(I'm rusty, so no laughing! PM's with writing tips are welcome) Blackness. No sight, no sound, no feeling. How long it lasted he did not know.... Slowly a sound emerged. A constant rhythm of two muffled beats that slowly increased in volume. Dozens of double beats later, they were joined by pain. Each beat was accompanied by a spike in the pain, only to fade back down into the constant lake of pain. Dozens of beats more, and the darkness seemed to lighten, if only slightly. It slowly increased until a wave of pain rushed over him... total darkness and silence reigned once more. Blackness. No sight, no sound, no feeling. How long it lasted he did not know... Slowly a sound emerged. A co- wait, this had happened before. This simple realization brought the world flooding back to him... and instantly he wished it hadn’t. His body ached everywhere. His head throbbed with each pulse of a weakened and tired heart. Every inch of his skin was a fire... a fire of a thousand hot needles singing his flesh. Involuntary twitches of his limbs sent pain shooting across his body. He tried to open his eyes, but a caked-on substance resisted his attempt. One side of his body felt cold... cold and pressed against some hard surface. Logic dictated he was on a cold stone floor... somewhere. Eventually he was able to open his eyes, just a little. Through the tiny slits he viewed his surroundings... though he dared not move his head. What little he could see told him quite a bit. He was on the floor in some sort of stone room, torchlight reflecting off the smooth, damp walls. There didn’t seem to be any other sort of light; either it was night or he was underground. A hand, his hand (he assumed) was before him on the floor, covered in small scrapes and cuts... his fingernails caked in blood. Slowly, painfully, he inched his hand to his face and scraped away the substance covering his eyes. He then proceeded to examine his face. His beat up fingers were met with more scrapes and cuts--a rather long one running down from his left temple to just below his ear. A long beard and equally long hair told him he had been away from civilization for quite some time. His hand dropped back to the floor in front of him, fatigued with the simple movements. He inched his head forward, lifting it above his hand to find the torch that was lighting his dreary room. Finally he found it hanging on the wall, in the hallway, outside his door of metal bars. A cell. Damn.
Hours later, Adaar had managed to move his tortured body into the corner by his cell door, determine he had all of his limbs, and learn absolutely nothing more of where he was. He did learn from the many tiny scratches on a set of stones in another corner, that he had been in this same cell for at least eight months. And judging by the amount of scaring and not quite healed wounds on his back, chest, arms, and legs, had been beaten and tortured for the majority of it. His cell had no windows, his floor had a small mat for a bed, and he had only rags to cover his thin, half-starved body. His only source of heat (and light) was the torch across from him. In all, he was surprised he hadn’t died yet. It seemed like he was alone in his prison. He had tried calling out an hour ago, hoping some other prisoner was there to share in Adaar’s pain and grief. But there was no answer. The odd thing was, a guard hadn’t responded either. He guessed... no, hoped that they were just too far away to hear him. They, whoever they are, must make rounds at some point in the day. They had to... for the alternative was that he had been left alone to die. He didn’t see any way to escape. His memory, though quite fuzzy, did remind him of many attempts and breaking free of his cell. Obviously, none had worked. Maybe some had, only to be caught shortly afterward and beaten senseless. Overcome with fatigue, he slowly slipped into a dreamless sleep as he pondered on what his future may hold.
