đŹ 2  đ 11  â¤ď¸ 20 ¡ The match begins with a dramatic staredown between its opponents as the bell rings. Both zora and Gerudo square their sho
"Well, shit. Shove me inna tumbler and roll me 'till smooth, 'cause it looks like dere's some LIFE in Rookie Killer after all!"
"No kidding. For a moment there it looked like he actually looked like he was going to buck his handlers for once."
"âŚSheeeeeyitâŚcome ter think of it, does'ee even have handlers? Tee-bee-eightch, I jus' figgered he had one. Since, y'knowâŚ"
"The way he lost all the time?"
"An' da SCRIPTIN'! Ever since dat twink showed up, R-K matches've been so scripted you could whiff a punch on 'im five feet away an' he'd still go flyin'! He's a joke!"
"You realize, dear, that he really could just be that bad at fighting. It would explain why so many people put bets on him losing on the first punch."
"Nawww, dat's jus' rube money. Turtle Soup'd toss 'im on 'is ass if'n he was jus' playin' ter lose. Goes against da spirit'a da dere game, see: dey love gettin' noobs like Lady Spearfish dere in da slots, dey can score some big upsets - but if'n sommat's just showin' up ter lose all da time?"
[Sounds of blowing wildberries]
"LAAAAAAAME."
"It does sound like it would be terrible storytellingâŚto say nothing of what it does to the speculation market."
"I did say what da real money's in how long he lasts. Speaking of, how'd we do?"
"Cradle pin in in eight minutes twelve, and you had me put you down six to six-thirty. You're eighty rupees down, dear."
"FRICK. I needed dat snack, too."
"Point of information, dear: you're down eighty rupees. I put down three silvers on him refusing to fight with any weapons, and there were three-to-one odds on that."
"Hot DAMN! Dis is why yer my money lady, babe."
"Damn straight, my smolder-boulder."
[Excruciating PDA-style smooching]
"You know, it could just be that he's got gods-awful luck in placement. He certainly gave that girl a run for her money."
"Yeah, yeah, okay, fiiiiiiiiine. Mebbe he ain't so bad a fighter. Mebbe his oppo's jus' got da Triforce's own luck. I jus' ain't never seen him try a'fore today."
"You do tend to schedule Elevensies during his matches, dear."
[RUUUUUUMBLE]
"EUGHHHH, don' remind me. Sommat on Merch Row's been sneakin' low-sediment sandstone in their rock smoothies - an' lemme tell you, dem other goros might not know da difference, but me?"
[GROOOOOOOAN]
"Let's jus' say, when dis shit finally passes, dat Maelstrom out dere's gonna have a run fer its money."
[Tinkling laughter]
"âŚWhat?"
"Nothing, dear. Just imagining you letting loose during your match with Big Blue."
[Beat]
"âŚHHHHHAW! Now I gotta leave sommat in da tank."
"Just don't eat any rubies in the meantime. I've got some sapphires in my satchel, too, if you need something to take the edge off."
"âŚMiracle worker, babe."
"âŚReally, though, getting back to Mr. Esis, thereâŚthere really would be no reason to stick around for the fight if he were just supposed to job everything. Even if he is supposed to suck, isn't there more engagement to be had in him trying despite it all? In coming up to the very edge, and just barely missing at the last second?"
"I mean, sh'yeah. But fer whatever reason, he always seemed to go Gibdo on da field a'fore now."
"Well, maybe his match today might persuade him he's got potential."
"HAW! He's got a loooooong-ass way ter go a'fore he kin match wits wit' Din class, though. We know how ter play ter da audience. We kin really s t r e t c h s h i t o u t."
"Mm-hmmmm. And I'm counting on you to do that, big boy."
"Oh, don'choo worry 'bout dat, my Loose'n Juicy Goosey. I might not git my marchin' orders 'till a'fore da match, but you an' I know I got some tricks up my 'washi. Heh heh heh."
đŹ 2  đ 8  â¤ď¸ 14 ¡ FARORE CLASS: MATCH THREE ¡ Midday had come to pass on the Shattered Mast Keys, and with it came that same blazing tropica
"Eughhhhhh. Look at the guy they dredged up to fight this kid."
"Mmm?--*PFFFFF---"*
[Sounds of gravel spraying]
"EM-PEEPS?! Din's cheeks, Lydds, tell me you didn' waste enny money shorting dat schmuck!"
"My tunic!"
[Sotto voce] "Yes--yes, sir, please, use my handkerchief. But save that gravel, okay? It'll be worth at least a silver after the Din Matches tomorrow. "Â [Aloud] "And of course not, dear. Nobody's seriously betting on him to win. All the REAL money's on how long it takes for her to take him out."
"Yeah? Go put some reds on six-thirty fer me, den."
"I'd have thought you'd put down thirty seconds, dear."
"Pshaw. I ain't no rube, Lydds. Thirty seconds don't drive no merch, 'specially when one've 'ems a rook. If'n she can't keep da match runnin' longer'n I kin rip a fart, she deserves ter be turned inter a smear next match."
"Canny as ever, dear. And for your information, there is a pool of viewers who think Mr. Powerhouse'll be TKO'd in the first blow."
"See? What'd I say?" [CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH] "Ruuuuuuubes."
"It really is a shame Esis has never caught a break. You hear so many stories of rookies getting taken advantage of, but this fellow's a one-man show of his own right."
"Heh. Y'know dey tried ter bill dis guy as Da Rookie Killer back inna day?"
"Really?"
"Yeah." [S W A L L O W] "Was supposed ter be da muscle dey sent out when sommat was gettin' all uppity 'bout dere seedin' on da tournament bracket. You know: come out, pound 'em inna sand, remind 'em dey ain't so hot as'ee eats dere lunch."
"Like Mr. Fin did to you last year?"
"Contractin' dispute, Lydds. An' I agreed ter it aforehand."
"Of course, dear. But do go on."
"Sure thang. ENNYWAY--" [CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP] "--'R-K' (as 'ee was called back inna day, 'member) gets paired paired off wit' dis twink of a Hylia showin' up outta frickin' nowheresville. It's dis big joke've a match - kid's maybe what, five-six in height? 90 pounds soakin' wet? An' he's frickin' nekkid. Ain't wearin' more'n a loincloth over his soft bits. I don' think he was really even all dere ter begin wit', ter be honest: 'ee looked like a moblin'd conked him a'tween the eyes a'fore he even got onna field."
