Wll for starters, I wrote this way back in the day and it link up indirectly with my Rise of the Dark Hero fic. This seemed like an original idea at the time and I was going to use Sands of Time as a title then prince of persia came out and I got kinda screwed on the name =P
Anyways, this was my attempt at a different type of prologue one would find when reading fanfics.
Feel free to leave comments or criticicms. And I am aware that this prologue tells you almost nothing about the story itself =D Enjoy!
Legend of Zelda:
Prince of Thieves
Born into Destiny,
Crafted by Fate,
A young prince must struggle against evil,
Resurrect a forgotten prophecy,
And forge an Empire so iron strong,
That it will last throughout time.
Written By: Perfect Psionic Soldier
Edited by: -FernoTheMagicalFern
-PochePoke
Disclaimer: I donÆt own Zelda or other Nintendo Characters. I just own my friends and the characters that myself I created.
< > Things in the brackets are the characterÆs thoughts.
Prologue
Standing before the Silver Keep of CryStalis, you stare in awe at the eternally graceful walls that loom before you. Even in the night you see the keep clearly as the silver walls seem to bathe in the moonlight, casting its own gentle glow as you walk towards the giant gates. A gentle breeze passes by, filling you with life as it glides through the mountain air.
As you stand before the gates of the keep, you wait as your hooded guide stops before the silver doors and knocks gently. Standing still you wait for a few moments before the doors smoothly open outwards, bathing you in a gentle orange light as a man steps forward.
Studying the man, you find yourself confounded as you study him. He slouched slightly, as if he carried a great weight on his shoulders, yet his features were those of youth. You guess him to be older then a man in his prime yet his clear eyes gave the impression that he was still a youth.
ôGreetings traveller. Welcome to the Silver Keep of CryStalis. You must be weary from your long journey, please come in and relax yourself. If you are hungry we have warm food and if you are tired, we have soft beds.ö The man offered warmly, his voice full of confidence and power while being fragile and soft.
Turning to you, the guide simply bows and leaves, turning back to return to the village you had passed by a full day behind at the base of the mountain.
Nodding at the guideÆs back, you smile in gratitude as the guide leaves. With all the many times you have traveled to this location you never once learnt his name, nor did you offer. Knowing nothing of the person, the guide was an absolute mystery to you, just like the man standing at the entrance of the keep.
With the guide, you knew nothing other then the fact that the guide wore a dark brown cloak and knew the safest and quickest way to the keep. You never felt the need to talk to the guide and in return, the guide never spoke a word to you. It was a strange relationship from the beginning.
You remember the first time you had reached the outskirt of the nameless village at the foot of the mountain. You were looking for directions to the keep when the guide mysteriously appeared and motioned you to follow. You never quite knew what had prompted you to follow that day but ever since, whenever you had come, the guide was present, ever ready to lead you to the front gate of the keep.
Turning around you smile at the waiting man and with a simple nod you follow him into the lighted hallway as the silver gates closed behind you.
Walking down the lighted hallway, you watch as you pass by tapestries that were filled with pictures of creatures such as Hylians, Zoras, Gorons, Rito, and elusive things that escaped your knowledge. Taking a small breath you release a small sigh as you feel yourself immersed in history, each tapestry trying to tell you a grand story. A prince who was destined to fame and betrayal, A tragic princess who gave her heart to a peasant soldier whom she could never marry, A grand tale of a Hylian hero who with a pure sword set out to defeat a great evilà
Blinking as snap back to attention as you slowed down to turn a corner, you found yourself slightly disoriented as you begin to walk down a bare stone hallway devoid of tapestry or pictures. Seeing only two potted plants you find yourself looking at the back of the man leading you. You know him only by the name of Scribe and he was always here, living in this solemn keep.
With the countless visits to this keep, you have always felt at home here. This was a place of history were countless tales and endless history was kept, stored and recorded. Thinking on Scribe, you feel lost. Though you know more about Scribe then the guide, you still feel slightly alone as you visit these walls. With Scribe, though you talked, you never became closer. Even though he asks you of your travels and of recent events that relate only to you, you still donÆt feel any kinship with the man.
