This is a land of heroes, a land of noble men and still nobler deeds

This is a land of heroes, a land of noble men and still nobler deeds. But to for each hero, for each good deed done there must be an evil to over come. This place of bravery and villainy is seemingly tranquil, like the calm at the eye of the storm. This is the land of Hyrule and it has been three years now since Ganondorf was once more defeated, perhaps forever and Zant too was thwarted. It would seem, therefore that peace will forever be upon the realm now. But this will forever be a land of heroes and thus forever and land of villains. This sad fact has been realised by one, seemingly normal man. He has also realised something perhaps even worse. The hero of time cannot be relied upon forever, some threats may be beneath his notice, perhaps one day he will be defeated or maybe never appear at all. This man is now sitting on an upturned log, chin on hand and a deep frown of concentration on his brow.

"Damn it"

Was all that was said, it was all that was needed to sum things up. So, in a clearly frustrated manner the figure stands up from his log, one hand behind back, the other still clutching his chin and he stares out across the scene before him. It is an old favourite of his, it is the view across lake Hylia. He is standing atop a sheer cliff, below him the lake, behind him a gentle slope towards Hyrule field. From here he can see the water ripple and shift, reflecting the skies above in a strange, vague way, almost as though an impressionist painter had decided to paint the sky on a shifting canvas. But the beauty was lost on its only observe who was still dwelling on this most taxing issue. Perhaps now would be a good time to take a look at this man and almost at once he seems out of place, he does not look like a local. His body is normal enough, a tad on the tall side but not freakishly so, narrow shoulders and a deceptively light frame. The man is neither tanned nor sun burnt, perhaps sun beaten would be a better phrase to use. Certainly it is a skin used to wear and tear, though no scars show there is a roughness to him, and image not helped by a layer of stubble adorning his chin and a nose that could only be charitably described as statuesque. But what really made him seem out of place was his clothing, most inhabitants of this area wore something a kin to trousers, or at least the men folk did but this man had ground length robes, light but in need of a clean. White by design mud and dust stains had tuned the lower areas into a sort of grey and the edges were frayed. Upon his head was a keffiyeh, the same colour as his robes and just as worn. It was quite loose about his head and wrapped around his neck as well. All in all this was a man who looked as though he should be from the desert, not the plains of Hyrule or the lake side.

Turning his back upon the serene lake he spat off to the side out of frustration and low level anger before reaching down and picking up his sizeable pack, upon which pots and pans were strapped and a bed role fixed tightly to the top. Now he could see across the sea of green out towards Hyrule castle town. The sun was still high in the sky and as such the unusual summer heat beat down with ferocious intensity upon our white clad man, this same man who now began to walk forward with the same energy as a more normal person would posses on a bright, crisp morning rather than the laborious lurch that this heat warranted. Because of this he made good time, heading towards the town with a surprising turn of speed. As he drew closer to the epicentre of the land he passed more and more people by, some toiling the fields but most sat in what little shade they could find, every tree now had at least three tired workers either dozing in the leafy oasis of cool or relishing a restoring glass of much needed milk. Though he drew looks the white clad figure passed each man by in complete silence, heading with utter focus towards his objective. The gates.

Even the guards hear were sitting on the floor, leaning up against the formidable stone defences, all bar one who had his feet dipped in the moat and was splashing them about in an effort to get cool. None protested as the white figure strode into the city, after all what possible threat could he be? He was not even armed. Just another lonely traveller, but unlike most this one had not come to trade or do business, this man was a pilgrim, of sorts. But judging by his surroundings the man was in a minority and by a long way. The hustle and bustle of the town was hardly slowed by the heat, true merchants now sat down behind their stalls but were still flogging their wears with enthusiasm and there was no shortage of shoppers either. Men and women bustled around, hand full with items ranging from simple food to exotic jewellery. Live stock mooed, bleated or whinnied as appropriate and every now and again the voice of the auctioneer projected it self above the crowd.

