Since Crossing of Stars happens in the future, I like thinking about how some “modern” stuff would happen in Hyrule. To this end, which Sport would be most similar to what each race would prefer?
Hylians/Sheikah - Baseball. Kids play in leagues. The most famed player, Shin “the Honeybee” was scouted after a beehive fell off a tree and nearly hit him. He smacked it from the air, so far away that they say the bees landed in another province. The most famous field is on the Hylian colony of Bosa.
Gorons - Football (American)/Rugby. A rough and tumble sport, Goron’s natural size makes them excel at the sport. Tackling and carrying is usually done in ball form. There’s very little passing by throwing, instead they will pass to teammates while rolling and possibly crashing. The biggest game is held annually on Morte Mons (Rugon attends because it’s a big cultural event, but he’s not a big fan of the sport)
Rito - Soccer - Midair soccer is wildly popular, with a helium-filled ball and suspended goals added an extra dimension to play. Balls can only be struck with wings and heads, not claws. Many colonies claim to be the center of the sport, but the annual championship is an interplanetary affair that moves yearly.
Gerudo - Basketball - They don’t dribble, when you have the ball you cannot move your feet. They can only move the ball by passing. This means there’s a lot of focus on teamwork (your teammates can run around till you pass to them) and a LOT of fouling. They host tournaments all year long on Amathyme.
He does not have a good time. angst time with injuries and the like.
It was dark.
Everything was dark all around him.
It had been like this for weeks, if not months, after his last and final escape attempt.
Black had failed spectacularly due to three things outside of his control, though he should have known better with the last thing.
The first was that his magic at an all time low, unable to build it back up. This tied in with the second, which was being cut off from food or water. The third was a foolish error that had been made after a long period of intentional sleep deprivation inflicted upon him.
But all of this misfortune had occurred as a result of Black absolutely refusing to play along with the wretched human and monster duo who ‘collected’ magical beings who were not fully monster or human, to display in their ‘menagerie of wonder’. Black refused to allow people to gawk at him in his sizable room (prison) while the pair gloated over being the best exotic owners in the entire world while taking in an obscene amount of cash while avoiding legal troubles over the ethics of imprisoning sentient beings.
Blackmail was likely involved.
The two idiots hadn’t liked Black’s stubbornness when it came to playing along with the set-up of the place, and for his refusal to ever speak a word to them.
…This last escape attempt made while sleep deprived had brought forth consequences he hadn’t expected, proving that Black’s captors were even worse than previously assumed.
Black had no idea that he would one day he would be glad to be surrounded in darkness. It currently prevented him from having to fully face his new reality. A real sort that those bastards had effectively maimed his hind legs, ensuring that any time Black rose to all four legs that his hind two would give out, a flare of agony jolting up the limbs.
It burned, the dull ache.
Huddled up along what felt like an oversized boulder (why was it in the basement?) Black leaned his upper half against it to rest his skull, feeling feverish when he realized that the rough surface felt cooler than before. His captors had long since taken the small saddle bags he’d used to carry supplies, the tunic he had been wearing, and the blanket he’d had thrown over his lower half to chase away the chill of the place he’d been traveling through, old wounds aching in response to the cold.
Not that the belongings he’d used to have mattered in this place.
His comfort was not a priority.
Especially here in the basement, where it was cold. Even the lower half of his body was shivering, sagging heavily into the concrete floor beneath him. Eye sockets closed, Black wondered again if some of the wounds that had been inflicted along his haunches and either side of his spine were infected. Some areas were still sluggishly bleeding.
Black went in and out of consciousness, becoming listless and unresponsive the longer he spent in that small basement room. Not that his captors had come to check on him after they’d chained him to the wall by his legs, arms and neck. This made resting his skull on the boulder tricky but doable.
Something didn't smell right, from some of his injuries.
Were they...infected?
...had he already wondered about this before?
No matter.
At present, Black had no excess magic to combat it.
He was stretched thin.
Exhausted.
Black would occasionally wonder, now and again, years later, if he might have fallen down had someone not opened the door to the basement he had been locked within.