Since the first day you came, he still didnÆt know your name. He never asked and you never had the incentive to offer, as though by offering you would destroy the fragile magic in this sacred place. He had introduced himself to you as Scribe when you had met with a low bow, his voice full of knowledge as if he knew all about you and expected you to know all about him.
Which you did.
The life of Scribe was simple, though you never doubted you felt that the single story told about the man known as Scribe was as true as water was wet. Scribe was said to be the chosen scribe of the Goddesses. His task was simple, he was to record history and give the knowledge of the past to those who seek it, regardless of their intentions or history.
Travelling from the bare hallway you find yourself walking into what you called the library. Hundreds of bookcases filled this giant area. Every shelf was packed full of scrolls, books and sheets of paper. Some shelves were organized to perfection while others were simply crammed full with random books and volumes of paper.
Following Scribe still, you weave between bookcases and stools, slowly making your way to the other side where you knew you would be able to rest, eat and relax as you would listen to a powerful tale of some part of history. That was the reason you came, the reason you always returned. To hear the grand stories of long dead heroes, of legends that have past, or are forgotten and fragmented.
It was here that you heard of a story in which a small boy who hailed from the ancient khikori forest and with his great deeds travelled through time to defeat a grand evil who called himself Ganondorf and later, Ganon.
It was here that you heard of the stories of two oracles, one that controlled the seasons and another who controlled time, both saved by a hero who had appeared when he was needed, and disappeared when his quest was completed.
Walking further you found yourself passing under a large archway and into what looked like a living room. A large fireplace with the eternally burning logs and many chairs, stools and benches sat, facing the grand fireplace where a single stood at the centre.
Smiling, Scribe went to the side of the room where a counter resided, and going around he disappeared for a few moments as you sat yourself down and waited. Reappearing with warm food, he hands it to you.
Looking down you smile as you lower your head slightly and smell. It was still warm and he couldnÆt help but wonder at how he knew how to make such a grand meal. Sitting down at the stool Scribe relaxed slightly as he drank slowly from a cup, steam rising from his unknown drink.
Looking at him as you eat slightly, you find yourself studying a small stack of books that stood to the right of Scribe, who sat looking at you. Reading of a few titles in your mind, you find yourself looking at the golden leafed words ôLegend of Zelda: Rise of the Dark Heroö a feeling of nostalgia passes through you and you begin to wonder if youÆve ever heard that story before.
With a small feeling of curiosity, you wonder if you should ask him to tell that story to you someday. If you have heard it before then it would be a wonderful retelling, but if it was new then you know it would be at least interesting as almost all history regarding the legends of Zelda were a grand tale. Each having a hero who with great trials and difficulty overcame evil and won piece for the land, until evil would rise and strike again.
Smiling, Scribe waited, sipping his drink, as you finish off your meal. Getting up as he finished his drink, Scribe took the dishes away and once again disappeared behind the counter before returning with full cups and two pitchers.
Handing you your cup and personal pitcher, he sits back down and waits patiently as you settle yourself down ready to hear the story he was about to recite.
You never had to ask him what story to tell, as he seemed prepared and as if he could read your mind and would tell you the tale that you most desired to hear.
Clearing his throat once, Scribe prepared to tell his tale as you occasionally sip from your drink.
ôThis tale takes place deep within history, when the land was different. Before great empires were forged and when vast kingdoms still stood.ö Scribe began, his voice drawing out, making you feel the expanse of time itself. Sitting there, you knew that this tale was old, very old.
ôThis story revolves around a young boy who was born into a grand destiny. From this young and struggling village that would one day become a grand kingdom. This young man would lead them to a future that they could never dream of.ö Scribe stated, his voice echoed slightly as you felt drawn to his voice.
ôHe was a man who would save them from their fate, from their past... He would lead them into a bright future where he would protect their beliefs and traditions. He would be their hero, their saviour and their strength. He was to become the bond between the traditions of the distant past and the ever changing present.ö
Blinking you snap back to attention momentarily as you realize that it was too late, and as Scribe continued, you find yourself drawn into his grey eyes. From his lips flowed not words but story, his tone shaping them into pictures as you found yourself adrift in his voice, not trailing the tale but living it.
