#to excavate the cave it’s creator is in and like maybe it lures link and zelda down there or maybe nobody even notices until it’s too late

[comixandco]

The four Sages were called back into the past by Terrako and they remember it happening

Tulin got to meet his hero, Revali, and decided to be just like him, adopting his idol’s brash personality and drive. He practises Revali’s Gale and eventually comes up with his own way to show off his mastery of wind, and when trouble hits his home he rushes to fix it on his own to prove how strong he has become and because, like Revali, he can’t stand idly by while he knows there’s still things he can do.

For Yunobo, when he goes back and meets his ancestor Daruk, he is a very timid and reactive Goron. He needs a push from others to come up with ideas and carry plans through, and when bad things happen to him his first instinct is to use his fire magic as a shield, to wait until the threat has passed by or somebody else has come to save him. But when he is sent back in time to Divine Beast vah Rudania, for the first time he has to be the one doing the saving. Daruk encourages Yunobo and is proud of him from the moment they meet, and it’s this support that gives Yunobo the confidence to help fight against Calamity Ganon, and to start YunoboCo when he gets home.

For Sidon, meeting his family from 100 years ago is bittersweet. He is proud that he was able to protect his sister, and it’s a comfort to know there is a version of him who will grow up alongside Mipha because of his bravery and fighting prowess. But as much joy as he got from seeing her, hugging her, and hearing her voice again, it just reminds him of how unfair her death was, of just how young she was when she died and how he is now older even though he’s the younger sibling. And at the end of the war, when he’s returned to their original time, he has to readjust to her absence all over again, and in light of that is it really a shock he’d have her statue moved further away from his home? And it also explains why he’s so desperate to protect Yona from the sludge.

Riju in AoC still a new ruler to her people, despite her accomplishments in BotW, she still feels guilty over the temporary loss of the Thunder Helm and isn’t sure if she can lead the Gerudo. She has a lot of confidence but is quick to falter when things go wrong. Urbosa treats Riju as a capable fighter despite her young age, and teaches her that she should never give up, to keep trying even when her resolve falters. There is always something you can do, even when it’s just stalling for time until help can arrive. Urbosa guides her in mastering the Thunderhelm, and possibly begins teaching her to summon lightning herself after Kohga attempts to steal it, and at the end of their time together Urbosa tells Riju she’s certain she’ll lead the Gerudo well. Riju treasured her time being mentored by Urbosa so much that she considers what Urbosa would do during the Upheaval in her diary in TotK.

I think the entire reason Tulin was added to the DLC was because the TotK team had already decided that Tulin was going to be the Sage of Wind, and that since the other sages were going to meet their Champions Tulin had to as well.

At some point in the years between Botw and TotK Teba, Tulin, Sidon, Yunobo, Riju and Patricia were summoned back in time by Terrako to aid the Champions during the Calamity, and even though those events took place in a parallel timeline and had no bearing on the world they returned to, the Sages’ personalities at the beginning of TotK are because of their experiences during the Calamity and the bonds they made with the Champions.

[greatshell-rider]

SKELETAL ESCAPADES: CHAPTER EIGHT

[Chapter Index] [Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

“Are you done yet?” BS1 (Banescale One) said, not for the first time.

“No,” BS3 (Banescale Three), the mage, answered shortly. “I could swear it’s around here somewhere. I sensed something.”

CS2 had its necro-animation puppet—the gecko—crouch lower behind the snow drift it had ordered it to go to. The skeleton’s pale bones were nearly imperceivable against the snow, but its purple aura of magic could still give it away. Especially with the banescale mage sniffing around for it.

“Still seems deserted to me,” BS1 said doubtfully, looking around him at the barren white field. “You’re sure the scout said their den is here.”

“Yes, and the magic I detected confirms it. If you would just give me the space to think—”

“Enough of this,” BS2 (Banescale Two) snapped, with a lash of her tail. “Snow must be confusing your senses, mage. And it’s freezing my scales. Deserted or not, we’re going in.”

“I’m not ready—” BS3 began to say.

