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    The Legend of Hyrule and the Chosen Champions
    • Hey lovely fans of the greatest franchise ever created.

      I won't lie, I primarily joined this site so I could post my fanfiction here. I wrote a short bit called "The Hylian Revolution", but I wanted to rework one key detail from the beginning and so therefore had to rewrite much of it (though there wasn't much at the time). This is my attempt at creating an epic book series, and I am far from done, but hopefully one day I'll be able to edit this post and say I am officially done :P. Anyways, here is the thread where I will be posting some of my artwork.

      If you are dying to know what happens next, you can also find it on, wattpad, and AO3 (not all chapters are published here, will edit this out later).

      What if I told you there was a realm so corrupt its once great society was struck from the history books?

      One hundred years have passed since the Hero of Time triumphed over Ganondorf, the King of Thieves. But the new Hyrule, inhabited by backstabbing politicians and barbaric thugs, is threatened from both within and without. A nameless child must fight for survival in a dangerous city to fulfill a promise. A new knight is thrusted into the murky realms of politics, where he must unlearn everything he once knew about justice and morals the deeper he gets. A new princess emerges from the north with the Mark of the Goddesses to unite the the divided realm by any means necessary. A fairy enters the brewing storm and the die is cast...
    • Prologue

      The droopy, wrinkly flaps on the bald man’s chubby cheeks moved slightly when looked up abruptly from his paperwork, but he did not have to see the child crouched on his window to be aware of his presence. The early night’s breeze ominously waltzed through the window, into the cavity between the child’s bloodstained, cotton tunic and his scarred body, and blew out the only candle in the room.

      The older gentleman searched in the dark for the fire starter and asked, “So, how did it go?”

      Link hesitated before breaking the bad news. “He uh,” he sighed, “He escaped the city.”

      “Hmph. Then let the bandits decide his fate. It saves the Crown from paying failures.” Oscar’s cutting remark bounced off Link’s heavily scarred skin. Scratching of iron upon flint spewed sparks onto the wick. Once one of the flying sparks caught onto the wick, light returned to the room, and when it did, Oscar’s weary brown eyes were deadlocked with Link’s.

      After two years of working for the bounty handler, there was still no way to read the scheming thoughts festering and colluding behind the stoic, passive face he was wearing. His tailored robe was made from a modest brown fabric, a cheap color to match a low ranking administrator’s wealth. He wore no gaudy jewelry, just a slightly rusted iron chain.

      Link avoided Oscar’s piercing glare by looking at anything that did not resemble a pair of eyes, which was damn near impossible given all the profile drawings on the bounties plastered all over the walls. The organized arrangement of bounties upon the wall was characteristic of any good bureaucrat, but the way Oscar organized the wanted by gang affiliation showed that he knew more than most paper pushers like him normally did.

      Link’s empty stomach roared loudly, “I um, I don’t suppose you have another bounty ready for me?”

      But all Link got was a delayed response. The administrator broke the staring contest and shifted through some unorganized piles of paperwork, “Unfortunately not at the moment.”

      Had Link not spent the last few years studying the art of reading subtleties, he would have missed the sly smirk creeping on Oscar’s wrinkled face. But… Link wanted to say out loud in anticipation.

      “But,” Oscar paused to rummage through his messy mound of papers. Turning page after page, the handler finally retrieved a small envelope and walked to the window with the candle in his other hand, “The Judge personally requested me to find someone in the area to, discreetly, take care of an errand.”

      Subterfuge: something Link was good at but avoided altogether. Being on the wrong side of the law had far more risks, but if the request came from the law itself, maybe it would not be so complicated. “The old man delivered the request?” asked Link, making sure that the covert errand was indeed an errand from the Crown.

      Oscar smiled reassuringly, “From Sir Mawar himself.” Oscar’s curled lips may have been hard to read, but at least he was an honest administrator.

      If an old, retired Royal Guard, who currently sat at the highest seat in the Goddesses’ court, personally wanted someone quietly killed, the bounty handler was the best man to approach. The sponsorship was all Link needed. “What’s the pay?” he asked.

      The administrator held out the envelope, “It’s sealed. The condition is that unsealing it means you accept the task.”