[beat]
"I...see. And I take it the, ah, 'feral child'...won?"
"HAW! Weren't even a frickin' contest. Kid moved like sommat kept 'im locked inna cage wit' a lightnin' rod shoved up his ass on Thundra Plateau. Shot in almost a'fore the bell donged, kicked 'im in the kneecaps, did a shield drop on 'im usin' dis spare plank'a wood near da startin' bell...started vibratin' jus' as he made contact, an' blasted off faster'n a rito tryin' ter get an autograph from Rudy there."
"That...seems implausible."
"DAT'S WHAT EVERBUDDY ELSE SAID! Sheeeyit, Em-Peep's thought da kid had asploded're sommat, da way he took off! Never even saw da kid on reentry, was out like a light da moment 'ee made contact."
"You mean he landed directly back on Esis? From a hundred feet up."
"A hunnerd feet at least. I ain't no Sheikah scientist, IÂ jus' know it was from waaaaaay up dere."
đŹ 0  đ 7  â¤ď¸ 13 ¡ The Marked One swallows his pride as the bell tolls, bowing to Vuk as sonorous tones reverberate across the island. âI wi
"Hot damn, I didn' know Cap'm Peacock could zap around like dat. Did you?"
"NoâŚbut it certainly explains how I got invoices from every single one of my suppliers for that sash's materials on the same day."
"Fer serious?"
"With the same message, too. 'For the upcoming Vukstravaganza.'"
"Shit, dat would be handy."
"What I don't get is why he would do that and not, you know, just bring me the materials. You know the surcharge Ventest uses to ship its surplus fabrics these days?!"
"UhhhâŚno?"
"Put it this way: we could have spent those rupees exploring new veins to sate that appetite of yours."
"âŚI'mma kill him. You wanna do the stabbin' blow? 'Cause Iâm gonna killâim for ya otherwise."
"âŚNo, Dwick. Besides, Iâve a much more fitting punishment for him.â
âYeah?â
âUpkeep. Weâll see how much our boy profits off that merch of his once heâs paying for every gold stitch on those glorified undies.â
đŹ 0  đ 5  â¤ď¸ 12 ¡ FARORE CLASS: MATCH TWO ¡ The clouds began parting as Balali and Titris exited the arena - Balali to an exuberant parade o
[Rock chomping noises]
"âŚWhat in Din's balls is wit' dis rooster? Sommat knock his gourd around after his innerview?"
"That's been eating away at me as well. That's not usually how he actsâŚ"
"RIGHT? Sommat must'a spiked 'is punchbowl while no one was lookin'."
"No, no, I meant during the interview itself. Chanticleer's usually a very sweet boy! Not the type who'd make, wellâŚ"
"Yeah?"
"âŚyour kind of remarks."
"Hey, I don' shill NEAR so bad."
"âŚNot what I meant. More that--"
"âŚ"
"âŚ"
"PFFHAW! Ain't dat one'a yer swimsuit models?! DIN'S GAMS AWWW HAW HAW HAW HAWWWWWWWWW"
"...Aaaaaaaaaaand suddenly everything makes so much more sense."
đŹ 0  đ 9  â¤ď¸ 13 ¡ To say that the duelists in the first Farore match are of diametrically opposing personas may be, perhaps, underselling it
"BAAAAH HAW HAW HAW HAW! Dat is one BATTERED BUZZARD!"
"No kidding. I've seen less humiliating 'wins' from Calamity propaganda posters."
"So, whaddayou think? Think he's got more'a dat slime ready fer whichever've dese schmucks win next?"
"Hylia, I hope not. Have you seen the Sheikah around here? Half of them already look ready to stage a lynching."
"Ahhh, dat's jus' heat. If'n dey get real unruly, we kin jus' dunk 'em inna shallows. Dey'll be fiiiiiiine."
"I think you're underselling the whole 'Sheikah/Yiga schism' here, darling."
"'Sides, I'm kinda hopin' he wins it outright. Can you imagine da heat outta DAT?! An' it'd mean I'd get ter knock 'is block off in da championship!"
"Assuming you win, of course."
"Right, right - but den I'd get ter see what dat gloom shit tastes like--"
đŹ 2  đ 3  â¤ď¸ 9 ¡ Farore Matches BEGIN ¡ The second day of S.M.A.S.H. festivities were lively on the Shattered Mast Keys. Sheets of cirrostra
"HOT DAMN LOOKIT DAT ABSCESS"
"âŚDwick, I don't think that's an abscess."
"What're you talkin' about? It's totes an abscess. I remember gettin' one jus' like dat on MY eye a few years back, after droppin' some pebbles at da pool--"
đŹ 0  đ 2  â¤ď¸ 6 ¡ FARORE CLASS: MATCH ONE ¡ Ruidoso flexed his fingers, fanning out the feathers in between, and revealing a second - no, thi
"HRAAAAAAAGH--"
"AIEEEEEEEEEEEE"
âŚ
âŚ
âŚ
[Distant sounds of something smacking into a gong]
"Four point two six seconds to the target. Impressive. You know, you could give those sky towers a run for their money."
"Ehhhhnnn. Fergot ter put some stink on dat corkscrew. Could'a chucked Birdo there in three an'a half, flat. Hand me another tyke, I'll prove it--"
"In a moment, dear. Our new artist in residence just arrived with the latest promotional prints. I'll need that throwing arm of yours for autographs."
"Ooooh, sick. Love what'ee did wit' da action lines."
"It is quite the electrified punchâŚthat reminds me, you have been topaz-loading your supplements, right, dear?"
"Damn straight. Wanna demonstration?"
[Menacing crackling noises]
"Save it for the match, Charge Barge."
"Oh--yeah, sure, sure."
[Crackling stops; intermittent scribbling starts]
"Anyway, we'll be sending these back for lettering once you're done. I was thinking 'Time to Light this Sucker Up?'"
"Would'a used a differn't word'n 'sucker,' but sure."
"We have children in our demographic, dear. Imagine what that zorca child's mother would have to say about the word you're thinking of."
"Awright, fiiiiineâŚsay, what happened to dat kid, ennyway?"
"Not a clue. Besides, I'm not his mother."
"HAW! Damn straight. Ennyway, who you usin' fer letterin'? Purty sure Aerial MonoPrint's takin' jobs."
[Dainty ladylike snort]
"Sure. And after that we can just toss these in the privy."
"âŚAroo?"