He offered no resistance.
Black didn't do much more than settle bleary, dark blue eye lights on a group of humans and monsters that were unfamiliar before disinterestedly closing his sockets again.
At least until they began to unlock and cut the chain and cuffs away.
Black bared sharp teeth despite voices murmuring reassurances. By the time he was carried out on some stretcher (carried by numerous people), Black saw flashing lights that he’d seen in the past. But somehow, without being told yet, Black knew that he was free of this place. But the pain from his ordeal lingered, into the treatment of his various wounds. To seeing to the nasty infected mutilation of his hind legs that would prevent him from leaping or ever running as fast as he used to before.
It was sobering news.
Black was so very worn out that he didn’t even know how to react. The cold fire he used to have was gone. That stubborn prideful nature of his had been beaten and starved out of him. It would take time for that attitude to come back, if it ever did.
Black remained compliant throughout his treatments. He used as few words as possible in response to questions, all while being inwardly relieved that he did not lose use of his hind legs. By the time Black was in recovery after the surgeries and healing, he began to feel shame for what he'd become. For a time, Black fell into a depression, refusing to eat or drink. But he didn’t have the strength to refuse an IV to supplement his magic and general state of aliveness while he struggled to make sense of everything that he had been through these past ten years.
He couldn't believe it had been that long.
As he was moved to a section of land within the sanctuary to recover, Black had come to the conclusion that he shouldn’t have been rescued in the first place. With the shape he had been found in, and the recovery he was currently going through, Black knew that he would not survive out in the world on his own now. Better to die after being freed, then to live a life trapped, despite the wide acreage of this land that he had been brought to. Despite the many assurances and promises that no one would force him to do anything. If Black really wanted to leave once he had recuperated, no one would stop him.
Black was no fool.
There was no living in the world at large for him anymore.
Black would need assistance.
He would be hard pressed to find that in places that weren’t like this preserve. If Black left, if would be an easy feat for someone to try to take advantage of him.
This sanctuary was merely one prison traded for another, though this one has better perks.
Black refused to argue about it and demanded that everyone please leave him be. He did get that solitude, but Black didn’t get much say when someone would come out to him to check on his healing wounds. Black was well enough by then. He had wraps and braces around the lower and middle of his hind legs to help him stand and walk. Black just wanted to be alone and left to his own devices. If these well-wishers had to continue to check up on him, Black preferred he have a warning.
Months later, and Black had grudgingly agreed to ask for anything that he might need to make this place he found himself in as comfortable as possible.
Black was used to being alone.
More so after his brother died. With his brother’s shadow no longer alongside him, Black didn't want anyone else around for extended periods of time. Especially after being jeered at and beaten while being held against his will in that exotic 'collection' and especially when he was tethered in a basement and unable to escape any of that agony.
Black doesn’t know what to do with himself, now that he was technically freed. In a way, he was again shackled, this time by his own hind legs. It upset Black greatly that this appeared to be his new reality. He was not at all prepared for it. Black had fully anticipated dying chained in that small dark basement. He lapsed into a thoughtful silence as he settled in for another night alongside a fallen log he'd come across, lamenting the fact he could no longer get on top of one.
Even if this place was, for all intents and purposes, safe, he found it hard to let his guard down.
This one is a little heavier on the “world-building” side than the whump but I’m using this one for the “Fevers” slot on my @badthingshappenbingo card
Thanks @0idril0 for looking this over for the eternity that this has been on my computer. Red is completed, yellow is requested, and green has an idea--I need some more requests!
Link to previous parts: Part One, Two, Three, and Four
Tagging the people who seemed interested in Oryn: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @fallingstormphoenix @whumpitywhumpwhump @wildfaewhump @whumping-every-day @imagination1reality0 @voidwhump
***
Galen rustled through his bag, pulling bottles out of it and looking at labels. "I think we're going to need to keep a closer eye on this one," he murmured.
