~Wizzie, where AAAAAARE youuuu?~ [Closed]

((Moved from the Events forum))

Players: 2 [Quill], [Adad]
Characters: 3 Loft Kiratel + Marcus Heilari [Quill], Zajora [Adad]

Rewards: Just rupees. 45 for Marcus and Loft, 75 for Zajora.

---___---___---___---

Loft giggled, tossing his knife from one hand to another, the steel flashing in the light from his Red Candle. Its unwavering flame was the only source of light in the night, and Loft used it to play shadow puppets against the rock he was sheltering behind.

"I'm a fluffy bunny," he sang, shaping his hand into the likeness of a bunny and bopping it through the light, "la dee dop dee dooo..."

"Grrrr!" His right hand said, "I'm a Stalfos! Mwahahahha!"

"Oh noes!" Loft cried. "Mr. Bunny got strangled by Sir Stalfos! Won't ANYONE come and save him!"

"I will!" His big toe shouted, poking into the fray. "Fear not, Mr. Bunny! I will save you!"

"You're too late, Senor Dorksalot!" Mr. Bunny cried. "I'm dead!" And with that... Mr. Bunny died.

"Noooooooo!!!" Senor Dorksalot screamed, falling to one toenail. "I...I will avenge thee, my friend!!"

"A-hahaha! Bring it on, Senor Fool!" Sir Stalfos cried, swinging a pointy index nail at him.

"It's Senor DORKSALOT!" He screamed, tackling Sir Stalfos.

"And thus," Loft said, "it was that the big toe Senor Dorksalot vanquished the right hand Sir Stalfos, and peace was established once more in the kingdom of Dextrous. And lo, Senor Dorksalot was rewarded for his valor and might by the lovely Princess Ahole, who agreed to become his bride. And so it was that the two big toes were married in holy dextranomy and had many little pinklets. THE END!"

"Yaaaay!" Loft said, clapping. "A happy ending!"

The storm howled, protesting against the couple's joy. Loft frowned at it. "Just because YOU haven't found your soulmate, Blizzy!"

Blizzy didn't seem to care too much for Loft's logic and continued raging against their rocky shelter. The candle stayed straight, unaffected by the wind's might.

"Now," Loft pondered, "how does that work?" He leaned in closer to the flame, staring at it. "It's a flame, but it doesn't waver by the wind. How- OWWOWOOWOW MY EYES!"

He fell backwards from the candleflame, rubbing his eyes furiously. "T-that hurt!" He glared at the candle, crossing his arms. "I'm not gonna talk to you again, Candie!"

"..."

"No, no," he said stubbornly, "there's no use in arguing! I've made up my mind, you magical fire that constantly is renewed and thus doesn't exist long enough to be affected by the wind's power!"

He paused. "Oh, so that's how you do it!" He laughed. "That's pretty cool, Candie! I can't NOT talk to you after learning that!"

"..."

He waved Candie's remark away with a magnanimous sweep of the hand. "No, no, no need to thank me, old chap! It was a pleasure, I'm sure!"

The wind blew harder, and Loft shivered. "Brrr. It sure is cold out tonight, huh Candie?"

"..."

"Yeah, I know. Blizzie's pretty upset about something." He peered out at the dark night. "I wonder what got her so worked up..."

"..."

"You're right. This can't be natural. Someone must be doing something to her."

He paused. "But...what?"

"..."

Loft laughed. "Great idea! Let's ask Blizzie! We'll just go to the origin point of the storm and find out what's going on!"

He paused again. "Wow, that IS a good idea! Thanks, Candie!"

He grinned slyly. "Hey Candie, I know what we're doing tomorrow. We're gonna stop a natural disaster!"

"..."

"Whoa there, Candie, calm down! We can't go now, it's past our bedtimes!"

"..."

"No need to sulk..."

And so it was that Loft spent the night in good company, huddled behind a rock in a supernatural blizzard.

"Sure is cold... we're going to have to find a coat or something soon..."

---___---___---___---

The next night.

Loft moaned softly, shifting in his new fur coat. "So waaaarm..." He yawned luxuriously, stretching, and settled into the base of the old oak tree he had found. "Mmmmm... warm and toasty..."

The fur coat reached down to his ankles when he stood, and had straps ensuring that no part of the body was left unprotected. Its insides were layered in warm wool and soft fur, keeping his body temperature at a comfortable level.

Now, he was using it as a sleeping bag, and it covered his whole frame when he curled into a ball. Which was okay- that was how he usually slept.

"Good night, Furry," he mumbled to his coat, "so nice to," he yawned loudly, "have you on... the team... g'night...."

"..."

"Sh!" He giggled weakly. "'M tryin' ta sleep..." He mumbled something incoherent and snuggled in closer to his new friend. "G'night Candie...Mapa...Furry..."

Candie was sleeping comfortably in his backpack. 'Mapa' (his map of Hyrule) was rolled up nice and tight in a container inches from Candie (he didn't like to sleep alone). And finally, Furry was wrapped around Loft. Everyone was happy.

Everyone except a dark shape lying abandoned in the snow feet from where the party rested. A shape that got no good night. No words were spoken to it or of it. Instead, it merely lay there. Lost and forgotten.

The next morning, Loft skipped happily into the wind, seeking the source of the blizzard, leaving the shape to lie there, alone.

It would be minutes before the dark, abandoned thing was covered in snow by the blizzard.

It would be hours before the sun rose, revealing the tips of two blue toes.

It would be weeks before a caravan of silk merchants stumbled across the body.

It would be months before the body was identified to be Isaiah Herald, a marine biologist heading to the Zoras in Lake Hylia.

Finally, it would be a year before the body was delivered to his wife and daughter, Mrs. Irene Herald and young Lucy Herald.

All for a coat.

"Excuse me," I asked, my hands held up tentatively against the edge of a wooden desk, "can you help me find something?"

The tall, pinched looking woman sitting across the desk ignored him. With a disdainful sniff, she flipped a page in her book, gold-plated bracelets tinkling loudly.

I cleared my throat again, my blue eyes peeking out from underneath my unkempt black hair. I leaned over the desk, and tried again. "Excuse me, miss?" A small Keaton, roused from its slumber by the tinkling noise, looked up. It spotted the shiny bracelets, and yipped loudly from its perch on my shoulder.

The woman adjusted her glasses, tapping a small plaque with a long, manicured nail.

NO PETS ALLOWED

I frowned, drumming his fingers against the wood impatiently. "Keaton is not a pet. Could you show me where the Demonology section is?"

Loud footsteps sounded from behind me, sparing the woman from the indignity of having to respond to a street waif. An armored man was approaching us, his helmet tucked casually under his arm, allowing his mane of blond hair to fall around his neck unchecked. His metal-plated boots clanked loudly against the marble tiles, and protruding several inches from the left boot was a threatening dagger, glinting in the steady mage-light. Hanging from his waist was an ornamental scabbard, containing an intricately jewel-encrusted broadsword. A red cloth was draped across his chain-mailed torso, proudly displaying the golden insignia of the Royal Family. His pale blue eyes skimmed right over me, coming to rest immediately on the woman across the desk.

"Captain Perevil!" The snooty woman gasped, hastily sitting up straight and placing her book aside. "To what do I owe the honor of your presence?"

The man placed a large, gauntleted hand on the wooden desk, causing an inkpot to shake threateningly. "Good day, Madame. I require information on the dreaded Ice Wizzrobe, which I believe to be the originator of this most dreaded storm."

I looked up at him, taking in the large muscles and even larger sword. "I take it you're going to attempt a vanquishing, then?"

The large man, Captain Perevil, turned. He grinned, patting me on the head. "That's right, kid. You can rest easy tonight, knowing that Captain Perevil, of the Third House of Sasquatch, is working tirelessly to ensure that the Wizzrobe will not live to plague our good land of Hyrule any longer!"

The woman, who had pulled out a (very) large black binder, ran her finger down the pages, tutting. "Wizzrobes... Wizzrobes... aha!" She looked up, smiling sweetly. "Room 7, Section 3, Row 9, Non-Human Magic-Users, by D. Mons. Arus."

"I thank you!" Captain Perevil said grandly, sweeping across the floor to a doorway marked, "ROOM 7," and underneath that, in blood-red paint, was splashed the word, "MONSTERS."

"Hold on a moment," I said, leaving the useless woman behind. "You cannot face the Wizzrobe alone."

Captain Perevil laughed, turning to face me. "No, no, it's alright. I will undoubtedly emerge victorious in my quest." When I opened my mouth further, he grinned. "Ah, I see. You want my autograph, don't you?"

He pulled out a pad of paper and a quill from Nayru-only-knows-where, and in his furious scribbling he didn't notice that he was speaking over me. "In times of crisis, keep this word of wisdom close to your heart: 'WWCPD?' From, your Hero, Captain Perevil."

He ripped the piece of paper off the pad, thrusting it into my hand. "There you go, kid. Better run along, now, there's a good lad."

"Listen," I said, not taking the paper, "you cannot vanquish the Wizzrobe unaided. I propose that you take me along with you; my skills in Healing will doubtless prove invaluable to you in your quest."

He chuckled, looking me over. "You? A Healer? Please. I'll take my chances."

"Oh?" I asked, lifting an eyebrow. "You expect to take on a supernatural enemy, charged with the pure elemental power of Ice, without taking a single hit?"

He chewed his lip, pretending to think it over. "Why don't you show me your super-power, then, kid?"

I nodded, and took out my dagger. "Requesting proof is a logical response." I didn't look at the dagger, didn't think of the shiny steel cutting into my arm, didn't focus on its blood-stained hilt, just wiped it off on my shirt and put it back in my pack.

"I offer proof." I ran my hand down my arm, trailing blue sparks. The cut absorbed the sparks, and it sealed without even a drop of blood left behind. It had taken more effort, but I had instructed the sparks to trickle the spilt blood back into the cut for dramatic effect.

"That's all very well, kid," he said, "but-"

"I also possess the ability to deflect any attack." I played my trump card.

He blinked. "Seriously?"

"If timed correctly, then yes. I can create a crystal in front of me with my hands which reflects any attack back at its point of origin."

He tapped the hilt of his sword, thinking. "I'll think about it, kid."

"Take your time," I said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'll be in the Wizzrobe section, doing some research."

And with that, I brushed past him, pulling the door open and going inside.

---___---___---___---

The Captain sighed, tapping his fingers against the desk. What to do, what to do. His eyes bored into the book in front of him, seeing, but not taking any of the words in. This whole Wizzrobe business was getting complicated. All he had wanted to do was to find out how to kill the stupid thing, trek up the mountain, kill it in a glorious battle, come back with its head, and receive the gifts that would undoubtedly be bestowed upon him by the King himself.

But then, he had shown up. His eyes glanced at the boy across from him, studying him silently. The boy (who's name he still didn't know) was reading his own book carefully, examining it closely for any clue that would help them best the monster.

This boy, this annoyingly arrogant boy, had a good point. By himself, he had little chance of surviving a battle with a Wizzrobe on its own turf. With a Healer who specialized in defensive magics, though... he stood a good chance.