ôHe was their avatar of future. To this, with their hopes and dreams, they named him for what he was and for what he was to become. A bond between past, present and future.ö Taking a light breath, Scribe continued. ôTo this, they named himà Link...ö
Anyways, this was my attempt at a different type of prologue one would find when reading fanfics.
Feel free to leave comments or criticicms. And I am aware that this prologue tells you almost nothing about the story itself =D Enjoy!
Legend of Zelda:
Prince of Thieves
Born into Destiny,
Crafted by Fate,
A young prince must struggle against evil,
Resurrect a forgotten prophecy,
And forge an Empire so iron strong,
That it will last throughout time.
Written By: Perfect Psionic Soldier
Edited by: -FernoTheMagicalFern
-PochePoke
Disclaimer: I donÆt own Zelda or other Nintendo Characters. I just own my friends and the characters that myself I created.
< > Things in the brackets are the characterÆs thoughts.
Prologue
Standing before the Silver Keep of CryStalis, you stare in awe at the eternally graceful walls that loom before you. Even in the night you see the keep clearly as the silver walls seem to bathe in the moonlight, casting its own gentle glow as you walk towards the giant gates. A gentle breeze passes by, filling you with life as it glides through the mountain air.
As you stand before the gates of the keep, you wait as your hooded guide stops before the silver doors and knocks gently. Standing still you wait for a few moments before the doors smoothly open outwards, bathing you in a gentle orange light as a man steps forward.
Studying the man, you find yourself confounded as you study him. He slouched slightly, as if he carried a great weight on his shoulders, yet his features were those of youth. You guess him to be older then a man in his prime yet his clear eyes gave the impression that he was still a youth.
ôGreetings traveller. Welcome to the Silver Keep of CryStalis. You must be weary from your long journey, please come in and relax yourself. If you are hungry we have warm food and if you are tired, we have soft beds.ö The man offered warmly, his voice full of confidence and power while being fragile and soft.
Turning to you, the guide simply bows and leaves, turning back to return to the village you had passed by a full day behind at the base of the mountain.
Nodding at the guideÆs back, you smile in gratitude as the guide leaves. With all the many times you have traveled to this location you never once learnt his name, nor did you offer. Knowing nothing of the person, the guide was an absolute mystery to you, just like the man standing at the entrance of the keep.
With the guide, you knew nothing other then the fact that the guide wore a dark brown cloak and knew the safest and quickest way to the keep. You never felt the need to talk to the guide and in return, the guide never spoke a word to you. It was a strange relationship from the beginning.
You remember the first time you had reached the outskirt of the nameless village at the foot of the mountain. You were looking for directions to the keep when the guide mysteriously appeared and motioned you to follow. You never quite knew what had prompted you to follow that day but ever since, whenever you had come, the guide was present, ever ready to lead you to the front gate of the keep.
Turning around you smile at the waiting man and with a simple nod you follow him into the lighted hallway as the silver gates closed behind you.
Walking down the lighted hallway, you watch as you pass by tapestries that were filled with pictures of creatures such as Hylians, Zoras, Gorons, Rito, and elusive things that escaped your knowledge. Taking a small breath you release a small sigh as you feel yourself immersed in history, each tapestry trying to tell you a grand story. A prince who was destined to fame and betrayal, A tragic princess who gave her heart to a peasant soldier whom she could never marry, A grand tale of a Hylian hero who with a pure sword set out to defeat a great evilà
Blinking as snap back to attention as you slowed down to turn a corner, you found yourself slightly disoriented as you begin to walk down a bare stone hallway devoid of tapestry or pictures. Seeing only two potted plants you find yourself looking at the back of the man leading you. You know him only by the name of Scribe and he was always here, living in this solemn keep.
With the countless visits to this keep, you have always felt at home here. This was a place of history were countless tales and endless history was kept, stored and recorded. Thinking on Scribe, you feel lost. Though you know more about Scribe then the guide, you still feel slightly alone as you visit these walls. With Scribe, though you talked, you never became closer. Even though he asks you of your travels and of recent events that relate only to you, you still donÆt feel any kinship with the man.
Since the first day you came, he still didnÆt know your name. He never asked and you never had the incentive to offer, as though by offering you would destroy the fragile magic in this sacred place. He had introduced himself to you as Scribe when you had met with a low bow, his voice full of knowledge as if he knew all about you and expected you to know all about him.