      Link’s heart sank. It was a job for the desperate, most likely an assassination, a bounty beneath the law. It must be. No other kind of assignment could be so important that the Judicial Maestro could not trust someone from his own branch with the details. No matter who or what branch of the Crown sponsored the bounty, this job was going to have serious repercussions. No matter how trivial the target was, these kinds of jobs were always full of complications.

      After feeling the painful twist in his empty belly, Link grabbed the envelope. The light from the candle outlined the Royal crest firmly stamped onto the seal. It was as good as Sir Mawar’s signature. He released the deep breath he had been holding in and then broke the seal open with his finger.

      He pulled out a small parchment from the envelope.

      302 Nayru Lane

      “Wait, what’s the pay?” Link asked, but before his eyes could search through the four written words and the blank space for the missing answer to his question, Oscar moved the candlelight forward and held it underneath the parchment. After one lick from the flame and an ill timed breeze, the very flammable instructions burst into flames.

      The fire climbed up the dry parchment much more quickly than Link anticipated, but by the time he dropped it, he realized that the fire was transforming the burning parchment into an orange colored smoke that violently flew upwards into Link’s face. Once he recognized the color and the distinct, herbal fragrance, there was no use covering his face by that point. Link’s face instead frowned into a deathly glare into the bureaucrat’s eyes as the orange wisps gently brushed against his cheeks and nostrils.

      After the marking smoke had cleared, there was a long silence between Link and Oscar before Link finally punctuated his fury, “You. Bastard. Sonuva. Whore.” Normally used as punishment for bounty hunters who killed a wanted-live target or innocent people unrelated to the target, marking smoke stayed in the lungs for many years and could be easily sniffed out by any one of the dogs in the bounty collections agencies.

      Oscar returned to his seat, “‘Tis but a temporary safeguard. To make sure you follow through.”

      “And what happens if I don’t stay quiet?”

      The threat did not waver Oscar at all, “Then I hope you can find a different career.”

      “HA!” Link forced laughter at the jokingly optimistic sentiment that assumed he would survive the immediate, subsequent attempts by the Crown to permanently silence him. Moreover, Sir Mawar’s network of eyes reached every corner in every basement and even the sewers underneath. He knew everything.

      Even though Oscar had no idea what the dirty deed was, the old man would know within the heartbeat when a building was put out of commission, so Link had no choice but to comply. The old man’s official title, Nayru’s Judge, meant that the sabotage was also part of a grander political scheme. Link cared not for the politics that transacted in rich people land because he just wanted to eat. It was hard enough getting food already. At the end of the day, bounty hunting was his profession. It was the only job that allowed him to work anonymously yet legally. The relationship between the bounty hunter and the Crown’s bounty handler was simple: if one worked, one got paid, and there were almost no exceptions to that rule.

      Well, Link just found one. Though it was not the first time he had gotten trapped into committing a crime unwillingly, this was the first time the law itself had made the arrangements. Curse his gullibility! Not once had the dozens of experiences of being tricked ever crossed his mind when the current scenario required caution. Sometimes his empty stomach hurt too much for his mind to work rationally.

      There was nothing more Oscar needed to say to Link: the task was given, the old man knew not what the instructions were, and he would be notified by Sir Mawar once said task was done. Only then would Link’s mark be cured.

      The child growled lowly and plotted a thousand different revenges as he disappeared from the second story window and dropped down onto a ledge, climbing horizontally along the wall until his back was facing a tree. Swiftly like a monkey, he planted his feet and hopped off the wall, turned, and caught the branch, and then he climbed down and rejoined the rest of society.

    • Chapter 1: The Die is Cast

      She went to the city on a journey to search for her lost and forgotten friend.

      The sky was blue, the sun shone brightly, and underneath the beautiful weather was a butcher slaughtering a goat for all the world to see. Miro Miro nearly fairy fainted when she saw the goat’s life force drain from the poor animal’s now opened throat. A nauseating wave washed over any fear of entering the city and revealed a sense of living beyond the force driven by guilt. She truly felt alive for the first time.