The Keaton on the boy's shoulder hissed at him, clawing the air in his direction. The boy reached up a hand and nuzzled his head absent-mindedly. Captain Peveril sniffed. Disgusting animal. The Keaton growled, fur rising threateningly. The two glared into each other's eyes, silently waging war. The Keaton yapped loudly, breaking the silence, and the Captain jumped. Chittering in amusement, the Keaton curled into the boy's shoulder and settled down for a nap.

The Captain's hand rested on his sword. So tempting, to just end that miserable creature's life... but no. He needed the boy. And somehow, he didn't think that the boy would react well to his pet being killed.

The boy. He tapped the hilt of his sword, his other hand scratching his leg absent-mindedly.

The problem with the boy lay in the glory, in what happened after the battle. When he, Captain Peveril, was finished killing the Wizzrobe, the little moocher would claim credit as well. And the great Hero Captain Peveril shared glory with no-one. No-one. The gold would be his. The women would be his. Not anyone else's. His.

The boy flicked a page idly. The Captain's eyes narrowed. Yes, there was only one thing to be done. Let the boy help him, then afterwards, stab him in the back.

He smiled. Victory was at hand.

"Have you found anything yet?" The boy asked, bored. "Or are you too busy soliloquizing?"

The Captain jumped. "Um, yes, I have!" He glanced downwards, feverishly searching for something he could say. The plan must not be given away, the boy must not suspect him!

"Did you know that... that... that an Ice Wizzrobe's preferred brand of deodorant is Old Spice?"

A pause.

"No, Captain, I didn't know that. Don't look down, by the way, or he'll be on a horse before we know it."

---___---___---___---

Loft crept through the hallways of the Library, silent as a mouse.

"Dun dun du-du dun dun du-du dun dun du-du dun dun, du-du-DUN!"

Mouselike? Only if the mouse in question was ten feet tall, and considerably drunk.

What was our intrepid hero doing in the Library? Why was he here? The answer was simple. Loft wanted stuff. Lots of stuff. The shinier, the better. He knew from the Thieves' Den that the Hylian Royal Library was connected to the Treasure Vault, and he wanted something from it. Loft had a bad case of shiny-itis. Upon sight of something even remotely shiny, he would drop everything and chase after it.

Well, this was the perfect opportunity to snag a little something-something. Royals wouldn't miss a thing.

Loft crawled underneath a gigantic arch, and entered into what had to be the Library's main hub. Thirteen doors stood around the circular chamber, each leading into another great section of the Library. Above each door rested a plaque, the name of the section artistically painted onto it.

One door stood out to him. The one that said "ROYAL TREASURY" on it.

The door was located directly behind an oak desk, where a tall woman sat reading a book.

To get through the door, he would have to kill the woman and break through the lock. That would be fun. But, he argued with himself, doing so would attract the attention of hidden guards, and probably set off some kind of magical alarm system. That would be less fun.

Loft tutted. It was so obvious that the door was a fake, a trap meant to lure in thieves and bandits. There was just no way that the Royal Family would place the entrance to the Vault in a place so obvious (and so public) as the hub of the Royal Library. Which, interestingly enough, was not exclusive to the Royal Family, but instead to any of a certain class level. No, the real entrance would most likely be concealed within one of the other chambers.

But... there were so many. Twelve doors, each leading to a whole new antechamber, with whole new doors leading to specific classifications of the subject. He groaned, his head beginning to spin with the sheer large-ness of the place. Not only that, but the entrance could quite literally be anywhere. Anything. A pressed button behind an old book, pulling back one of the marble tiles. A torch bracket, pulled downwards, sliding a bookshelf back. Anything.

What he needed was a map. But Mapa wasn't a magical map; it didn't automatically configure itself to the new region. He paused. That sounded interesting... maybe he would beseech the Powers that Were to imbue his map with this mystical quality. He shook his head. He would write a letter to the MobSanta later.

Loft sighed. He could leave, and go up to Blizzie without anything shiny. His throat constricted, and his mind spun. No. No, he couldn't leave. He wanted the shiny. He needed the shiny.

He walked forward into the room, and spun around until he fell over. His outstretched arm was pointing between "MONSTERS" and "HISTORY."

"Monsterz in the house tonight!"

---___---___---___---

I sighed, still perusing my book. The Captain had left some time ago, claiming that he needed to go 'prepare' for the journey. I snorted idly. It was far more likely that he had gone to straighten his hair, as I had noticed a definite droop and a general increase in fizziness over the last hour.

I flipped a page. "A study of Wizzrobes and their mating calls." Hm. Interesting, although I would rather not be facing a horny Ice Wizzrobe in heat.

Flip. "Wizzrobes: Homicidal maniacs, or misunderstood victims?" I sighed; people would believe anything, wouldn't they?

Flip. "How the magical specialty of the Wizzrobe is directly related to the Wizzrobe's orientation." I paused, looking up. There were three Wizzrobe types. Did that mean...? I shook my head. Next!

Flip. "An examination of the Wizzrobe reproduction ritual." I furrowed my brow quizzically. What? I leaned in, examining at the diagram. "Oh, gross!"

Rip. "The world's a better place now," I mumbled, tossing the page into the mage-light bubble above me. Unfortunately, mage-light didn't burn, so the page just fluttered back down into the book.

I stared at it. "Ah, whatever." I closed the book, and stretched, leaning backwards in his chair. "This is getting me nowhere. I hate to admit it, but I am getting frustrated by the lack of productivity despite the amount of time invested."

"Me too; hey, let's be friends!"

---___---___---___---

I fell out of my chair, the snoozing Keaton leaping off onto the ground, chattering angrily. There was a boy standing a few feet away from me. I quickly raked the boy's form with my eyes. Brown boots. Brown tunic. Blond hair. Wild blue eyes.

"W-who are you?" I asked, my voice shaking from the pain that came with my knee banging into the table's wooden support legs.

"I," the boy said, bowing grandly, "am Loft Kiratel." He giggled. "But you can call me Loft."

I stared at him. "Alright, I will. So what are you-"

"Hey what's that?" The boy, Loft, asked loudly, grabbing a book.

"It's a book." I said. "A book on Wizzrobes."

Loft cocked his head to one side. "Wizz...robes? Wizzies?"

"...Yes. Wizzies."

"Wow..." Loft stared at the book with wide eyes, then dropped it. "It's not shiny." He looked into my eyes, his own glimmering innocently. "I'm looking for shiny things. Do you know where I can find any?"

I bit my lip, thinking. "I really would not know. This is my first time here, and I am afraid that I am unable to assist you in your search. Perhaps the lady at the front desk would be able to help...?"

"Nah," Loft said, making little coo-ing noises at Keaton, "she's un-fun, and her nose's messed up; always pointing to the roof."

"Oh?" I asked, as I watched him try to pet Keaton.

"Yeah," he said, drawing his bit hand away from Keaton's face quickly, "I could see a big bogey in there, and it was gross."

"I'm sure that she'll be delighted to hear that," I said. "Anyway, the Captain might know more about the location of shiny objects in this area. You should ask him about it. He left an hour ago, but he should be back eventually."

"Okay!" Loft said happily, sitting in the chair across from me. "I'll wait here with you!"

"Fine by me," I said coolly, returning to my book, A study of the Wizzrobe digestive tracks.

Loft hummed under his breath, kicking his legs back and forth under the table. "So," he said, "why are you reading about Wizzies?"

"Because," I said without looking up, "a Wizzrobe's what's causing the storm."

Loft gasped loudly. "Really? Wizzie's what's hurting Blizzie?"

I sighed, my index finger running along a list of the Wizzrobe personalities. "If that means what I think it means, then yes."

"And," Loft whispered, "what are you going to do to Wizzie when you find him?"

I looked up, his steely blue eyes meeting Loft's sky-blue ones. "I am going to ensure that the Wizzrobe can never bury Hyrule under snow and ice again."

"Can... can I come?" Loft asked, his voice low and hushed as if asking entrance into a super-secret-society.

I eyed him appraisingly. "Well, that depends. I'm on the team because I can heal any injury and reflect any attack. The Captain's on the team because he possesses the physical abilities necessary to actually vanquish the Wizzrobe. What can you do?"

Too late, it occurred to me that spilling the details and limitations of my powers to a stranger might not be a good idea, but I shrugged it off- there was no point in worrying about that now.

Loft thought, putting a pinky finger to the edge of his mouth. "Umm... let's see, I can clone myself, I can control any humanoid inanimate object, I can fight, I have a Red Candle, a fur coat, oh and-"

"Wait, what was that?" I asked suddenly, leaning forward.

"Which one?"

"The first two," I said, my heart beating faster. "What were they?"

"Ummm... cloning myself and controlling a humanoid inanimate object?"

"Would it be possible to-"

"Clone myself and control the clone telepathically?" Loft asked, swaying in his seat. "Yeppers! That's how I escaped!"

"Escaped?" I asked. "Escaped what?"

"The guards," Loft said, grinning. "I cloned myself and made him run past them."

I nodded, impressed. "Nice. Well, I could definitely use a person like you." I stretched out my hand. "Welcome to the team, Loft."

Loft grabbed the hand in both of his own, and shook it wildly. He paused, the hands freezing in mid-air. "Does... does this mean that we're... friends?"

I took my hand back, massaging it gently. "If you wish to think of it that way."

Keaton chittered, nuzzling Loft's leg.

Loft jumped onto his chair, startling the other two. "I've got a ~frieeeend.~ I've got a ~frieeeeend.~ Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Go Lofty! Go Lofty! Who's awesome! You're awesome!"

I stared at him, then motioned for Keaton to come closer. When it had, I whispered into its ear. "Then again..."

Keaton nipped his finger, chittering.

"Oh yeah! Oh yeah! YEAAAAAH LOOOOOFT!!!!"

I chuckled, leaning back and crossing my arms. "You present a good point, Ki. Our previous concerns with boredom are obsolete with this person around."

"Hey Loft!" I called, stopping Loft. "We have much work to do; it would be greatly appreciated if you picked up a book and started studying."

Loft nodded frantically, grabbing the nearest book and ripping it open.

"Not that one!" I said hastily, realizing too late which book it was.

"GAAAAH!!! MY EYES!!! IT BUUUUUURNS!!!"

Zajora lay on top of the bookcases, resting. He wasn't quite sure why he preferred tall places, maybe it had to do with the fact that he couldn't reach anything until he'd gotten this cape. But it certainly was nice to be able to leap onto things. He was finally feeling better from his magical exhaustion earlier. He loved coming to the library and just reading things. Marcus was making some sort of ruckus below and cutting himself, but what else was new?

Then things got interesting. Someone who introduced himself as Loft began pestering Marcus. He was either deranged, cursed, or pretending. He wondered if he was any of those three himself, then wondered if it mattered, then wondered why he was wondering. Breaking off his recursive thoughts before it got too ridiculous he rolled himself off the bookcase and landed in front of Marcus and his newfound friend. "Hiya!" He said to the newcomer. "We have two more additions to our party then?" He asked Marcus.

"It's almost like a story then, A knight, a healer, a mage, and a... What exactly do you do again? Anyway off on a quest to save the day and all that."