Adaar was awakened some time later by a loud cough echoing down the hallway. He listened intently, hoping to pick up any clues concerning his current situation. Slowly the muffled voices came into range: “With that blasted snow storm finally ending, we can rebuild this pit of a base. I, for one, am itching to kill some hylians again.” “I know what you mean. We’ve been here for ages. I’m sick of watching the Stalfos wander around like its nothing. Blasted undead.” “Hahaha... I heard some darknuts picked a fight with a group of stalfos. Beat them hard they did! They shoved one of ‘em’s head on a flagpole, wouldn’t let the stalfos reform for over an hour.” “Serves them right for acting all cocky. Bah! I lost a lot of men from that damn blizzard! And my request for replacements its stuck half way down the waiting list for Death Mountain.” “At least it meant less mouths to feed. I had to watch food go to waste on these prisoners! Warden wouldn’t even let me skim some off for the guards... But I did anyway!” Through the loud laughter, Adaar heard the faint sound of rattling keys. All was drowned out with the creaking of a rusted door being opened. “Doesn’t look like it did this one any good. She’s dead.” “By Ganon’s wrath, that’s the fifth today! Warden wont be liking this.” More key rattling, then a loud crash as the door slams closed. “I’ll take her outside while you go check on the other cell. With luck, we’ll still have one left!” Heavy footsteps echoed closer and closer. There was only one guard now. Adaar mind ran through his options, finally deciding on playing dead in hopes of surprising the guard at some point. He had no idea how deep he was in whatever structure nor how many guard lay between him and the outside world. But there was good news. The monsters would be in a weakened state from some storm. Must have been bad to have lost food and solders. When he guess the guard was nearing Adaar’s cell, he slumped to the floor and began to hold his breath. Hopefully the guard wouldn’t check for a pulse. Once again the keys rattled. “Ganon’s Wraith we’ve lost them all!” yelled the guard. He flung the metal door open and let it swing until it smashed against the wall with a loud bang. “Next time we save the food and let them die right off!” In one swoop the moblin (he could tell it was a moblin by the smell) grabbed Adaar and threw him over its shoulder. Adaar kept one eye slighly open as the grumbling moblin guard carried him out of the cell and down the hallway.
His head somewhat resting on the back of the Moblin guard, Adaar grabbed what little information he could about his surroundings as he was carried through a maze of a building. Here and there, a room would spark some painful memory from his miserable months in captivity. He also kept an eye out for any other prisoners that could aid him in his escape. It wasn’t too hard to look around with how much bouncing he did on the shoulder of this Moblin. But, it seemed that whatever storm had claimed the lives of many Moblins and monsters also killed off all captives in this building...or at least this wing. There were dozens of cells, but all were empty. Considering the conversation he overheard earlier, he wasn’t all too surprised. A few hallways later they passed what seemed to be the prison guard post. It was a larger room, many times larger than the grimy cell he had stayed it. It was a square room, with a door at the center of each wall and torches on either side of every door. The door he had just exited, and the one directly across from it, were just bars of steel held together with two large wood beams near the top and bottom. The door to his personal escort’s left was wide open, and seemed contain what little the guards left. Near that door, along the wall, was a large rack of weapons and shields, with a huge box of arrows lying in the corner. The opposite door from that was a reinforced wooden door with a simple lock below the handle. Carved crudely in the center of the door was a short message: “TrOfiEs of thE cApturEd dO not Entr without wArdens pErmissiOn”With any luck, his old gear would be there. How Adaar would get it back was still up for debate. His guard continued through the second door of bars, making an immediate turn to the left. They passed under a stone archway, flanked by two more torches. Also flanking the door was to rather large (mostly in the stomach area) Moblins with simple armor and large spears. The top of the arch held a large stone plaque, but Adaar never got the chance to read it before being thrown into a large pile of bodies.
“Burn ‘em all in the morning” were the guard’s parting words. He cinched up his pants and walked back into the building, sending a half-hearted salute to the other two guards as he passed by. Meanwhile, in the pile of bodies, Adaar did his best to refrain from moving... and vomiting The stench was horrendous. It took most of his remaining energy just to keep from gagging. He did not dare try to count, nor even look at what bodies were in the pile. Instead, he examined his surroundings as best he could through half-closed eyes. He was on the outer edge of the pile, and was forced to look between limbs unless he risked moving his head and body to get a better look. Through the grief of seeing so many dead, there was a small sliver of happiness: He was outside! He guessed it was night time, though he couldn’t get a good look at the sky without moving the Zora carcase in front of him. It seemed the pile he was on was at the corner of a rectangular courtyard, the prison taking up one entire side. Taking up the two sides opposite him were cobblestone roads in need of much repair. To his back... he did not yet know. The courtyard was mostly empty except for three sets of wooden gallows in the center, two of which were currently occupied with a Zora and a very small and extremely thin Goron. ”There is no way I’m getting past those two guards,” Adaar thought to himself. “Hopefully there is something behind me that’ll make this all worth it. Gotta wait for a distraction to turn my head and see. A small movement, but that’s all it takes.” He waited for ten minute before catching a break. A cart passing by the prison gave him the chance he needed to turn his head without giving himself away. It seemed luck was on his side. Behind him was a large ditch filled with mounds of trash. Behind that, some old building that look unoccupied. With the smell of rotting flesh and garbage, Adaar wasn’t surprised.