"I have two hundred, two hundred for this fine bull, two hundred… do I see two fifty, two fifty. Yes you sir thank you. Three hundred then, three hundred?"

The figure spat once more out of frustration and anger, but this time aroused by the crowd. To this on locker these people were little better than the live stock they bartered for, stupid animals, utterly unaware of the bigger picture. But stupid they may be did not make them any less deserving of care and attention, it merely served to frustrate the man a tad.

But he was not here to criticise the people either, rather he was looking for the ruins of the old temple of time, but in order to get there he needed to meet his guide. All the white clad figure knew was that the guide would be told who he was by a middle man and approach him, the white robed man was not to look for the guide. This made him uneasy, the whole thing was very cloak and dagger at the moment, he half expected to be murdered rather than led. But still he had little choice in the matter. Remaining at the centre of the hustle and bustle he stood like a solitary island, not fidgeting or moving, just waiting. It was some long time before anything happened, the sun was beginning to dip and a few stalls had already packed up, others were closing now, merchants tidying away their goods in heavy strongboxes ready for the morrow. It was now that the guide made themselves known. For a highly secretive arrangement the man was hardly the cloaked apparition that would so neatly fit into things. Instead a very plain looking man just walked up to our white robed friend and said plainly in a thick rural accent.

"Sankt? You Sankt? 'Course you are, why else would ye be standing here like a lemon. I'll be your guide and that's all ye know me as understand? You're just doing this as a one off, this is my living and if the guards get onto me I'm done for."

The white robed man, apparently named Sankt just gave a silent nod to all of this, he was a man of few words, or perhaps he too wanted to avoid saying anything unnecessary just in case the other was caught. Either way nothing was said as the guide scuffled along, dragging his feet and mumbling from time to time as a stoic Sankt drifted along behind. Considering what was about to happen was illegal the guide was not sneaking about, indeed at one point he walked up to a guard who was hanging around on a street corner and overtly thrust a small coin purse straight into the man's face. Clearly Sankt was not the first to come here and a system of bribes, winks and nods was already well in place. With the guard now turning a blind eye the guide lifted up a flagstone revealing a small ladder down into the murky depths into which the guide descended, still mumbling to himself and apparently complaining about the rats. Sankt followed and had the good sense to replace the flagstone above him with no instruction to do so, after all what if the bent guard was replaced by an honest one? The guides racket would be exposed in an instant and Sankt likely caught, he could run but unarmed as he was he could not fight with any great effectiveness.

Eventually reaching the bottom of the ladder, a ladder which grew more and more rusty as the descent was made Sankt now found himself in pitch blackness, the smell of mildew and dead flesh wafting up his nostrils and the squeak of a rat somewhere close to his left foot. After a slight wooden thunk suddenly a torch was lit and thrust into Sankt's hand whilst the guide drew out a knife from beneath his clothes. Well at least the daggers part of cloak and daggers had been fulfilled. It was now evident the thunk had been made by the opening of a barrel full of torches left here for just this purpose. Gesturing with his thumb the guide pointed forward and said. "The alter is that way, it is as far as I go, as far as anyone goes. Strong magics protect the chambers beyond. Back the other way is a tunnel running to the arena, we get out there if we run into problems. Yah understand? Oh and don't worry about the knife my dear, I just keeps it in case we met something odd, with these magics you don't know what might happen, nothings happened yet though and I doubt you'll be the first." With these rather poor words of encouragement the guide led down towards what he termed the alter, the dank walls slowly began to widen out and there was a slight tingle to the air, like a soft breeze across bare skin, but there was no wind here. The guide shivered slightly scratching his head and saying. "Oh no… no no. I don't like this, magic's strong today. L..l.l Let's go back eh? Try again tomorrow." Turning to the silent figure of Sankt the guide was met with only a firm expression and a finger pointing onwards, ever onwards. There the duo stood in silence for several seconds before Sankt was forced to speak in a slightly gritty, clearly determined voice.

"It must be done today, go forward."

The guide shook his head and shuffled some more, clearly uncomfortable.