The "one" in question was finally asleep, his whistling breaths drawn through dry and cracked lips. Emrik continued combing through the black, greasy locks under his hand. The Fae needed all of the comfort that he could get. "I think that would be a good idea," he pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a dry chuckle. "That probably took more than a few years off of all of our lives."
The older man gave a sardonic smile, "An understatement."
Their sleeping charge moaned quietly, and Emrik turn back to him. His face was lax in sleep, the only evidence of pain a small line between his dark brows, just under the cool cloth on his forehead. Sleep changed the Fae’s face from the terrified and pain filled mask that he had first seen. Emrik didn’t think he would ever forget the stark terror in those yellow eyes or the way he had called out for his goddess.
Now, he looked so young. Young and war torn—a mass of bruises, stitches, and broken bones. Emrik sighed and flipped the cloth to the cool side. He felt a tug on the tattered remains of the dyät knot and nudged back with gentle reassurance, “It’s alright, shhh.” He brushed through the dark hair again before disentangling the knot and releasing the magic. A shudder rolled through him at the release, and he sighed in relief.
Galen gave him a concerned look at the noise, "Are you going to be alright? You don’t normally seem to strain like that."
"I don’t normally have to strain like that,” he muttered, giving the sleeping Fae a considering look. “I'll be fine. I'm just glad I waited until he let me, and I didn't try to force the knot on him."
The human cocked his head at him with confusion, hands stilling, “You know I don’t know magic, especially your magic, what do you mean?”
“I mean if I had tried to force him, I wouldn’t have had the power to follow through.” A shrug, “Would’ve knocked me out of commission for a few days, trying to battle it out with him.”
A frown, "I've never heard you put it that way before, lad. Usually, you just do it and everything is fine."
"Usually, our patients are human," Emrik leaned forward in the chair that he had drug to the bedside, "or lesser seelie. Greater seelie are a whole new game, their grasp of magic is unparalleled. Their access to the weave of lei lines in the world is literally a part of their body, like an extra organ." He sighed and shrugged, "I don't understand all of it. I just know my magic cannot trump his. You humans have found ways around it," he tapped at the cuffs around their poor charge's wrist with a dark look, "for certain things. But I can't."
Galen gave an equally dark look at the cuffs and collar. “Guess I’ll take your word for it then.” He came over with his bag and pulled the blankets back from his charge’s chest. Black bruises crawled up his sides, equally matched by red welts and stitched cuts. The tube, made from the hollow roots of an astor plant, in the Fae's chest wall had been quickly stitched in place, held against his side with blood tacky bandages and lead down to a glass bottle on the floor.
His hands were gentle as they could be, but the Fae whimpered as the older man searched for air pockets or other injuries from his fall. “I know, I know, pup, it hurts.” Galen’s voice held a comforting baritone gravel that settled their charge, his weak breaths smoothing into a softer rhythm.
Emrik shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning downward. “You said Melisandra is coming in the morning, right?”
“Mmmhm, why?”
“I think she speaks better Saethe than I do, she might be able to talk to him if he wakes up again. He seemed to respond to some of what we said, but I don’t know how well he understands us. Even if he understands us, I don’t know how well he would speak Common.”
Galen grimaced. “He knows the words ‘please’ and ‘no more’, I can tell you that. He woke up for a few minutes earlier tonight, begged me not to hurt him.”
“They really did a number on him,” Emrik murmured. He shook his head again, pushing away the melancholy as he stood. “He’s stubborn, hopefully stubborn enough to recover from this. I’m going to go and get you more water.”
“Thanks.”
***
Oryn woke to the low murmur of voices nearby. There was a cold wet weight over his eyes and arms that caused him to shiver weakly. His bones ached and the slight weight that covered him was too much. It hurt, everything hurt, and he couldn’t stop the quiet whimper that pushed through his chapped lips. The voices near him quieted, and he did his best to breathe normally through his fear and confusion. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew that the people in the room weren’t actively hurting him. That could change quickly if they knew that he was awake.