“Then stay out here,” BS2 said harshly. “Do your silly little tests that please you so much. Danyr and I will take care of this.” The mage opened their mouth again, and BS2 sneered, “We’ll call you if we need back-up, alright?”

BS1 laughed, and BS3 snapped their jaws shut. They looked nervous and upset, but didn’t object as their clanmates turned towards the hill. Realizing their next move was imminent, CS2 called its sentinel back, the gecko scuttling lightly atop the snow the two banescale warriors had to slog through towards the lair. Once reunited with its fellow, CS2 had both necro-animations burrow back into the snow to avoid being seen, and pulled its awareness back to its own bones, to think.

But it didn’t have much time to do so. Before long, its outside sentinels sent another mental signal, and CS2 itself heard the sound of the two warriors blasting fire and using claws and wings to excavate the snow from the lair entrance.

It had hoped the dragons would keep flying past.

It had hoped they would fall to arguing and fail to finish their task.

It had hoped, even, that the conversation it had overheard would tell it that they were friendly dragons, that somehow news of Atomic confronting the clan chieftain-heir had reached the banescales already and they no longer had reason to attack. Though maybe such news had come, along with an order: make sure Atomic and Tibia had no home to return to.

But its hope had failed. Desperate wishes of the what-ifs and the could’ve-beens—CS2 was done with those. No more. No more of sitting around in its broken bones waiting for others, for dragons, to tell it what to do, how to react, when to hide under the shadows. The commands Tibia had left CS2 with screamed at its bones, a constant pressure on its mind that only grew to the point of pain. Obey, now.

Oh, CS2 would obey.

First situational command: Upon a creature of ill intent crossing the proximity ward and finding the lair, signal your master.

CS2 obeyed, shooting the message down its link to Tibia with all the force and urgency it could muster. The fae was almost a halfmoon away, still in the Ashfall Wastes, but by stretching its awareness far, far, it felt the alert arrive, felt Tibia’s shock and alarm at the signal.

It heard its creator say, “CS2? Tell me what’s—” But before she could finish the order, CS2, using the same stretchy nature of its tattered, magic-saturated, almost-independent soul, did something it had never been able to do before.

It closed off their mental communication, and for the first time in many days, its awareness was centered solely in its own mind and bones. The link to Tibia was still there, the magic that kept CS2 animated still leaking quietly to it, but for all intents and purposes, it was alone now. Just it, its servants, and the invaders.

CS2 received a signal from its lair sentinels the same moment it heard the exclaims of success as the banescales broke through the last of the hard-packed snow covering the lair entrance, and stepped into the tunnel.

“Hello?” BS2 called, a growl edging the greeting. “Anyone home?”

BS1 laughed. “I don’t care what Biaw sensed, let’s find it!”

“Let’s find you,” BS2 snarled, and by the weak moonlight streaming in through the open entrance, CS2 caught its first sight of her with its own skull as the banescale entered the den, wings raised, fangs bared, talons flexed. BS1 kept his back to hers, facing into the cave that now served as the hoard.

Second situational command: Should the creatures breach the lair, do all in your power to defend.

From the shadowy corners of the two dens, CS2 called its sentinels. The squirrel skeleton in the hoard darted down the tunnel into the nesting den, causing BS1 to startle and jump back, almost falling on BS2. The latter snarled and shoved BS1 off, yelling, “Watch it!”

As her shove sent BS1 stumbling, CS2 detached the bird skeleton from the tunnel ceiling and sent it in a dive at BS2’s head. The banescale’s figure blurred, then CS2 heard and felt a sickening SNAP and realized the warrior had smashed her tail into the necro-animation, grinding it into dust against the floor. Shock jolted through CS2—one sentinel down already?

But at the same time, BS1 staggered into the tunnel wall—activating the first of Tibia’s traps.

The dragon cried out as long ribs of elk and moose sprang out of the wall, lengthening and curling inward as more bone buried in wells into the dirt walls funneled into the ribs until they grew into a cage around the warrior, pinning him to the wall. BS1 gasped and yelled, beating his wings and tail in a panic, his legs kicking futilely as the bone cage had lifted him off of the ground. “Keud!” he called. “Help!”

