Now that that incredibly idiotic and asinine DeviantArt-era rule regarding reference usage has been shot down, I feel a little more comfortable doing this! Mind you, between family obligations, work, and my naturally slow as molasses pace, I probably won't get more than three to four pieces done - but I look forward to seeing what comes out of this!
Here's to seeing COOL ART by COOL ASS ARTISTS
and
please more krogan characters
please more krogan characters
please more krogan characters
please more krogan characters
Posted with permission! I got a commission done by the fabulous Merrimonster of my big man, Fat Fin! IM OVER THE MOON THANK YOU SO MUCH! 🥰🤩
Their work is so amazing and they're open for commissions *wink wink nudge nudge* 👈👈👀 They also go by thefairygodmonster on tumblr, give them a follow show them some love!
💬 0 🔁 4 ❤️ 6 · FARORE CLASS: MATCH FOUR · For a great many people at the Shattered Mast Keys, the break between Farore Class’ third and fo
"…Sage o'Sand, huh? What's dat mean? She some kind'a goro chef?"
[Chortling] "Gerudo, not goro, dear. I doubt she's mixing herbs and spices with the local silica."
"Hey, don' count her out! I know a few longnoses out dere what kin work wonders wit' Palu Gypsum an' some good ol' Seres hoodoo granite. Git dat grit molten iter a good slurry, git some good sear on all sides'a dat slab, an'--"
"--And you're saying the Gerudo know how to do this."
"Well, shoar! Who else you think'll cook fer us goros? Ain't nobody else what'll get near DEM ovens. Shit, most fishboys turn inter seafood jus' lookin' at Eldin, an' da ducks--"
"Edging into Tingle Heat there, Dwick."
"Fuck."
[Jangling of Rupees going into a Tingle Heat raffle jar]
"…Point stands, though. Babes know how ter handle da heat."
"Well, I doubt she'll be whipping out a frying pan in the arena, dear. More likely she's got some spells that'll let her blow some sand around."
"Makes sense. Kinda shit fer spectacle, though - oooooh, I kin make it hard as shit ter ennythin' on da stage! Ooooooooooooooh!"
"Smartass."
"One'a my best qualities. Heh heh."
[Mutual smooches]
"Meanwhlie, dere's dat last Kaka-Freak-O inna tourney. Wonder what he's gon' do? Some more ninja shit?"
"Well, they've each been a different flavor. Something tells me straight martial arts and wall-running won't be his strategy."
"Don't look the type what's got magic flying farts, neither."
"Magic Sheikah knives? Gymnastics?"
"Nahhh, dat was da crystal freak's thang."
"Hmmmm."
"Hmmmmmmmmm."
"…"
"…Fist'a da North…Fist'a da North...say, you don't think he--"
💬 2 🔁 11 ❤️ 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."
"…Sheeeeeyit…come ter think of it, does'ee even have handlers? Tee-bee-eightch, I jus' figgered he had one. Since, y'know…"
"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 storytelling…to 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]
"…What?"
"Nothing, dear. Just imagining you letting loose during your match with Big Blue."
[Beat]
"…HHHHHAW! 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."
"…Miracle worker, babe."
"…Really, though, getting back to Mr. Esis, there…there 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."
💬 2 🔁 8 ❤️ 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. " [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, I jus' know it was from waaaaaay up dere."
💬 0 🔁 7 ❤️ 13 · The Marked One swallows his pride as the bell tolls, bowing to Vuk as sonorous tones reverberate across the island. “I wi
"Hot damn, I didn' know Cap'm Peacock could zap around like dat. Did you?"
"No…but 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?!"
"Uhhh…no?"
"Put it this way: we could have spent those rupees exploring new veins to sate that appetite of yours."
"…I'mma kill him. You wanna do the stabbin' blow? 'Cause I’m gonna kill’im for ya otherwise."
"…No, Dwick. Besides, I’ve a much more fitting punishment for him.”
“Yeah?”
“Upkeep. We’ll see how much our boy profits off that merch of his once he’s paying for every gold stitch on those glorified undies.”
💬 2 🔁 3 ❤️ 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"
"…Dwick, 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--"
💬 0 🔁 2 ❤️ 6 · FARORE CLASS: MATCH ONE · Ruidoso flexed his fingers, fanning out the feathers in between, and revealing a second - no, thi
"HRAAAAAAAGH--"
"AIEEEEEEEEEEEE"
…
…
…
[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 punch…that 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, fiiiiine…say, 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."
"…Aroo?"
"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 sun’s oppressive grip over the island and providing ample coverage for spectators on the move. The guests, buoyed by the previous day’s battles (not to mention the Indigo-Gos’ marquee performance the previous evening) gathered in droves along the shores of Chell’s Cove. There, they breathlessly recounted incredible actions taken by their favorite fighters, compared fantasy rosters for the day’s events, and watched in fascination as the Maelstrom to the island’s 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 days’ events, churning through fighters’ likenesses and knockoff portraits. Effigies of Thrashin’ Thresh could be found in every child's hands, some already missing heads from overly lively play. “Missing Persons” 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 “AVENGE ME,” was emblazoned in cobalt paint on more than a few gorons’s chests.
Each division’s 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 “Gun Show” poses and playing with her younger fans.
Of particular note was an elegant swan rito cleaving her path through Merchant’s 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 one’s 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 less…refinement 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 everyone’s attention, however, was a bright white silhouette that leapt from Chell’s overlook and cut through the midmorning sky. Ruidoso needed do no more than create that to incite a rush to the Amphitheater’s seats, but something so mean as “base requirements” wouldn't stop a man like him.
“S.M.A.S.H. Masters and S.M.A.S.H. lovers alike! WHO’S READY FOR SOME FA-RORE MATCHES?!” he bellowed, lingering on the category’s name as though it were a particularly delicious mackerel.
The crowds below him cheered in response.
“Then you better GET ON DOWN to the Amphitheatre, because it is TIME! TO S.M.AAAAAA.S.H.!”
==========
It took less than ten minutes for the Keys’ populace to flock back to the Amphitheater’s, 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.
As the majority of S.M.A.S.H.’s spectators found their seats, Ruidoso swept in from the sky, his great white wings flaring wide just as he touched down.
“...and a hearty WELCOME BACK to the Keys!” he cried out, ingratiating himself to his guests as though he were welcoming each and every one of them back to the islands. “It is Day Two of the festivities for the Shattered Mast Amphitheater for the Scrappers of Hyrule, which means - yes, that’s 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!”
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.
“And let me SAY!--If Nayru’s about the passion, Farore’s 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, you’d best prepare yourself for some incredible fights, because this crop will stop at nothing to be crowned Champion at these Shattered Mast Keys!
“Now, without further ado, let us bring this roster front and CENTER!”
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 audience’s 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 fighters’ portraits (aside from Thresh, whose Champion’s portrait now dominated his respective wall) and bringing the Farore fighters into sharp relief.
“THESE are your fighters!” shouted Ruidoso, continuing his cadence on the drum. “THESE 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!”
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.
💬 0 🔁 1 ❤️ 4 · NAYRU CLASS FINALE: THE CHAMPION · Nightfall on the Keys was an odd affair. Torches dotted each stall on Merchant’s Row and
"…Well, dear?"
[Assorted munching, smacking, and crunching noises]
"…Hmm?"
"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?"
"…Listen, 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 Fjord…or 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--"