((For the sake of time, I'm going to time-skip over a conversation between our characters, just because it's unimportant and would take FOREVER to RP through))

I glanced up wearily, taking in the newcomer. "Oh, hey Zajora. Yeah, two new guys. The big one's named Captain Perevil, and as for him," I gestured towards Loft, "this is-"

"I'm his bestest bud!" Loft trilled happily, spinning his non-swivel chair so that its back was facing Zajora. He peered over it, tilting his head slightly. "Who're you?"

"This is Loft," I said tiredly. Dealing with someone like Loft just sapped the life out of me. Not that I had ever met someone like Loft before, of course. "He's a thief."

Loft raised one finger pensively, and swallowed, slurring his words. "I prefrrr thu term, 'fweelance rupi di-stri-bu-turr.'"

"Indeed," I said, turning back to Zajora. Honestly, I felt like such a no-fun old geezer around Loft, but there were things to be done. I couldn't just play all day, there were plans to be made, weaknesses to exploit.

"Zajora. You've traveled a lot. Tell me about the Wizzrobe, while we wait for our companion to return."

And so he did. He told me many things, while Loft made shadow-puppets against the bookshelves. Nothing he told me was new; I had already read most of what he said. However, hearing it from a seasoned adventurer was a new angle on old information, and this would prove invaluable.

I thanked him, and leaned my head back with a sigh. I was tired. No, more than that. Dashing through the snow, learning a new spell, freaking out the Captain, then studying Wizzies with Loft? Oh, and now this? I was friggin exhausted. No, wait. That wasn't right. I was exhilarated, but I was also exhausted. How did that work?

I sat up with a sigh, interrupting Loft's epic battle in the mage-light bubble between hands One and Two. "Listen, guys, it's late. To properly retain this information, and to use it in a productive way, we need sleep. Unless there's a hidden stash of sugary goods around here somewhere, I doubt we'll be able to keep this up for much longer."

"I'm fine," Loft yawned loudly, "not sleepy... at... aaall..." His shoulders slumped forwards, and his head connected with the book he was 'reading.'

I sighed (for what felt like the umpteenth time), and grabbed Loft. "Oi, wake up!"

"Mmph?" Loft didn't get up, but moaned into the page. "No wanna get up... sleep..."

"You can sleep on the floor," I said, mercilessly, "now get up. You're drooling all over the diagram of the Wizzrobe's digestive tract."

I looked up at Zajora as Loft dragged himself, whining loudly, out of the chair and onto the floor. "Listen, we'll continue this in the morning. We'll meet up with the Captain and get going. For now, let's sleep."

---___---___---___---

Loft lay on the floor, grinning mischievously where Marcus couldn't see him. Yeah, they would get going tomorrow. But he had no intention of sleeping tonight. There was treasure to be found. Wouldn't his new friend be so happy that he had got him such cool presents? Yes, he decided, as he listened for his companions' breath to fade into the slow, heavy sounds of sleep, he would be very happy indeed.

---___---___---___---
[Yeah, we can time-skip here. You don't need to address that last bit; it was one of the only ways to get the treasure rewards for my characters, unless you wanted to do something lame like raid an under-snow store for supplies, but "only take what we can carry."]

Zajora awoke to a peaceful silence amongst the books. He sighed happily, enjoying the moment of stillness for a bit longer and then rolled off his perch to confront the day. Marcus and the captain seemed to already be preparing to head out. He joined the two of them with a cheerful nod towards Marcus and blatantly ignored the captain. He didn't see any sign of Loft but that was probably a good thing. "Are we heading out then?" He asked. The captain grunted affirmatively and they left on their quest.

Emerging into the frigid sunlight Zajora shivered. He squinted and peered into the sky, noting the heavy clouds.

"Let's see..." He mused aloud, "From the madman at the restaurant's account there's a center to all this. If it's spreading to the southwest it must be coming from somewhere to the northeast, towards the northern hills. We should head there first."

[[Alright, so I STILL don't know what I'm going to be getting for my characters. But, whatever, it can be decided later. Here we go, posting time!

Note: Marcus' finalized character sheet begins here]]

I stood beside the Captain and Zajora, my head resting against the marble wall behind me. We were only three feet from the main entrance to the Library, and the only thing that was keeping us from our quest was...

"Loft; where in the name of the three Golden Goddesses is Loft?" Captain Peveril growled, pacing back and forth on the marble tiles irritably.

I did not open my eyes, concentrating on my breath. In... out... meditate to remove all negative emotion, just as the Academy instructed... "I am sure, Captain, that Loft will be with us shortly."

The pace of the footsteps increased, and I heard more frustrated grumblings coming from my companion. "Calm yourself, Captain; frustration will do you no good."

A new pair of footsteps, running quickly towards us. I opened my eyes, to see a dirty-blonde haired boy sprinting towards us.

"Present!" Loft gasped, hoisting a large brown bag over his shoulder. "Pit stop gift shop!"

I frowned, narrowing my eyes, but before I could say anything, he spoke again. "Fun, let's go."

"How dare you?" The Captain asked, outraged. "You keep us waiting here for hours, and then you just-"

"Funny man say haha," Loft said, jogging towards the door. "Not-funny men didn't say haha."

"I agree," I said, cutting across the Captain's fuming, "we've delayed here long enough. Let's go."

And at last, at long last, we were out of the Library. And into the raging, howling, supernatural blizzard.

This was going to be fun.

---___---___---___---

"She wears high heels I wear sneakers, she's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers!"

"For the love of Din, shut up!"

I closed my eyes again, resting my head against my knees. My back was pressed firmly against a large boulder, and I could feel the heat from the two Candles wash against my face. Even with the combined heat of my Blue Candle, and Loft's own Red Candle (or "Candie," as he insisted on referring to it), we were still shivering from the biting cold of the winter storm. Thankfully, however, the giant rock was protecting us from the wind.

We were resting behind a large boulder for the night, and I had believed that I would be able to take this opportunity to concentrate on strategies for vanquishing the Wizzrobe. However... something else continued to intrude into my thoughts, worming through my concentration, nibbling at my train of thought, disrupting and mixing my metaphors.

"IT'S FRIDAY, FRIDAY, GONNA GET DOWN ON FRIDAY!"

"Shut your Din-blasted piehole, you tar-faced Moblin!"

Specifically, Loft. While he had been strange and wild when I first met him, his behavior now was completely and totally insufferable. Even I, who had trained to release negative emotions for years, was becoming irritated at the constant renditions of popular pop music.

I could only reach three conclusions. One, this was his natural behavior, and he was only sucking up before. Two, he suffered from mood swings and an absolute lack of self-control. Third, he was purposely antagonizing the Captain.

The question was, I thought, watching absently as the Captain threw a rock at Loft's form, spread-eagled against the snow; which was the correct reason behind his behavior? I needed to find out; if he continued on his present course, it was highly likely that the Captain would refuse to accompany us to the Wizzrobe, which be a very bad thing.

Loft's bare feet snapped up and somehow managed to catch the rock. "It's the CIIIIIIRCLE OOOOF LIIIIIIIFE!" Enough was enough.

"Loft," I said, standing up. "Come with me."

---___---___---___---

"Loft, why are you acting like this?" I said, trying to make myself heard above the raging wind. We were standing a dozen feet from the boulder, barely keeping it within sight.

Loft cocked a hand behind his ear, leaning in closer. "Eh?"

"Why are you being obnoxious?"

Loft shrugged, grinning wickedly. "I dunno!"

I glared sternly at him. "Loft, your behaviour is jeopardizing the assistance of the Captain, something we require if we do not wish for the Wizzrobe to slaughter us the moment we show our faces in his domain."

He tilted his head. "Eh?"

I sighed. "You're making the Captain mad. If you continue antagonizing him, he won't want to help us. If he doesn't help us, we'll probably get killed."

Understanding dawned in Loft's face, and he nodded. "Oh. Why did you not say so?"

A muscle twitched in my eye. I closed my eyes, breathing out the negative energy just as I had been taught.

"Why are you being so insufferable to him?"

Loft chewed his tongue, thinking. Finally, he opened his mouth slowly. "Man... bad."

I blinked. "What?"

"Man bad," he repeated. He glanced back at the barely visible firelight, hugging his shivering frame tightly. "Hates us, wants to hurt us."

I raised an eyebrow. "And to remedy this, you decide to make him hate you more."

"Funny man bad," Loft said, fiddling with his jacket. "Needs to poof."

"Poof?" I asked, struggling to understand his mutilated, sub-childish grammar. "What is 'poof?'"

"Poof," he said, waving a hand around vaguely. "Vanish, leave, die, disappear."

"There will be no 'poofing' on my watch, Loft," I said sternly. "I do not accept hunches; either find me proper evidence, or learn to live with your irrational dislike of the Captain. I don't want to hear it, Loft," I said, cutting across his next sentence, "the Captain is a valuable asset; one that I do not intend on losing any time soon. You will cease hostilities, and place all your natural abilities into restoring your damaged relations with the Captain. Understand?"

Loft pouted.

"Understand?" I repeated.

"Understand," he said, sticking his bottom tongue out as far as he could. He turned, ready to go back to camp.

"Loft."

"Brudda say what?"

"If it makes you feel better, I'm placing you on Captain-watch-duty. If he does anything to warrant suspicion, or anything that could suggest betrayal, I want you to tell me immediately. But keep it under cover, okay?"

Loft grinned, tapping his nose sneakily. "Float like a Peahat, sting like a Leever."

"If you say so," I said, giving up. As we made our way back to camp, I made a mental note to acquire a Jabber Nut as soon as possible. Perhaps it would help me to understand his peculiar dialect.

---___---___---___---

[[There. I moved us from the Library to the base of the Mountain. Adad, you can do pretty much anything you want at this point; you can control the Captain in your posts, just don't kill him. You can either do another travelling post or bring us to the Wizzrobe's icy castle, whatever you want to do.]]

((It's time for this thread to end. And for anyone grading, yes; I am switching viewpoints. First Person feels weirder and weirder, especially when I need to switch between Loft [3rd] and Marcus [1st]. I am also aware that my characters' personalities and mannerisms fluctuate a little too much too be healthy. I'm still figuring out who they are, and each of my posts are a month apart, so they've changed quite a bit each time.

Oh, and Adad: I'm giving you a post time-limit. You have 7 days to post after I do. I'll follow it too; it's just that this thread needs to end NOW, and at our current pace, it won't end until you graduate.))

Marcus tapped a block of ice loudly, attracting the attention of his comrades. "We are within sight of the Wizzrobes' castle. Despite certain... setbacks," and here his gaze flickered at Loft, "we have managed to arrive with little casualties. Despite the efforts of a certain someone, anyway."

"I'm sorry!" Loft protested. "You asked for something to keep us from freezing!"

"Asking a Yeti- a Yeti in heat, nonetheless- if we could take its fur was NOT what I meant!"

"Anyway," he said, rubbing his bruised shoulder absent-mindedly, "the time has come to face the Wizzrobe. He is, of course, expecting us."

"How can you tell?" The Captain said, gruffly.