“Shades,” BS2 swore, backing away from the trap and into the den, then jumped around, hissing, eyes sweeping the dark cave. “Someone is in here,” she growled, whether to her clanmate or to herself CS2 didn’t know. “Come out, trickster, if you want to play so badly.” She moved in deeper, but stayed away from the walls. “Show yourself!” She stepped into the center of the den.

Another bone trap activated, snapping upward from the floor like jaws, but again BS2 moved faster almost than CS2 could see, jumping up in a spin and lashing out with her tail, slamming through each protruding rib and snapping them like pine needles.

“Too slow,” BS2 sneered, turning another wary circle. “You’re going to have to try—”

Calling the two from outside, CS2 sent its three available sentinels—the last two still trapped inside the hibernal den, out of reach—darting at the banescale from different directions. One scampering around her feet, to distract her. One falling onto her face and scratching at her eyes, to confuse her. And the third leaping onto her sweeping tail to climb up and look for a loose scale, a patch of bare skin, any flaw in the armor CS2 could dig claws into and at least try to make the dragon bleed a little before she killed it.

The banescale flinched and roared at the skeletons’ attack, but recovered quicker, and CS2 felt the pain of yet more bones breaking and crunching into splinters as she stomped her clawed foot at the bird skeleton, bit down and flung away the gecko skeleton with her jaws, and slapped a wing at the squirrel skeleton on her shoulder, stepping back to let it fall to the ground.

No, CS2 thought, reaching out more of its magic to the skeletons. The bones quivered, but the pain it felt through them was starting to fade as the connections began to die.

“You done yet?” BS2 roared, jerking her head at BS1 still caged to the wall. “We’re dealing with a necromancer here!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying!” he said around a mouthful of rib. “Their Highness didn’t say anything about one of those!”

With no further attacks coming, BS2 stomped over to help break her clanmate free.

NO, CS2 thought, and strained to reach its fellows. It couldn’t do anything without them, its bones too broken to move itself, couldn’t trick the dragons into traps, couldn’t lure them away, couldn’t distract them long enough to keep Lamp and the eggs safe, it just wasn’t enough.

“There’s nothing alive here, like Biaw said,” she growled, digging at the base of a rib anchored into the wall. “It’s all pre-set traps, puppets. Nothing can actually hurt us if you weren’t such an idiot—”

CS2 poured magic into the shattered necro-animations, down the thinning links, begging them to keep going for just a little longer. It wasn’t enough. Little bones, tiny skeletons of prey creatures, stripped of flesh and hide, were nothing but flies to dragons, to be swatted away and ignored. Even as CS2 used every last drop of Tibia’s magic she had put into its bones to try and maintain the connections, it wasn’t enough. The grayness of exhaustion, of its mind losing consciousness, pulled at CS2, warning it it was using up too much of the magic needed to keep itself reanimated. The Dark loomed over it, poised to sink its claws into it and drag it away.

NO. NOT. YET.

The second situational command blazed in CS2’s mind. Defend the den from attacks, to the end. With all its power.

CS2 did something else it had never done before. One link remained, not between it and the other necro-animations, but between it and its master. Its creator. The dragon who continually fueled its ability to think and exist.

CS2 seized that link, and rather than send its awareness down to watch through Tibia’s eyes, or to send a signal, or to push more magic into broken puppets, it pulled.

At first the well of magic, the bright burning spot in the corner of CS2’s mind that tied it to Tibia, resisted. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. This wasn’t the rules of the game. It was master and servant, creator and creation. One held the power, and the other was given it. A hunter and its prey, the command and the obedience.

But CS2’s soul stretched. It no longer fit within its own bones, and it forced it to no longer accept those rules. CS2 sent claws into the bright spot of magic, digging into it, tearing and gnawing, until it felt that resistance bend, then break.

Magic flooded into CS2’s bones, at the same time pain ripped through its soul. It screamed, and then it stood up.