A cool slender hand pressed against his hot cheek, and the Fae flinched, automatically turning his head away, a burbled moan caught in his throat at the spike of pain through his spine. The wet weight—a towel?— slipped from one of his eyes, but he kept it closed.
“He is so warm,” an accented feminine voice whispered, not appearing to notice that he was awake as the towel was eased back over his eye. “How long has his fever been like this?”
“The fever started last night,” a gruff vaguely familiar grumble answered, near his hip, “it’s still climbing. Emrik and I are doing everything we can for it, but it’s up to him now.”
The woman hummed, slender fingers pressing over the wet towel, making cold drops of water track down past his ears. “Did he wake at all?”
A choked laugh, and he heard the rasp as the man ran his hand over his beard. “For a few minutes. By Tala, he was so scared.” The gruff voice faltered, and he cleared his throat. “The pup toppled off the bed when I went to get water for the fever and split some of his stitches open falling on the floor. Punctured his damn lung. Poor Emrik had to help me calm him.”
”I saw Emrik when I came in, he’s dead asleep in your foyer.” The woman’s light touch moved across his forehead and carded through Oryn’s still matted hair, catching on the tangles and knots. His fevered skin ached where her fingers touched, hypersensitive to the pull of his hair against his scalp, and he couldn’t suppress the hitch in his breath.
“Hmph, he said he used a lot of his reserves last night, tried to explain some of the magic to me. Not that I understood it. Meli, I know Emrik is exhausted, but is there anything you can do?”
Fevered confusion clouded the injured Fae’s thoughts. What?
“I don’t think so, Galen. Our magic doesn’t work the same with them. I haven’t figured out why yet.” The woman‘s chair skittered over the floor as she stood. “Even if he was human, he is very weak right now. I don’t know that he would survive my attempts at healing.”
“That’s basically what Emrik said,” a thick fingered hand took Oryn’s limp one and covered his swollen fingers with a warm, rough palm. Oryn’s fingers twitched around the larger hand, the hard splints under the manacles causing a twinge through his arm, and the stranger smoothed over them with a soft murmur. “He’s been tortured to within an inch of his life, Meli. Where did your men say they found him?”
Her men? Who were these people? Were they Soren’s friends? A dim memory of yelling men with authority in their voices welled up, but it was too tenuous to grasp and examine.
A quiet rustle of papers across the room marked the woman’s location. “Soren’s, apparently he was searching for some seelie runaways. You know about his fascination with their magic.”
Oryn felt his insides throb at actually hearing Soren’s name, a sharp inhalation making his ribs tug painfully, and an insistent voice started up in the back of his mind. They’re Soren’s friends. They’re going to hurt me too. They’re just waiting for Soren to come back.
He barely noticed the other’s fingers stilling over his own. “Run aways?” the questioned response stressed the plural. “By Tala, will he never learn? Someone needs to teach him there is a reason that the seelie are illegal to own. He is going to cause another war.”
A sharp sigh. “I’m not sure he hasn’t. The run aways were, apparently, on the border of the Leander Ridge when this one was captured. I don’t think the Queen’s forces were able to find the others after we got our report from Soren’s informant.”
Oryn felt his heart start to drum against his ribs, a spike of dread lancing through his gut. They were hunting the other seelie too. That’s why they were treating him, because Soren hadn’t gotten the information from him.
She continued with an ironic lilt to her voice that made Oryn tense further. “Besides, and I have no idea how he did it, but this little pup killed him as my Inquisitors broke the door down. So I guess we don’t have to worry about teaching Soren any lessons in the the future.”
“I’m sorry, he what?!” Shock colored the male’s voice as Oryn’s hand was placed back on the covers.
The Fae felt a wave of alarmed confusion start to roil and churn within him. Dead? A fog of pained memory boiled up, the sharp press of a knife against his abdomen, a brief, sweet flash of hope. But nothing else. He killed Soren?
Meli laughed as she answered, and the Fae’s frantic mind turned it into a sharp, cacophic peel of noise. “You heard me, Galen. Soren cracked his head on the floor, and it turned his brain to jelly. The only reason I know it was your dark haired charge, and not some sort of freak stroke, is that one of the lesser seelies could feel the knot.”