(Too lazy to explain the escape from the prison area... I’ll leave it up to your imagination) “Kakariko Village. I’m in Kakariko... “ Not far from from the prison courtyard, Adaar sat in cellar of an abandoned home eating what little foodstuffs had survived the Great Freeze (as he called it). A pile of his vomit sat in the far corner of the cellar, a reminder to eat slowly and not overindulge... he had not realized just how hungry he was. A closet upstairs had provided him with some loose-fitting clothing: a green, long-sleeved shirt with a pair of brown work pants. No shoes his size yet, but that could wait. A kitchen knife sat at his right hip, wrapped in a makeshift cloth sheath and tied loosely to a belt loop. Not much use against an armored foe, but it was better than nothing. A small healing potion a dusy cabinet had helped close any remaining wounds, though they would most likely scar without a strong healer’s touch. The food and rest brought some strength to his limbs and magical abilities. He was pleasantly surprised earlier when he sensed a Moblin patrol pass by his little hideout. It wasn’t as strong as he remembered, but that was to be expected after months of captivity and malnourishment. With enough time (and an instrument), he would bring the powers of the wind to his side; He could already cast a weak wind enchantment on his kitchen knife. His control of the wind would be quite useful in planning his escape. For now, he needed more rest and to give the food a chance to do its work. He wrapped himself in a large wool blanket, then curled up behind a stack of baskets and pots to take a well deserved sleep. He was confident enough now in his senses to wake him if there was any trouble.
It was almost noon before Adaar managed to climb out of the cellar. It was a clear day, with a small breeze blowing through town. Today was all about gathering supplies. He planned to make several safe houses around the city. Each would have essential food and water supplies, a few weapons, and as many traps as he could manage. First and foremost on his list was to find some proper weapons and water containers. At best, a fine bow, a large stockpile of arrows, dozens of glass bottles, and a few large jugs. Tonight or tomorrow he hoped to call in a storm. With any luck it would bring some rain to this desert. Otherwise, he’d die of thirst. The small bottles would be used as water catchers, and needed to be well hidden around town but still readily accessible. Adaar moved a few blocks away from the prison area before beginning his search. The local guards were much more focused on someone getting into Kakariko than getting out of the prison, and their lower numbers left the surrounding area empty and unguarded. It also seemed that the farther away he got from the prison area, the less looted the houses became... though every house was cleaned out of any weapons. “After all, why make ‘em when you can steal ‘em.” He kept to the shadows as he moved between buildings. If there were any spies in the skies, he didn’t want to alert them. Moving through a large residential district he was able to snag a few bottles and jugs from just about every house. He set up water traps here and there, doubling back every few buildings to make sure he had their locations memorized. The larger jugs he set up in and around a rather large building. What was once a rich man’s mansion was now a poor man’s safe house. It was taller than most of the buildings around, which made it a good lookout. Its immense size meant there were lots of places to hide. It had been heavily damaged by fire, probably in the initial taking of Kakariko Village, which was good for him since it left several cracks in the roof where he could place his jugs. The more water he could collect, the better. Most of the rooms were covered in dust and debris. He practiced setting traps as he inspected each room, even inventing a few traps of his own as the day went on: Rusty nails propped up under weakened floor boards, large weights waiting above stairwells, spikes falling when doors were opened... good stuff. By late afternoon, his new house was a giant death trap. He wanted to make sure that if anyone chased him into this place, they would not be coming back out. To his delight, a metal flute had been left behind. The fingering for the notes were different then he was use to, but by the time the sun went down, he had figured out the few key notes he needed. ”Practicing under a blanked was probably a good idea. Who knows how far the sound would have traveled during the day.” Adaar picked an area up in the attic looking away from the prison and began to play one of his favorite tunes: the Song of Storms. Though a large storm would be welcome, the completely dry weather restricted anything other than simple shower. The thought did cross his mind of repeating the tune over and over to get a bigger storm, but that would be tested on another day. He felt the energy of the music all around him, quickly rushing into the sky in all directions. “And now, we wait.” He smiled, watching as large rainclouds rolled across the sky. For now, it seemed, his water problem was solved.