      Miro Miro’s first instinct upon watching the goat’s final, dying heartbeats was to fly away and get out of the fabled city carved into the mountain, but she couldn’t help but stare at the gore. It was hard to believe that she had never seen anything so grotesque in her hundreds of years of existence. It was common sense, no matter how shielded from the unpleasantries of the Lost Woods’ vicious ecosystem, that monsters ate and killed each other, but this…

      This was something entirely different. The poor goat had no choice but to anticipate its final precious heartbeats of life. Miro Miro could almost feel the strong hands clamped on the goat’s jaw and the cold steel sliding across flesh. Witnessing death first hand introduced a plethora of turbulent emotions running through her head powerfully. Nearby the butcher was presumably the butcher's beautiful wife, a dainty woman who looked like she had no business skinning rabbits, but her bloodied hands and flawless technique said otherwise. Miro Miro wretched in disgust as the woman exposed the bloody fresh meat for her hungry customers to see.

      Discomfort brewed within her.

      Her handsomely young companion, a Hylian man she met in the Lost Woods, took a deep breath of fresh air. The strong, summer sun and his gorgeous smile made his eyes almost look like they were shut. His long, greasy and grime filled hair gleamed in the sunlight, a result of many days without bathing. All along the four day journey with the merchants caravan to Hyrule Castle City, the other caravaneers kept a distance from him for his strong odor and squalid appearance. It was their loss, in Miro Miro’s opinion. Her new best friend was as friendly as the children in her home and as wise as the Great Deku Tree.

      “I take it you don’t see death too often?” asked Rowark.

      Rowark’s gentle voice suddenly snapped her focus away from the carnage. “Oh, no haha,” was her uneasy yet honest answer, “I guess Father had done a splendid job keeping horrifying things away from the Kokiri village. Still, I have never seen anything quite as grotesque as what I just saw.”

      “Worse than the Skulltula?” Rowark’s reminder violently triggered the memory of the eight legged monster who was about to have Miro Miro for lunch.

      “Well, that was just frightening!” Miro Miro countered fervently, “This is just… wrong? I don’t know…” Was it wrong to restrain an innocent life and slaughter it? According to Father’s laws back in the Kokiri Village, the killing of any animal was tantamount to murder and was punishable as so. But if that were true, then she witnessed Rowark commit mass murder.

      The Lost Woods contained many dangers and even more unknown dangers. Underneath the dense, dark foliage, the territory only belonged to the strongest. Miro Miro, who had spent the better part of a century living in a village protected by the Great Deku Tree, and Rowark, who grew up here in the city, were certainly outsiders to the Lost Woods, but that had no effect on Rowark at all.

      His skills with a soldier’s spear, a scout’s knife, and a torch were proven again and again with each monster he slew. Not only did Rowark cut through babas, skulltulas, countless keese, and even a mighty wolfos, he nimbly danced around each of their attacks with ease. During the many days they spent trekking through the Lost Woods, Rowark made camp, built temporary shelters, and harvested non-toxic foods. Whatever his background was, he was no stranger to the forest.

      Miro Miro could foresee their fun adventures together. She would marvel at his beautiful movements as he would slay monster after monster. Sure she couldn't pursue a meaningful relationship with him given their anatomical differences, him being Hylian and her being a tiny fairy, but that wouldn't stop her from getting enjoyment from looking at him or sneaking a peek while he bathed, if he ever did.

      “Well, whatever, I still have not been able thank you properly for your rescue. If you had not shown up-”

      “For the hundredth time!” Rowark stressed as politely as possible, “It’s no problem! Thank you for, you know, getting me out of the Lost Woods! I thought I was gonna be stuck there forever!” his shiny grin let out a chuckle, “Well, I need to rejoin with my company. You're more than welcome to join me, that is, if you're up for seeing more adventures.” Gut feeling told her to follow Rowark, self-named Hyrule’s most handsome monster slayer.

      But guilt told her to betray her feelings instead, “Thank you for the offer, but,” she hesitated, enjoying the last few seconds of her imaginary future life with him, “I must continue my mission.” Her romanticized imagery instantly shattered and left only the sting of regret.

      “That's fine,” said Rowark with disappointment, “I understand. You care much about your companion, so I could only assume that he means much to you.” His words felt as warm as his radiant smile did. With him by her side, Miro Miro felt blessed to be able to feel at ease finally. Rowark was the first person Miro Miro had encountered in ages; it broke her heart to leave his side. “I shall pray for your success. May the Goddesses guide you to your lost friend. But if you're ever bored, just look for me in the Castle Barracks.”