Marcus cleared his throat, and jerked his head at the paved pathway, leading up to the open gate of the Wizzrobe's castle. There were no guards, and no monsters roaming about.

"He might as well have hung a neon sign over the entrance; ADVENTURER ENTRANCE."

"So, what do we do now?" The Captain asked, glaring at the ice castle.

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "We go in, of course."

"What?" The Captain asked, looking like Marcus had gone insane. "Why in Din's Name would we do that?"

Marcus sighed. "The Wizzrobe has enough power to cover all of Hyrule in ice, and control legions of ice monsters. If he wanted us dead, we would have died a long time ago."

"So?"

"So," Marcus said irritably, "he wants a fight. He's bored, and we're offering entertainment. It's a common fault among super-villains, especially those who can do (literally) anything. It also gives us an edge; he'll want to make the battle last, not just sweep his arms and end our lives. No, a big, climactic battle; that's what he wants."

"He wants some entertainment? Let's give it to him." The Captain hefted his broadsword over his shoulder, and marched towards the open gateway.

Zajora rubbed his cold hands together and formed little wisps of fire to warm them up. Doing the gestures necessary for spells would be a lot less fun with frozen hands. The castle was fairly impressive though. Where did a wizzrobe, albeit a powerful one, find the time, materials, and henchman necessary for constructing this? Or perhaps he just took it from the yetis. That was probably more likely.

He cleared his throat and prepared to say a few words. "Alright everyone, be careful. Make sure to let me or Marcus deflect any spells thrown our way. That doesn't apply to you Captain Leroy. Feel free to charge all the powerful magic users with a puny sword. It will work out well, trust me."

The Captain just gave him an annoyed glare as usual and continued leading the party. Zajora shrugged, the man's life really wasn't worth anything to him. If he wanted to throw away his advice and get killed, so be it. Plus he would soak up any surprise attacks. A big freezable shield shouting look at me. Just what they needed now that he thought of it. Heck, maybe he'd even live through the encounter.

The wizzrobe was definitely somewhere near though, he felt an icy magic pervade the area, making it even colder than it should be in this blizzard. He was impressed, normally wizzrobes had skill, but were so tightly controlled and indoctrinated they would limit themselves so as not to be a threat. This one seemed to be more akin to an actual wizard but with his race's powers. Good for him.

"Wizzy, we're here about blizzy!" He shouted into the empty entrance hall. It echoed around the castle and broke the stillness. Something stirred. "We're not alone." He cautioned. He lit fire in his hands and prepared to fling it wherever the beast appeared.

Marcus flared his magic, kickstarting it into full gear. An attack might come at any time, but somehow he doubted it. As he had said before, the Wizzrobe wanted to play with them first, as a great cat would toy with its mice.

Which probably means, he thought, his eyes scanning the room carefully, that it'll make some sort of huge, dramatic entrance. Probably involving lots of flashing lights, lots of ice, and maybe a loud crack for effect. In fact, it should happen right... about... now.

Exactly then, the great throne room in which they were standing in began to tremble and quake. Loft, standing at the diamond formation's back, was playing an in-place game of hopscotch, while the Captain, standing in the front, was hefting his broad sword into a ready stance.

And just like that, with Marcus' hand outstretched, ready to deflect any attack... the room was still. All was as it had been. Except... the ice looked different somehow.

Was it... flowing? It was; the ice was flowing from all corners of the room, heading towards one, central focal point.

"Ten rupees says it's heading to the throne," Marcus muttered to Loft.

"You can't play me!" Loft said, and tapped his nose sneakily. "Make it twenty rupoor, and you've got a deal!"

"Shut up!" The Captain hissed, and they returned their attention to the throne, where the ice was indeed coalescing into a single, tangible shape.

Surprisingly enough, the shape was humanoid.

"Stay alert, people," the Captain barked, levelling his sword at the ice sculpture, "that thing's gonna be here any second!"

"Technically, it was already here," Marcus said dryly, "it's only just now that it has manifested into a recognizable form."

"Shut up," he growled, "and start magic-ing."

Marcus raised his eyebrows at the term, but kept his quiet. Now was not the time for antagonizing the meat-shield, now was the time for making said meat-shield like you. He frowned slightly at this; Zajora was rubbing off at him. The Captain may be a little nasty to them, but he wasn't bad. And certainly not worthy of meat shield status.

His gaze slid to Loft. Some people, on the other hand...

The sounds of softly sliding icesickles stopped. Marcus looked back, and saw an ordinary, blue-robed Wizzrobe. An ordinary Wizzrobe that had covered Hyrule in snow and ice in months, had raised up this castle, and who still had enough power leftover to cream them.

The Wizzrobe's body might not look it, but it was still made of ice. Which meant that it was vulnerable to fire. Well, Marcus thought, grinning internally, he picked the wrong party to toy with.

Or perhaps, he thought, as it raised its glowing hand, they were exactly the right one.

Zajora leapt into action as the wizzrobe became tangible. "We've come to destroy you and free Hyrule from your icy terror!" He shouted in what he hoped was an imperious and suitably heroic manner. He let the fire fly off towards the monster mage as it raised its hand. A shimmering ball of ice met it and both shattered and dissipated into nothingness. Well apparently it was able to pinpoint small moving targets and hit them dead on. That couldn't be good. "Hey meat-shield!" He called to the captain, "start distracting it, I'll try to-" Then it was gone.

A soft ping caused him to spin around and wave his hand through the air towards the sound. A see-through image of the icy monstrosity suddenly became solid and his outstretched hand launched another icy spell towards him. It met a shimmering blue shield that bounced it back at him. The ice battered the wizzrobe ineffectually. It disappeared again and warped to the other side of the room. They needed some way to hold his attention and keep him there.

Zajora launched a Din's Burst towards the wizzrobe but it was off again as soon as it arrived and launched another spell. The captain jumped out of the way as the frigid burst passed him. Zajora looked all around, ready for the next attack to come from anywhere.

Marcus' heart beat fiercely against his chest, as his eyes coolly swept the room in a co-ordinated search pattern.

He could come from anywhere, so we must be ready to shield at any time.

His eyes glanced over to Zajora, seeing his breath crystallize in the air around him. But the ice attacks don't hurt it, and we can't shield forever. We need another way to attack it; we need a way to hit it with Din's Burst. But how?

Wait, there. A shimmer in the air. Marcus swept his hand forwards, just as the Wizzrobe appeared.

It bore down upon him, slashing its robed hand through the icy air around them. A wave of blue energy zapped straight towards Marcus, colliding with the crystal he had managed to erect. Behind the crystal, Marcus' eyes narrowed. He hardly paid any attention to the attack absorbing harmlessly back into the Wizzrobe; he had already accepted that its attacks wouldn't damage it. Instead he was paying more attention to the shimmer it made as it left. Exactly the same as the one it had made before arriving, which had given Marcus ample opportunity to throw up his shield.

Gotcha.

"Zajora," Marcus said, "watch for a shimmer, and fire Din's Burst at it. Don't wait to see if it lands; throw Nayru's Affection up immediately."

[[Adad's not active, and I'm not going to keep sitting around waiting for him to start posting, because he's probably not going to. If he wants to, he can post, but I'm going to RolePlay this thread with or without him.]]

Loft spun rapidly on the spot, trying to keep an eye on everything in the great hall. The world was melding into a great spectrum of light blue, only interrupted by the dark figures of his three friends and the hovering form of the Wizzrobe behind them-

He shuddered to a halt, yelling, "Wizzie alert!" The others looked to see the Wizzrobe floating several feet above the ground, its blue robes the exact same shade as the ice behind it, twirling gently against its hidden legs. Its clawed talons were stretched forth in front of it, and with a great upwards swipe the ice underneath them began to shake and tremble. He threw himself to the side as the ice shot up, forming a great semi-transparent column where he had stood mere moments before. Dimly, he heard the surprised cries of the Captain and Zajora as they were forced to dive on its other side. It was a tactician's nightmare; they were separated, confronted by an enemy that could attack them both nearly simultaneously from any angle at any time.

Loft laughed, smacking the ice wall with his knuckle. "Ha! Missed me, missed me, now ya gotta kiss me!" Loft taunted, sticking his tongue out at it. He heard Marcus clamber to his feet, but Loft kept his eyes on the Wizzrobe, ready for another trick. The creature's talons were pointed at them, long claws wiggling rapidly.

Loft gasped. "Spirit fingers! Run away!" He grabbed Marcus' arm and yanked him to the side, narrowly dodging a spray of icicles that were sent flying their way. He heard them shatter against the wall behind them as they hit the icy floor, sliding several feet before coming to a stop. "Has it poofed again?" Loft yelled, searching desperately for their vanished assailant.

They heard a whooshing sound from behind them, and before they could act a ball of blue energy exploded at their feet, sending them both flying back from the attack's force. "Farore, that hurt!" Marcus said, wincing as he held his badly bruised arm gingerly. "We'll have to- watch out!"

The Wizzrobe had suddenly slashed through the air, creating a wave of frozen air that sliced towards them. From the corner of his eye, Loft saw a kneeling Marcus use his good arm to cast a protective barrier between himself and the wave, but Loft was too far away for the blue crystal to help him. He leaped over the blue attack, legs pulled up high as the energy passed underneath him. He landed on the ice, immediately pushing off again, using the momentum of his dodge to give added height and speed to his jump as he flew towards the Mage. His knives were mere inches away from its chest when it faded from reality, leaving naught but a faint after-image in its place, taunting him as it shimmered through his knives and body. His feet hit the ground after his leap, and he skidded, falling over and sliding across the room, slamming into a suit of armour holding a giant spear.

"Ow," he said, wincing as his body throbbed from the several impacts of the last minute. "Watch where you're going, you stupid hunk of metal!"

Marcus was slipping and sliding across the ice towards him, his arms windmilling through the air in an attempt to keep his failing balance. With a huff, he plopped himself down next to Loft. "I think we'll be fine for a bit," he said, breathing heavily. "It should be busy with the Captain and Zajora for a few minutes. They should be alright," he said, glancing at the wall for a split-second before returning his attention to his bruised shoulder, "they're both skilled adventurers, and can hold their own until the Mage decides to come kill us instead."

"In fact," Marcus continued, "this split might actually prove to be in our favour. The Wizzrobe is now divided between two equally competent teams; when it attacks one, the other will recover from its last advance." His mouth twisted bitterly. "However, we cannot let this become a war of attrition. Farore only knows how much dark energy that thing's got stored; it is entirely plausible that we would tire more quickly than it would. No," he said, staring idly at the wall, behind which the dark shapes of darting figures could be seen through the column of ice, "we must figure out a plan."

"Run away?" Loft asked, poking at the large bruise on Marcus' arm; the sleeve must have ripped somewhere during the battle, exposing the angry mark for the world to see.

"Not an option," Marcus said coldly, wrenching his arm away from Loft. "Even if we did retreat, where would we go? The whole world is being covered in a widening blanket of snow and ice. Nowhere is safe from the Wizzrobe. We have a chance to end this, here and now." He stretched his arm, trying to dull the pain and bring it back into good, working condition. He didn't want to waste his blue sparks, after all.

