Midday had come to pass on the Shattered Mast Keys, and with it came that same blazing tropical heat that kept guests in the shade all day yesterday. The cloud cover that had governed the earliest day’s match had given way to bright, clear skies, and nary a cloud provided shade for fighter nor spectator alike from the sun.
Half an hour had passed since the end of the last match; roughly half of that time had involved S.M.A.S.H. Event Coordinators slowly persuading its latest victor to move his showboating duff off the Arena. Vuk’s portrait had officially replaced Chanticleer’s on the Farore Class wall, and the pair of torches around the Marked One’s own had been ceremonially snuffed to mark his elimination from the tournament.
With half of the Farore Class semifinalists now determined, a short break had been issued to give everyone a breather. The glee of seeing two flash-stepping, teleporting participants sparring off against one another had petered off, and an air of anticipation rose to rise as spectators returned to their seats. Visitors were already clutching merchandise starring the latest victors in their hands, and tykes were already bashing tattered dolls with hastened facsimiles of Balali’s hat into suspiciously well-finished peacock statuary. Similarly, banana smoothies were flying off counters, being purchased by the pint despite the efforts of those Perfectly Normal Hylians trying to hoard them from consumption in the back. To their eternal chagrin, the sounds of jingling rupees were too enticing to their opportunistic brethren.
As guests returned to their seats, S.M.A.S.H.’s reigning announcer finished off his own drink (a mixture of honey, ginger, and lemon). Rising from his seat where he had been conversing with Chell, he rolled his eyes at the distant cat-calling from a certain separate Din-class warrior and took to the skies, alerting fans and fighters alike to his presence. They pointed and cheered, bringing everyone’s attention toward him in ways that even his own bellicose voice could not.
“HOW! ARE! YOU ALL! DOIIIIIIIIING!” he bellowed, most assuredly causing seafarers around the islands to look quizzically in their direction. “ARE YOU READY FOR MORE! FARORE! FIGHTING?!”
The answering roar probably earned a triple-take from the high seas all around.
“ALL RIIIIIIIGHT!”
Rather than take his place along the dais as usual, Ruidoso reached for his mallets mid-flight and hurled them at the ceremonial kettle drum beneath him. They hit their target with perfect synchronicity, bouncing back directly over it and landing once more for a strongly syncopated rhythm. The fires about the Farore Class tournament wall’s fifth and sixth portraits blazed ever higher in response, indicating the latest pair of fighters who had approached the arena.
“Let’s start our afternoon with some more rook-tastic fun, shall we?” Ruidioso continued, turning about mid-glide to mimic relaxing in a barcalounger. “After all, one of the entrants for Nayru Class had never once stepped foot in Shattered Mast’s venerated arena before! And yet - AND YET! Their hunger for excellence brought them within spitting distance of the Championship itself!”
The crowd’s reaction was certainly evidence of this: cheers erupted across the Amphitheater’s seats, with guests tucking limbs into their sleeves and pumping their others in support of their new Nayru-class competitor.
“And just who is our latest Rookie of the Weight Class?” Ruidoso asked. “Well, FEAST your eyes upon this entrant from Lurelin itself: our FIRST Gerudo to have a go at the S.M.A.S.H. Trophy this year! Don’t let her inexperience in the ring fool you: this proud warrior has an expert’s license in crowd control, and knows how to rake in the heaviest of lunkers! Distinguished guests of the Shattered Mast Keys allow me the honor of debuting the latest hero to join our ranks: the Geru-dame, of Lurelin Fame, IFORAAAAAAAAAAA!” @songs-of-the-windfish
“Ifora will have her work cut out, though…for her first opponent is SURE to put even the WILDEST of her fish stories to shame! Yes, competing against Ifora is an old favorite of the S.M.A.S.H. Roster - for the bookies, if no one else!”
There was some slightly less enthusiastic cheering for the second figure, though a merry ripple of laughter coursed through the more businesslike of the fans among the audience. Clearly, someone’s win/loss reputation had preceded him.
