Face of Death [Vicis Quest]

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Nex disliked traveling for no reason, so the efforts made had to be equal to the reward. If he was going to a damn desert, he wanted to make sure there was something there. Pirates did like hiding things and what better place than to hide the lifeblood of peoples than in a lifeless desert? Nex did not understand the nuances of there being hidden paradises in the sandy seas, but he could care less. The head was devastating and, more over, it was inhospitable for a Zora like him. It was, perhaps it was a death sentence, but being unable to move forward, to change, that was death. Heh ad seen it first hand. It had been the first time where he had faced Death so intimately that he reconsidered his views on living, and on life. Living and simply surviving were two, very different, conditions. On a long list of things he would rather not do... dying had moved to the top.

Being that he was going to travel a long way from the river he had decided to wear his leather breastplate, surcoat and cloak. It kept him moist, water dragging down the gear and making it heavy, at least were he tired and hungry. Constant hunger had been another, constant, complication that he would have to avoid were he to extend his miserable life. To resolve that issue that meant he had to make more money and had to make a sort of amends with his family. Though such amends were mostly veiled threats of knowing their secrets and telling certain channels what sort of person his uncle had been -- well it would have made his cousins' businesses difficult to maintain. As such former limitations to his allowance had been severely reduced. Not to say there was no limit, after all the majority of said rupees had to go back into the family's business to maintain a certain margin of profits. It allowed him a more consistent opportunity to purchase food and still obtain profits. Along his journey he always made sure to carry rations, but rations aside he had his breakfast. A partially grilled eel he munched as he headed along on his way.served as the day's meal. Lakes, edges of the river: they all provided a chance at fish, but with his weak and faulty jaws, softer fleshed meals were about all he could consume without struggle.

He had eaten half way through it, his hood pulled over his head to provide him shelter away from the sun. "The hell--?" He head peered up, biting down onto the fish. The male pulled his hands over his brows to serve as a visor against the daylight.

In the distance he spotted some sort of equine. Was it charging him? No someone was pon its back. Nex had been heading toward the property of Josh and Maude in search of a certain Gerudo, but it seems said Gerudo was riding toward him. Now one could say that, racially, all Gerudo looked alike, but Nex easily recognized that absurd chest on the ridiculously small maiden. Nex slowed to a halt, one hand raising into the air while the other assisted in his feeding. He finished off the eel before pulling back his hood. Giving a shark-toothed yawn he settled to tuck his hands into his pockets, stepping faaaar away from the -- horse.

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All of that heavy gear the Zora wore wasn't for naught. While it was the way of the world to journey with light packs and swift feet, the webbed flippers of the Zora, which here duly tucked into his boots for safe keeping from the scorching sands, we're far from swift as they dug heavily against the sands. The sun above could do a great deal of torture to the aquatic journeyman so the hooded cloak was necessary. Fiends were a threat as well, leaving him with little choice to wear the breastplate, soft scales not much liking the razor sharp fangs of Wolfos or other voracious land predators.The moisture kept beneath the curtains of fabric, that was his surcoat, and packs of leather filled with food and water was an experienced traveler who knew his weaknesses. The desert was one of many of them.

The horse was second. Furry mammals always had a way of rubbing him wrong, and rubbing fur all into places he never knew he had.

The shining, blue fish, who was but a speck in the desert, glared up at Farrah the best he could with the sun pushing down at him. "If you think this is voluntarily, than you are already heat-sick." The Zora raised his sleeve covered arm to fend off the horse when they made aggressive sounding noises.

Heh ad clearly flinched back. It was not so much fear as it was distrust and caution. The same action could be seen when he was in large crowds. The touch to his body made his skin burn, crawl. It was a motion that he tried to control, but it made him lock up as if he was angry. he was never the sort in a good mood, but tried not to show it, lest chase off costumers and let others know the pain incurred on his spirit and body had gotten do him. The moment one revealed a weakness was the moment they placed themselves on the altar for their enemies to sacrifice. Speaking of altars and weird religious practices. He reached into his cloak and pulled from one of his packs a slab of stone with Zora writing on it.

"Can we find shade? I rather not end up on an entrèe on someone's pasta dish." He complained so easily, but it was hot and being out in the desert in the midday sun was a death sentence. He had did well to travel along the cliffs and stay in the shade, but even a Zora needed water and rest at some point.

He would follow her, wet, drippy and disgruntled as the desert sun began to dry his mouth.

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Next hadn't always been like this. He used to smile and laugh, but that child had been broken. Over and over his dreams were shattered by a cruel uncle who only wanted what he did not know he had. Even now he knew not exactly what it was his uncle sought. The cruel abuses had always basis in Nex's personal weaknesses. He had been hat he's with difficulty so his development was slow, his body unnaturally overweight for a fry. The pain he was given for his differences, the unique qualities that would have made Nex successful… were stripped away by one greedy uncle. Though selfless, Nex was cold-hearted. Though polite, Nex showed no greater brutality when he was scorn.