"Everything coming out of Aerial's printing press catches fire for some reason, Dwick. Might have to do with how their moveable type was stolen from Eldin Legal and Associates."
"Dat shit still works? Dis far from da volcano?"
"Language, dear. And yes."
"Seems like a lotta cursin' fer some frickin' block letters."
"Yes, well. You would not believe how petty some lawyers can be."
The second day of S.M.A.S.H. festivities were lively on the Shattered Mast Keys. Sheets of cirrostratus lined the sky, breaking up the sunâs oppressive grip over the island and providing ample coverage for spectators on the move. The guests, buoyed by the previous dayâs battles (not to mention the Indigo-Gosâ marquee performance the previous evening) gathered in droves along the shores of Chellâs Cove. There, they breathlessly recounted incredible actions taken by their favorite fighters, compared fantasy rosters for the dayâs events, and watched in fascination as the Maelstrom to the islandâs north churned and boiled - an endless, roiling vortex of water with no discernible bottom that sucked in everything unwise enough to draw near.
Elsewhere on the island, the markets were abuzz. Craftsmen of every trade and skill were already taking advantage of the previous daysâ events, churning through fightersâ likenesses and knockoff portraits. Effigies of Thrashinâ Thresh could be found in every child's hands, some already missing heads from overly lively play. âMissing Personsâ posters depicting the elusive Bobkoblin were plastered on the doors of every privy, offering rewards to those turning him in (and marketing contracts for the fighter in question). Even the eccentric Tassa had bootleg items sold in his name; his face, complete with the phrase âAVENGE ME,â was emblazoned in cobalt paint on more than a few goronsâs chests.
Each divisionâs fighters were out in force as well, taking advantage of the celebration to sell their images to the audience. Chell and Big Blue were out in force, of course, the latter playing Questionably Necessary Bodyguard for the former with all sorts of exaggerated poses and gratuitous autographs. Meanwhile, it was difficult not to notice a Twili pair sitting under two separate awnings, practicing their signature teleporting style to applause from their fans. One particularly bubbly Gerudo fighter could be seen effortlessly swapping between âGun Showâ poses and playing with her younger fans.Â
Of particular note was an elegant swan rito cleaving her path through Merchantâs Row, transcribing records and distributing rupees with an elegance matching the soft silk finery she wore. Sweeping from rupee pouch to ledger without a second thought, it took oneâs careful attention to notice she did it all one-handed, and that the violet tunic she wore deftly hid the scarred stump of a right wing. She handled her duties with the diligence of a master bureaucrat, talking people into incredible wagers with naught but a silver tongue and the stroke of her pen.
Of lessâŚrefinement was the enormous fire-bearded goron stomping after her, a specimen easily two heads taller than even his Eldin brethren and nearly three times as wide. Never without a mouthful of basalt in his mouth (and a heap of assorted geological snacks in his hands), the goron blustered his way through the crowd, heckling other fighters, mugging for portraits, and offering rito passersby the chance to ride a fastball special from his brobdingnagian paws.
One thing which caught everyoneâs attention, however, was a bright white silhouette that leapt from Chellâs overlook and cut through the midmorning sky. Ruidoso needed do no more than create that to incite a rush to the Amphitheaterâs seats, but something so mean as âbase requirementsâ wouldn't stop a man like him.
âS.M.A.S.H. Masters and S.M.A.S.H. lovers alike! WHOâS READY FOR SOME FA-RORE MATCHES?!â he bellowed, lingering on the categoryâs name as though it were a particularly delicious mackerel.
The crowds below him cheered in response.
âThen you better GET ON DOWN to the Amphitheatre, because it is TIME! TO S.M.AAAAAA.S.H.!â
==========
It took less than ten minutes for the Keysâ populace to flock back to the Amphitheaterâs, jostling and bustling against one another as one great excited mass as they took to their seats. The Arena itself was bustling as well; S.M.A.S.H. staff were hurriedly removing blue-lit torches from their sconces, replacing them with emerald-hued variants that sparked and hissed as they were pushed into place. It gave the area a mossy hue, giving the already-tropical islands a subtly stronger jungle aesthetic.Â
As the majority of S.M.A.S.H.âs spectators found their seats, Ruidoso swept in from the sky, his great white wings flaring wide just as he touched down.
â...and a hearty WELCOME BACK to the Keys!â he cried out, ingratiating himself to his guests as though he were welcoming each and every one of them back to the islands. âIt is Day Two of the festivities for the Shattered Mast Amphitheater for the Scrappers of Hyrule, which means - yes, thatâs right, it is time for our next stable of fighters to duke it out for the Championship! The Farores are here, those Farores without fear: these warriors are clear that they have! NO! PEER!â
Ruidoso paused his monologue to raise his feathered hands, beckoning the audience as a conductor would his orchestra. They obliged him, collectively roaring with the passion of unappreciated farmhands gifted their own ranch. He grinned, cajoling them to louder and louder screams with a wiggle of his fingers, then spread his wings and bellowed along with them.
âAnd let me SAY!--If Nayruâs about the passion, Faroreâs about the COURAGE- the Courage to stick it out, the Courage to face overwhelming odds, the COURAGE!...to FIGHT to the bitter end for what you believe in! My rabid S.M.A.S.H.ers, youâd best prepare yourself for some incredible fights, because this crop will stop at nothing to be crowned Champion at these Shattered Mast Keys!
âNow, without further ado, let us bring this roster front and CENTER!â
With that declaration, Ruidoso drew his ceremonial mallets and spun about, blasting out a rhythmic, syncopated rhythm on the ceremonial kettledrum beside him. This one had more force to it than the Nayru beats, relying less on frenetic speed and more on the negative space between notes to focus the audienceâs attention. In response, another pressure plate responded on the dais, this time sinking into its side - and the walls Nayru- and Din-emblazoned brackets sank several feet below the Farore wall. This had the dual effect of obscuring all the Nayru fightersâ portraits (aside from Thresh, whose Championâs portrait now dominated his respective wall) and bringing the Farore fighters into sharp relief.
âTHESE are your fighters!â shouted Ruidoso, continuing his cadence on the drum. âTHESE are the heroes who do battle on these sacred isles! Bring your hands together, O Patrons of the Martial Arts, for by the end of these festivities, one of THESE duelists WILL be crowned CHAMPION OF THE FARORE CLASS!â
He spun round, pointing directly to the audience with his mallets, then gesticulated like a Yiga about to pounce on his prey with each word.
