"Hey! This way! The guy said to go this way!" Kaitlyn shouted to the Skull Kid, but to no avail. She climbed in through the passageway, heading left, and jumped out at the vent, into the armory. "So..." She looked around, looking for her Cane of Somaria. The armory was well stocked. Blades of all sizes covered the walls, spears were in the racks, and there were random sorts of weapons covering the three tables. Then she saw her Cane and her satchel of magic powder, and, possibly, the Skull Kid's weapons, a pair of tomahawks. She grabbed her things and the tomahawks, the latter of which she wrapped in a bundle and slung over her back. Then she proceeded for the door.

As soon as she stepped into the hallway, a spear flew right past her face. "You!" Kaitlyn turned to two gaolers, who were armed to the teeth, and armored for war. She took a stance with her Cane, to which the Gerudo merely laughed. "You can't tell? Our armor is magic resistant!"

To which Kaitlyn merely smiled, and replied. "Can't you tell? This is the Cane of Somaria."

One of the two took a puzzled look. "So? Magic is magic. You can't hurt us with it."

Kaitlyn began to laugh. "Magic resistant is different from magic proof. And the Cane..." She struck the ground with her staff, and a spear shaped block formed in front of her. "... is extremely effective against magic resistance." Kaitlyn swung her Cane at them, and the spear shaped block flew into the wall just to the left of the gaolers. She snapped her fingers, and the block exploded, flinging the two gaolers into the opposite wall, and knocking them out. Kaitlyn calmly walked over to them, and mumbled, "See? Not magic proof." Kaitlyn turned to the wall which the block had struck. Not a single mark of damage occurred to the wall. "Magic. How I love it." Then she ran through the hallways, looking to rejoin her two new companions, the Skull Kid and the strange being.

Neril was busy. For the past few days a near constant stream of Gerudo had been dragged back to the Fortress knocked out and with broken bones. The returnees all claimed to have been defeated by a hulking form at least twice their height and as quick as a striking viper. Exaggeration, of course. Soldiers were just as likely to brag about their defeats in order to save face as about their victories to gain it. Lackwits, the entire lot of them. Couldn't they see that accurate information was worth more than their honor? Even the most rigorous questioning failed to cause them to change their story. How could they even pretend honor without telling the truth?

Wearily, Neril slumped down her hallway, silently cursing her apprentice. Why had she felt the need to be one of those to go after this desert wraith? She was far more valuable than the average soldier and should have protected herself as such. Neril had had high hopes for her at one point, but this was the end. If she couldn’t show better judgment than this, she wasn’t worthy of taking over the position of healer. Neril had just about given up on finding anyone worthy of that title before her death.

Plagued by such thoughts, she continued her slow plod until she spotted something through one of the windows on a door—someone out of place. Cautiously she opened that door, wondering who had had the impertinence to bring her a slave for healing.

----------------------------

Shade was sitting slumped over with his head against the wall on the bed in the room the air duct had led to. Everything was still a little fuzzy, but things were at least starting to click for him. Ganondorf had been the leader of the dark forces aligned against his goddess, but he had been killed or banished or something; none of the stories were very clear. So now, his followers were vying for dominance in his absence. The Gerudo, as the people of Ganondorf, currently had the upper hand, however there were obviously other factions at work. Somebody had sent the talking beast, not specifically to help them, but to destroy the Gerudo’s credibility. 

The more Shade thought about it, the more sense everything made, and the situation suddenly looked a whole lot better. Farore required freedom for the life she created, and what could better destroy the Gerudo’s credibility than the freeing of every single last slave they had taken.

The entrance of a gray-haired Gerudo interrupted his reverie. Shade was instantly on his guard, but all she did was utter a single high-pitched shriek as she saw his condition and then turn to busy herself with crushing herbs on a countertop near the door. She muttered as she worked, though she probably didn’t realize how loud she was, “Moldorms! How could they let a strong back like his get caught by Moldorms?! I’m actually happy they brought this one in, but the girl who let it happen certainly won’t be… Idiots! That’s all the young ones are now. In my time the Gerudo had to be shrewd. We are thieves, not warriors! Why can’t they understand that? It would have been better if the King had never been born…”

Slowly, the tension eased out of Shade’s body. This old lady didn’t see him as a threat, so he saw her the same way. In fact, she was a healer—one of the most noble professions in which to serve Farore. So he gave her a little help, “Wormroot.” He declared. “Wormroot is just the thing for cut injuries on wood-type skin.”