He had soon learned that when one showed weakness it was sign for enemies to find quarrel. Nex spent much of his life running away from confrontation and protecting himself from the disappointment of failure. He knew he lacked many strengths. Over and over was the concept beaten. Into his bones or burned into his flesh, even carved from his suffering. It was a crumbling wall built with the excess of despair built up, petrified, at the entrance to his heart. So long as no others could invade, nothing else could enter and do him harm. His heart was black, concealed in the darkness to save it from the pain.

Deep down there was still a piece of him left. No longer was there a bubbly, happy Zora, but there was one who could still feel an inkling of care for another. Those feelings remained trapped for so many years, were they suddenly to escape he would be unable to handle it and collapse. The wall though, had began to crumble. Bit by bit a light began to burn against him.

His lip curled up a Farrah's remark. He was unsure how to respond to it. Would she --? Would she really try to feast on his flesh? He thought and pondered, eye squinting ever so. "You jest!" He asserted. "That would only prove you as barbaric as they claim." Right? Gerudo didn't partake in such unearthly activities, right?

He tucked the stone slate back into his cloak, eyeing the horse with distrust. He looked at the offered hand. If she betrayed him, or if he was bit… he'll be making horse patè. The Zora grabbed her hand with his moist digits and used her help to pull onto the horse. Would it even allow a second rider? Nex wasn't that heavy, but he was a predator and a bit drippy. His surcoat was wet, as was much of his cloak. He was remiss, but getting out of the heat was prime.

[attr="class","germanshepherd"][attr="class","minpin"]

The Zora was pulled onto the horse, doing his best not to flail or squirm. He knew any sudden movements tended to spook animals like this. It was clear they were both uncomfortable with the situation with the way the horse hesitated, but Farrah had been insistent. She managed to calm the horse, the Zora’s heart pounding in his chest at the fright. He understood that long distance travel without a mount was troublesome, so his complaints were at a minimum. As a merchant he often had to travel miles on foot and found himself worn and exhausted by the time he was able to reach his destination. When he was tried he was grumpy and it made it difficult to make sound decisions. Picking shorter trips, while they preserved his sanity and body, there was a reduced chance of meeting new customers or obtaining new stock. The carts he did manage to hitch a ride on he kept to the back amongst the cargo, which strained his tall body with aches and bruises. He knew he would have to find himself a reasonable mount, something that made travel easier, and something that wasn’t covered in fur. He considered it. There weren’t many large animals he knew of without fur and could be used as a mount.


Farrah was no prude by the Hylian standard. The loose clothing of the desert suited it's people, but when it came to the chillier valley of Hyrule Fields many saw the clothing as exposing and insufficient. She was also not one to overly expose her femininity in a manner that would be considered riskè. Were he another male, or perhaps less than a man of conduct, the Gerudo would have been unlikely to speak such words. A male, riding behind a girl with no temptations towards the flesh? Curious hands did have a tendency to roam, but this was Nex. It was not as if he did not have the ability to want, or desire, but the reasons and wants in question were not… so broad. There was a selective Ness to his tastes and flesh was quite out of the realm, it's usefulness to him nonexistent. The main concern with Nex was his sopping cloths. Being amphibious, as he was, remaining moist was an important factor to his survival. The fabric was weighed down by the water. What was most confounding twas his method. How did he remain-- wet? Well, that technique was probably belter left a species secret… He laid his chest against the woman’s back, his arms wrapping around her waist. He exhaled, sounding as if he was bubbling against backwash.


“Look, I don’t have time to waste, but have you ever heard of anything called the Vicis Amulet?” He pressed his forehead to her shoulder as he turned slightly to reach for the slab in his cloak. He moved to hold it at her lap, in front of them while he kept his arms around her in the same time.


The slab had lines of Zora letters carved into it uniformly, but nothing a Gerudo could possibly read were they are not learned in the script. Were she even able to recognize a few a shoddy translation, at best, was possible. The usage of words were archaic. The stone itself was worn, the edges crusted with barnacles and dusted white. It had a smell reminiscent of chalk or clay left in the sun to dry, some of it dusting off the fingers as handling it worked on eroding it. The artifact was relatively dry, the patches of wet were obvious as they were darker than the rest of the tablet. It was quite old, the letters sed -- hardly modern. If they were able to eventually find shade the Zora would continue to explain what little he was able to decipher.


“It was something I found in the library in the palace.” he rubbed at his nose, sniffling a bit. “But this tablet mentions the Gerudo and magic. Something about -- change. Do Gerudo have magic? Such a thing I have only seen with sages in stories.” He explained.


The tablet vaguely explained the story of witch that hid in the north of the desert. This was someone who was difficult to trust and often turned promises of fortune into misadventures of peril. The witch had a potion of very specific ingredients found only in the desert that, when gathered, could produce such a powerful reaction it could change a person from their core. The change was nearly perfect, that it fooled members of other races. At least -- it seemed like the letters read potion, but it also vaguely read ‘ingredients put together’, in short it was not clear what the concoction was. But Nex clearly read that, whatever this was, would let him become someone else.