Which you did.
The life of Scribe was simple, though you never doubted you felt that the single story told about the man known as Scribe was as true as water was wet. Scribe was said to be the chosen scribe of the Goddesses. His task was simple, he was to record history and give the knowledge of the past to those who seek it, regardless of their intentions or history.
Travelling from the bare hallway you find yourself walking into what you called the library. Hundreds of bookcases filled this giant area. Every shelf was packed full of scrolls, books and sheets of paper. Some shelves were organized to perfection while others were simply crammed full with random books and volumes of paper.
Following Scribe still, you weave between bookcases and stools, slowly making your way to the other side where you knew you would be able to rest, eat and relax as you would listen to a powerful tale of some part of history. That was the reason you came, the reason you always returned. To hear the grand stories of long dead heroes, of legends that have past, or are forgotten and fragmented.
It was here that you heard of a story in which a small boy who hailed from the ancient khikori forest and with his great deeds travelled through time to defeat a grand evil who called himself Ganondorf and later, Ganon.
It was here that you heard of the stories of two oracles, one that controlled the seasons and another who controlled time, both saved by a hero who had appeared when he was needed, and disappeared when his quest was completed.
Walking further you found yourself passing under a large archway and into what looked like a living room. A large fireplace with the eternally burning logs and many chairs, stools and benches sat, facing the grand fireplace where a single stood at the centre.
Smiling, Scribe went to the side of the room where a counter resided, and going around he disappeared for a few moments as you sat yourself down and waited. Reappearing with warm food, he hands it to you.
Looking down you smile as you lower your head slightly and smell. It was still warm and he couldnÆt help but wonder at how he knew how to make such a grand meal. Sitting down at the stool Scribe relaxed slightly as he drank slowly from a cup, steam rising from his unknown drink.
Looking at him as you eat slightly, you find yourself studying a small stack of books that stood to the right of Scribe, who sat looking at you. Reading of a few titles in your mind, you find yourself looking at the golden leafed words ôLegend of Zelda: Rise of the Dark Heroö a feeling of nostalgia passes through you and you begin to wonder if youÆve ever heard that story before.
With a small feeling of curiosity, you wonder if you should ask him to tell that story to you someday. If you have heard it before then it would be a wonderful retelling, but if it was new then you know it would be at least interesting as almost all history regarding the legends of Zelda were a grand tale. Each having a hero who with great trials and difficulty overcame evil and won piece for the land, until evil would rise and strike again.
Smiling, Scribe waited, sipping his drink, as you finish off your meal. Getting up as he finished his drink, Scribe took the dishes away and once again disappeared behind the counter before returning with full cups and two pitchers.
Handing you your cup and personal pitcher, he sits back down and waits patiently as you settle yourself down ready to hear the story he was about to recite.
You never had to ask him what story to tell, as he seemed prepared and as if he could read your mind and would tell you the tale that you most desired to hear.
Clearing his throat once, Scribe prepared to tell his tale as you occasionally sip from your drink.
ôThis tale takes place deep within history, when the land was different. Before great empires were forged and when vast kingdoms still stood.ö Scribe began, his voice drawing out, making you feel the expanse of time itself. Sitting there, you knew that this tale was old, very old.
ôThis story revolves around a young boy who was born into a grand destiny. From this young and struggling village that would one day become a grand kingdom. This young man would lead them to a future that they could never dream of.ö Scribe stated, his voice echoed slightly as you felt drawn to his voice.
ôHe was a man who would save them from their fate, from their past... He would lead them into a bright future where he would protect their beliefs and traditions. He would be their hero, their saviour and their strength. He was to become the bond between the traditions of the distant past and the ever changing present.ö
Blinking you snap back to attention momentarily as you realize that it was too late, and as Scribe continued, you find yourself drawn into his grey eyes. From his lips flowed not words but story, his tone shaping them into pictures as you found yourself adrift in his voice, not trailing the tale but living it.
ôHe was their avatar of future. To this, with their hopes and dreams, they named him for what he was and for what he was to become. A bond between past, present and future.ö Taking a light breath, Scribe continued. ôTo this, they named himà Link...ö