A few weeks went by, and Kakariko Village now contained three separate safe houses within its walls. Over a fifth of Kakariko Village was within range of a safe house, all with their own supply of food, water, and traps. Adaar himself was also better equipped. He now had a pair of boots, a simple armored leather vest, a metal gauntlet on his left arm, a sturdy metal bow with a sizable supply of arrows, and a machete; all donated by the ghosts of Kakariko. Healthy (for the most part) and armed, he decided it was time to mount his escape. The plan was simple enough. Create a distraction at a distant gate, break into the prison to steal back his equipment while the guards investigate, then blow a hole in another gate and escape into the desert... all under the cover of a massive thunderstorm. The sun had just set, its light last touching the bell tower of a temple to one of the Goddesses of Hyrule... Adaar didn’t know which. He sat just below the bell, watching the reds, oranges, and blues in the sky slowly turn to black, leaving the world in darkness once again. Many torches flickered across the city, casting their light on all the places Adaar had avoided for the past few weeks. He let out a long sigh, stretching out his sore muscles and scarred back as he tried to push the worry out of his mind. Tonight was the night. In a few hours, he’d either be wandering the desert or dead. Capture was not an option this time, and he was scared as hell that his plan would fail miserably. He finished tying a rope around his waist, an anchor to the wooden bell tower in case the wind became too strong and blew him off. Hands shaking with anxiety, he put his borrowed flute to his lips and began to play. It was a random tune at first, to get him into the mood... which was good since he could barely get any notes out he was so nervous. He slowly worked the Song of Storms into his music, blending the notes into his melody. As he played the specific notes, the wind began to blow across Kakariko Village, causing torch lights to flicker in the breeze. Eventually the Song of Storms became the chorus to his little tune, repeating between each verses of his impromptu melody. With each chorus, the wind around the city grew stronger and stronger. After a minute or so of plying, the stars began to disappear behind large, thundering clouds. Still Adaar continued to play, watching as torches around the city flickered and died from the large wind gusts charging through the city streets. Buildings began to bend and creak, though her barely heard them over the high pitched notes from the flute. He was sure patrols had been dispatched near his location by now, for a flute playing in a deserted part of the city would definitely draw the enemies’ attention. He didn’t care. It did not matter now. His song continued, ever taunting the God of Wind to increase the power of the storm. Two minutes of playing, and it had already begun raining. The powerful wind was carrying the rain across the city in large sheets. Still Adaar played, even as lightning charged all across the sky followed quickly by thunder rolling across the landscape. The lightning quickly intensified, striking inside and outside the city walls. It seemed Kakariko was well on its way toward the second worst storm it had seen since Ganon’s Invasion. Lightning struck near the temple, setting a nearby building on fire. Not even the torrential downpour was enough to quench the growing flame. With one last tune, the Wind's Requiem, Adaar dropped his hands and let the flute fall from his grasp and rattle across the roof. He felt a twinge of regret as the instrument rolled away, but it would only be extra weight he’d have to carry. “Goodbye little flute. You served your purpose well.” With a small salute, He started to climb down from his tower. Caught off guard, he was blown from the side of the tower by a powerful blast of wind before he could make it too the rooftop. The coil of rope above him unraveled at an alarming pace as Adaar was pushed across the roof, tumbling over and over before falling off the side. The rope jerked him to a stop a few feet above the street, the cord practically snapping him in half at the waist. He regained his breathe between coughs, then reached for his knife to cut himself down. Thump! “Not the brightest idea in the world,” he grumbled, slowly picking himself off the muddy street. Flashes of lightning gave enough light for him to examine his bruised stomach. He swore loudly as he sent the rope into the ditch. “Definitely not the brightest idea.” Side aching, he ran inside to grab his weapons and prepare for the next phase of his plan.