“But don’t expect an easy win for either of these two, for I’ve got it on good authority that THIS old boy’s been on a training mission from hell! Yes, our boy here knows how to take a hit - and he’s more ready to duke it out than ever! Shattered Mast, won’t you please give a proper Hero’s Welcome to the indomitable, inCOMPorable, Mr. Perfect Powerhouse himself, EEEEESIIIIIIIIIS?!” @gargoylesister
“The fighters have approached, the scene is set! The sun is BLAZING hot - though not NEARLY as hot as the fire in THESE WARRIOR’S HEARTS! Get ready for a SCORCHING battle between these two, as they duke it out for their place in the Farore Class Semifinals, starting in THREE…”
“TWO…”
“ONE…”
dongggggggggg
“LET’S GET READY TO RUMBLEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
Ifora vs. Esis: Who Will Triumph!
Ifora
Esis
Voting ended onMay 14
Special note: At the request of gargoylesister, they would love if Esis could keep his losing streak!
Our goal is to present each character as best as we can, and to show off each player's characters in their best light - even in defeat. Keep this in mind as you vote!
Kinov and Zuta’s delighted shrieks punctuated the early afternoon as they hung from Sardon’s wrist, the rest of their bodies catching some serious air time as the bigger Hylian tore across the Lurelin sand with his arms outstretched. Sardon had been playing with them for the past fifteen minutes or so, having realized that, well, Cironus and Danmalaak had most of the planning locked down. It had happened mostly by accident: one moment, he’d been skipping rocks on the beach out of boredom; the next, the kids had popped up beside him, asking if he could throw them instead.
Not that it had taken much persuasion. Sardon had spent years roughhousing with the other kids in his pod. And these kids were sturdy! Zuta had already hurtled a good twelve feet into the water, and he’d just popped back like a cork, demanding to be thrown again so soon Sardon had to adjust Kinov’s own trajectory into the water. The delighted screams had called enough children, including a pair of suspiciously Gerudo-featured local girls, that he’d switched tactics and was taking turns racing up and down the beach with them all in tow.
“Kiiiiinooooov, it’s my turn to be on Sar-sar’s shoulders!” yelled one of the Gerudo girls who was chasing them.
“Nuh-uh!” Kinov shot back. “I get an extra turn! Sar-sar said so!”
Sardon skidded to a halt, kicking up sand all around them.
“Uh-oh!” he called out. “We got a fibber on our hands!”
Kinov’s eyes widened. “Huh?”
“And you know what we do with fibbers!”
With a slick twist, Sardon swung one laden arm outward. Kinov let out a squealing giggle as he flew into the air, sailing a good three to four seconds before crashing into the seafoam. The kids laughed in delight, and Sardon winked, crouching down to offer the Gerudo kids his hands.
“Ready to go, Utoko? Urali?”
They pounced on him instead.
“HEY!”
“The molduga’s escaped!” yelled Utoko, changing the game’s rules in an instant. “Get him back in the sand so he can’t get anyone!”
“Yeah! Up to his face!” called out her sister, completely forgetting her turn on Sardon’s shoulders in favor of this new game. She shoved hard against his hips - and while Sardon was easily three times her height, he played along, falling into the sand with a wet thud.
“No! Noooo! RAWWWR!” he yelled, batting feebly at them with arms and legs he’d decided were tentacles for the purposes of this game as they, Zuta, and Kinov (who was not to be excluded from this game) raced to bury his body under the sand. “I’mma eat you up! I’mma eat’choo up–”
“Utoko! Urali!”
The two of them paused, clearly not wanting to stop their game. At the second call of their names, though, Utoko glanced around and sighed, pouting.
“Yes, Iforaaaaa!”
Sardon twisted around, trying to get a glimpse of who was calling them. He caught her at the edge of his vision: an older Gerudo, her vibrant red hair done up in a thick braid over her shoulders and a jagged, chipped tooth on a chain necklace draped across her Lurelin-clad chest. She waved at her sisters while she walked across the beach, skirting the trench Sardon had created in his running while still homing in on the Hylian dogpile.
“Mom says it’s time to go back,” the girl said as she stopped just short of Sardon, lest she get sucked into the sandy struggles. “It’s lunchtime, and you know how she is about sand in the stew–”
“We’re having stew tonight?!” asked Urali, her games with Sardon forgotten in a split second.