At the center of its blackening vision, where it could only just barely focus past the pain, it saw both banescales look up. BS2 warily stepped forward. Behind her, BS1 had one wing and part of his neck free of the cage.

You’re too late, CS2 thought, as the magic filled it up then spilled over, streaming out of its bones, flying across the den to all other sources of bone it could sense, which glowed in its vision a stark, vivid yellow. It grabbed the skeletons, its puppets. It ripped the failed cage out of the floor, then the third trap in the hoard wall. CS2 screamed again and stepped forward, off its ledge. Bones flew to it, shattered or whole, and kept it from falling. Bones stacked atop and wove around another, building a body up from underneath CS2’s skeleton so it could walk, stiff-legged and staggering, toward its targets.

BS2 didn’t hesitate but leapt back into the den, wings flaring, mouth opening to bare fangs as she hissed a challenge.

CS2 gathered all the bones, breaking them down and reforming them as it wished, and as the dragon lunged forward, it dove down her throat.

Back in the dark, but this time it was warm, and moved. Wet, sticky, CS2 forced its way down, digging in a hundred claws into the fleshy walls when the tube constricted and rushing air tried to force it back out, the banescale doubling over and hacking, but failing to eject it. It climbed down, down, down, breaking itself down into smaller, denser pieces as the tunnel shrunk more and more, shredding a thousand tiny shards into the meaty throat until CS2 had no choice but to rip through the barrier into a space slightly more open, and found what it was looking for.

It clamped its jaws around the center of the dragon’s violently beating life, and dragged itself back up the throat and out of BS2’s jaws, ripping the heart out after it. Hot dark liquid sprayed out after it, coating CS2 in stickiness as it backed away to watch the banescale take a shuddering step, jaw opening and closing in a mimicry of breath. Wide orange eyes stared up at CS2 in terror, before the legs folded and the body collapsed to the ground in a broken heap. Blood pooled around its head.

CS2 wobbled slightly, disorientated in the sudden coldness of the den, then became aware of its second target. The banescale had half of himself loose, and as CS2 turned toward him, he wiggled free from the rest of the cage, falling to the floor in a graceless pile of flailing limbs. CS2 lunged for him, but he dove for the tunnel and it fell into the hoard, smashing its bones against the far wall from the force of its leap. That rattled its mind, sent dizzying waves of pain washing through it, but erupting from that pain, came anger. Even with all its power now, it still hurt. With all of this magic blazing out of it, still those dragons thought to beat it.

“Help,” it heard the banescale gasp as he staggered down the tunnel towards the entrance. “Help! Giaw, help! Help, it’s coming!”

And it was. Oh, it was.

First, the corpse. CS2 called it, and the skeleton inside the stinking pile of meat shuddered, then ripped free, gore-slick bones rushing to slap into place within CS2’s distorted skeleton. With them came something else, a glowing mist of orange that melted into the purple.

MORE, CS2 commanded, reaching out past the lair with its mind and touching each source of glowing yellow it found scattered across the snow-drenched grassland. MORE, it snarled, calling those bones to it as it pulled itself back upright, then shambled down the entrance tunnel after its fleeing target. The bones came, dredged up from the earth, ripping themselves free of dirt and snow old and fresh, flying to and adding themselves to CS2’s mass as it clawed its way down the tunnel, squeezing its bulk through the entrance to expand and cascade out onto the hill. More and more, CS2 sucked magic now tinged with red from its creator and used it to direct bones that were gray, bones that were white, bones that were little more than dust, bones that no longer sat together in complete sets, bones that had once belonged to souls of beasts both hunted and killer but now were only its own. CS2 built up its skeleton, bigger, taller, stretching it up towards the moons, toward those fake disks of light, until the land below stretched out wide before its senses, until the two tiny black dots it saw far, far below were only barely distinguishable from all the snow, and CS2 identified them: its targets.

Throwing open wings that curtained out the moonlight, CS2 slammed down two great taloned feet of bone on either side of the two banescales and roared.