----------------------------

Just when she thought she had only another average case of negligence on the part of the supervisors, her patient surprised her with knowledge of the healing arts. She picked up the Wormroot she had already ground, some bandages and moved over to the bedside. How had someone with even a cursory knowledge of medicine been sent to work in construction? Neril was to get all such captives, and the other Gerudo knew that. This inconvenience of another body to care for might just be the best thing that had happened to her all day.

As she removed the Skull Kid’s shirt and began washing out his wounds, she began to quiz him. If he knew enough she might just have found her successor.

----------------------------

As she worked gently at his wounds, the old Gerudo began to ask Shade questions. Simple things, like how to set a broken bone. They were things he had been taught by peddlers and merchants he helped through the Lost Woods, and he answered her quickly. After a few such questions, there was an interval of silence, and then, just as she tied off the last bandage, the Gerudo gasped. She had realized that he was one of the escapees.

Shade looked up into her eyes, reading the emotions flickering there. There was a little bit of anger at the deception, and small amount of fear for her life, but foremost of all was concern for his well-being. Shade knew that this one, at least, he wouldn’t have to kill. She was a true servant of Farore even if she didn’t know it.

Finally, in a quavering voice, the Gerudo said, “I-- I will let you go free, b-but you must promise me, Neril, that you will return and become my apprentice.” Her voice grew stronger as she continued. “I don’t really know why I’m making you this offer, but I won’t go back on it. Maybe it’s just my senility finally coming on, but somehow I feel that this is right.”

Solemnly, Shade considered this offer, peering into the eyes of the one who had made it. Farore had dropped this opportunity into his lap, but was she actually just trying to teach him discernment. Shade didn’t know, so impulsively he grabbed a knife from a hidden pocket in his pants.

Pricking his little finger with it, Shade gave the most binding oath he could. “By my blood and devotion to Farore, I do solemnly swear to return and learn from you, whatever the risks to my own self.”

Then he got up, pulled on his shirt, grabbed a convenient map of the fortress from a nearby shelf, and walked out the door. His wounds still hurt, but not nearly as much before. He felt as ready as he ever would be to carry out his plan. 

He looked at the map and found every word on it was indecipherable to him. He couldn’t even tell where he was. He shrugged and stuck the map into a pocket, at the same time pulling out a coin. He flipped it, picked it up, and said, “Right it is then. I’ll run into the slavery cells eventually.” Boldly he walked down the hallway, a target for any Gerudo with half a brain.

Blurs, blurs, blurs, that was all they were.

The sturdy walls, the wooden doors, the vaunted ceiling, the smooth floorboards, the metal lining along the edges, all of it was merely a muted haze of brown and black to his eyes, so fast was Leslorian running. Behind him, he could hear the symphany of screams, shouts, hollars and warcries. The jangle of metal, the heaving of chests, the glint of spear heads. A dozen Gerudo warriors on his tail, yet he charged on, racing past crates and barrels, pushing onwards. He turned left, rammed himself headfirst through a door, making it shatter and send pieces scattering this way and that.

He was standing in another hallway, but this one, at the very end, had a single window, one that looked over a tranquil garden medow. Directly before the window was a second window from another room, the only thing seperating the two was a large gap. Leslorian did not waste anytime thinking or plotting. He moved. He rushed forward, even as four Gerudos swarmed into the hallway. He jumped, arms extended, through the window, as the glass shattered and the chorus of shouts bellowed out behind him. Suddenly, before Leslorian's eyes, was a flagpole, jutting out from a side wall. His hands clasped onto the cyclinder surface snugly, and, before he knew it, he was spinning, legs going up and over, and then he was flying, soaring towards the second window.

There was another loud boom as the glass shattered, expanding inwardly. Before he knew it the giant of a man was diving towards the ground, instictively pulling himself up into a roll and bounding up to his feet. As he did, his eyes fell on a peculiar sight. Namely, the sight of a elderly Gerudo woman, sitting on a large, luxurious bed, with a young girl in her lap. The woman's gnarly fingers were interwoven in the girl's tresses for she had been in the middle of combing and braiding them with practiced skill. Or, at least, that was what the Gerudo woman had been doing, before the massive, masked armored figure had burst through the window.

He did not wait for the two of them to recover from their shock but rather leaped at the nearest door, one which happened to be inlaid with gold. His shoulder rammed into the wood and the door flew off its hinges, clattering a great distance away. He continued to move, his mind in its red-tinted haze, but that did not stop the Darknut from hearing two distinct sounds. First, the words, "Wait here, milady" and second the noise of a blade being unsheathed. Milady? Was the sole thought that resonated in Leslorian's mind, but the sound of boiled leather boots slapping against wood quickly cut off that thought. The elderly woman was following him.