"I guess," Loft muttered, absently carving a picture of the moon onto the icy floor below them. "But Wizzie's so strong... what do we do?"

Marcus bit his lip. What do we do? The fundamental question, the deadly puzzle where his ability to see the answer would mean the difference between life and death. He opened his mouth, then closed it. How were they supposed to bring something so powerful down? It could teleport, it could fire any number of ice-based attacks at them, and it had supreme control over the battleground. The only reason that they weren't dead yet was because it wanted a bit more amusement out of them before it obliterated them, and that defence would surely soon disappear.

Marcus started by listing the obvious. "We need to find a way to hit it," he said. "If it sees us coming, we won't be able to." He swallowed, and glanced at Loft. "I think we might need to split up."

Marcus and Loft stood several dozen feet apart, arms tense and expressions grim. Well, Marcus' was. Loft's was more... excited. He was thrilled with the fight, with the adrenaline pumping through his veins, spreading fire through his whole body. This was exciting, this was interesting, and this was as far from boring as it was possible to be.

Loft bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting. Waiting. Waiting for Wizzie to grace them with his presence. He paused. His? Maybe Wizzie was a she. She was awfully pissy, after all...

"Marcus?" Loft asked curiously.

"Yes, Loft?" Marcus asked tensely, eyes scanning the surrounding area rapidly.

"Do Wizzrobes have periods?"

There were several seconds of silence. Then Marcus stopped scanning, fixing his gaze solely on Loft. "Loft."

"Yea-huh?"

"I spent hours staring at diagrams of the Wizzrobe's anatomy. I can tell you for a fact, that they do not have periods. Now, shut up and keep looking."

Loft struck a mock-salute. "Yes sir, Mr. Marcus sir!"

Marcus gazed calmly back at him. "That's better." With that, he returned to his scanning.

Minutes passed. Then, suddenly, the shouts and cries of his teammates, separated from them by the large ice column, ceased. No more sounds floated over it, and Marcus could only hope that the adventurers weren't dead.

"Marcus, what-"

"Watch out!" Marcus yelled, for at that very moment a faint shimmer had appeared in the air between them, its hazy outline slowly coalescing into a humanoid shape.

The Wizzrobe appeared, flashing its talons and stirring up a gale of icy wind around it. It glared at Loft, either not seeing or not caring that Marcus stood less than a dozen feet behind its blue-robed back. It began slinging shards of ice at Loft, amused by his dashing back and forth on the slippery ice. Marcus glared at it; it wasn't even trying to hit him. It was making him dance, like a ringleader would a wild animal.

They had been hoping that Marcus would be the distraction. Obviously, that wasn't happening. He had no magic that he could use to hurt it, either. He knew that his Blue Candle would most likely be effective (fire burning ice, basic elemental stuff), but he somehow doubted that he could reach ten feet up, to where the Wizzrobe was hovering softly over the icy floor.

He glanced around desperately. There must be something that he could use. The room was cleanly divided by the wall of nearly opaque ice, stretching from the inaccessible door to the throne at the other... end...

The throne! The Wizzrobe wouldn't want to destroy it, just for us puny Hylians, so he kept the ice from destroying it. They had a way through, back together as a team!

He heard Loft scream; a shard of ice, approximately the length of his arm, had grazed his side. No time for regrouping; perhaps they could use it as an ambush later. The wall to his right was lined with suits of armour, each bearing a different iron weapon. Sword, spear, axe. Sword, spear, axe. The order repeated down the line, each set spaced out an exact distance from the next. Marcus had to admire the Mage's eye for detail.

He dashed up to the nearest suit. He eyed the cleanly-shining surface apprehensively. No way that he could lift that. He wouldn't even look at the sword; it's razor-thin surface glimmered wickedly in the light of the room, and nothing short of a divine demand from Din (or, more likely, Farore, but he needed to finish the alliteration, even in his thoughts) would make him touch that weapon.

"Spear it is, then," he muttered, carefully sliding its wooden shaft out of the armour's hands. Thankfully, it wasn't grasped very tight, and he managed to lift it completely out within seconds. True, he overbalanced and nearly fell over, but at least now he could fight.

He stood behind the spear, aiming it carefully at the Wizzrobe. He had never thrown one of these before, but he quickly ran through the physics in his mind. There was no wind, thankfully, and the target was still. He most likely did not possess enough strength to nail the Wizzrobe from a distance of approximately ten feet, so he edged closer carefully, wincing as it tossed another explosive sphere at Loft.

Ten feet. Nine feet. Marcus lips were dry as he shifted closer, his feet making small scraping sounds against the ice. Eight feet, seven feet, six feet. He hoped that the Wizzrobe wouldn't turn around; he was a sitting duck like this, with no hands free to cast a protective barrier between them. Five feet. He stopped, and pulled back his arm.

He took two small steps forward for momentum and threw his arm forward, the spear swishing through the air loudly as it sped towards its prey.

Unfortunately, Marcus' muscles were so weak that the spear was travelling far too slowly. The Wizzrobe heard the sound of its approach, and whirled around quickly, one hand outstretched to stop the spear.

"Loft, now!" Marcus yelled, swiping both hands in front of him. His vision went blue as the transparent blue crystals formed in front of him, offering him some brief protection against the Wizzrobe's might.

Loft, clutching his side, darted towards the Wizzrobe's back. He leaped from the floor, and drove both knives into the Mage's body.

The Wizzrobe roared, blue energy bursting from its being, and Loft was thrown back (again), crashing into the ice below. He bounced against the floor, rolling until he came to a stop against the wall. He did not stir.

"Loft!" Marcus yelled. Was he dead? Was he still breathing? He was too far away to check, and the Wizzrobe was between them, turning to face him slowly as dark blood flowed down its body, dripping steadily onto the floor below.

"Well. Crap."

The Wizzrobe raised a hand, dark blue energy swirling around its clawed fingers. Though Marcus could not see its face through the mask, he could sense the burning rage behind the magic. He took a step back, raising a shaking hand. It didn't matter how intimidating the attack was; Nayru's Affection would protect him. Right?

The Wizzrobe laughed, the strange chittering sound bouncing horribly throughout the icy room. Its clawed fingers, brought together into a point, split. The dark blue energy split with it, creating three sources of sparking, magical might.

Marcus' breath stopped. Multiple projectiles. All fired at once. Nayru's Affection would only stop one of them, and he physically couldn't move his hand fast enough to recast it in time. He considered dodging, but his legs were frozen in place- he couldn't move, he was stuck, fixed in the Wizzrobe's attack path. He thought of Loft, his companion, his... friend. He would die too, Marcus was sure of it.

The energy dimmed, receding into the Wizzrobe's individual talons, pulled into three separate compact energy points.

He closed his eyes. Death was imminent. There was nothing he could do to escape. The Wizzrobe was simply too powerful.

Marcus' lips parted, and he said his final prayer to his Goddess. "Oh Farore, Goddess of Courage and Life... thank you."

"You just going to stand there and die, kid?"

Marcus' eyes snapped open. He knew that voice. Arrogant, cocky, and slightly narcissistic; it could only be one person. "C-Captain?"

A figure had risen behind the Wizzrobe, a great hulking humanoid shape, a large and deadly sword raised high above its head. With a loud roar, the sword came slicing down through the air, on a direct intercept course for the Wizzrobe's head.

With no time to shimmer away, the Wizzrobe was forced to clumsily dodge to its left. The sword missed its head, but it bit deeply into its shoulder, nearly severing the arm from its torso. The Wizzrobe roared, spinning on the spot, its blood flying in a wide circle, and its hand shot towards the Captain's head.

Its talons grasped at the man's face, pulling him up to its height. His legs dangled in the air, kicking furiously, but to no effect. Blood spurted from the Wizzrobe's shoulder, but ice was quickly flowing towards the wound, sealing it and preventing further blood loss. Its talons began to glow, its eyes glowing a bright blue behind its mask, wisps of energy unfurling from their sockets.

"Captain, no!" Marcus started forwards, but too late. There was no time for him to get there, no time for him to do anything. The Captain would die, his head exploding from beneath the Wizzrobe's grip, sending blood and brains bursting everywhere.

"I don't think so!" A second voice called out, a childish voice. A bright ball of red fire flew from the voice's direction, exploding into the side of the Wizzrobe's head. The Wizzrobe roared, squeezing the Captain's head and throwing him to one side. He didn't move.

Marcus dashed over to him, dropping to his knees and sliding across the ice until he hit him. He checked his vitals; pulse, check, breathing, check, no major injuries. He examined his skull; it would be very bruised (if he survived the encounter), but there were no penetrations and his head had maintained its original shape. Good.

He placed his hands over his head, and concentrated. Zajora could, hopefully, survive the next few moments on his own. If they were going to get through this battle, then they needed some muscle. His hands began to glow, and healing sparks scattered across the Captain's frame. They concentrated mostly on his head, the others spreading across his frame. He noticed that some sparks focused on his left arm; it must have been badly strained on that attack.

The flow of sparks ended. Not waiting for the Captain to wake up, Marcus dashed as quickly as he could to Loft's motionless form, praying that he was alright.

Marcus' breath hitched. Loft wasn't breathing. He quickly checked Loft's pulse. Two seconds. There was nothing, that was fine. Five seconds. Focus, Marcus, focus; it must be there somewhere. Ten seconds. Holy Farore, Loft didn't have a pulse.

Marcus poured his magic into Loft's body, but the sparks skittered helplessly across his form, none of them sinking in. The sparks fizzled and died, sparking into non-existence and leaving Loft unaffected.

For the second time that day, Marcus' breath stopped. The only time that Life didn't work was when the subject was... no. Marcus' hands pounded on Loft's chest, pumping in a steady rhythm. Loft was still alive, he had to be! The spell may not be able to detect the presence of a soul, but that didn't matter. People who had been revived from drownings had been declared clinically and completely dead, yet upon revival their soul had been brought back into their body. Surely the same concept applied here?

28... 29... 30. Marcus leaned down, pressing his mouth against Loft's. 1...2 rescue breaths. Restart compressions. 1...2...3...4...5...

Marcus could hear the sounds of battle being carried around behind him, but he didn't care. All that mattered was the total absence of a heartbeat beneath his hands, the body devoid of all life stretched out underneath him.

1...2 rescue breaths. Restart compressions.

"MARCUS!" A voice roared behind him. The Captain. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? GET OVER HERE AND FIGHT!"

No. No, he wouldn't. He couldn't. All that mattered was the body beneath him. Loft could not die, he could not! 25...26...27...28...29...30. Begin rescue breaths.

He reached down again. 1...

He never got to the second rescue breath. Loft's body convulsed, and some wet, disgusting fluid was spat into Marcus' mouth.

Marcus spasmed off of Loft, twitching as he hurled up the offending fluids. He retched several times, and heard the action repeated behind him. Turning, he saw Loft gagging, his back arched. Marcus crawled over to him, flipping him onto his side. Red fluid came trickling out, followed by a series of retching coughs. Marcus reflexively checked Loft's pulse; it was weak, but it was there.