“But, how? This has to be one of the most magically restrained seelie I’ve ever come across, how did he even manage to scrape together the magic to form a knot?”
“I’m not—“ she cut herself off and there was the soft slip of fabric against fabric. Oryn felt the woman’s presence leaning over him again before there were slender fingers at his throat, over his collar, over the pounding pulse in his throat. “Galen,” she murmured, softly, “I think he’s awake.”
Oryn’s chest hurt, and he realized he’d forgotten to control his breathing, small wheezes for air making his broken ribs scream with pain. Panic flared, and he choked on a whimper when he sensed the male leaning over him as well, the masculine presence strong and looming. Celünie, please. Please, don’t hurt me. Soren was going to hurt the boy. He was so young. Please.
It wasn’t okay. Oryn didn’t know who these people were, and they were touching him, and he didn’t feel good, and everything hurt. He gave up playing at sleep and tipped his head back into the pillow, shifting, gasping as a throbs of pain pounded through him. Wanting to get away from the hand at his throat, the potential punishment. He tried to move his legs, needed to flee, but he moaned weakly when a jolt of pain crashed through his body like lightning. Traveling from the broken bones and into the shorn muscles in his abdomen.
“Shhh, myonik, shhhh,” the woman soothed in Sæthe, “we are not going to hurt you.” Her fingers moved from his throat to brush against his hair in a deceptively gentle caress, another hand trying to cup his cheek.
Oryn didn’t believe her. Didn’t believe any of these humans with their promises and gentle hands. They’d been gentle before too. But he’d killed Soren, and they wanted to punish him. Hurt him. Make him scream.
His body was so heavy, and it was agony to move, every tiny muscle contraction telling him to stay still. But he didn’t want them to touch him. The damp cloth slid off of his face when he shook his head, rejecting the hand against his cheek, dull pounding starting up behind his eyes. The heat of the fever flared without the coolness of the cloth, and he whined, eyelids sliding open to search the blurry shapes over him.
Two people hovered, the bright light making them dark, indistinguishable shadows to the brightness of the room. He flinched back with a tight gasp of air, trying to raise his arms in a defensive posture, but the heavy appendages were easily caught in strong hands. His wrists throbbed even in the light grip, and the square, broad hands controlled him without any trouble. Ignoring his whimpers of protest, the man crossed his wrists across his stomach so that Oryn could be pressed back into the mattress by his other hand.
“Don’t move, lad,” Galen ordered, false kindness in his voice, “you’re very sick and very hurt. You need to stay still.”
Oryn’s struggles weakened, and he shuddered, the fear of disobeying overcoming his trembling limbs. His tongue was heavy and unwieldy in his mouth, but he swallowed thickly, trying to force his eyes to focus. “Dä. . . därog. . .il. . .il a. . . “ His voice was a hoarse, thin rasp that wavered on the plea, and his dry throat closed on any additional words as he panted for air.
“Shhh, be calm,” the woman said in Saethe, the lilt of his native tongue falling easily from her lips. The woman leaned further in, the hand in his hair sliding back to cradle his head as a cup was placed against his lips. “Drink, myonik.” Her angular face finally came in to focus, but her expression was unreadable to the exhausted Fae.
Blinking his gritty eyes fitfully, Oryn turned away from the sloshing liquid in the cup, an incoherent croak all he could manage. His throat was so dry, but these humans would hurt him, wanted to punish him for Soren. Wanted to know where his friends went. He didn’t know what was in the cup. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want it.
He couldn’t stop the hiccuping sob that slid out of his mouth as he squeezed his eyes closed. Please, I don’t want it.
“Shh, shh, shh, okay, okay.” The cup left his lips, and he sobbed harder when something skimmed across his cheek softly. “I know you’re scared, shhhh, it’s okay.”
“Oh pup, don’t cry.” Galen’s hands softened their restraining grip, his thumbs rubbing circles into his skin.