"Look, listen hear mate I know what I'm talking about. We go tomorrow. I'll even refund you half the payments yah made a few weeks back but please can we just go?"

The only answer he received was the same finger and the same expression, unblinking and uncompromising. The guard just shook his head and ran back off towards the ladder calling back over his shoulder.

"Forget it mate, and forget your money to, idiot."

Sankt just snorted and shook his head, slowly lowering his hand and muttering purely to himself.


With that he now pressed on alone, un guided and un armed, were the magical forces in this ancient place to stir he would be dealt with swiftly, but he was also undeterred. It was not long now until the twisting earth corridor, seemingly racked out of the rock it self suddenly opened up into a simply huge chamber, it looked like a cathedral, it was a cathedral. Now he was present in the main chamber on the ancient temple of time. But grand as it was it was still in dire need of repair, all the stain glass windows had been smashed in and dirt and rubble and poured in through the gaps, ancient faded tapestries littered the floor, the squeak of high flying kesse somewhere up in the invisible vaulted ceiling above. A willing ear could almost hear the chants of ancient monks long dead still bouncing off of the walls, caught in an infinite echo. Of course such things were pure fancy but it all contributed to the spirit of this place, this forgotten sanctuary of all that was once good, and perhaps still is. The looming stone doors were visible even in this light, sealed by both mechanics and magic, guarding one of the many old resting places for the master sword. Sankt knew the sword was of course not there, he also knew it was not his to wield, than honour belonged to Link and Link alone. Sankt was here merely for the alter, the alter in which the three spirit stones had once been placed so many years ago. This was also in a state of disrepair, cracked and broken, it was almost split clean in two. The writing on it's surface illegible and even the symbol on the triforce was all but gone. Gently Sankt extended a single bare hand and caressed the surface wistfully, perhaps even sadly when the world went white.

Sankt awoke, or at least it felt like he was awake, truth be told his actual body was still out cold, his consciousness had merely been removed from his body and was now working an a level far higher than normal. The environment Sankt found himself was one of pitch blackness and utterly empty in all directions, including down. There was nothing beneath him preventing him from plummeting into infinity yet the non existent surface he was lying on seemed stable enough. To describe the world around him any further would be folly, quite simply there was no world. But there were voices, three. None of them identified themselves but any man with a knowledge of the religion and the creation of the world could make an accurate guess. The first voice seemed the most direct, to the point and was quite blunt for the female it so obviously was.

"There is a strength in you, this is good, this is needed."

The second voice was less blunt and direct but not without conviction or energy, indeed it seemed by far the most enthusiastic of the trio.

"You managed to come this far, unarmed, unfamiliar with the path ahead. You made deals with criminal thugs with no regard to your well being and showed distain for the dangers of your actions. This is good, this is needed."

The third and final voice was quiet, slow to speak, softer and gentler, it also seemed older and had by far the longest turn.

"More importantly you saw to come in the first place, you knew to come this day, you knew the hero of time was not a perfect defence. You knew there was a gap that required filling and you knew the best place to come for advice. "This is good, this is needed. I also know that you understand, you are not our chosen, our favoured. That mantle belongs to another. But you do have our blessing. You are right to be cautious about the future. I assure you, you are right in your conviction that action must be taken. Your fault lies in the fact that you wish to persuade others to do it. They lack your qualities in the main. Take the responsibility yourself, bring about your own designs, do not rely on the wisdom of others. If you need any more guidance, then you are not as wise as I had thought you."

That was the end of things, no questions, no debate and certainly no answers. Just another white flashed followed shortly by the sound of Sankt groaning as he dragged himself back to his feet, rubbing his head and looking about him, trying to get his bearing. He was also trying to work out how much time had passed but in this lightless environment that was quite impossible, it had however, been long enough for the torch to burn through half of its length. Picking the guiding light up Sankt began to stagger, somewhat unsteadily, back towards the rusty ladder. He had work to do and perhaps not much time to do it in.