When he turned the corner into a narrow hallway, Leslorian then spun around and snapped.

The woman's prone form could not follow him.

Leslorian yanked open the nearest door and found a supply closet, one filled with half empty buckets, wet mops and stuffy brooms. Perfect. He went inside and closed the door, softly. For once, there was finally silence. Then, one guantlet finger reached up and hooked around the bottom edge of the metal Wolfos mask, tilting it up a smidgeon, then the second sent two probing fingers inside. A moment later a rather battered looking role up piece of parchment was in the man's hands. He then pressed it up against the door, smoothing out the creases and wrickles with a single finger.

The parchment was a map.

It did not take him long to find the dinning hall, seeing as it was one of the largest and longest rooms in the Fortress. From there, it was simple to retrace his path, up the winding hallways, through the two windows, into the lady's bedchamber and out into the supply closet. Then, scanning, he spotted the armory, and plotted his course. Once done, the man refolded the parchment and then slid it into one of the metal loops in his armor, for easier access if not better protection.

He peeked the door open a crack, only to find, to his great relief, that the hallway was empty save for the motionless form of the lady's servant. The elderly Gerudo was so still, for a moment, that Leslorian actually paused, fingers clutching the doorframe and threatening to crunch it, when he finally noted the soft rise and fall of the woman's body. Immediately, the Darknut felt his shoulders ease, his heart subside, and his whole mind settle and calm to a throbbing numbness. She was alive. That was all that mattered.

He picked up the woman and laid her down on the floor of the supply closet. He took a rag, dunked it into the soppy mess in one of the buckets, wringed it out once, and then laid it down on the woman's wrinkled forehead. Then, he slipped out of the room, closing the door gently, both to not wake up the woman and to not alert any patrolling Gerudos. But, luckily, they could be avoided now that he had managed to escape them and the other two escapees were on their way and maybe even safely inside the armory now.

Leslorian was not fool enough to just waltz down the hallways, not when there was other means available to him. Instead he found another air vent, resting on the ceiling of one of the hallways and quickly made his way onwards. Before long, he was peering down at the opening of the vent that looked into the armory (for the metal gratting had already been kicked out and now lay flat down on the floor), and immediately did not like what he saw.

The room was empty.

He slid down to the ground, landing in the room stocked and loaded for war. Slowly, being sure that no one was nearby to see him, Leslorian tilted up the mask so his long snout was bare. Then, he began to sniff, black nose twitching. He found the girl's scent almost immediately and realized that she was rather close by, simply walking down the hallway. The girl was bold and quite a bit foolhardy, to openly waltz through the Fortress as if she could take on all the entire Fortress singlehandedly. Not even he could do that, and he has been trained for bloodshed since the tender age of ten. Not only that, but her aroma wreaked of magic, even more heavily then it did before. Leslorian's head tilted over to the side, realizing that a spot near the wall, now barren, also held the same stench. So, she had found a magical weapon. Perhaps it was even hers to begin with.

But the Skull Kid's stench was nowhere to be found. It was obvious that the man must have abandoned the other escapee, going his own way. But why - and then, Leslorian remembered. Words, hollared out as the imp dashed, moving just as swiftly as the Darknut himself, as if guided by the unforseen winds, Die heathens, you and your twisted beast. There had been a time, in the past, where a mage with great power had been able to sense the lingering residue of the evil magic that had been inflicted on him, just like all his other brethren, when they had entered into the ranks of the King of Evil. This Skull Kid, this Shade, was able to sense the inherent wrong that washed off Leslorian like tides. He did not know that he was a Darknut, but he did not need to know. He was a beast. He was a monster and his aura contended to that. Of course the man would not listen to his advice, anyone who had even a inkling of what he was would do the same.

Leslorian felt like growling, like rearing up his head and roaring, like turning around and smashing something, big meaty paws slashing through the air.

Instead, he lowered his mask, making sure that it was completely secure and then slunk out.

The young mage girl was right where he had suspected she would be, walking down the hallway. But the situation was far worse then he had expected. She was heading towards a door at the end of the hallway and, from the other side, Leslorian could smell the heavy stench of magic. There were seven of them and each one of them carried with them a item of power, each with a aura just as strong, and one several hundred times stronger then the aura that came from the cane which the young girl clutched tightly in her hands. Not only that, but he could tell that there were several other Gerudos in there also, a half dozen, if he were to guess.

In short, the girl was walking brazenly towards her death.