đŹ 0  đ 1  â¤ď¸ 4 ¡ NAYRU CLASS FINALE: THE CHAMPION ¡ Nightfall on the Keys was an odd affair. Torches dotted each stall on Merchantâs Row and
"âŚWell, dear?"
[Assorted munching, smacking, and crunching noises]
"âŚHmm?"
"That's your first opponent for the final S.M.A.S.H. Championship. Think you'll be able to take him on?"
[Spit-take, followed by an overwhelming swallow]
"SHARKBOY?! Pssshhhh. He's a guppy, Lydds! Look'it 'im next to dat old fart! I'd call 'im a filter fish, but he'd jus' get lost findin' 'is way 'round my gums, y'know?"
"So you're not worried about him tearing you a new one?"
"âŚListen, ducklin'. If'n we're in dat match at the end? I will offer 'im my arm. If'n he kin bite 'is way 'troo dis here hide, I'll hand 'im a silva-rupe right den an' dere."
"Brave words, my fiery beastie."
"What? You don' think I'll git past Dumbass Humperdink?"
"Dwick, please. I could beat Big Blue with my remaining wing behind my back. It's the other one on stage you need to worry about."
"Turtle Soup?! He's jus' DESSERT!"
"True, true! You've got that main course, first: either FjordâŚor that 'Sardon' boy who just showed up."
"HAW! Now DAT'S gonna be fun. Either I git a REAL fight outta dat deep-sea sushi, or I get ter humiliate ol' Fortissimo's boy jus' after his first-ever win. Either way?"
[CHOMP CHOMP CHOMP]
"It's gon' be delicious."
"Good. I love it when you're ravenous for batt--Dwick? DWICK. What are you eating?!"
"Oh, dis? Jus' dat bagga snacks you was keepin' in da cart--"
"Those are OUR WINNINGS, DWICK! SPIT THEM OUT, SPIT THEM OUT--"
Roughly half an hour had passed since the Shattered Mast Isles bore witness to the battle within the HMS Kooloo Limpah. The medic tents had bustled with activity since that point, its attendants hard at work administering spells of healing and potent tinctures, and the crowd was as crowded as ever with excited viewers and ecstatic sellers spreading decorative body paint and hawking wares.
As the sun began setting, setting the sky on fire with its ruby haze, its resident announcer tapped his chest, cleared his throat, and spoke in decibels that called everyone to attention.
âHonored Guests of the Shattered Mast Isles!â he proclaimed atop the Arenaâs dais. âAs the first of our Division Titles reaches its apex, it has been requested that I stand aside and allow for our Master of Ceremonies to address you all. This I do with the utmost honor - so, without further adoâŚâ
The great white bellbird spread his impressive wingspan wide, tilting them slightly upward even as he bent down in an impressive bow.
â...Please turn and cast your eyes skyward to receive the wise words of MASTER! CHELLLLLLLL!â
An arena-wide applause slowly faded to uncertainty as the audience turned and looked up, trying to figure out how such an enormous chelonian could evade notice for so long. People squinted skyward, squinting their eyes, but it wasnât until a sharp-eyed Gerudo girl pointed towards one of the island peaks that it became clear exactly where they were.
High atop the island, straddled within the recesses of its dueling peaks, extended a simple pair of split stone boulders which served as platforms for a simple viewerâs box. From this far down, far from a true birds-eye view, it was impossible to tell what existed atop this base, but those viewers possessing sharp enough eyesight could just barely make out a massive turtle creature approaching its edge. Their footsteps quaking, their head doddering, the turtle raised their jittering arms to the crowd, and spoke in weak, reedy tones to the crowd.
âMy mostâŚhonored guestsâŚIââ
âLOUDER!â
Several heads snapped about, firing dirty looks at an impossibly wide, flame-bearded goron lounging from within one of the Arenaâs competitor boxes - the clear source of this blasphemous shout. The goron refused to show humility before his disgusted onlookers, instead lazily raising a handful of pulverized zonaite ore to cram into his mouth as one might popcorn.
âWhat, you think YOU kinâ hear âem?â he demanded, spraying ore everywhere. Then, to the turtle themself: âLOUDER, YOU TERRAPIN TWERP!â
To their credit, Chell did not seem to take offense (at least, that people could see from so far up). Instead, they merely nodded, shuffling closer to the edge while they sucked wind for another attempt.
âMy most honored guestsââ
âLOUDERRRRRR!â
The goron grinned. This time, he wasnât alone: several others joined in the catcall, clearly eager to hear Chell themself (and more than a little peeved at the how far away they seemed to be). This time, too, the old turtle showed the barest note of annoyance: they looked directly in his direction, took another shuffling step forwardâŚ
âMy most honoredââ
âŚand promptly toppled off the edge.
The audience gasped in shock as Chell plummeted, then screamed as the great turtle creature slammed shoulder-first into the mountain rock below. The blowâs angle of attack sent Chell ricocheting away, spinning wildly through the air, and few were ready for the resulting KRAK when they made contact again.Â
Down the turtle went, retreating into their shell only after the third rebound, long after any damage from their initial blows were sustained. They caromed down the slope, dug into the trench carved by the peakâs summitward split, and shot towards the arena like a coin on its edge. Hitting a ridge just above the aisles, they then shot straight into the air.Â
Audience members screamed, dodging out of the way as the enormous chelonian sailed over them, scattering wind, sand, and rock debris everywhere. Few noticed the way it seemed to right itself while spinning, nor how it followed a precise path that avoided sightseer injury. After all, they were running for their lives as a Din-class terrapin hurtled through the air above them. Who had the time to ponder such menial things?
Chellâs shell smashed multiple glancing blows with the arena, skipping across the ground with enough force to leave multiple impressive craters behind it. With one last âskip,â it bounced once more into the air, forcing Rudioso himself to take flight as it crashed onto the dais, skidding slowly to a spinning stop.
Hushed whispers flooded the onlookers.Â
âWhat happened?!â
âAre they dead?â
âHow old even were they?!â
âWho the heck is even running this thingââ
All talk changed to a collective GASP as the shell shook on stage. With a lurch, it pitched back - and then in a single, fluid, surging movement, limbs shot out from every opening as Chell leapt back to their feet.
There was a momentâs stunned silence.
Then: cheers.
âGYAHAHA! Thank you! Thank you!â the elderly turtle said, slowly raising their hands to calm the din as the audience worked through its own burst of adrenaline. âOh, the look on your faces! You didnât think dear little me would get hurt in a fall, would you?â
===========================
Back in the competitor boxes, the flame-haired goron chuffed, slathering cement paste over a triple-decker meatrock sandwich.