“Yep! And the rest of you are invited if you clean up,” she said with a wink.
“Heck yeah!”
It was as if Sardon had never existed. Completely abandoning their task, they scrambled for the village - in Zuta’s case, scrambling over Sardon’s chest in his excitement to beat them all there. Sardon, for his part, blinked; the play-to-eat turn had moved so fast he had to wonder if the kids were part zorca themselves.
“Need a hand?” the Gerudo woman asked.
“Uh…I might?”
She grabbed Sardon by the hand and pulled back, surprising the newly-made Hylian as she easily lifted his heft with one arm. Sardon clapped at his chest and thighs, brushing the grit off his new clothes as best he could, before raking his hair with his hands in a futile attempt to remove it from his ponytail.
“Thanks, Miss…?
“Ifora,” she said, offering a hand. “You know, you’re really good with kids.”
“Ah, yeah,” he said, shaking it (and accidentally transferring some of the grit to her). “Comes with living in a pod–er, uh, family.”
Ifora waved off the correction. “Don’t worry about it. The zorca are our neighbors. We get a dozen of them who swim by every year - about this time, in fact. Would you three be a part of that pod?”
“Er…no?” he said, a little surprised. “I mean, we do come by here, but we’re usually in the fall/winter migration. You’re taking this surprisingly easily, by the way.”
“What, the three of you showing up?”
“Uh, no. The whole–” he gestured at his body, clearing his throat uncomfortably.
“Ah. The…transformation.” She smiled, then started ticking off events on her fingers. “Well, before you showed up, we were attacked by pirate moblins. Not to mention having our village rebuilt by a feral Hylian who’s supposedly a century older than he looks. And the exploding demon dragon a little while after. After a while? You just learn to go with the flow.”
She winked.
“...Well, I guess when you put it like that…”
Ifora’s smile faded. “I’m sorry. I’m making light of your condition. Are you all right?”
“I…”
Sardon’s voice faded as he massaged his still-unfamiliar wrists, working his lips against strange blocky teeth that had none of the flesh-stripping serration he was used to. His hair had plastered itself across his back, matting and dragging across his skin in ways his headpiece had never done. As much as he was trying to play it off with all the nonchalance he could muster, it all just felt so…strange.
“I wish I could be so easygoing about this,” he finally said, trying to move his head in a way that would pull his hair off his back. “I just keep going back to, well…what if this is permanent? We still don’t know what even happened, and we’re making plans and journeys based on some basic suggestion our friend made.”
He gestured out towards Danmalaak, whom the two of them could vaguely see haggling aggressively with a passing trader.
“Two of us aren’t even supposed to be here,” he continued. “Dad and I are supposed to be at the Turning of the Wheel right now. That’s the, uh, thing most of the other zorca this time are supposed to be going to, by the way? - but my brother’s been going through a lot lately and we didn’t want to leave him where he was.”
“Girl troubles?”
“Exile.”
Ifora winced. “Ooof.”
“Yeah. We don’t even know what for. I don’t think even he knows. One minute, the moms are just fine with him. The next, he’s out on his butt, told to keep swimming and never stop.”
“That’s a lot…and, might I say, a poor way to make an example of him.” Ifora frowned. “I mean, how do you know what to avoid if you can’t even know the crime?”
“Right?! Well, Dad and I couldn’t just leave him at that. I’m not leaving my brother like that, not…you know, all alone. Angry. Confused.” He shuddered at the thought. “So, we get this idea that we’ll pass on the Turning this year, keep him company over the summer, and then…well…”
Again, the gesture at his face and chest.
“As bad as this is? I can’t have Cir thinking it’s his fault we’re stuck like he is. He’s already bitter at everything that’s happened, I don’t need him taking even more responsibility for us just having some lousy luck.”
Ifora nodded. “We older siblings have to look after the rest, am I right?”
“Yeah…we do.”
Ifora licked her lower lip as she considered Sardon’s dour mood, a deep plunge given how gleeful he’d been only minutes before. This was a boy who felt things, and felt them hard. Sure, that came in handy when someone needed that surge of adrenaline in a fight (and judging from that scar on his pectorals, he’d been in at least a few), but the insecurity writ ‘cross his face simply would not do.