As was the case with witches, they were never around when you wanted them, or needed them. Said witch had taken a journey into the desert for supplies. The typical herbs, bones, and roots needed for potions, medicines and soups. Normally the she would journey just outside of the village and return by nightfall, but she had not been back for a few days and many were worried. They were dependent on the shaman for leadership and their healing. The Gerudo Desert was a great mass of land full of ancient ruins and nomadic tribes. Those tribes which had settled learned to deal with the seasonal drought and floods that pushed and pulled at their prosperity and hardship.

Nex had leaned his weight against Farrah’s back, but such was negligible as he was rather thing when in compare to the more robust Zora. His muscles could be felt against the wet cloth which stick to his skin. The cool feeling was nice in the hot desert, but the Zora was unused to the weather, the dry air pulling moisture from his scales. While typically capable of remaining on land for days at a time, their amphibious bodies did require water or at least a comfortable level of humidity to be able to breathe with ease. For Nex, who already had issue with his gills find the hot weather uncomfortable.

He leaned against the Gerudo’s back, chest struggling to fill with unsteady wheezing. He listened as she explained about the witch being a thing. “I see, well anything that will get me out this heat right now.” But what was peculiar to him was her knowledge of this amulet. “Why do you know of this? Why haven’t i heard about this before?” Of course the Zora was remiss to admit that he knew next to nothing about Gerudo culture.

He was a sheltered individual when it came to his knowledge of other groups within the Goddess’ lands. The world was wide and Nex was just one fish. His ability to travel was limited and his tolerance for other races was even less buffered. Hylian culture came naturally as, next to his own kind. To consider he was amongst the knife-eared inhabitants of the plain lands quite more often than naught. Gerudo were often avoided due to their cultural association with piracy. While it was a sharp stereotype based on old stories during former times, Nex has had experience with their piratical habits in the open oceans. That was something he would rather avoid.

The Zora shifted his weight and moved to place away the tablet. For a moment his webbed hand would rest against her stomach. "I did not think such people still existed,” He began. "The stories I read place them on the stage of mystical creatures. While sages use ancient wisdom to solve modern problems, witches use ancient superstition and hexes to solve-- modern problems." He insulted.

One could easily see that, in both cases Nex was a trite suspect of the illogical. He was methodical and, oft times, downright stubborn nature in the idea that faith is… WORTHLESS, affected his sense of wonder. The fish's inner child was chained and cast into a deep, dank dungeon. When Nex secured his tablet his wrapped his arms back around Farrah. One hand came to rest on her thigh so he could lean forward a bit less awkwardly.

"Do you believe in such things, Farrah?” He would whisper into her ear

The desert was wide as it was vast. A dry air and barren landscape was bereft of beauty if one was blind to the propensity of life. How hard it was to quash the vivacity of life. Eyes pure could see the songs of the desert. Ears focused can see how it danced. Blooming flowers and scurrying mice. It was what one failed to see the that made the desert a true paradise.

The Zora squint his good eye as she began to regale him on what she had learned in her time suffering upon the barren landscape. To a fish much used to the coral lined reefs of coastlines and colored stone paved floors of rivers and lakes, he found the desert little different from the open seas. Rolling dunes of white sand and hardly a speck of kelp for miles. Stretches and stretches of empty land, devoid of habitats and life seemed to mirror one another. How quickly did their habitats seem to sync up, how seemingly ironic that both, of searched properly, held a hidden trove of life tucked away beneath the cool sands of the desert or in the dark depths of the abyssal sea.

It was an irony that escaped Nex who had naught but disgust for the lifeless march.

The seas had been just as fruitless, yet also, unquestionably, full of life. Schools of fish swam the vast highways of blue, no place to hide from predators. Their sheer numbers were enough to protect and divert hungry predators, but not if you invited them into your lap… Those clawed fingers played with the sensation, fabric, skin, it was really curious. The tips of his fingers seemed to have a dull sense of it all, whilst the rest of his body burned with the agony of close contact. He never spoke of it, no longer did he flinch from the pain… It had all become just a dull, psuedo-existence.

Just a sea of constant pain.

Nex buried his face into her shoulder. The trip was taking its toll. He was drying out and any source of moisture would do, even if it was a tiny, sweaty little Gerudo girl. His hand slipped off her thigh. His arms wrapped around her and tightened their grip on her waist in a hug. He held himself close. Chuckling the blue-scaled male moved his lips towards her ear, hot breath exhaling.

"If you don't make haste I may suck up all your moisture…" he dryly threatened, fangs moving to lightly nip her neck.

Of course such and such aside there seemed to be a sandstorm coming in from the west. With fall in full swing the weather systems in the desert were prime with dry air cascading from the mountains as winter leered closer toward certain parts of the environment. It did not take long for the blanket of wind and sand to lay upon the travelers. Though there were many places to rest from the journey, caves and overcropping mountain ledges, it would take away time.

Amid the storm a glimmer, a faint touch of metal, a sword embedded into the bedrock. Hanging from this sword was a sign that simply read: Out to Lunch. It was the opening of a cave, inside appeared to be someone's abode, a small home. A hearth, gently lit. A countertop of sandstone, a bowl with many herbs hanging overhead, dried and leaving the cool home smelling fresh.

It looked to be a witch's cove.