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thiefwitted-blog · 8 years ago

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V ;; FEY WILD

Though rarely seen by the eyes of man, the beauty of a Fairy is oft proclaimed by those who have heard the legends and the myths. A being of great power and mystique, many spend their entire lives searching for even a glimpse of their mythical fountains.

At first, Enzo Gerard knew not upon which he had stumbled. He knew only that he was on the run from the winged Rito warriors, and desperately in need of a place to hide. Laden with the weight of his stolen goods, he didn’t make it far, and the rocky terrain was not on his side. He couldn’t find a single crack or crevice big enough for him to hide in; until, of course, he stumbled upon the strange plant.

It seemed almost threatening, surrounded by the strangely coloured mist, looking quite like a bestial plant he had seen once in an ancient text that he had stolen, years ago. The scent of it was heady, and thick, it’s perfume clinging in the air. It seemed almost like something he remembered... yet still, he couldn’t quite place it.

Familiar or not, he gave it as wide a berth as he could as he hid himself beneath the overhanging cliff, tucking as far beneath the rocks as he could. He was certain that the warriors would spot him, though, and positive that they would come swooping down. To say that he was surprised when they flew on was an understatement. He didn’t move for a full hour after that, scarcely able to believe his luck. That made it easy, then, to believe the voice that spoke to him when he finally stepped free of his hiding place.

It knew, somehow, that he had rupees with him - and no small amount, either. It seemed to beg from him a tribute, for it’s assistance in his rescue; and from the sound of it’s voice, it didn’t seem like something he wanted to cross. It brought a chill to his bones, and although he was loathe to part with his treasure, he wanted not to become an enemy of whatever this creature was. He handed over nearly half of his pilfered bounty to the grasping hand that emerged, but was surprised to see that it was not tipped by claws as he’d expected. It was almost... dainty. Slender. And, as it brushed against his shaking hands, it was... soft.

Nothing surprised him more than what stood before him when the flower opened. Beauty like nothing he had seen before brought him to his knees, and he offered to her the rest of his jewels. She was thankful for this, and seemed amused, even, by his awe. It had been a long time, she said, since she had last seen anyone at her pond, let alone been given proper tribute. She spoke with him for hours, and before he knew it, night had fallen.

That was the first time that he saw Kaysa; but it would not be the last. Enzo returned to her side with every rupee that he could find, steadily giving Kaysa back the strength she had lost over the time that she had been lost to the world. She explained to him how the shrine could be found, despite the distraction her mists provided to protect her in her weakened state from the darkness that filled their world; and with that knowledge, he made that grove his home.

It was there, in the hills of the Tabantha Frontier, that Enzo and Kaysa fell in love; and it was there in that grove that she laid into his arms the tiny, squirming bundle that was their son. They named him Marcel, after Enzo’s father, and for the first few years of his life they raised him together.

He grew and learned in that small grove, from both Enzo, and Kaysa. Though his mother knew not what talents he would have, she did know that Marcel would be gifted in some way. All fey children were -- but they also were all unique. So, she While his father taught him how to walk, and to climb, his mother taught him how to draw his powers from within, and how to shape them to his will. She knew not what talents he would have, and told him often that all fey children are unique, but she equipped him as best she could to handle them.

From Enzo, Marcel learned to climb and to explore, and was oft regaled with tales of his father’s travels. He was amazed by how his father seemed to have his own brand of magic, and was more than happy to learn from him too -- so, alongside his mother’s instructions on how to weave the energy of the world within him, he learned his father’s tricks in sleight of hand as well. This game moved swiftly into lessons about pick pocketing, as well, and soon Marcel was a miniature thief in the making. Perhaps it was this that influenced how his powers formed, but regardless of the cause, they surfaced when he was but four years old.

Although Enzo had left behind dangerous heists and smash and grab thefts in his pursuit to be a good father to his son, he could not abandon the only skills he knew -- he began to con travelers instead, performing magic tricks and picking pockets while he was at it. Sometimes, he brought Marcel along, teaching him the intricacies of his cons and letting him help to bring more rupees to his mother. Truly, Marcel loved this -- he got to spend time with his dad, he got to explore, and he got to make his mother happy. There wasn’t much else in the world he wanted, at that age.

Perhaps, though, they all should have been more aware of the attention they could earn. Not for their cons, as some may have feared, but for the brightly shining little boy, who lured near the blupees and the fairies as if they recognized him as one of their own. Off on his own, with a fairy to mind him, Marcel had no idea that he was being watched. His father was down at the stables, his mother was in her pool, and he had never known danger from any but the monsters that occasionally roamed the cliff sides.

The fairies tried to warn him, when the men approached. Tried to protect him, to save him -- but there was only so much that the vibrant lights could do, in the face of the trapper’s expertise. They had heard tell, you see, of fairies in the hills. More than in the desert, more than in Akkala, more than near Kakariko; rumours had reached their ears of the rare creature’s presence, and they were quite pleased to see that their journey had not been pointless. To find so many fairies was all they had hoped for, but to find a fairy child?

There were few who could say they had done THAT.

In the chaos of his capture, one fairy managed to escape. She had already seen her friends and sisters fall to the hands of the hunters, trapped in jars where they could neither rescue nor aid the frightened young boy -- and as fierce as her fury was, she knew that they needed more help than they had. As Marcel screamed behind her, she flew through the misty morning to find Enzo, and Kaysa beside him.

By the time this fairy, Vida, made it to the pond, she was ready to drop. Barely able to hold herself alight, she collapsed into Enzo’s hands and told him of their son’s fate. Though Enzo rushed to where Marcel had last been, gifted with speed and flight by his lover... it was too late.

Marcel was gone.