“For what it’s worth…I can’t believe this would be permanent,” she ventured, picking a piece of grit off her hand with a fingernail. “For one, I imagine it would take some considerable magic to affect that kind of change with any degree of permanence. Something on, say, the Demon King’s level…and I don’t think that would have been wielded on three isolated zorca on some beachside jaunt.”
Sardon’s response was a noncommittal grunt. “Cir would just say he’s got that kind of luck.”
“Well, that’s the other thing,” Ifora continued. “You three don’t strike me as the type to just lay down and accept it.”
That earned a crack of a smile from Sardon. “You got me there,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “Pretty sure Cir could call down the goddesses on that guitar on his. And Dad would wrestle them into submission given half the chance.”
“And you?”
His hesitation made Ifora’s decision for her.
“Do you mind if I give you a gift?” she asked, reaching behind her neck to undo the clasp of her necklace. “This is something my grandmother gave me for my first Gerudo Town pilgrimage. I was a child at the time, already so much taller and stronger than the local children, but I was terrified at the idea of leaving. You can probably guess all the usual reasons why - the monsters on the journey, of traveling through that vast, scorching desert…but, really, most of all, I was terrified of leaving my family, living in a city of nothing but strangers.”
“...Strangers?” Sardon asked. “What, didn’t you have a family to go back to there?”
“Of a sort,” Ifora replied, winding the necklace chain around her palm. “Gerudo are required to live part of our lives in the Gerudo homeland. It is a way for us to recognize one another, to ingrain our culture and engender community in a people whose very biology requires that we live amongst others. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that our own families are there. Just about everyone in mine lives in that house, in fact.”
She rocked her head towards one of the villages’ signature palm-based huts. Indeed, Sardon could see Utoku and Urali there, virtually bouncing in anticipation for an apparently mythical beachside stew.
“When it was my turn to go, my grandmother was the only relative waiting for me. No mother, no sisters, aunts, or cousins, just one elderly woman caring for a girl just barely into her teens.”
Sardon made a face. “If you told me a pod had only one grandmother for its children, I’d tell you that pod’s’ days were numbered.”
Ifora laughed. “I thought the same thing! Surrounded by family here, and nothing there but a decrepit old lady I’d never met before. But, you know, she knew exactly what it was like, and she had a gift ready for me when I arrived.”
She pressed the wound-up necklace into Sardon’s palm, flicking up the jagged tooth fragment with her thumb.
“Molduga tooth, that,” she said, looking him in the eyes. “Only the very tip, of course. They were still harvesting the carcass when I came into town, so I got to find out how big they got - and I think even you’d have trouble wearing a tooth the size of your head on your neck. Of course, Grandmother wasted no time telling you who landed the final blow.”
Sardon glanced between the necklace and the woman offering it, his eyes wide.
“I–Miss Ifora, I can’t possibly–”
“It’s just Ifora, and you can, too,” she sad, a tad forcefully. “Think of it as a gift of courage, from one crotchety old grandma to her stubborn granddaughter - and from one big sibling to another. You three make sure to get back to your big oafish selves, all right?”
“Oafish?!”
Sardon’s surprised indignance fell quickly away to a feral grin as he used Ifora’s grip to pull her in for a big zorca-style bearhug.
“You got it,” he breathed in her ear.
The two of them shuddered, grinning. As they parted, though, Sardon unwound the chain, pinching the ends between massive fingers in preparation to put it on himself as he nodded to Ifora.
“I’ll be sure to bring it back,” he promised.
“You better,” she said. “I’m going to need that courage to keep my sisters in check!”
=========
=========
The sun hung low in the sky as three Hylians and one goron grouped up in front of Lurelin’s modest archway. Cironus and Danmalaak were both wearing a pair of bulky hiking packs, each filled with a number of provisions that would hopefully keep them sated on the way to their next stop.
“You packed the extra spices, right?” asked Cironus. “Eating salted fish is going to be such a downgrade after that paella.”