â...Would make the job easier fer me,â he muttered, taking a bite.
===========================
â...But yes!â continued the great turtle. âI have asked for time before the final matchâŚand thus, time I shall take!â
Reaching into their shellâs right side, Chell produced a censer, lighting it with a tinderbox from their left. Placing it atop the ceremonial kettle drum, they stood aside as it produced three plumes of smoke that crept off the drumâs sides: one red, one green, one yellow.
âYou know, of course, how we name the weight classes at these Shattered Mast Isles,â they intoned: âNayru, Farore, and Din, for the goddesses who created the continent to our north.
âNow, one could be tempted to call our fighters in Nayru Class small. Unimpressive. Meek! I mean, I am rather predisposed to another class myself, haha! Surely I would find myself bored of these smaller fighters, would I not?â
Two of the smoke plumes, the green and red ones, trailed off as they left the kettle drum. The blue plume, however, expanded, rising over the dais, and a number of small, ghostly white lights twinkled in them as they slowly surrounded Chell.
âGYAHAHAHAHA! Of COURSE not!â they cackled. âNayru Class may not embody sheer power, as a certain other weight class might imply, but they are the love, the PASSION, the ZEAL of the sport! And not ONCE has this division of fighters failed to disappoint on that today!â
Those ghostly lights began to flit about Chell, flashing bright as fireflies in the blue smoke. As they did, the audience saw faint silhouettes forming in the miasma: afterimages, split-second snapshots, smoky forms resembling some of the most memorable moments in each fight up until now. Kezoâs suplex from the very first match, Tassaâs aerial running technique, Herminâs Eldin Thunderstorm, Jakâs Fat Frox Elbow Drop and Crystallineâs returning Zephyr Strike, Bobkoblinâs Calabaza CannonadeâŚand, of course, Vaatiâs Stonefist Slammer and Threshâs Gorcoron Fallaway Suplex.
âWhether dancers or painters, swordsmen or guardians, EACH of our participants have brought their all to these fights! Even those we may consider our least - that bokoblin fellow certainly brought his love of the fight to us, did he not? To say nothing of that lad with the sandwich, GYAHAHA!â
Chell crossed their arms just before swinging them back out, fanning the smoke out. The lights flew out in all directions, creating a dome over the dais at least fifty feet wide, flying past Rudioso (who, at present, still soared over Chell). They erupted, simultaneous, creating a shower of sparks that lit the stage below that radiant red sky.
The audience applaudedâŚthen slowly died down, allowing Chell to speak once more.
âIt is that fighting spirit that makes these islands a sacred place,â they continued. âIt is that precise spirit, that love of the fight, that ensures that, even throughout the century-long Calamity in the North, everyone finds a way to come to the Shattered Mast Keys.
âMay that same love of the fight continue to imbue our Nayru Class Finalists - and may this final fight of the division be ONE FOR THE AGES! GYAHAHAHAHA!â
As the audience cheered, Chell gathered their censer, gave them a shallow, playfully shaky bow, and then nodded up to Rudioso, who took that as his cue to dive back down. Flaring his wings at the last second before landing, he put one of them around Chellâs enormous backside as he waved to the audience with the other.
âOh come on, S.M.A.S.H.ers, how can I possibly top that?â he joked. âYou canât!--so instead, can I get a BIG HAND for the INCREDIBLE fighters of Nayru Class?!â
Of course he could. This was S.M.A.S.H., after all, and he was Rudioso.
âAnd another hand for our final fighters! On your left: you know him by now! He brought carnage to the cassa-rito, and a bloodbath to the bokoblin! Heâs brought a blade for every ridge on his opponentâs body! Donât get between him and his quarry: this time, heâll be taking those teeth HIMSELF! Give that Shattered Mast Keys welcome to the Sheikah Samurai himself, the Violent Violet, VAATI THE YIGA KILLLERRRRRRR!â @kakarikotrio
âAnd on your right: Heâs the fish who cracked the dawn, the shark who endured the thunderstorm, and the man who made a MEAL of our final semifinalist! Heâs here to lay the hurt on Vaati, and has the claws to make it happen! Donât let him box you into a corner, for THAT box will be the one he mails back your remains! Give a S.M.A.S.Herâs island welcome to that fiery fighting fish, the Scourge of Volica, Nayru Classâ very own THRASHINâ THREEEESH!â @chaotic-zora
âYou all know what happens now - itâs a duel for the ages and that most coveted of prizes, the NAYRU CLASS CHAMPIONSHIP! Get on the edge of those seats, for thatâs all the seat youâll need - for this yearâs Nayru Class final battle starts in THREEâŚTWOâŚONE!â
dongggggggggg
âLETâS! GET! READY! TO RUMBLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!â
Thereâs a surprising lack of action as the bell rings for the Nayru Class finals. Indeed, far from sprinting for one another or making for the isleâs many beached ships, both simply walk towards one another: Vaati with a confident, measured pace, Thresh with a more lackadaisical swagger. An excited whisper rushes over the audience as they approach, and while Rudioso dramatically announces their movement, no one is quite sure whatâs about to happen.
Thresh and Vaati stop as they come within a few feet of one another. Vaati stares at Thresh with a cold, calculating expression; Thresh, meanwhile, takes full advantage of his height to leer down at the masked Sheikah.
âSo!â starts Thresh, making a show of popping individual knuckles with his thumb. âLooks like you and I are the final guys, huh?â
Vaatiâs response is as clipped as it is monosyllabic.
â...Yeah.â
âCouldnât have happened to more stylinâ guys. Am I right?â
âSure.â
The Sheikah scans the zora from head to toe, taking note of his physique, teeth, tail, and claws. His own hands flex slightly as they stand at parade rest behind his back. Thresh doesnât exactly hide his arsenal; indeed, the moment he notices Vaatiâs eyes flicking down, he spreads his arms and plants his feet at shoulder width - the better to showboat for him.
âTake a good look!â he says. âI mean, Iâm sure weâll be getting a lot closer in just a moment. No harm in gettingâŚfamiliar.â
If Vaati even registers Threshâs come-ons, he doesnât show it. Indeed, his only response appears to be turning his head and glancing at Threshâs fins out of the corner of his eye.
â...Weâre both purple,â he deadpans.
