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Sixth Sin
From Ganondorf's perspective, it had but been mere hours since he had returned to his world, soundly defeated his foes, and returned to Luceti. It was curious that he remembered none of his deeds in this world, but there would be time to dwell on that later. Once again he had arrived in this world in nothing bit ill fitting white pants a few sizes too small for him. The great wound in his chest continues to glow. A clean cut, even the strange unearthly glow can be seen from the other side. Having so obvious a weakness revealed was infuriating. He remembered how much he loathed the Malnosso.
And how much he desired their power.
It was clear time had passed in Luceti in his absence, but he had little way of knowing how much. But he knew the way. So the great lumbering man, all seven and a half feet of him, proceeded back to Luceti. The ground was cold, some of it still icy from the rain a few days ago, and he might have froze if he had not become so accustomed to the cold bitterness of the Twilight Realm. His destination was the clothing store. But it was daylight as he entered town, where anyone and everyone could see. Tedious, really.
After donning his armor once more and claiming a brilliant white blade from the smithy, Ganondorf was left with the curious task of returning to a life of domestic dullness. He'd need a place to sleep, he'd have to collect groceries, exchange pleasantries with people far beneath him, and bide his time in this most curious of prisons. He hated it already. But he could be found in the village doing just that. Eventually he would settle on a home far removed from the village, but not until later.
Later he would address the journals:
[Written]
By my last reckoning, it was the month 'January' in the fifth cycle of this enclosure. I understand much has occurred in this time. I would relish the opportunity to learn what has transpired.
Furthermore... would anyone know what fate befell a woman named Zelda and an assortment of boys sharing the name Link?
((Please check out his permissions!))
And how much he desired their power.
It was clear time had passed in Luceti in his absence, but he had little way of knowing how much. But he knew the way. So the great lumbering man, all seven and a half feet of him, proceeded back to Luceti. The ground was cold, some of it still icy from the rain a few days ago, and he might have froze if he had not become so accustomed to the cold bitterness of the Twilight Realm. His destination was the clothing store. But it was daylight as he entered town, where anyone and everyone could see. Tedious, really.
After donning his armor once more and claiming a brilliant white blade from the smithy, Ganondorf was left with the curious task of returning to a life of domestic dullness. He'd need a place to sleep, he'd have to collect groceries, exchange pleasantries with people far beneath him, and bide his time in this most curious of prisons. He hated it already. But he could be found in the village doing just that. Eventually he would settle on a home far removed from the village, but not until later.
Later he would address the journals:
[Written]
By my last reckoning, it was the month 'January' in the fifth cycle of this enclosure. I understand much has occurred in this time. I would relish the opportunity to learn what has transpired.
Furthermore... would anyone know what fate befell a woman named Zelda and an assortment of boys sharing the name Link?
((Please check out his permissions!))
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And what he's told no one in the whole bleeding town is that he as good as commanded the 1st Batallion. Not officially -- no, certainly not. But until recently, there'd been a shortage of men to put above the Major. And things worked so smoothly with him in place.
"His Britannic Majesty's army, though I don't expect you to know it."
For if he didn't know what a 'major' was...
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"A warrior, then. One entrusted with the lives of others. 'tis an honorable position."
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Distractions. Sharpe valued his own honour rather highly, actually. But it never did to paint yourself as a bleeding prince in the face of anyone -- stranger or friend. "I'm a soldier. It's what I know how to do. I'll leave the warrioring to the daft bloody daydreamers."
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"The world- my world, has always needed soldiers. Daydreamers are expendable luxuries for the fat and idle."
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But you didn't have to be stupid to be a thug.
"And what does that make you, aye?"
Not fat. Presumably not idle. Not like any soldier he knew. And he talked too much to be a bleeding Jetti.
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His statement said so many things at once. But only what he wanted to communicate. His identity as a king, the people he once commanded, the tribe he once called home... he no longer had claim to them. They had been lost to him in centuries of imprisonment.
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How long was it, then? Last time? Months? Years?"
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"Six months too many to six months too few?"
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"And you hope things'll be different this time 'round."
It wasn't a question.
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He was ambitious. Perhaps more so than anyone else in Luceti. All of reality lied just beyond a simple barrier.
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It wasn't said with disdain but -- perhaps -- an ounce of awe. Sharpe had always been personally ambitious, if not impersonally so. "But haven't dozens of others already tried and failed?"
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It gave Ganon less credit than he would normally give himself.
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He said it as though he didn't quite agree with himself. As though he agreed with Ganondorf more. But it was the sort of argument a man made at this junction. Conversations had to progress thusly.
Didn't they?
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It was, perhaps, a reckless statement. But there was a careful intent behind them. He was sizing this man up: testing his morality.
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Sharpe cleared his throat. "The trick is knowing at what point the collateral damage also damages your chances of success, Ganondorf. Allow too much, and you'll scupper yourself."
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To this fact, Ganondorf did not lie. He coveted Hyrule, but never would he destroy it. While it may be twisted to suit his dark ambitions, he would not harm those that did not oppose him. It was why had desired the power of the gods over all out war. A victory without corpses had always been the one he desired most.
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All the pent up bloodlust. And just plain lust. Sharpe wasn't one for doling out punishment on the men, but behaving like an animal in a stormed town? Aye. That would earn a man all kind of trouble. It didn't matter whether they were British or French or Whatevere, Sharpe would deal with them as he would.
"Of course, they don't always see beyond the immediate plunder."
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Despite the height difference -- and this odd and obvious game of sounding each other out by dint of military philosophy -- Sharpe chided the giant man with a tip of his chin. "I'm a soldier, not a bleeding churchman. That they live? Aye. My responsibility. And if they break policy and martial law, they'll be hanged. Or else flogged to the point of dyin' anyway. When it comes to living rightly, the bishop preaches and the officer punishes."
But only for that which is worth punishing. Sharpe had many criminals in his regiment, but it took an active mind to sort out what was worth coming down hard upon and what was merely acceptable.
"There are rules, of course. Rules of my own."
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"Leave the way they live their lives to their creators, hm?"
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