Loft was alive. Marcus seized his chance, and sent his magic flooding into Loft. His back arched as the magic immediately seeped into his frame, repairing all the internal damage done by the Wizzrobe. Come on, Loft, come on...

Loft's eyes snapped open. With Marcus' help, he pulled himself up into a seating position, gagging and rasping.

"Loft..." Marcus swallowed. "How do you feel?"

Loft groaned, and suddenly jumped to his feet, catching Marcus off guard. "Like the highly-caffeinated squirrel from Over the Hedge."

A lump rose in Marcus' throat, and he grinned. "Good. Let's put all that energy to use, eh?"

Loft growled. "Wizzie."

"Yes, Loft," Marcus said, "Wizzie."

Marcus and Loft advanced on the Wizzrobe, flanking it between themselves and the other mage-warrior duo. It raised its arm, and zapped the ice wall it had erected earlier. Marcus expected it to shatter under the blow, but instead the ice swirled, turning into a white shimmering vortex. The Wizzrobe flew into it, disappearing. The vortex began to close, spiralling in on itself, and the heroes dashed to cross it before it did. They dived into it one after another, somehow managing to pass through before it shut forever.

They staggered out of the vortex, instantaneously arriving at the portal's destination. They were standing on the tower's roof, a uniform marble platform that reached out several dozen feet in every direction. A crackling funnel of blue energy fluctuated above them, its sweeping waves fueling the vicious storm clouds that terrorized Hyrule. The storm raged out from the funnel, leaving the platform safe in its eye.

The Wizzrobe was floating up into the funnel, pouring energy into it.

"Why is it fueling the storm?" The Captain shouted, trying to make himself clearly heard over the howling gale several dozen feet away from them. "Shouldn't it be taking energy, not giving it?"

"Isn't it obvious, meat-shield?" Zajora asked loftily. "It's wholly fixated on destroying Hyrule. At this point, it doesn't care about itself; it just wants the world to die."

"That's good, right?" Loft asked. "We can kill it now without being turned into little ice-ki-bobs."

"Yes," Marcus said, "except now the storm's going to be worse." He turned to the group at large. "Listen. That funnel isn't producing its own energy, it's using the Wizzrobe to survive. If we're going to end the storm, then we need to kill the Wizzrobe. Now that it's drained its energy, and after getting its arm nearly chopped off, we actually stand a chance at killing it."

The Captain humphed, crossing his arms. "What, you mean we didn't before?"

"We did," Zajora said, "you didn't. Now, it'll be so weak that even an idiot like you can bring it down."

The Captain flexed his muscles, glaring at the little mage. "I'll kill you after I obliterate them, pipsqueak."

"Bring it on, Narcissus!"

"Boys, boys," Marcus said absently. "We can all kill each other after Hyrule's safe."

The Captain crossed his arms. "Kill you now, kill you later, it's all the same to me. I don't even need you guys; I can kill this thing all by myself."

"Go ahead and try," Zajora taunted, "I'm sure that he'll be so impressed by your steroid muscles."

"You little- watch out!"

They dived to the side, narrowly avoiding a blast of blue energy from the Wizzrobe.

"Uh, guys?" Loft asked, flipping back onto his feet. "When did Wizzie turn into a firefly?" The Wizzrobe was emitting huge whisps of glowing blue light, the energy radiating from its being and lighting up the sky around it.

Marcus swore. "It's glowing because it's channeling its life force. The good news is that it's going to definitely die after this. The bad news is that tt's going to move faster, hit harder, and die a lot slower."

"Oh," Zajora added, "and if we die, it'll pour so much energy into that funnel that Hyrule'll turn into a ball of ice in less than a week."

The Captain cussed. "Din's Eye, we're screwed."

"Zajora," Marcus said, "you're going to hit it with as many Din's Bursts as possible. Captain, you distract it. Loft, be a ninja. I'll..." he paused. What could he do? He healed and protected, neither of which could really be used to kill something. He made a mental note to learn some combat spells as soon as possible.

"You," Zajora said firmly, "are going to stay alive. We need our Healer to stay alive. You stay with me and use Nayru's Affection."

"Squishies, stay here," the Captain said, charging forward. "Leave the battle to the real men."

"Yeah!" Loft said happily, darting after him. "I'm a real man!"

"Dream on, kid." The Captain said, closing in on the Wizzrobe.

Marcus leaned in to Zajora, watching as the two broke away from a blast of blue lightning. "Are you sure that they can handle themselves without us?"

"Loft'll be fine," Zajora assured him. "He's a ninja, remember? Good luck hitting him."

"Alright," Marcus said worriedly, "but what about the Captain? He's not exactly ninja material."

Zajora flapped a hand at him. "Pssh, who cares? You know he's just going to try and kill you anyway for the reward, so who cares if he gets nailed by the Wizzrobe?"

Marcus frowned, but didn't respond. Instead, he turned back to the battle. Loft and the Captain were doing their bit, distracting the Wizzrobe. Now it was time for theirs. "Now, Zajora!"

Zajora concentrated, and a small fiery point appeared in the air in front of him. He backhanded it, sending it careening towards the Wizzrobe's exposed back. The Wizzrobe didn't dodge, and the point impacted, exploding into a huge ball of writhing flames. The Wizzrobe lurched forwards, but resumed combat after barely half a second.

"What?" Zajora gasped.

"He's channeling his life force, remember?" Marcus said.

"Right." Zajora said, and sent another ball of fire at it. "It's been a while since that's come up."

Marcus shrugged. "It doesn't usually happen. I mean, drawing upon your inner energy is certain death, so most mages don't use it."

"Uh-oh," Zajora said, "incoming trouble!"

The Wizzrobe had lazily raised its hand, and flicked its fingers back towards them. From the storm raging around the platform came three blue comets, crashing into the marble before them. Three figures rose from the point of impact, giant skeletal figures of ice rising from the hissing steam. The Wizzrobe snapped its fingers, and another three comets zoomed in from the storm, piercing into the marble before each figure. When the steam cleared, Marcus saw three icy spears embedded into the marble. The skeletons reached forwards, yanking them out of the marble.

"I'm not going to just stand here and watch!" Zajora thrusted his palm forward, a small orb of fire blazing forth from his skin. It slammed into the first skeleton, and it staggered backwards, the fire eating through its rib cage. In retaliation, it threw its javelin at them, the icy projectile whizzing through the air directly towards Zajora.

Marcus swiftly stepped in front of Zajora, swiping his hand forward. The spear impacted with the blue crystal, rebounding off its surface. The crystal shattered upon impact, and Marcus stepped back beside Zajora. His mouth fell open as the skeleton, unimpressed by their maneuver, sidestepped and caught the spear that had rebounded off of Marcus' spell.

"Did... did he just?"

"Crap." Zajora said.

"They're called Chilfos," Marcus recited, "icy skeletal warriors that use their spears as both melee and projectile weapons. Confronting them in large groups is not advised. They are typically found in the Northern Mountains, particularly Snowhead, however they have been sighted in any location under zero degrees Celsius. Aside from fire and extreme heat, Chilfos are most vulnerable to explosives and blunt trauma."

"So, either crush it or blow it up?"

"Pretty much. I mean, they are made of ice, so you could also melt them, but it is less effective of a method."

Zajora gestured, sending another Din's Burst at the same Chilfos. "Duly noted." The attack burst upon impact, destroying its already weakened spine. "Alright, they can withstand two concussive attacks. This shouldn't be too bad."

Marcus blocked another spear, and the second Chilfos didn't even spare it a glance, its arm snapping out to grab it. It dashed towards them, moving surprisingly quickly for such a large skeleton. Zajora glanced to the other side, seeing that the other Chilfos was quickly coming in to flank them, taking advantage of the distraction.

"Uh, Marcus? We've got a problem!"

"Focus on that one," Marcus said. "I'll hold this one off, just shatter it!"

Zajora formed another point in the air before him, and sent it whizzing off to the approaching skeleton. "Take this, bone-head!" It exploded into the Chilfos' skull, and the skeleton lurched back. Zajora dashed forwards, thinking to take advantage of its confusion to land a flying kick onto its head, but a hand came flying out of nowhere, smacking him to the ground.

Zajora shook his head, looking up to the towering Chilfos above him. It raised its spear, ready to impale him. "I don't think so!" Zajora said, and thrust his palm forward. A small ball of flame shot out from his skin, impacting with the thing's skull, which shattered with a loud crash. The headless warrior stumbled, and collapsed.

"Two down," Zajora said, turning. "One to go."

Marcus was facing some difficulty with his Chilfos. Unlike his companion, he himself possessed no combat spells. His strategy mostly consisted of dodging around its attacks, using Nayru's Affection to block the kicks and stabs that the Chilfos leveled at him. Its spear rebounded off the crystal, sending the skeleton reeling back, thrown off balance. Marcus quickly reached into his pack, pulled out his Blue Candle, and thrust its fire into the monster's spine, hoping to melt it and destroy its mobility.

It did absolutely no damage- in fact, the ice there actually hardened. "Oh," Marcus said. "Right. The flame of a Blue Candle is extremely cold, versus a normal flame's extremely hot temperature. Meaning that I just made it that much harder to kill. Joy."

The Chilfos regained its balance, and threw up another kick. Marcus raised his hand, but too late. He was sent sprawling, and looked up to see it reach behind its back. He heard something crack, and the skeletal hand came back into sight, its spear held tightly in its grip. Marcus saw the spear draw back, and he rolled just in time. The spear embedded itself into the marble, and he jumped to his feet, ready to run. The Chilfos advanced on him, and Marcus backed up, keeping his distance. Something in him screamed, and he stopped- looking behind him, he realized that his feet were at the edge of the platform. He looked back up at the Chilfos. He would have to circle around it some-

A burst of red fire, and the Chilfos lurched forward, nearly colliding with Marcus. Acting on instinct, Marcus danced around it, kicking it in the back. It teetered over the edge, its arms windmilling as it attempted to keep its balance. Marcus kicked the embedded spear, breaking off a large section. Grabbing it, he turned, and hurled it at the Chilfos. Its hands reflexively snapped up to catch it, but the projectile's momentum sent it toppling over the edge, falling to the storm below. It disappeared into the dark clouds below, and Marcus stood up, breathing heavily.

"Whew."

Zajora looked up at the Wizzrobe in awe. "All with a flick..."

"I know," Marcus said wearily. "Now, let's move away from the edge before karma decides to knock us off too."

Marcus nodded. They moved farther into the center of the platform, and Zajora created another fiery point in the air in front of him. He smacked it forward, and the Wizzrobe again shuddered at the explosive flames that licked all around its head.

Zajora growled. "I'm not doing any damage!"

Marcus bit his lip, watching as Loft was sent flying by a concussive blast of blue energy. The Captain roared, slicing at the Wizzrobe's leg. His sword clanged harmlessly against an icy spike that ripped from the marble platform between them, and he reeled back, defenseless.

"Zajora!" Marcus yelled, as the Wizzrobe raised its hand to cast a fatal spell.

"Oh, fine," Zajora pouted, and thrust his hand forward. A small ball of fire bashed into the Wizzrobe's head, distracting it just long enough for the Captain to regain his balance.