      As Rowark was walking away, Miro Miro noticed that his ragtag armor was actually part of a uniform. This was made more clear when Rowark passed by a guard wearing a fresh set of armor. The difference between the two was that Rowark was missing his left shoulder pauldron and his right vambrace, and his chest piece was dangling on his shoulder and held together with one strap. The time spent in the Lost Woods, almost a whole season according to Rowark, had reduced the luster of his once golden plates to dirt and rust. His tattered blue cape was the only thing left to show his employment to the Crown. The Lost Woods did not treat him kindly. Maybe the civilized society of Hyrule Castle City would?

      When the taller, skinnier guard saw Rowark, his scraggly brown beard could not hide his unrestrained excitement in his mouth and eyes. “Rowark!?” his high pitched astonishment squeaked out, “I thought we lost you!”

      A loud slap escaped from their fierce embrace, and then a laugh. They continued talking with grins stamped on their lips, but with the deafening hubbub of the city, Miro Miro had trouble eavesdropping on their conversation. It had also reminded her to respect Rowark’s homecoming.

      Industrious Hylians, traders and craftsmen, and livestock carrying all sorts of goods crossed in front of Miro Miro on the filthy and garbage-ridden streets. As she hovered in front of the gate’s entrance, next to the butcher’s shop, people crisscrossed in front of her without acknowledging her presence. Strangers of all races paid no mind to each other as they walked through the crowded street.

      Anyone who had lived in Faron Woods knew what the Deku looked like. Their flower hats, wooden flesh, bright orange eyes, and short stature were unmistakable. She never thought she would see one, let alone many, so far from the forest, but once she recalled that the Deku were famed merchants and traders, she supposed it made sense that so many would reside in a city filled with trade. None of the Deku were carrying their own merchandise, unlike the physically stronger Hylians. While the rest of the populace walked, the Deku drove horse-drawn carts to distinguish themselves from the rest of the peasants.

      The Zora were the next most populous. Miro Miro stared at their sleek, muscular bodies, their moist, light blue skin, and their fins jutting from their joints. They walked uprightly and tall but stood at about the same height as the average Hylian adult. And then she noticed the reflective, black surface of their small eyes, which looked so exotic and alien to her. None of the stories about the Zora ever mentioned the unique shape of their heads: humanoid in front with a tail fin stretching out the back, nor did they ever describe the Zora wearing tunics and pants just like their Hylian neighbors did. Miro Miro could not help but marvel at their natural beauty.

      Their Zola counterparts, however, were not as aesthetically pleasing. Instead of a long tail fin on their back of their head like their Zora cousins, the Zola had a round head like the Hylians did but had fins sprouting outwards from where their ears would be and on the top of their head. Thick, red lips, sharp fangs, and a flat nose were squished together on their blue, frog like faces. In contrast to the Zoras’ toned bodies, the Zolas’ bodies were just big and bulky. In the campfire stories, they were always the brutish bullies, and their intimidating appearance did justice to the story descriptors.

      A gorgeous, Gerudo woman with olive skin and shoulder length, vivaciously blood red hair shopped through the butcher’s merchandise. Her left hand’s fingers slid through her handsome, Hylian husband’s hands while her right hand firmly gripped the tiny hand of her infant daughter, who inherited every single one of her mother’s Gerudo traits. When Miro Miro used to listen to Mido’s tales of the fearsome desert thieves, she imagined the Gerudo to be more muscular than the mother exchanging colorful jewels for a raw and plucked cucco from the butcher.

      The street that extended parallel to the gate was filled with shops and stalls as far as the eye could see, extending to both mountain cliffs that made up the city’s eastern and western border. Shouts and conversations of the busy peasants overcame the busy noise of traffic. The path in front of her leading into the urban jungle had even more activity, creating an undying fear that she was going to get lost. Well, you’ve only been lost in the forest for a hundred and fourteen seasons, Miro Miro reminded herself. Getting lost would not stop her from finding her lost companion. She began to sift through the dense crowds as soon as Rowark disappeared into the hustle and bustle of the city.