He follows this stranger warily, one hand used as purchase against the rocks as his other stays close to the sword beneath his cloak. He keeps glancing over his shoulder, half certain this is some sort of trick, but when no Gerudo come chasing after him, he starts to relax. After all, this man looks Hylian. At least from the descriptions heās heard; pale skin, pointed earsā¦ And much shorterĀ than he.
Ā Ā Ā He steps into he cave the man has chosen, though stays near the mouth of the thing. The fact that outsiders have heard of him is surprise enough, knowing heās never stepped out of that tower. Though, the Gerudo do talk. Itās entirely possible that their insatiable need to gossipĀ had spread word of him throughout the kingdom.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āEvery one hundred years, a voeĀ is born to the Gerudo people.ā
TheĀ people. Not hisĀ people.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āThey say he will be their king, but so often he is only a vessel for evil. He will only grow to destroy and rule with fear.ā
He recites it. A well known superstition flung at him as accusation. He doesnāt look at this stranger as he says it, still standing as he looks down at his hand. Heās wearing gloves to cover the mark, but he can still feel it there. BurningĀ at his flesh. He clenches it into a fist, finally turning to look at the man once more.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āThe way you speak of searchingā¦ Were you searching for me?ā
To hunt down the evil and kill it now? To take action where the Gerudo hesitated? His hand rests fully on the hilt of a scimitar, eyeing the man for any foul play. He cannot be killed here. He cannot let his quest fail so quickly.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āWhat do you want?ā
He stops, back to the looming maw of the cave and the one standing in it. Slowly, he lets his bag drop from his shoulder, lowering himself onto one of the flatter rocks that line the floor.Ā After another second of stalling, he pushes his hood away from his face and nods.
A hand slinks out from under his cloak to gesture at the ground, sparking a small flame that casts sharp angles across the gauntness of his face. He doesnāt make an effort to look at the one he speaks to as he does, keeping an idle eye on the fire from behind thin, untended bangs.
Ā Ā Ā Ā āIām aware of the legends. What puzzles me,ā he says, taking a moment to chew his words.Ā āIs why you donāt seem to fit into them.ā
Still, he keeps his back towards the stranger, hands visibly empty at his sides and staff laid out of armās reach. Vaati doesnāt expect him to buy into performative vulnerability, knowing well that his displays of magic have been less than subtle; Iām aware we need no arms to harm each other, he implies,Ā but would prefer we had a few words first.
Ā Ā Ā Ā āFor the record, I am Vaati, and following your narrative Iām guessing introductions are useless. You are correct in your assumptions, but theyāre ridden with holes.ā
Heās committed to being slow. Vague, if only because too much information may be too much. At once, at least. He has little patience for gentleness.
Ā Ā Ā Ā āQuid quo pro; I am not unfair. I only want for you to tell me about yourself, and Iāll do the same. You seem to have a heart in a different shape than the ones who called themselves Dark Lords. Why do you think that is?ā
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