Once he had done this, and he had thought that once would be the last time. Apparently, it was not so. He could not waste anytime, he had to act and he had to act quietly too, so not to alert the ambush waiting on the otherside of the door. Instead, he rushed up behind the girl and quickly clamped a hand over her mouth (if she were to scream, then they were both dead) and then he grabbed her arm, taking them both towards the still empty armory. He had to force himself to be extremely gently, holding her wrist loosely with one hand. A grip that even a suckling babe of his own kind could break with half a thought, but a grip he knew, from experience, that the girl would never have a hope of breaking. She would come away with bruises, he knew, but Leslorian's anger was bubbling, brewing, stewing within him, and it took all his control not to use a far more fierce grip.

Once they were both inside, Leslorian closed the door behind him and as he did, he closed shut the door to his anger, burying it deep inside. This was not the time. Later, when they were alone, he could repremend the girl. Though his definition of that term greatly varied from the Hylian one, so lenient with punishment was this soft culture. If his father had caught him doing something so foolhardy he would have taken Leslorian aside and beat him to a inch of his life, dragged him to a nearby herbalist, stay by his side until he was nearly fully healed, and begin the process anew.

But, instead, he merely turned around to face the girl, his yellow eyes glinting beneath the mask.

"Do you realize just what you were about to walk into?" It was a rhetorical question, he knew that she did not, he could see that, read it clearly on her features though to him words, of all languages, were mere nonsense. "This is the reason why I told you that I would meet up with you in the armory. It is far too dangerous to go out alone. Your inherent magic is a signal to the mages here, they have been tracking you all along. It is even easier now that you have that Cane. You must use it sparingly, if at all, for it will be like a beacon to the Gerudos here. Better yet, we must avoid confrontations of all sorts. Do you think you can do that, girl, or must I drag you from place to place?" Under his helm, Leslorian's brows furrowed, "That is quite rude of me, actually. I should at least know your name, if we are going to be in this mess together. If you must address me, you can call me Falscion." It was a name he had used often, it meant Gyrffin, in Carsonian.

His eyes darted down to the tomahawks at the girl's hips, and he knew could smell the Skull Kid's stench raising off them like vapor. Peculiar. How did the girl know that those weapons belonged to the other one? Or was it merely a coincidence? No. Leslorian did not believe in such things. All had things had a purpose, one way or another, his life was a testimony to that. "I suppose it is too much to hope for that you would know where the Skull Kid is?" It was more of a question to himself then to the girl, but from then on Leslorian was silent, his mind working. He could lead the two of them to the Skull Kid, it would be rather simple now that the girl had one of his possessions on her, but it might be easier, for both of them, for him to simply leave the man behind. It would take time and effort to make the Skull Kid trust him, and they did not have much of either at the moment. Also, Leslorian could not help but feel that there was something innately wrong with the man. He could still remember the way he charged at those Gerudo warriors. Leslorian suspected that the Skull Kid had no intention of coming out of that fight in one piece.

Leslorian hand instinctively reached towards his breast, where the rolled up map was. Of course, there was the plan. The sole way, that he saw, that the three of them could get out of this alive. For it, he needed the girl's powers, but they did not necessarily need to have the Skull Kid with them. Yet, he had come here deliberately to save them both and whoever else he could. He, above all people, understood the cruelity that the Gerudo clan can inflict on their captives. There were many Gerudos that were not so diabolical, just like there were some Gerudos who didn't even turn to theivery to make a living. But these ones ... Leslorian knew of these Gerudos. And they have not changed. Not once. How, in good concious, can he leave the captive behind, to meet whatever fate that was brought to him? Even if he did not and would not accept his aid?

Leslorian then glanced at the girl at his side and realized that he still had his hand around her wrist. His eyes widened. Dear Goddesses! He let go with a jolt, before falling to a knee and inspecting it, before looking at the girl in the eyes (he still had to look down). "I am sorry. I had not realized that I had held on so long. Are you harmed, in any way?" His ears twitched. He could sense that the Gerudos in the nearby room were leaving. Luckily, they were heading in the opposite direction, perhaps now on the Skull Kid's trail. Either way, the two of them were alone for now, which meant they were safe. Every moment, from here on out, counted, any second could spell death.

Why, again, did he make himself jump head first into such situations?

"Aside from my wrist, I'm fine... but you probably knew that." Kaitlyn stared at the being that addressed himself as Falscion, rubbing her sprained, but otherwise alright wrist. "To get introductions over, I'm Kaitlyn. Not Kate, not Katie." Then Kaitlyn looked up from her wrist, into Falscion's eyes. "And, yes, I knew what I was walking into. Several well armed Gerudo. For the record, I came here looking for magical artifacts, hopefully ones I can use. That's why I was walking into that deathtrap." But since you knew it was a deathtrap, that means you can sense magical auras.