Stowed away in a hidden compartment within the bed of a wagon, his only company were the tightly sealed jars that contained his friends and protectors, his mother’s fey. They could not speak for him to hear through the salt lined glass, but they offered him some small comfort as he was carried across Hyrule. How long they traveled, and how far they went... he could not say. He knew only that, when they emerged, he recognized nothing around him.

Where the rich cliffs of Tabantha had been familiar and comforting to him, the dark rock that surrounded them now was confusing, and frightening. They didn’t treat him cruelly, necessarily, as they ushered him inside of their cabin... but they didn’t treat him kindly, either. He was a creature to them, as much as the fairies they so callously contained. As much as he looked like a hylian, and sounded like one -- they refused to believe that he was.

His use was, at first, as bait. His mere presence brought fairies flocking to his side, like moths to a flame. They brought him to areas where they had caught fairies before, and it was like no haul they’d ever seen. Curious about the fey child, the fairy guardians of the fountains had no reason to suspect that their venture to find out more about their unusual kin would result in their capture. Marcel watched as fairy after fairy became part of his captors’s collection; just one more bottle on the shelves of their store. He hated himself, for the part he played in it all.

He was young -- not stupid. He could see, and understand, what was happening around him. Desperate, he tried on more than one occasion to escape his captors, or to warn the fairies that came for him when they tied him up and left him in fields and forests, but each attempt earned him only punishment for his efforts. He learned to keep his head down, and to toe the line, but he never forgot what he had been stolen from.

The people who held him were careful never to stray too close to the frontier, and never to stay in one place too long. They didn’t know what allies Marcel had there, and were loathe to give up their cash cow. Each time they traveled to a new spot to fetch fairies, though, it got more and more dangerous. Returning after catching so many... they seemed to be catching on.

After one night in particular, when a member of their group was attacked by a swarm of angry fairies, they couldn’t deny the danger of their methods any longer. So, with their precious bait in tow, they decided it would be best to lay low for a while. Away from the fairies, the frontier, and the danger of being found with their fey-child by more of his kin, they fled toward the southern shores of Hyrule. Somewhere, they thought, they would be far enough away that no one would find them.

The intent was to lay low, but four men and a strange kid who resembles none of them can hardly go unnoticed in your average inn or stable. They were, thus, forced to find refuge away from the normal areas one would stay while travelling. Away from their cabin, their hunting grounds, and their travel routes, the hunters made their way to a bandit’s camp hidden in the trees of the jungle of Faron. A haven for thieves, ne’er do wells, and criminals, no one would question them, or their business.

Marcel was told, upon pain of punishment, that he was family. He was their nephew, and his mother had died, leaving him to them to care for -- and if he told anyone the truth, they promised dark things would come for him. At that point, he had every belief that they would do just that.

It had been quite some time since they had last made camp there, but upon entering, the hunters were greeted by at least a few familiar faces. Marcel watched as they shook hands and clapped the backs of their friends and acquaintances, and shrank away from any who tried to speak to him. They were just more men, just like the hunters. He wouldn’t, he was sure, find any allies here, and by now knew better than to try to escape.

Through his imprisonment and his own avoidance of them, Marcel at first interacted with very few of the other criminals. He had no desire to be used by them for anything at all, be it catching whatever fairies were in this area, luring near the blupee he could sometimes see bounding along the underbrush, or (his most recent chore) climbing out to get choice fruits from the far branches for them. Often, he was ‘sick’, and kept holed up in their cabin, with at least one of his uncles very near to ensure he did not escape.

For being populated by the ‘worst’ of Hyrule’s people, though, the thieves’s camp was a pretty peaceful place. Although there were a few brawls and fights on occasion, there was a rule to keep all conflict outside the boundaries of camp. It was safe, it was relaxed... and so, after two weeks of hyper vigilance, Marcel found that his supposed guardians began to relax as well. As time went on, he was able to traverse more of the camp, and by the time a third week had passed, he was given more freedom than he’d ever had.

Into the branches of the trees, Marcel found moments of escape, often wiggling into fragile perches upon which they could not follow him. At the very tops of the trees, he sometimes strained to catch a glimpse of the tall white cliffs upon which he had been born; but it was a futile attempt. He hadn’t even the first idea of where to start looking, and they were far too far away to actually see. He kept to the branches, and to himself, and areas where others were notably not present.

He began, as attention eased away from him, to pilfer the trinkets and keepsakes of the other criminals. A habit he’d never really been given opportunity to exercise, it was a way for him to remember himself. Using the skills his father had taught him, he had always taken things that no one would notice -- a button, a glove... something that could be excused as lost. Here, with so many more people and options, he was able to take things of more value. A stray rupee, an earring, a feather from a rare bird -- his collection grew, and he hid it away like a crow. High in a tree, in a nest of his own making, it was a comfort to Marcel when nothing else was.

In pursuit of more treasures, he grew slowly bolder, eventually sneaking into another cabin while the hunters and the others drank around a fire. Within it’s walls he found -----

Enzo had never stopped searching for his son. Though Kaysa’s fountain had once more closed in her grief... though the years had passed, and the trail had gone cold... he moved across Hyrule with a single minded purpose, venturing into places most dared not in search of his missing boy. Reaching out to contacts he had abandoned since starting his family, he placed ears in low places and eyes in dark corners; and, in one hidden refuge within the Faron Jungle, he left a fairy.

Though Kaysa had closed herself off to the world, so filled with malice and corruption, she left with Enzo guardians and aides to find their son. Fairies who swore to serve him, for her, until Marcel was once more brought home. Vida, in penance for failing them on that first night, volunteered immediately for this task. It was she that Enzo trusted to remain in the thieves’s camp, healing their wounds in exchange for information - any information - about his son. So, when the boy with an affinity for shadows began to flit

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