to take the metal off, but to no avail. The burning, smoking body collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony. "No time to give you a swift death." Dogath grinned, watching as the two other men looked on in horror, watched as their leader was consumed in heat. Consumed in their fear, the man with the crossbow fumbled with a bolt, dropped it, then threw his crossbow away. The other had already started towards Dogath, screaming out of fear, wild terror in his eyes. Seeing the fear tugging at the strings of his limbs, Dogath watched with a bored expression as the blade fell vertically, and oh-so-predictably. Meeting the blade with his Power Bracelet and pushing it off to the side, Dante kicked out with his foot, summoned his Iron Boots. The impossibly heavy shoe collided with the man's ribcage, shattering it, sending bone into lungs and heart. The last man, seeing the fate of his comrade, chose the wise route, climbed onto a horse and fled.

Dismissing his Iron Boots, Dogath turned around, strode over to the overturned carriage to where the two men, who'd been put out of the fight by his bomb were laying. The one who had been riddled with splinters of wood, from the chest that had exploded, was beyond help; bleeding beyond compare, and pierced in at least a dozen places, it was a miracle he was still breathing. His eyes pleaded with Dogath, begging him to end it. Closing his eyes, Dogath nodded. He was not a brute; he would show a warrior his due respect, if they were deserving of it. Though these men had stooped to squalor, they had not lost the sharpness of their blades. Picking up the fallen steel sword of their leader, who had died at the foot of the carriage, he held the sword with both hands, stood over the dying man. He brought his hands down swiftly, the sword tip sinking into skin, then muscle and bone, and finally the bloodstained soil. The bandit gurgled, then closed his eyes.

Looking to the other man, who was gasping for air from the shock of losing a leg, Dogath bent down, looked him in the eye. He showed his pain and agony within his eyes, but he showed no fear. "Admirable." With as close as Dogath was to the man, he displayed no fright for the Subrosian who had brutally killed three of his comrades already, and taken his leg. He merely looked at the big, white eyes of Dogath, wondering when death was to come. Instead, however, Dogath decided to reward him; his hand shot down to where his leg had been taken off, halfway up his shin, and grasped the wound tightly. The bleeding man let out a groan through gritted teeth. "I will allow you to live." Pouring heat into the wound from his body, Dogath seared the wound shut, cauterizing it entirely, leaving a hand-shaped burn mark that the man would carry for the rest of his life. Picking up the man, using his immense strength, and the power given to him by his Power Bracelets, Dogath hoisted him over his shoulders and walked him over to a horse, setting him onto the beasts back. Kicking the rear end of the horse, the man was off, riding towards Hyrule.

Still grasping the sword, he looked at the tressed up family tightly bound as if they were chickens to be roasted in an oven. Cutting them loose, he sent them on their without so much as a grunt of acknowledgement. After all, they were still weaklings, barely worth his attention. Still, they left him with a small handful of rupees, which they had somehow managed to scrounge up, the escaping bandits having had taken most of their cargo, and rupees. Dogath quietly accepted the small purse, throwing it in his pocket without even checking its contents. He could tell from its weight that it was probably somewhere around twelve or so rupees, but the gems had very little value to him. That being said, he would find a use for them; perhaps they would pay for some roiling soup. Looking up at the sky, Dogath heard his stomach grumbling in response to the clouds that seemed to be rolling it. It would rain soon, and the Subrosian knew that though he would survive the accursed stuff, he couldn't help but feel an insatiable hunger for rock soup.

Resolving that he had to visit a Goron sometime in the near future, for they were the only ones who could prepare a soup hot enough for a Subrosian, he continued his journey forth into the night, walking along as if nothing had happened. The battle had certainly been a good enough distraction, but only for a time. It had still been inconsequential. It had not been a battle worthy of song and lore. To take part in such a glorious battle would be true fun for him; nothing less would sate his indomitable hunger for battle. He pondered this as he aimlessly walked towards the construction site of Impa. As the light drizzle began to fall from the sky, Dogath couldn't help but let the stream of profanities escape his mouth. He pulled his cloak tightly around himself, shivered, then trudged on...