#devlan kastro

[maldreathezora]

And now, in honor of Spooky Month, I present to you:

The Tale of Devlan Kastro

A Gerudo's Campfire Tale

Original story by @gerudoshikyapril Retold by Maldrea

One night, beneath a red moon just like this one, a farmer kept watch over her livestock. As it so happened, it was time for one of her pigs to give birth. The sow delivered five scrawny piglets, all born dead-- and one fat, healthy little squealer with glowing golden eyes. 

The red moon turned back to pearl, and at dawn, the farmer went to the village and woke the shaman, claiming her sow had given birth to a demon. The shaman ate hastily, packed her medicine pouch and followed the farmer home. They found the piglet burrowed hungrily at the sow's teat. 

"Surely it is a demon," said the farmer, "Look at its golden eyes." Now, the shaman was a wise old woman and very practical. She tutted and shook her head. "Anyone can see this is an old sow. You are lucky one piglet survived, and being old, the sow may only have enough milk for one in any case." But there is a time for practicality, and there is a time for caution, and the farmer knew this instinctively and was wary. 

The piglet grew over the course of time. She grew... and grew... and her appetite grew with her. So monsterously big did she grow, in fact, so greedily did she eat of all around her, that the farmer was more than happy not to have to pen her and feed her, and let her wander free-- stalking through the fields, sniffing and snuffling out roots and acorns and melon rinds rotting in the sun. 

One day, her snout led her to a smoking field where a battle had been. Now, wild pigs are opportunists and this one was no exception. The pig ate up the flesh of the fallen warriors, but still she was hungry. So then she crushed the bones beneath her trotters and ate the marrow. By now the red moon had risen high and the souls of the fallen were creaking and groaning with anger at their fate. In her desperate hunger, she swallowed them, too, and all was quiet. And as she wandered on, finally satisfied, the souls of the dead awoke within her... 

That, dear reader, is what made her a demon. Not unlucky birth beneath a blood moon-- not sin, since animals know nothing of guilt-- but hunger... That is the story of devlan kastro.

[headcanonganon]

Here’s a story Ganondorf once told Linke, after he taught her Eheniv. <One night, beneath a red moon just like this one, a farmer kept watch over her livestock. As it so happened, it was time for one of her pigs to give birth. The sow delivered five scrawny piglets, all born dead-- and one fat, healthy little squealer with bright eyes. At dawn, the farmer went to the village and woke the shaman, claiming her sow had given birth to a demon. The shaman ate hastily, packed her medicine pouch and followed the farmer home. They found the piglet burrowed hungrily at the sow's teat. 

"Surely it is a demon," said the farmer, "Look at its golden eyes." Now, the shaman was a wise old woman and very practical. She tutted and shook her head. 

"Anyone can see she is an old sow. You are lucky one survived, and being old, she may only have enough milk for one piglet. This will be a prize pig someday." But there is a time for practicality, and there is a time for caution, and the farmer knew this instinctively. The red moon turned back to pearl, and the piglet grew over the course of time. He grew... and grew... and his appetite grew with him. So monsterously big did he grow, in fact, so greedily did he eat of all around him, that the farmer was more than happy not to have to pen him and feed him, and let him wander free-- stalking through the fields, sniffing and snuffling out roots and acorns and melon rinds rotting in the sun. 

One day, his snout led him to a smoking field where a battle had been. Now, wild pigs are opportunists and this one was no exception. The pig ate up the flesh of the fallen warriors, but still he was hungry. So then he crushed the bones beneath his feet and ate the marrow. By now the red moon had risen high and the souls of the fallen were creaking and groaning with anger at their fate. In his desperate hunger, he swallowed them, too, and all was quiet. And as he wandered on, finally satisfied, the souls of the dead awoke in him... in a moment, his simple brain was filled with their memories, their pain and anguish. That, dear Linke, is what made him a demon. Not an unlucky birth, nor sin, but hunger... That is the story of devlan kastro.>

[ancganon]

Of all the things to turn into, why a boar?

“Ah, well, that has to do with the story of Devlan Kastro.” He grins, and launches into the story. At the end of it you’re more confused than before, but he seems satisfied with his answer.