[Incomplete] Sheik's Dreamscape
Who: Sheik, totally open
Where: Dreamscape
What: Event stuff! Feel free to add stuff to the dream or whatever, or just the waking and stuff, if you like.
Summary: An amalgamation of Sheik's memories.
Rating: TBA
The catacombs had always been cool, fresh even, but now the heat that wafted through them was the stifling, stagnant warmth of an evening in the desert, before the cold had set in and the stars were bright. And there was sand, sand on the breeze which shouldn't have been there in the labyrinth of passages, which stretched under the village of Kakariko, the resting place of the Sheikah race and the Hylians that they had lived to serve. It was a dark corridor, stone all around, lit with an almost opalescent glow that came from the blue torches lining it. Sheik did not have to stoop to walk through it, but anyone a little taller than him would have needed to.
There were hollows lining the walls, stacked sarcophagi that held the dead and the possessions they'd been buried with. Sheik was searching for one in particular, eyeing the number that labelled each of them, but he could not say why he was looking for it, or of what significance it was. He simply knew that somewhere there was a stone coffin that he needed to find.
He couldn't remember much, actually. His mind was a haze of vague ideas and concepts, none of which he was able to pin down.
He coughed, some of the sand finding its way past his cowl. It was a small, choked sound, as though his voice had not been used in a long time. Regardless, he walked on, casting his gaze down shadowed corridors as he passed them, but keeping to the one he'd been following. As he walked, it seemed that the heat was not diminishing but growing, as though it was becoming more real, the amount of sand around rising until he was kicking his way through it, stumbling through it, half-wading.
He could not find what he was looking for. That was a cause of frustration, hot and wiring its way through his chest despite his attempts to calm it - he was a Sheikah, this should be easy. But he could not even remember what he was looking for.
"Sheik?"
After the initial smarting over the fact that he had not heard before, had not sensed it. He turned sharply, eyes widening to meet a pair that were clear and open and blue, cool in colour but utterly warm. The Sheikah stepped back, feeling his face contorted in some kind of grimace, because this was Link as he was meant to be but he wasn't meant to be here, he never should have been here. His smile, as ever was bright, earnest, and it made Sheik want to balk at the sight. He wasn't meant to be here, never should have been here...
Sheik reached out, hand swiping through nothingness, and he realised that it was an illusion, some cruel trick that he'd managed to play on himself, and he turned on his heel and started sprinting up the corridor, because there was something desperately wrong but he didn't know what and how could he possibly stop it if he didn't even know what it was.
He ran blindly, through the sand, colliding with an armoured chest. Pale hands caught his wrists, brought him to a halt, and he looked up to find his eyes this time met crimson. Impa's face was knit with concern, but it was still iron hard. "Are you alright, lad?" The younger could only shake his head, struggling to pull himself away from what he knew to be a lie, and Impa was smiling, the only smile he'd ever seen on her mouth, soft and sad and knowing so much more than he did.
Shoving himself away, he turned again, ran back down the corridor. Link's footprints were still in the sand where he'd stood; Sheik tore himself down a side corridor, unlit, and felt a hand clap him on the shoulder, and that nauseating rush of power.
"Boy," the voice came, reverberating with a strength that could not be matched, but oddly weary, "play again, would you?"
Somehow, he wrenched himself away, flung himself down the corridor. There was light ahead, golden and alive, and he fled to it, the sand so high and thick that he was almost crawling.
The sky opened up above him, wide and blue. The sun was at its peak, the heat ruthless, and the sand about him seemed to have no end. But he could see it, see what he'd been looking for, and he dragged himself to it, scrabbled over the sand to the sarcophagus that stood in the middle of the desert.
He heaved aside the lid, pulled at the silken shrouds for the body, his fingers numb and refusing to work as efficiently as they should, and he'd found it, he'd found it, and the last wrapping was yanked back.
He was staring at his own face, unmasked, peaceful as though in sleep. A sound of fear, and shock, and angear bubbled in his throat, and he looked at his hands, and they were crumbling away before his eyes, wrappings and armour and skin and bone.
Falling back, he looked up at the sky, and found a princess leaning over him, a mere child. He knew her by the crown on her head, by the garb of rose and white, the sapphire blue eyes and hair like spun gold. Her smile was like Impa's, kindly and sad, as she reached out to him, and all the weight of the world was on her child's shoulders, but he could not take her hand, could not hear her as her lips started moving, could not see as everything failed him and the world turned to nothingness.