Hidden within throwing distance of a nearby gate was a large stockpile of fire bombs. Fourteen bottles filled with oil and other flammable liquids sat ready in a dry box, waiting for Adaar with their cloth wicks ready to be soaked in alcohol. A candle, matches, and even some flint were also waiting inside the box. With any luck, these fire bombs would be enough to catch the gate and guardhouse ablaze. Adaar dashed out of his sanctuary and made his way toward the enemy gate. He was halfway along his predetermined path before he ran into trouble. A three man squad of moblins turned around the corner of a small shop, running straight into Adaar. The first moblin didn’t even notice the soggy hylian until they collided, sending both down into the mud. Expecting trouble from his hylian senses, Adaar was able to recover quicker than his fallen enemy and sent a heavy punch into the moblins ugly nose, followed by a hard jab to its throat before the patrol leader could even react. Dazed and short of breath, it had little chance to block the kitchen knife Adaar jabbed into its exposed neck, mixing mud with blood. Adaar pushed of the dying moblins chest, tucking his knees in as he rolled to his left then sprung to his feet. The other two moblins, enraged with the death of their comrade, drew their weapons and charged Adaar. Adaar dodged the first attack, a large axe swung downward in a power strike, only to be thumped in the ribs by the pole end of a spear. He rolled left with the attack, grabbing the pole and shoving it into the head of the axe wielder nearby, knocking him off balance as he tried to pull his axe out of the mud. Adaar released his grip on the pole as it was yanked out of his hands, then pulled out his blade and went on the offensive. The machete wasn’t the most graceful weapon, but it did its job well enough. Adaar swung his blade upward at Spearman, who quickly blocked his attack with the center of his pole, then spun away before thrusting the spear back toward Adaar. The spear hit the dirt as Adaar’s machete smashed down on it, getting the tip lodged into the muddy street. Adaar paused for a moment, his blade held low as he focused energy into the weapon. Glowing green, the blade slashed horizontally at Spearman. It caught the moblin on the right arm, cutting deep before blasting the monster back with a blast of wind energy. Spearman tumbled into the nearby shop, smashing through a large wooden desk before running into the far wall. Adaar turned to his third opponent, swinging his machete around to deflect another axe strike. The blades crashed together as he blocked the heavy weapon. He countered with a hard kick to the moblin’s chest, sending the moblin tumbling. As Axeman recovered, Adaar focused some energy into this outstretched blade, then used a spin attack just as Axeman rose from the ground. Waves of energy swept out in all directions, throwing the moblin to the ground for the last time. Adaar dragged himself over to a small chair inside the smashed-up shop. “Note to self,” he grumbled to the dead moblin at his feet. “Avoid all patrols from here on out.” He looked over the fallen foe for a moment more, rubbing his injured chest. “You left me another bruise you pile of dren!” He gave the dead moblin a strong kick. “Because I can.” After another minute to catch his breath, and a few bottles of water from caches nearby, he continued on to the enemy gate. (If you’ve read this post, then send me a message and tell me how to improve! 0_o If you’ve got time anyway...)
He darted from building to building between flashes of lightning, thankful for the thunder that drowned out his less-than-stealthy approach. His general direction was to a nearby gate and guardhouse, but his overall path was determined by his hylian sense. He zigzagged between buildings, ran down alleyways (and occasionally across rooftops) as he avoided any enemy his senses pointed out. Eventually the city wall could be seen over nearby buildings, a sign that Adaar was close. He ducked into an old market area, boots sloshing in the mud along the broken stone streets. Twice he had to dive behind a booth and wait for small two-moblin squads to pass by. Both groups seemed unaware of their dead comrades from what little moblin Adaar understood, though apparently one of them recently had something painfully removed from his buttcheek last week. Each time the drenched hylian waited for his sense to clear before continuing on. At the far end of the market and within fifty feet of the gate hid Adaar’s explosive stockpile. He approached the area with caution, knowing that there were at least ten guards in the area, not counting the three on the towers by the gate. He slowly made his way between two buildings, barely able to see through the rain falling down from the rooftops. As he reached the street’s edge, he slowly poked his head out to get his bearings and look for any guards. It seemed he had arrived in the middle of a large cobblestone street. Five houses to his left (at the corner of his block) sat the old wooden guardhouse, a lantern's light shining between closed shutters. At the other three corners of the intersection rose the gate’s archer towers. He could just make out the shape of a wet moblin archer atop each tower, trying to take what little refuge they could from the storm and huddling around their lamps for warmth. Whatever torches that were used to illuminate the gate and surrounding area had been put out by the rain, leaving the area in total darkness. Before he could make his move to his weapons cache a few houses to his right, a pair of bulblin came charging down the street carrying a large barrel between them. They passed within arm’s reach of Adaar’s spot in the alley, but were too focused on their refuge ahead to pay him any attention. Not that they really could have seen him anyway They sloshed up to the guardhouse and began wailing upon the door until they were allowed inside. Cheers and grunts followed. “With any luck, that was a beer keg” Adaar muttered. “What better way to endure a long storm?” Adaar left them to their merriment, running toward his pile of fire bombs under the cover of rolling thunder.