“I told you, that’s in case we can’t catch anything!” said Danmalaak. “And you’d better - those spices were expensive. We could have bought three times as much fish if you hadn’t–”
“Relax, kid,” cut in Fat Fin. “We’ll find something. I can taste it.”
“You can trust Dad to hunt anything,” said Sardon. “Anyway, did you ever figure out which way we were going?”
“Uh, well…weeee thought we’d put it to a vote,” muttered Cironus.
“Couldn’t choose, could ya.”
“Mind your BUSINESS, Fin!”
“All right, then, let’s vote,” said Danmalaak. “Route A, with the cliffsides and hinoxes–”
Fin’s eyes lit up.
“The WHAT–”
“--WAIT ON THE CHOICES, FIN!--or Route B, with the horses and lightning?”
More Ifora lore! So I never had a timeline "settled" but the rough idea was a few months to a year before BotW events Lurelin was attacked by a monster mob, chasing the villagers out. Ifora got separated from her family (my old notes had her go towards water and getting swept away) and everyone in Lurelin was scattered.
The villagers did trade with the Zora from the Domain so eventually Ifora was found by a couple of friends. A married couple named Oros, a commersons dolphin zora, and Lulu, a pink albino dolphin zora. They took her in and became her temporary adopted parents. Ifora lived at the Domain while Oros and Lulu and a few other zora helped her look for her family and the other scattered residents. Meanwhile, during her stay she did all she could to be a helpful guest ✊️
Sidon was also one of those volunteers who says as prince its his job to set an example in helping the Domain's neighbors 😤 I wanted to ship him ans Ifora and had the two develop a friends to lovers relationship over the course of her stay. They would talk about about their own day to day lives and bond and sympathize over family ties.
The end game between the two kept changing. Word of her family's whereabouts finally reach her (they're in Gerudo save for her dad who's staying at the nearby stable hence the difficulty for any zora immediately knowing where they're at) So one idea was how she reluctantly says goodbye and hitches a ride with a wagon to head to Gerudo and reunite with her family and they stay till the events of BotW end. As they head home her family finds out about her own adventures (and feelings) so they encourage her to go back to the Domain to confess her feelings to Sidon.
Another idea is her family stops by Zora's Domain to pick up Ifora as they head back to a monster free Lurelin. After the events of BotW Sidon shows up to look for her, cue happy confession scene, villagers cheering 💕 After either scenario, Ifora does later move to stay in Zora's Domain!
Let's talk about Ifora! She was my first LoZ oc who originally started out as a hylian farmer. Then I made her a Gerudo and gave her a family!
Her mother is a Gerudo named Isana, and her father is a Sheikah mamed Dazos, who both met at Lover's Pond when they where young. When they eventually married they decided to live in Lurelin. Ifora is the oldest out of four sisters (shes in her late twenties early thirties), after her is Litas (early twenties) and then twin sisters Utoki and Urali (about six years old)
For Ifora, the sight of water makes her feel at home. Her parents came from two vastly different worlds, her father a Sheikah and her mother a Gerudo, and even they were drawn to each other thanks to a body of water called Lover's Pond. Ifora and her sisters grew up in Lurelin so the ocean was always in her life.
Even when she had to live in Gerudo to learn about their culture she spent most of her time near the fountains of water or at the oasis in Kara Kara Bazaar.
In her story, before I made Cironus, I paired her with Sidon (an AU story at this point!) and her family wasn't surprised in the least. Because of course she'd end up with a zora, that's so natural for her at this point.
🎀 What is their main love language?
Ifora likes to give gifts and perform acts of service. She'll spend time putting together seashell jewelry, each one made for specific situations (luck in fishing, strength while traveling, luck in love, etc). Folks have told her she should look into selling her trinkets to travelers who pass through, but she often forgets, and instead hands one off as a little parting gift instead.
Her acts of service come in the form of small chores. Little things that might easily be forgotten in the bustle of doing the more "important" ones. A net's small tear will be fixed before it has time to rip further, clothes will be taken off the drying line just in time before it starts raining. Anything that can help lighten the load! She never makes a point to tell anyone she did any of these things, but she can't hide her smile when someone sighs in relief that someone remembered to do a small chore before it was too late.