âYou know what, I noticed that!â exclaims Thresh, beaming and throwing fingerguns at him. âLOVE that color scheme youâre rocking. Power blacks, muted grays, that little teardrop tat under the eyes? - And the hair! Exquisite.â
He pauses.Â
â...AlthoughâŚ.â
Vaati watches as Thresh puts a thumb to his teeth, gently balancing the meat under the zoraâs claw so that it ever so gently pricks the skin. The lips peel back, showing him the multiple gaps where heâs already lost a few of those teeth over the course of the tournamentâŚas well as just how many he has left.
âI do think you could do with a bit more redââ
Vaatiâs fist cold-cocks Thresh with the kind of speed and accuracy only a trained Sheikah ninja could supply, going from parade rest to smashing into the sharkâs snout in the merest fraction of a second. The impact sends Thresh stumbling back, eyes crossed and watering - not just from a direct hit to one of the densest nerve clusters in the shark-zoraâs body, but because the impact slams his mouth shut on reflex, slicing the meat in a long, thin line along the base of his thumb with his lower teeth. The zoraâs world thrums, his vision pulsing white for a fraction of a second, and it takes a moment for him to shake the cobwebs from his brain as he fights to regain balance.
â--And a PERFECTLY TIMED Bait ân Smash from Vaati!â Rudioso exclaims from the dais as Thresh recovers. âFirst blood IMMEDIATELY to Yiga Killer - looks like this Sheikah is DONE waiting around!â
âOh, are you?â
Not to be outclassed in sneak attacks, Threshâs tail whips about as he flails, sliding low and slapping Vaati in the back of the knee. The zora spins in his rebound, freeing additional slack for his tail; as the Sheikah staggers in surprise, it coils around him, drawing him into the zoraâs waiting hands. Grabbing Vaatiâs hand with his own wounded one, Threshâs other hand grips the Yiga Killer behind the shoulder - and with a violent tug, the zora bends him backward in a lurid parody of a ballroom dip.
âIf you wanted to dance already, you could have just asked,â he says, squeezing Vaatiâs gloved hand as he pulls it square to the Sheikahâs chest. The blood from his hand flows freely over both for a moment: cosmetic in the grand scheme of things, certainly, but just as certainly a portent of things to come.
After all, once both of them are properly soiled with his blood, Thresh sends his opponent spinning for the sand with a shove and a twist of the tail.
âWhat a turnaround!â Rudioso exclaims, mugging at those jeering his punnery. âThrashinâ Thresh with a Wahgokatta Whipround - bet you Vaatiâs seeing stars after THAT blow!â
Heâs not wrong. While the sand absorbs some of Vaatiâs momentum, heâs still giving spinning tops a run for their money when his shoulder checks the ground. Blunt force is still blunt force, and fireworks explode in his eyes as his clavicle threatens to snap. Heâs in luck, if only just; while those stresses arenât enough to make it happen, the ensuing throbbing numbness informs him that heâs in for a full course of bruising later.Â
He sucks wind, dimly aware that his combatant is looming above him.
He dives, arms and teeth extended, ready to make short work of Vaatiâs clothes (and the flesh beneath). As Thresh is about to make contact, though, VaatiâŚexhales.Â
As he does so, a planar blast of wind rockets across the sand, a laminar rush of air no more than a foot tall but flowing with enough strength as to carve a gouge across the beach. It strikes Vaati across his exposed back, sending him sprawling out from underneath Threshâs strike; further, it catches Thresh as he pummels the sand where Vaati had previously been. The effect is as a rip currentâs, knocking his legs out from beneath, and he tumbles for several yards, ass-over-teakettle until the blast finally blows past.
Vaatiâs uninjured shoulder lurches as heâs blown clear. His hand shoots out laterally, catching the wind at a precise angle across his palm. Vaati flutes and twists that hand at precise angles: as the wind buffets past, it suffuses his body with the necessary momentum to twist himself about. From his original horizontal sprawl, it lifts him aloft; with a few subsequent catlike contortions, he lands on his feet, facing the sprawling zora as he stretches his rotator cuff.
âBeautiful! A pitch-perfect Hebran Auntie-Anti-Avalanche from Vaati!â Rudioso cries from above as Vaati begins to examine his shoulder. âLooks like heâs checking the damage from that last blow - ooh, that looks tender - but yes, judging by that stretch, heâs good to go!â
Vaatiâs banded pass-through flows directly into a low-stanced crouch as Thresh himself scrambles to his feet. Thereâs no careful self-check for the fishman: instead, he simply dusts himself off, rubs some grit over the still-bleeding cut on his thumb, and preens.
âLucky shot,â he says in mock annoyance.
âTwo for two,â Vaati counters.
Thresh frowns slightly, counting the blows. ItâŚtakes a moment.Â
âTrue, true,â he finally says, nodding, before bobbing playfully on his ankles. â...But can you do it a third time?â
âSureââ
Thatâs the last thing Vaati can say before Thresh LEAPS forward. This time, though, the wind arrives to defend Vaati in full force, and the two of them erupt into a blinding surge of lightning-quick attack/counterattack combos. As sand and smoke explodes between the combatants, Rudioso finds himself in a real challenge to properly narrate the fight.
âThreshâs Sailfish Sidewinder â axed by Two-Step-Trim from Vaati!â he crows, once more taking to the air to get a better view. âWindâs coming in handy for the Sheikah: two, no, three full rotations on the midair twist - look out for those claws, Vaati, and WOW! A Three-Tier Akkalan Cake-Kick to Thrasherâs ribs LOOK OUT YIGA KILLERââ
Thresh snatches Vaatiâs boot just as the latterâs about to land a sick flash-stepping ninja kick on the zoraâs abdomen. The two of them twist from the momentum, spinning ever faster as they draw in towards one other - Thresh to rake at Vaatiâs injured shoulder with his claws, Vaati to clap Thresh on both of his gills. Both attacks are successful: Vaati howls as a trio of razor-thin ribbons cut through his vest, and Thresh hisses, letting go of the Sheikahâs foot to cover the tender(ized) bits on either side of his chest. They fly off, tangential from one another, and catapult into heaps on either side of the arena.
âSalmon Slasher to Vaati! Dual Knifehand Strike to Thresh!â calls out Rudioso. âBoth of them look like theyâre smarting from that and theyâre already up again!â
True to his words, the two have already leapt to their feet, though the effects look to be piling up fast. Thresh is testing his neck, one of his eyes also twitching nearly as much as he sniffs heavily through his nose. The three rends in Vaatiâs vest, meanwhile, have already become sticky with blood. The Sheikah attempts to look nonchalant about the blow, wicking it off with his glove; however, itâs clear that more is already pooling below it.