Oryn exhausted himself quickly, his breaths coming in hitching, shaky sobs and gasps as the woman continued carding through his hair, murmuring softly. “You aren’t going to be hurt, I promise. You’re being taken care of; you’re safe, now. Shhh.” His eyelids fluttered weakly, unable to fully unshutter themselves, and he swallowed past the dryness in his mouth.
“This is just water, we aren’t going to hurt you, but you need to drink, little one.” The woman raised his head again as she pressed the cup back to his mouth, and Oryn couldn’t fight against the cool liquid as it poured past his chapped lips. Pure, sweet water touched his tongue, and it soaked it up like a sponge in the desert. Swallowing fitfully, he sighed as the water soothed his parched throat, and she helped him drink until she pulled the cup away.
The Fae was drifting on fatigue, the rattle of things in the room making him jerk and whine, as the woman lowered his head back down. “Galen, is that too much water?”
“That should be enough for now,” Galen murmured, making Oryn shudder as new cool rags were drawn down his arms and across his neck. “He needs all of the fluids he can get, but we can’t have him drinking too fast.”
“Okay. . . “ Fingers carded through his hair again before she continued in Saethe, “Sleep now, myonik, we will talk when you feel better.”
Oryn whimpered, head ticking to the side as he forced himself to stay awake. He wanted to explain, maybe they’d have mercy if he explained. “D’rog. . . “ he slurred, wavering “. . .S’ren. . .”
“Hush, you don’t have to worry about Soren. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you here. Sleep.”
The Fae did the only thing he could and obeyed, dark completely overtaking him.
Every culture, every religion has it’s own way of creating and my universe is no different (Name is TBD because I have no clue what to name it right now)
In a way, there are only three ‘Gods’ but it is much more complicated than just that. Each one represents a facet of the world and how it was made, because they all made the world together and each one has a specific part to play.
Azarath- The being of elements
He did not make the world itself, but he made it livable so to say. Azarath, as the god of elements, brought water, created oceans and storms, created the mountains that rose above the skyline and the deepest caverns, created warmth with fires, let there be air for people to breathe. Azarath did not make the world, but he made it possible to thrive in such a place.
When people worship him, it is not usually thanking him for the elements or the seasons, but help with emotions and advice. Why is this? Well, of the three deities, he is the one most in-tune with his emotions, and to put it into words, he seems the most ‘human’ of all of them. Yes he is the most hotheaded, laid-back but stubborn person, but it helps that he doesn’t look or act perfect. I suppose that is all to say, he is the most approachable out of the gods and therefor people worship and ask for advice for mundane things because of that.
Meridith-The being of life
She created the world by herself and breathed life into it, however she is a goddess of life, not letting her people thrive. Meridith made it possible for there to be life, for souls to exist, for there to be sentience. Because of this, some have started to call her “Mother Earth” or similar things
When people pray or worship her, they do so through her six acolytes that she made individually. Most do not contact her directly, for she is the mother of all life, and they do not want to bother her with petty squabbles. Most only reach out to her directly in asking for their family to be healed from sickness or the like. Otherwise, all prayers are directed to the six acolytes.
Zynthos-The being of Nothingness
Just like what they symbolize, Zynthos has no gender, but also multiple, so in a way their gender is always in flux. And just like how you can’t have darkness without light, good without bad, Zynthos’s power over nothingness gives them the ability to create magic itself and this is what they gifted upon the world.
When people worship them, it is usually to ask for their child to have good powers, nothing too dangerous and for protection. Zynthos is known to be quiet, but also always there, like the security blanket that was needed as a child, but is now in the back of the closet.
As of right now, I wouldn’t say I’m working on anything currently. It’s more or less, I have an entire world, an entire universe even as well as characters galore with each one having a story to tell. However! I don’t even know where to start with all of them and Honestly, I’m not the best at sticking to one project.
But one thing you can expect is all these stories happen in the same universe. Who knows? I might just post snippets of all that I work on and just fill in the gaps by answering questions. But you’re more likely to see posts about my universe and the inner workings more than actual writings... for now.