The Wizzrobe turned, and sliced the air in front of him. Icy spikes erupted from the platform between them and it, and Marcus felt the floor shudder beneath him. Zajora grabbed him, his cape flared, and they leaped high into the air.

They narrowly avoided two enormous stalagmites of ice, and they screamed as they felt the air shake at spikes' screeching screams as they gutted out from the marble. Marcus felt the wind tear at his face as they fell to the ground below them, and he knew they would crash, knew that at this velocity and at this speed they would sustain heavy injuries, injuries that would mean death here.

"Feather fall!" Zajora screamed, but Marcus hardly heard him, the wind ripping away his voice before it could reach Marcus' ears.

Though he couldn't hear the words, he felt their effects. Zajora's magic, guided by his incantation, slowed their velocity, and they touched down gently on the freezing floor.

"Whew," Marcus said, "good job."

"T-thanks," Zajora panted, his hands on his knees.

"You alright?" Marcus said worriedly, keeping a tentative eye on the Wizzrobe. Thankfully, it was being kept distracted by the constantly weaving figures of Loft and the Captain.

"Yeah," Zajora said weakly, "I'm just... just tired. Been using... a lot of magic lately."

Marcus bit his lip. The last thing they needed was for one of their three warriors to faint.

"Don't worry," Zajora smirked, standing up. "The adrenaline's still pumping, and there's no way I'm down before he is," he said, nodding his head at the Captain.

Marcus raised his hands, and they began to sparkle with energy. "Do you need-"

"No," Zajora waved him away, and formed another fiery point. "That won't help. I'm not wounded, just depleted. And I doubt that your sparks of healing energy can configure themselves to my unique magical pattern and refill my tank- that'd be a little too much, don't you think? Besides," he grunted, smacking the tiny orb, "you need to save those sparks for when we need them."

Marcus watched as it exploded against the Wizzrobe's back. Zajora's aim was getting sloppy- he must have been more exhausted than he was letting on.

His shoulders slumped. Zajora's fireballs weren't having any real effect. Neither the Captain or Loft had yet landed a hit, and the storm was just raging on. How much of Hyrule had it already frozen in its advanced state, since the Wizzrobe had first poured in its life energy?

"YES!" Loft screamed, burying his daggers into the Wizzrobe's back.

There was no concussive scream, or backlash of magical energy. Instead, the platform began to rumble and quake, and the Wizzrobe's hands shook as Loft backed away quickly.

Its head was thrown back, and it hovered higher into the air, trembling as the fire around it fluxed wildly, coalescing into two great wings behind its back. The crystallic blue wings, formed out of the mage's life force, flared behind it, giant eyes blinking in eeire dis-unity. The Wizzrobe hovered to the edge of the platform, and the group instinctively came together in a line, facing Hyrule's greatest threat.

"This is it," Marcus said, startling the others. "The last phase of the battle. If we can stay alive long enough, it'll use up its life energy and burn up. Hurt it if you can, but just focus on survival. We just need to keep it focused on us- keep it from channeling the last of its energy into the funnel. We're closer than we ever thought we would be. Don't die on me now."

The wings began to glow, the eight eyes upon them closing as the magical energy was drawn into each pupil. Ripples of energy were pulled from all across the wings into the pupils, and the Captain's eyes widened as they stopped, the wings trembling with the energy contained within.

"Scatter!" The Captain roared, and they broke apart, the four of them trying desperately to escape the lines of fire.

The eyes snapped open, and eight roiling masses of blue energy came roaring out of each pupil, smashing into the platform around them. Each eye had been focused directly onto where they had stood mere seconds ago, and they all diverged into one, single point. The Captain continued to run, his ears ringing from the horrifically loud sounds of smashing marble, and of roaring energy.

When the noise and lights had subsided, he looked around. Where the energy had connected with the marble, a gigantic hole now rested, its yawning maw located exactly in the center of the platform. The circular platform now looked like a giant doughnut, albiet one who's hole was jagged and burnt at the edges.

The Captain swore, realizing that all four of them were scattered across the platform now. Divide and Conquer, that was how the saying went. Well, they were definitely divided now. Next step; conquering. He quickly scanned each of his teammates. Zajora was fine; he was fluttering down to the floor, safely having avoided the blast. He himself was fine; his long, strong legs had easily taken him out of harm's way. Loft was even farther from the point of impact than he was. Marcus... where was Marcus?

His eyes locked onto a fallen figure on his side of the hole, lying lifelessly on the freezing marble only half a dozen feet away from the jagged hole. Crap- Healer down.

He wasn't the only one who noticed the fallen young man. The Wizzrobe's giant eyes focused on the young lad, and their pupils glowed threateningly. There were no ripples, like before, so the Captain was reasonably confident that there wasn't a giant explosion of energy like before, but it would still be enough to easily kill an unconscious weakling like the boy. Without even realizing what he was doing, he had begun sprinting towards his fallen form.

Eight spiralling bolts shot out of the wings, homing directly towards Marcus' prone form.

"No!" The Captain yelled, diving in front of them. He took the bolts, every last one of them, and he had to clench his jaws together to keep from screaming at the blinding pain that shot through his being. He crashed to the ground, his clothes sizzling. Oww.

He opened his bleary eyes, and focused on the glowing form of their Healer. Marcus must have still been conscious. Conscious enough to activate his magic, anyway. The Captain's eyes began to close. Hopefully he would wake up in time to heal him. He wasn't leaving this fight anytime soon.

Footsteps were running towards him. A child was cussing, and the floor trembled as something very heavy slammed into it. There was a shicking sound, and something plopped onto the floor beside him, hissing quietly until it faded into silence.

"Stupid snake," a child's voice said. "Did it honestly expect this to kill us?"

Someone cried out in alarm, and something slammed into his neck, two piercing fangs burying themselves into his skin.

"Crap!" The child swore, and the thing attached to his neck writhed as the smell of burning meat floated up to his nose.

A feeling of numbness began to spread across his neck, reaching into his chin and threading down his chest. He felt a vague sense of fear, but an overwhelming sense of peace washed it out, and he melted into the cool floor, smiling at the sense of bliss that was quickly permeating his being.

His heart beat slower as his breath dimmed down to a sleepy whisper. His mind was enveloped in a warm, fuzzy fog, and his muscles faded from perception as the fog spread through his mind. The floor stopped shuddering underneath him, and soon the floor stopped... being entirely. He was floating, floating in a warm gray fog, his body adrift in its endless expanse. He could hear nothing but a faint ringing sound, could feel nothing but the steadily cooling fog, could see nothing but darkness.

Underneath Loft's palm, the warm thudding heart ceased its endless beats, and the Captain lay still. He was dead.

Zajora cussed. Repeatedly. He was quite fond of his curses, some of which were horribly outdated, and others that he had picked up only a couple weeks ago. He employed the best curses in his arsenal, calling the Wizzrobe and the snake it had summoned from the storm to finish off the weakened Captain some very bad names.

He felt something touch on his shoulder. Marcus was awake, and looking coolly down at him. "Stay focused. It used a lot of its energy in those last few attacks; it won't be long now. Just a few more-"

Marcus never finished his statement. As if to contradict his reassurances, the Wizzrobe's eight new eyes glowed deep red. Concentrated lasers of magical energy beamed from each eye, and they scattered just in time to avoid being incinerated. The Captain's body was caught by one of the beams, and it burst into flames, quickly disintegrating into ash before their eyes.

Zajora frowned. He may not have liked the guy, but he still deserved better than that. He was a warrior, and his death had been brought about by an act of cowardice and dishonour. Not only that, but now he couldn't even have a proper burial. A laser zipped towards Zajora, and he shrugged mentally, diving out of its way. Eh, whatever. That was the Captain's problem, now his. Right now, he had to concentrate on not joining him in the afterlife.

"Don't get hit," Marcus warned, just loud enough for Zajora and Loft to hear, "I don't have much healing magic left in me."

Well, crap! That wasn't good. If a rolling sheet of freezing wind hadn't begun to roll in towards them from the Wizzrobe's mouth, he might have started swearing again. Zajora raced to Marcus, his legs beginning to protest from their unabated abuse, and grabbed him around the middle. Hoping that Loft would be able to take care of himself, he leaped high above the ground with his cape, passing cleanly over the rolling misty cloud. He sighed, casting Feather Fall to ease their descent. The Wizzrobe, doubtlessly annoyed at their continued survival, gestured with its hand, and a bolt of icy lightning flew towards them.

"Marcus!" Zajora yelled. Marcus' hand swiped the air, but Zajora knew that his aim was off. The lightning would hit them, and they would be either fried to a crisp or frozen into statues, statues that would soon fall and smash against the marble floor below.

"Feather Fall!" Marcus screamed. Zajora immediately understood, and dispelled the spell. Their velocity immediately increased, now that the slowing spell had been removed, and they passed underneath the fatal bolt.

They landed hard against the floor, and Loft raced over to them. He had done a triple flip over the wind, but Zajora could see his shivering, and the frost clinging to his clothes. He had narrowly avoided the cloud, but he was alive, and still fully functional.

Loft staggered and fell to the ground, panting. Zajora frowned. Make that mostly functional. They couldn't last much longer like this; the Captain was dead, Marcus was almost completely drained, Loft was close to collapsing, and his own legs were burning from all the jumping around he had done.

"Marcus," he said quietly, "how much longer? We can't take this for much longer."

Marcus frowned up at the Wizzrobe. "Look at his aura. Before, he was surrounded by swaths of blue energy. Now, his aura is more like a flickering collection of feeble tendrils. We're close, really close."

The Wizzrobe's wings flared, and Zajora moaned. "You keep saying that, but we keep getting hammered."

The Wizzrobe must have gotten impatient. It could sense that its life force was draining, and it was desperate to kill them before it burnt up. It had to siphon the last of its energy into the funnel to fuel its storm and blanket Hyrule in a deadly storm. It bent forward, and shot towards them like an arrow. Blue fire trailed behind the wings like exhaust, and the heroes only barely managed to scramble out of its way before it collided with the ground where they had knelt mere moments before.

The Wizzrobe stood, its form silhouetted by its blue aura, and Zajora realized that Marcus had been right. The blue energy had once been a dazzling display of blue energy, but now the aura was flickering, pale and nearly transparent in the night. The Wizzrobe was standing in the small crater it had created upon landing, its wings dissolving into the air.

"It can't sustain them any longer," Zajora heard Marcus mumble tiredly from behind him. Zajora gulped. Loft was nearly down, and Marcus was barely conscious. It looked like it was upon him to keep the three of them alive.

"Watch out," the exhausted boy continued from behind Zajora. "It'll go out with a bang. Probably try and kill us all in one last, desperate move."

Sure enough, the Wizzrobe knelt to the ground, its palms pressed firmly against the marble. Blue energy snaked its way into the marble, which began to crack and shake.

Zajora's eyes widened. "It's trying to destroy the platform!" The marble they were standing on was shaking, large bits and pieces breaking off and spiralling down to the next floor of the tower, hundreds of feet below.