The guardhouse was the first to erupt into flames. Adaar waited for a bright flash of lightning before tossing an oily bomb against the back wall of the wooden shack. The oil kept the flames alive through the thundering rain. Once he was sure that it could continue to grow, he ran to the nearest window and prepared to toss two newly-lit bombs into the laps of the guards. He smashed through the latched shutters with a heavy swing from his machete, revealing six or so guards staring at him from around a card table. Before they could process that their intruder was not a moblin, an oil-fueled explosion enveloped their table and splashed across their confused faces. The second bomb hit their keg, igniting a nearby bottle of their alcoholic beverage. Eventually the keg would explode and add to the fire. But for now, he was satisfied (and somewhat horrified) at the successful firebombing. The soaked hylian dashed across the street, half-dragging his bag of bombs behind him, just as an engulfed moblin smashed through the doorway in vain hope of quenching the alcohol/oil fire. Fire soon consumed the guardhouse. The burned, panicking guards were running around desperately trying to extinguish the flaming oil with little success. Adaar left them to their misery and focused his attention on the archer towers. A lucky throw managed to set one of the tower tops on fire, causing the archer, now in flames, to jump to his death in panic. Not wanting to risk getting caught between the gate and any new arrivals, the rest of the bottles were lit and thrown into nearby houses as Adaar vacated the scene.
The trip back to the prison was rather uneventful, other than the winds calming down. The rain, however, continued dumping on Kakariko. Adaar stuck to side streets and back alleys, keeping himself away from any possible troops responding to the massive fire that was slowly consuming part of Kakariko. As the prison came into view, Adaar slowed his pace to catch his breath and prepare for the break in. He took shelter in a ditch. The same ditch, in fact, that he had rolled into from atop the pile of bodies that no longer existed. From his muddy cover he was able to scan the surrounding area for any guards or patrols before making his next move. The cobblestone streets adjacent and opposite his position had been reduced to giant mud pits by the rain and lack of maintenance. Two of the three gallows in the courtyard were in shambles, lazily taken apart or smashed from the storm he didn’t know. The third still held the skeletal remains of a zora; Adaar assumed it was the same one he had seen all those many days ago. The pot-bellied guards were not at their post by the door, and the torches hung squelched from the rain. “I’m going to do my own squelching making it over to the prison entrance. This field is a mess.” He waited in his ditch for a few more minutes before making a break to the prison. With one hand on his machete he sloshed through the gateway and entered the stone building that once held him captive. He quickly threw his cloak aside (he had acquired it from its hiding place along his path from the guardhouse, and scanned his surroundings as he ready his bow. If anything appeared at the end of a hallway, he wanted it silenced quickly. Flickering torches led the way down the stone passages, guiding Adaar toward the main guard room where he hoped to acquire his belongings. Soaked boots squishing under his feet, he advanced toward the main room, happy that the door was unlocked. His bow pulled taught, he peeked into the dimly lit room he remembered as to house the prison guards. Nervous concentration led to confusion as, to his surprise, the room was empty. A room that had once housed a half-dozen servants of Ganon now laid empty before him. The flickering of torches and constant dripping of leaky walls were the only sounds he could hear. By the looks of the place, most notably the layer of dust, no one had been in here for a while. Weapons and other equipment still lined the walls, obviously left unused for quite some time. “But if this place isn’t occupied anymore, then why are there still lit torches lining the walls?” me muttered as he crept along the walls, moving as quietly as possible toward the warden’s room. If his equipment was still around, it would be in there. “I hope... .” It wasn’t until he reached the Warden’s door that he noticed light coming through the keyhole and under the door itself.