That catches the zoraâs attention - and, ignoring the angry black and blue marks forming on his torso, he charges for Vaati again.Â
âThrashinâ Thresh is out for BLOOD, S.M.A.S.H.ers!â Rudioso yells. âHeâs going in for the Yiga Killer yet again - and hey, Y-K, whereâre you going?!â
Itâs a legitimate question: Vaatiâs taken flight, this time evading Thresh as best he can with a series of backwards-aiming wind gusts and dizzying serpentine dashes that highlight his bootsâ clear traction. The tactic appears to be working; despite some close calls, Thresh only seems able to snatch the air where he used to be.
âElusive little bastard, arenâtâcha?!â he calls out, dodging between gust attacks, trying not to betray how much wind heâs sucking through those damaged gills. âWhatâs the matter, Bob-K scare you off gettinâ licked?â
Vaati canât help but roll his eyes, even if no one can see him from doing it so far away.
âSure.â
âOh, donâtâdonât be like that, Yeek! I love these refreshing summer BREEZESââ here, he just barely misses grabbing Vaatiâs hair - âbut we could have so much fun if youâd just KEEP STILLââ
Threshâs attention is so focused on chasing Vaati and supplying banter that he fails to notice how close they are to the audienceâs seats until the wall leading up to them is practically in his face. Vaati, taking full advantage of this, leads him straight to it, then shoves his palms earthward. A moment later, heâs shot upwards, aided by an aerial blast, landing on the balcony before a very surprised-looking rito in the VIP box seats whoâd heretofore been using the match as pretext to chat salaciously with a couple of guests.
Thereâs a brief beat.
âUhhh, fightâs down there, bucko,â says the rito, pointing a well-preened finger-feather down.
Vaati deadpans him, cocking his head to the side, blood clearly still oozing from his open chest wound. Beneath him, something smacks hard into the wall.
âI know.â
âGuests and Fighters of S.M.A.S.H., I donât believe it!â Rudioso calls from overhead. âWeâve got a bona fide Mayausiy Acme Smack on our hands!â
Sadly for Vaati, Thresh takes the blow straight to the craniumâŚwhich, given the zora in question, means he barely feels a thing. Blinking wall-eyed at the, erâŚwall, for only a moment, he shakes his head vigorously, then calls out to his opponent above.
âOh, Vaaaa-tiiiiii!â he says, his grin only slightly more dazed than usual. âI hope you donât think I canât follow you.â
And he shoots up the wall, grabbing handholds and gouges in the rock as though he were bounding across flat ground. Vaati has only a momentâs notice to look down, see Thresh shooting up, and widen his eyes in surprise before the zora headbutts him full in the shoulder. The blow connects, sending fireworks going off once more in the Sheikahâs eyes, and he staggers back, causing the rooster-rito in the VIP box to scramble back with his cadre in tow.
âHey! WATCH IT!â he yelps, gesturing back at the island proper. âThe fight goes down THERE, not up HERE!â
âHeâs right, you two!â calls out Rudioso. âThis is your one and only reminder: assaulting a member of the audience, even other wrestlers, is grounds for IMMEDIATE disqualification!â
Thresh makes a faceâŚbut then, something worse happens.Â
He gets an idea.
âYo! RUDI!â he says, turning to address the bellbird presiding over the island. âWhat if we donât hit the audience?â
He crosses his wrists, pouting and bowing his head like a coquettish schoolgirl.
âCan we pway up here then? Pweeeease?â
Thereâs a moment as Rudioso considers this. He glances back over at Chell, whoâs been watching the match with absolute delight up to this point.
âGYAHAHHAAH! Let the scamps fight!â they say, giving a playful wave in their direction. âJust rememberâŚyou lose if you hit anyone else!â
The words are barely out of Chellâs mouth before Thresh whips around, tongue peeking between rows of teeth as he gives Vaati a goofy, lopsided leer.
âOh, we are on.â
Vaatiâs eyes widen in horror - almost as much as the rooster-ritoâs, who immediately falls back with his entourage as the fighters clash again.
âI wanted good seats, but not like THIS!â he yelps.
As the fighters move even more frantically (somehow) than theyâve been up to this point, other future fighters start doing the same with their guests, shooing them to the safety of the upper seats. One of them, a solid-built Gerudo sporting Lurelin trim as part of her outfit, shouts especially loudly, waving at everyone in the vicinity to follow her.
âOkay, guys!â she yells with a grin despite the chaos. âYou donât want to be the reason the fight ends, do you?â
Itâs an absurd situation. Guests left and right are dashing for the upper seats, Vaatiâs twisting and weaving around Threshâs swings with precision blasts that just barely avoid hitting them, and Thresh is dashing around them all, tongue lolling like a show dogâs as it bounds around traffic cones. All the while, Rudioso continues flapping above them, beak going a mile a minute as he drops wrestling lingo and crowd exit strategies alike.
âRemember, S.M.A.S.H.ers, these two are PROFESSIONALS!â he calls out between choreographs. âTry not to panic and youâll be just fine!â
Thatâs when one of Vaatiâs airblasts misses, hitting a nearby fruit stand instead of Threshâs gills. It erupts, scattering fruit everywhere and beaning the sharkman with a stray banana.
âA bananââ he yelps, clutching itâŚjust as another accursed idea flits through his mind.
âA banana. Of COURSE youâd use that, wouldnât you, Yiga Killer!â
The accusation catches Vaati off guard.
âWhat?â
âOh, donât play dumb, thatâs my job!â Thresh says, giggling and waving the fruit at him. âYou actually thought Iâd get distracted by this! By BANANAS! You think EVERYONEâS distracted by bananas, donât you, YIGA KILLER?!â
The notion is so absurd, so absolutely pants-on-head stupid, so based on a fruit that he is so absolutely done with, that it manages to catch the otherwise straight-shooting Yiga Killer off-guard. He stops dead in his tracks, jaw slack behind his mask, and goggles at Thresh.
âHuh?!â
âŚFor which he catches a banana in the face.