Zajora threw a compact ball of fire at the Wizzrobe, which slammed into its shoulder. The Wizzrobe's icy plating, covering its previous wound, cracked and broke. Its blood flowed again down its shoulder, but the Wizzrobe continued its spell. It didn't look like it cared about the funnel anymore; in its last, dying moments, all it was concerned with was killing them all in one last stroke. Zajora concentrated, and sent Din's Burst flying towards it. It exploded in the Wizzrobe's face, scorching and melting its bird mask, but the Wizzrobe only intensified its efforts, channelling its pain and anger into its spell.

Zajora stumbled to the ground as another tremor shook the platform. A few more pieces broke from the whole, crumbling down the tower and smashing noiselessly against the floor below. Loft darted out from behind Zajora, racing towards the dying mage. He didn't bother to skirt around the holes in the floor, he leaped straight over them, sprinting towards the kneeling Wizzrobe. His daggers came out, and he leaped into the air, plummeting straight down over the Wizzrobe. His blades flashed in the air, and they sunk themselves deep into the Wizzrobe's head.

The spell stopped. The marble stopped shaking. The blue energy around the Wizzrobe died. Where once an imposing figure of blue robes had knelt, now there was merely an empty husk, a hollow shell, a body that betrayed nothing of the immense power it had once wielded.

Zajora looked up at the funnel of dark magic above them. It had been fueled by the Wizzrobe's energy, and now that the Wizzrobe was no longer around to feed it, it would fade away. Already, it looked weaker than it had when they had first arrived. Zajora nodded, satisfied. The world was safe. Soon, the funnel would vanish altogether, and everything would be fine. For now, though...

"How the hell do we get down?"

Cold. Biting, piercing cold. This was all that the survivors in Hyrule Castle Town knew; cold. They felt it in their bones, huddled inside great igloos of snow and ice, curled up in the buried remnants of their old homes. Families clutched each other desperately by pitiful fires, trying to stay warm.

One such family was the Peregrine family. The father was a cabbage merchant, with a wife, two sons, a young daughter, and an old mother. When the Great Freeze had hit, they had stockpiled as much food as possible and had hidden inside their house. Hearing of the rising ice monsters around Hyrule Castle Town, they barricaded their home, sealing all the exits except for the cellar's. Their home joined the rest of the city when it was buried under a dozen feet of snow, but they slowly managed to dig a tunnel to the air above. When their food supplies had begun to run low, after a few weeks or so, they had begun to scavenge the deserted homes around them. They took supplies from the abandoned houses, sometimes accidentally intruding on someone's home, and they survived. For a while, they were comfortable in the assurance of their own survival, but as time stretched on they began to doubt. They were not the only ones who foraged to survive, and Hyrule Castle Town was quickly sucked dry of any and all supplies.

The eldest son, Frederick, plopped a gnarled log onto the floor and sat down with a huff. "This is all I could find," he said, "there isn't a strip of wood left in any of the houses. Even the floor-boards have all been ripped out."

His younger brother, Matthew, sniffed. "Of course there isn't anything left," he said, pushing his overgrown dark hair out of his eyes, "people are starving, aren't they? They've taken it all." He looked to his father, sitting on the table. "There wasn't any food left. Nothing. Not in the market, not in the cellars, not even in little Mary-Anne's place. She up and went to her grandma's place in Lon Lon when this first started, and I'm wishing I had gone too. Lon Lon's probably a lot better off than this place is."

Frederick shook his head, rubbing his scraggly chin tiredly. "It can't be. Lon Lon's not much farther south than we are; they're probably just as badly off as-"

"They're a bloody farm, aren't they?" Matthew yelled. "They've got food, they've got cattles, they've got everything! Of course they're fine! Meanwhile, we're sitting on our butts here, starving to death." He turned to his father. "Father, we should go to Lon Lon."

"What?" Frederick stood up, staring dumbfounded at his brother. "Are you mad? There are monsters out there! They'll kill us before we even lose sight of the city's walls!"

"Well, we have to try!" Matthew pleaded to his father. "Father, we don't have any food left. There's no wood, there's nothing left to live on." He glanced desperately at his little sister, who was shivering in front of the fire, clutching her doll to her chest. "Think of Mary! We're going to die if we stay, and-"

"That's enough!" The father said, standing and hugging Mary close as she began to cry. "You're scaring her. Enough; Frederick is quite right, we can't leave. There's an army outside the walls, remember? If we leave, we're dead. We won't make it to Lon Lon, even if they could take us in. We'll just have to keep looking. The King's forming an army of his own to take on the ice monsters; we won't be trapped forever. Once they've cleared the way, we can leave."

Matthew kicked the stone table, but stayed quiet.

By the hearth, an old woman chuckled. She rocked back and forth in her chair, knitting a sweater for Mary. "We don't need to leave, little Pyrup."

Matthew blushed. "I told you not to call me that, Gran," he said, although his tone had softened.

The grandmother chuckled wryly. "You are quite the spit-fire, though. Always have been, always will be, ever since you were a baby. I remember when your mother-"

"Alright, Gran," Matthew interrupted, not wanting to hear another tale about his childhood, "what did you mean when you said we didn't need to leave?"

Gran hummed, knotting off a part of the sweater. "The Goddesses will provide."

Matthew nearly exploded. "The Goddesses will provide? If they cared about us, then don't you think that they would have helped by now?"

"All things in good time," she said softly, putting the sweater down and starting up on some socks. "The Goddesses have always worked through chosen heroes. So it has been since the dawn of time, so it is now. The storm will pass, and we will move on. The world keeps spinning, little Pyrup, even if we may not notice."

"That makes no sense," Matthew said flatly. "Gran, how can life go on if we all die?"

Gran did not answer, but merely kept knitting, smiling serenely as any old woman would who inexplicably knew things that others didn't. "Have faith, my little Pyrup." She motion to Mary, who scooted over to try on her new sweater. "Have faith."

The next day, when Frederick came out of their tunnel to spend another day scavenging through the town, he thought he felt something different in the air. His skin didn't burn the way it did normally when he went outside, exposed to the freezing bite of the winter air. He shrugged it off; perhaps he was merely getting used to the cold.

However, as the days went on, it became harder and harder to ignore the fact that things were, indeed, changing. The rushing snow and ice began to thin out in the air, blowing not as fiercely as it had for the last month. The wind began to blow from different directions, not merely from the great mountain that had risen up from behind the Castle. The snow thinned, the ice began to melt, soft tap-tapping sounds could be heard as water dripped from the icicles hanging from roofs. All the tunnels collapsed as the snow became too mushy to support a definite shape any longer. Soon, the Father could even prise open the window on the upper level of their home, and walk outside. Matthew, the first to step outside, sank down to his waist before a laughing Frederick hauled him out of the slushy snow.

Soon, all the snow had melted. For all that Matthew asserted that it was impossible, the snow had completely melted by a week. The grass had even inexplicably grown back, delighting all except Matthew, who had pulled out some of his hair at the impossibility of such a revival so quickly. Nobody else cared too much, though. If the grass had been restored, then maybe the crops would too. For the first time in months, the people of Hyrule Castle Town allowed themselves to entertain the hope that they wouldn't starve.

The soldiers all reported that in the night, all the ice monsters surrounding Hyrule Castle Town had either fled or melted from the sudden surge of warmth. The people rejoiced that the monsters attacking their homes were gone, and a quick check with the farms caused a huge cry through the city that the crops had been restored. People flocked to the temples around the city, praising the Goddesses for their mercy and kindness.

As for Zajora, Loft, and Marcus, they received a special kind of welcome. Zajora's Farore's Wind spell had taken them directly outside the city's walls, and they were quickly escorted to meet the authorities. They didn't meet the King, unfortunately, but they did meet some very high-level people. They explained what had happened, up at the Wizzrobe's castle, and they brought forth the head of the Wizzrobe as proof. Royal sages quickly confirmed that it had once housed fearful power, and the three heroes were given lavish rewards for their services. They were given a total of 300 rupees, 100 for each of them. They decided to set apart a certain amount of money, and eventually Zajora kept 75 rupees, while Marcus and Loft merely kept 45 each.

Their enemy vanquished, their quest complete, they said their good-byes. Marcus and Loft decided to stick together, mainly because Loft wouldn't leave Marcus alone, but Zajora wanted to remain a free spirit. He waved them a cheery goodbye before flipping over a terrace, gliding softly to the ground below.

"Can we leave now?" Loft asked Marcus as they stood on the stone terrace of the castle. "Are we done?"

"Not yet," Marcus said. "There's one more thing we have to do first." One last person they needed to see.

"He saved my life," Marcus said softly, standing a few feet away from the woman in the chair. She was crying softly before a crackling fire, dabbing her eyes with a damp handkerchief. "He died a noble death." A tall girl patted the woman's arm gently, thanking Marcus silently with her eyes. Marcus nodded to Loft, and they began to leave the room. Just before they slipped through the door, Marcus paused, and set down a clinking bag on a nearby chair. Without saying anything, he left, closing the door behind him.

"Was that it?" Loft asked, as they walked out of the castle.

Marcus blinked in the bright sunlight, stepping briskly down the stone steps into the bustling crowd below. "Yes. The remaining 135 rupees."

"Mm." Loft paused, and rubbed his stomach absently. "Hey, Marcus, we're rich now, right?"

Marcus grinned slightly. "I guess, yeah."

"Well," he said, "can we use our shinies to buy me a big sandwich? I'm starving!"

"What, just you? What about me?" Marcus asked.

"Well, you can have one too, I guess, but I'm the really hungry one here!"

"Well, I do know of a SerfWay around here somewhere. We can stop there."

Loft jumped, punching the air in triumph. "Yes! Food, here we come!"

As they walked, talking and joking lightly, they passed a cabbage stand. Marcus heard, from inside, an old woman saying, "I told you so, little Pyrup. The Goddesses will provide. Life goes on."

A grudging male voice said, "yeah, whatever Gran. Just get Mr. Cornwall his heads, will you?"

Marcus hmm'ed, walking on. The Goddesses? Well, he'd never been called that before. He grinned, and fingered his sister's Farore's Emblem, hanging from a chain around his neck. Thankfully, it hadn't been damaged in the fight, unlike Loft's bag of unknown goodies, which had been quickly destroyed. "I guess, in a way, they did."

"Did you say something, Marcus?" Loft asked, poking his head out from a nearby bakery.

"No, and what are you doing in there? I thought we were going to SerfWay!"

Loft pouted. "Marcus, I'm too tired to keep walking! I need food now, and they have the yummiest looking chocolate candies-"

"No chocolate until after we eat," Marcus said firmly, dragging Loft towards the SerfWay.

"But Maaaarcus!" Loft whined, digging his heels into the dirt.

"But nothing. Now, come on, before they run out of food. Again."

I don't believe in endings, and this certainly isn't a beginning, but I can't exactly say "The Middle," so I guess this is, indeed,

The End. For now, anyway. But there's always going to be another monster, some other threat to be vanquished. Hyrule was a turbulent nation, filled with the supernatural; demons, fallen gods, monsters from the depths of hell, and so on and so forth. Really, there was no such thing as peace here. But this threat has been vanquished, so until the next crisis, Hyrule was at peace. Until next week, at least.