Where: Dreamscape
What: Event stuff! Feel free to add stuff to the dream or whatever, or just the waking and stuff, if you like.
Summary: An amalgamation of Sheik's memories.
Rating: TBA
The catacombs had always been cool, fresh even, but now the heat that wafted through them was the stifling, stagnant warmth of an evening in the desert, before the cold had set in and the stars were bright. And there was sand, sand on the breeze which shouldn't have been there in the labyrinth of passages, which stretched under the village of Kakariko, the resting place of the Sheikah race and the Hylians that they had lived to serve. It was a dark corridor, stone all around, lit with an almost opalescent glow that came from the blue torches lining it. Sheik did not have to stoop to walk through it, but anyone a little taller than him would have needed to.
There were hollows lining the walls, stacked sarcophagi that held the dead and the possessions they'd been buried with. Sheik was searching for one in particular, eyeing the number that labelled each of them, but he could not say why he was looking for it, or of what significance it was. He simply knew that somewhere there was a stone coffin that he needed to find.
He couldn't remember much, actually. His mind was a haze of vague ideas and concepts, none of which he was able to pin down.
He coughed, some of the sand finding its way past his cowl. It was a small, choked sound, as though his voice had not been used in a long time. Regardless, he walked on, casting his gaze down shadowed corridors as he passed them, but keeping to the one he'd been following. As he walked, it seemed that the heat was not diminishing but growing, as though it was becoming more real, the amount of sand around rising until he was kicking his way through it, stumbling through it, half-wading.
He could not find what he was looking for. That was a cause of frustration, hot and wiring its way through his chest despite his attempts to calm it - he was a Sheikah, this should be easy. But he could not even remember what he was looking for.
"Sheik?"
After the initial smarting over the fact that he had not heard before, had not sensed it. He turned sharply, eyes widening to meet a pair that were clear and open and blue, cool in colour but utterly warm. The Sheikah stepped back, feeling his face contorted in some kind of grimace, because this was Link as he was meant to be but he wasn't meant to be here, he never should have been here. His smile, as ever was bright, earnest, and it made Sheik want to balk at the sight. He wasn't meant to be here, never should have been here...
Sheik reached out, hand swiping through nothingness, and he realised that it was an illusion, some cruel trick that he'd managed to play on himself, and he turned on his heel and started sprinting up the corridor, because there was something desperately wrong but he didn't know what and how could he possibly stop it if he didn't even know what it was.
He ran blindly, through the sand, colliding with an armoured chest. Pale hands caught his wrists, brought him to a halt, and he looked up to find his eyes this time met crimson. Impa's face was knit with concern, but it was still iron hard. "Are you alright, lad?" The younger could only shake his head, struggling to pull himself away from what he knew to be a lie, and Impa was smiling, the only smile he'd ever seen on her mouth, soft and sad and knowing so much more than he did.
Shoving himself away, he turned again, ran back down the corridor. Link's footprints were still in the sand where he'd stood; Sheik tore himself down a side corridor, unlit, and felt a hand clap him on the shoulder, and that nauseating rush of power.
"Boy," the voice came, reverberating with a strength that could not be matched, but oddly weary, "play again, would you?"
Somehow, he wrenched himself away, flung himself down the corridor. There was light ahead, golden and alive, and he fled to it, the sand so high and thick that he was almost crawling.
The sky opened up above him, wide and blue. The sun was at its peak, the heat ruthless, and the sand about him seemed to have no end. But he could see it, see what he'd been looking for, and he dragged himself to it, scrabbled over the sand to the sarcophagus that stood in the middle of the desert.
He heaved aside the lid, pulled at the silken shrouds for the body, his fingers numb and refusing to work as efficiently as they should, and he'd found it, he'd found it, and the last wrapping was yanked back.
He was staring at his own face, unmasked, peaceful as though in sleep. A sound of fear, and shock, and angear bubbled in his throat, and he looked at his hands, and they were crumbling away before his eyes, wrappings and armour and skin and bone.
Falling back, he looked up at the sky, and found a princess leaning over him, a mere child. He knew her by the crown on her head, by the garb of rose and white, the sapphire blue eyes and hair like spun gold. Her smile was like Impa's, kindly and sad, as she reached out to him, and all the weight of the world was on her child's shoulders, but he could not take her hand, could not hear her as her lips started moving, could not see as everything failed him and the world turned to nothingness.