âLOOK OUT!â the sharkman bellows to the audience, pointing at Vaati as Cavendish soft matter splatters across the Sheikahsâ cheek. âEVERY BANANAâS A LURE FOR THIS GUY! If youâve got a banana in your hands, GET RID OF IT - or better, THROW IT BACK AT HIM!â
With their relative rarity in pre-Ganon days, it might shock some to see just how many bananas are in circulation at the Shattered Mast Keys.Â
And yet.
And yet.
Somehow, tens, twenties, maybe even a hundred bananas hurtle for the Yiga Killer from all directions. Up, down, left, or right, forward or to the side, enough of the yellow fruits pelt the ground near Vaati to stain the entire region yellow. Itâs a veritable rain of squelching splats, most peels rupturing as they hit the stone floor. Itâs not long before the sickly-sweet scent of Musa acuminata begins to flood Vaatiâs nasal passages.
âS.M.A.S.H.ers, please!â yells Ruidoso, though none too admonishingly. âLetâs maintain some degree of decorum here!â
âDecorum? DECORUM?!â
Maybe itâs the bananas.Â
Maybe itâs the taunts.Â
Maybe itâs Threshâs seeming immunity to cranial trauma, or the throbbing in his shoulder finally reaching a fever pitch.
But something has finally, finally snapped in Vaatiâs mind. Wind howls around him as he takes hold of his power, rippling his tunic and sending his hair blazing behind him. He raises his arms, ignoring the screaming pain in his shoulder, and his hands contort as prepares a vicious onslaught.
âIâLL SHOW YOU DECORUM!â he shrieks.
In front of him, Thresh grins.
âYessssssssss.â
And the two of them rocket forward.
Itâs an impossible cloud of violence between Vaati and Thresh: smashing and swiping and striking and kicking, meting blow after blow across faces, legs, arms, and tail. Each pummels the other with a veritable firecracker of attacks, moving, dodging, and striking so fast that itâs absolutely impossible for Rudioso to keep up, ducking and slapping and blasting and punching with such fury that those members of the audience whoâd dragged their feet on evacuation finally move properly out of the way. Slurring and tripping over his own beak in the attempt, Rudioso finally has to give up, looking at the absolute onslaught each is visiting upon the other.
â...I mean, just LOOK at this, folks!â he finally yells.
When they break off, they look horrendous. Each is operating under a whoâs who of contusions, lacerations, and wounds from a dozen places. Both are operating on pure adrenaline at this point, and itâs clear neither is willing to concede. Indeed, both look ready to raise a final, finishing blow against one another.
âI think this is it!â shouts Rudioso. âLadies and gents, donât look away, because this promises to be a DOOZY!â
Heâs not wrong: this is entirely what both fighters are looking to do. With a final gasp and a final flex, both fighters charge forwardâ--
âonly to simultaneously slip on banana peels and completely lose track of their movement.
Threshâs fall is unflattering, to say the least. His results in a truly un-zora-like yelp, a careening slide into the banana matter, and the second wall smash in as many minutes. He staggers back, his bell clearly rung, and slips on yet another peel before hitting the ground.
Vaati isnât so lucky.
Vaati was facing the Arena proper when he made his charge.
Vaati was careening for the edge when he made his mistake.
And thusâŚslipping on his own banana peel, he goes flying over the edge.
As with Tassa and Crystalline before himâŚgravity takes care of the rest.
The audience winces as Vaati goes over the edge. The medic team doesnât even wait for Rudioso to answer. By the time heâs announcing the win, before Thresh himself is even upright and limping to the edge, theyâre motoring out to meet the Sheikah fighter, a chorus of blue magic playing off the nearest oneâs fingertips as a second prepares a ruby-red draught for his lips.Â
Thresh, similarly, doesnât wait for the team to reach him. Bending over the stone railing, he slips over the side, letting go and dropping the remaining yards to land in a heap next to the team. As the medics roll their eyes, dragging him over for a similar treatment, he opens one of his own, letting that manic grin of his splay wide.
Vaati, barely conscious, slurs to him.
â...Nice moves.â
Thresh lets out a short bark of laughter, raising a fist to give him a weak fist-bump.
âHehâŚyouâre more skilled than I thought.â
â...Could say the same.â
And they both slide blissfully into unconsciousness as Rudioso bellows in celebration above them.
âLadies and gentlemen, what an INCREDIBLE ENDING to the Nayru Class Championship! Vaati the Yiga Killer and Thrashinâ Thresh engage in an IMPOSSIBLY destructive final exchange, taking EACH OTHER OUT by banana peel, and determining a winner PURELY by final placement relative to the battlefield! Thrashinâ Thresh wins by a scale - and by winning by that scale, secures himself as the NAYRU! CLASS! CHAMPION!â
The crowd explodes in cheers.
âGive this man a hand - but donât go away! When heâs well enough to stand, we shall present this INCREDIBLE portrait of zora martial prowess with the Nayru Class Trophy - and then, come tomorrow, when everyone has rested upâŚthe FARORE CLASS CHAMPIONSHIP BEGIIIIIIINS!!!â
"Not the other one in the tournament, Dwick! Haversham. She's been gloating nonstop at our last few meetings. Just going on and on about how she's raked in sO mAnY cOmMisSiOnS from all the bets she's been collecting."
"So, uhâŚyou just beat'er record're sommat?"
"Beat it? I just cleaned house, my big boulderbushka. Took every rupee we collected from those rubes betting on Bob and Jak and put them into Thresh. We are rolling."
"âŚWaaaait, wait wait. You bet it all on Sharky Boy?!"
"And what of it?"
"Oh, uhâŚnuffin'. I jus' figgered you'd split some off fer da ninja. Better odds, or whatnot."
"Well, of course, dear. Can't put all my eggs in one nest. We put the winnings from Crystalline's defeat into Vaati's. It seemed appropriate."
"HAW! Yer da boss, babe."
"And don't you forget it."
"âŚSoooooo, uh, jus' gotta askâŚwhy Sharky Boy? You got an in, there?"
"Darling, please. I'm your associate. You know who I always put my chips on."
Whoooooo's interested in ANOTHER NIGHT OF TOTK STREAMING?!
Quick note, there's no goals at the moment, so if you can't attend, that's totally okay. @songs-of-the-windfish and @this-stone-rocks will basically be:
setting up the stream equipment
starting up with TOTK
picking a direction
seeing what happens!
there will probably be several deaths as we do Stupid Things
We plan on getting started around 8:00 CST (that's about 1 hour and twenty minutes from posting). We hope to see you there!
snowghoul
turnnoffyourmind
romaincrisis