No sound emerged.

Beneath it, the dragons cowered, having thrown their wings over themselves in a last desperate attempt at protection, huddling together in the snow. But they didn’t flinch at the sound. Because there hadn’t been one. CS2 tried again, putting all its pain and anger into the roar, but nothing, not even the faintest wind, came out. As if CS2 wasn’t even really there.

It raged, smashing wing and talon against the earth, beating at the snow. Bones shattered at impact and others flew to replace them. CS2 could strike the same fist into the hill a hundred times, and a hundred times whatever bones broke, CS2 could remake a hundred times over and replace again and again. But no matter how much magic it used, no matter the force of its frantic despair, its blows didn’t leave a mark. The bones broke too quickly. Other than the misshapen trails left behind by the dragons, the snow was untouched by its presence. Perfect, pristine whiteness shining under the moons.

CS2 sank back onto its haunches and lifted its forefeet, staring at them. Its wings, wings, sank to the ground, but only rested lightly atop the snow despite their bulk. As the anger slunk away—it realized, dimly, that the banescales were running away, but no longer cared—a new awareness crept over it. It, it had built its huge skeleton into that of a dragon. These were talons, not the short digging claws for a chipmunk’s paws. It had wings, grotesque and fragile without the folds of skin that lent the ability to fly. And a great horned skull to crown the mess, its jaws bristling with teeth molded from the skeletons of creatures CS2 couldn’t name any longer, so many times had it broken those bones down and forged them anew with others.

This is what it was, now. It stood atop a hill sheltering sleeping predators underneath a sky of glittering stars it, it had never seen, it had never known the winter constellations because it had died, it had been hunted and killed, its body, its body of flesh and fur and blood that once been its own shape and sensation, pierced and cut into by the clever talons of beings so much bigger, so much smarter than itself—CS2 was dead, and now it took its murderer’s form with all its magic, power stolen rather than innate or built, and this still wasn’t life.

The snowy ground might as well be as distant as those cold, staring stars and moons, because CS2 was not of this world. And this world was no longer of it.

Undead.

The pain was back, CS2 realized. It had forgotten it while still caught up in its fury, in the thrill of pursuit, of hunting those dragons, but it was never gone. And it was. So. Much.

Agony ate at the hollowness of it as CS2 sank back down into the lair entrance, magic seeping out of the bones shattered and reshattered along the same lines until there were no further cracks to break. The Dark was back, swooping across its vision in dizzying waves as it stumbled down the tunnel toward the hidden entrance of the hibernal den, suddenly desperate to reach it before the last of the magic evaporated.

I need, it tried to gasp, though it had no lungs with which to breathe and that hurt to know, I need to get there. I need to make sure.

That last burning command, the final situational, the ever-permanent. To the end, keep Lamp and my eggs safe.

It fell through the hole into the cold cellar of a den. How long had CS2 dug? There was no sensation in its bones. But no, no, the holes had been from when it had summoned all the bones in the vicinity, and that had included its two remaining sentinels. Their skeletons had broken through the wall of earth to answer its call, and now their remains were scattered somewhere outside in the snow or down in the lair, following CS2’s staggering path. Collapsed there on the floor of the hibernal den, that was almost the end, the Dark almost claiming it. But the master’s command drove it to be sure, and it dragged its skeleton forward, to lift its skull and see with the last of its clouding vision.

A guardian dragon, statuesque in the gloom, lay encircling his nest of sleeping eggs. Peaceful as snow.

Would the banescales have even found them? Would they have thought to dig deeper, upon finding an empty lair and hoard? Had the commands Tibia had given it been too hasty, too simple? What would CS2 have done, if it could have chosen?

CS2 was not alive, it could not even move, and it still had these thoughts, this awareness, these questions. And it made no difference, whether it had them or not. It didn’t matter, not to the world, not to its master, so the weight of them fell solely upon itself.

It was too much. Too much.

I did it, it sent to Tibia, without remembering it had closed the mental communication. I fulfilled your last request. I can rest now. I get to do that, at last.

And it was dark.