Kaitlyn looked at her Cane and Ring. "My teacher trained me to be able to overcome near impossible odds. Heavily outnumbered, severely outmatched. I was taught to be able to conquer even that, because likely..." Kaitlyn glanced back again at Falscion, "That would be how a magical artifact would be guarded." Then Kaitlyn set a serious anger to her tone. "And I hit the jackpot, too. Seven. Seven artifacts. With those odds, at least one of them I could be wielding right now. But no. You had to get helpless little ol' me out of danger."

Then she let out a sigh. "Oh, well. It's the thought that counts." Kaitlyn looked up to Falscion with a smile. "I sincerely apologize for concerning you so, and for being so unnecessarily angry towards you, thank you for getting me out of that mess, and forgive you for letting me lose that catch." Kaitlyn looked at the door, thinking about the Gerudo. "You don't need to worry about me being a beacon. I was fully aware of that possibility, so I sealed away as much of my magical aura as possible." Kaitlyn calculated for a moment. "Ten percent. I've successfully sealed all but ten percent of my magical aura, thanks to my teacher's training. At that much, I'll be able to access my magic on the fly, I don't need to worry about lack-of-power ramifications, and it becomes significantly harder for them to track me." She held out her good hand for a handshake. "So, what's the plan, Mister Falscion?"

Silently, Shade’s feet padded along the stone hallways of the fortress. He had already passed through a section that had appeared to be sleeping quarters and a large room lined with practice weapons. Somehow he had managed to evade the Gerudo up to this point, but he was also thoroughly lost.

The hallway he was passing through now was wide with a low ceiling. Tapestries depicting war scenes lined the walls and infrequent doors opened into rooms filled with either armor or weapons. It was from one of these rooms that Shade had replenished the supply of knives he kept secreted on every part of his body. Truth be told, they didn’t actually make him feel any safer. He had always been better with the tomahawks than the knives, and he wasn’t sure he’d have much chance against a fully trained Gerudo regular even with those. The fact that he’d managed to take one out unarmed was just a fluke.

So focused on his surroundings was he, that Shade managed to hear the approaching Gerudo voices from around a distant corner. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do with that knowledge because he was stuck in a stretch of the hall with no doors on either side. So, for the second time that day Shade ran at top side to confront a battle he knew he couldn’t win. It wasn’t until he crashed into the pair of Gerudo turning the corner that Shade remembered he could turn invisible.

It was too late for that now, though. For the moment, Shade needed all of his concentration focused on the fight. Both of the woman he had surprised were wearing gray uniforms, strangely subdued for the Gerudo, accented by a shiny band of silver across their forehead. The one that he had run into was lying on the ground, unconscious. She had apparently hit her head on the wall. Farore’s own luck must be smiling on him. That was twice in one day.

The other one, though was still standing, and she by herself was going to be quite enough of a problem for the diminutive Skull Kid to deal with. Then, Shade learned the significance of the unique uniform and bit of jewelry, and he knew that he had absolutely no chance whatsoever.

She stood with her hands outstretched to a pair of torches on opposite sides of the hall, and then her head band flashed and the light seemed to trickle down her arms and out to the fire, which immediately roared to life with a vengeance. The next thing Shade knew, he was trapped in a column of fire, everything outside obscured by the orange pillar of light.

“Put your hands in the air,” the Gerudo witch demanded sharply.

Hesitantly, Shade did so, his mind working furiously to find a way out of his predicament. He could see only one, and it was a large gamble. If the Gerudo realized what he was doing, there would be a burnt Skull Kid corpse lying in this hallway, but he had already gotten lucky today so many times, so why not risk it once more?

He turned invisible and, in the moment of the Gerudo witch’s confusion, the hilt of knife was protruding from her forehead. Slowly, the fire dissipated from around Shade, and he let his invisibility go. Bending down, he slipped the headband off the dead witch, removing his knife and cleaning it in the process. He couldn’t let power like this remain in the hands of Ganondorf’s servants.

In that moment, a fist of stone reached up from the floor and grabbed one of his legs. Quickly he twirled around, guessing that the other witch had something to do with it, but he tripped and ended up face down on the floor, where a pair of the stone hands grabbed his arms to hold him down. Over him stood the other Gerudo. Blood still ran from the back of her head where it had struck the wall, but with the glowing band above her brow, she was still more than a match for the Skull Kid.

Slowly, with a look of despair across her face, the witch drew her scimitar. She looked at her reflection in it and whispered in a hoarse voice, “That was my sister.” Anger blossomed across her face, and she drew the sword back, preparing to end her captive’s life as he watched, helpless.