#time to get punted into the sun again by that little green-black goblin thing

[inke-ri]

perhaps it should not be surprising bc I hear the sequel is right around the corner, but found Breath of the Wild at a 30% discount on the e-shop and impulse bought it despite always being a little iffy on trying it despite the stellar reviews. I hope this thing doesnt require knowledge of the previous Zelda games bc I have nooooo idea what this series is about

[cuthie]

Omru: Stuff

  The Vol’dun sun was baking the sand beneath Omru’s paws, not a cloud in the sky to grant even a sliver of reprieve. Sand, sun and danger were the three most common elements of home, so far as Om was concerned. Not that anyone ever truly became immune to their effects, regardless of how ‘used to it’ they were. Chewing on his nails, the little fox boy trotted his way through the dunes, his free hand reaching reflexively for a knapsack that wasn’t there. Those slithering scaley bois better not have taken off with his goods. He had weapons, clothes, knick knacks, trinkets and all kinds of cool stuff in his pack when he had been abducted.  Exhaling through his nose, Omru’s bright orange eyes flickered towards Pazaz. Om was used to the heat, but even the trolls of Zandalar tend to sweat buckets out here. How was the green guy in the blue hoodie not sweltering at this point?

“Does your kind sweat?”

The goblin turned to look at Omru over his shoulder, not bothering to stop walking, “Yeah, of course. Just like yous guys, we sweat through our fuggin tongues.”

“Oh. Wait, what? Through your tongues? I don’t get it.”

  The cackle that came in response sounded almost mean to Omru’s ears. It wasn’t, in intention, it was just.. A wicked laugh. He wasn’t sure if that was something unique to Paz or their species in general. “Yo, just yankin yin’s chain kid. Lil dog humor, s’all. Nah, we sweat. Hell, back home my folks is mostly made’a sweat. Sweat an motor oil. Nasty lil boogers, most of’em. They don’t clean up so good like you an me.”

“Oh. Just used to extreme temperatures, then?”

  Paz shook his head, turning his attention forward again, “Nah. Told ya, elementals friendo. My babe, Luft, is a formless elemental. Best friend I eva made. She’s keepin’ me cool. Like my own private A.C.”

“What’s an A.C.?”

“Air conditionomatic machine. Makes hot places mo’ cooler. Goblin invention, don’t let tha gnomes tell ya otherwise.”

“Gnomes?”

“Short little nosy brats who get punted out of bars for bein’ dung beetles. They build stuff that’s second rate. The Alliance engineers, kindy like what us Bilgewater is for Horde.”

“Bilgewater?”

  “Oh my wow. You really just don’t know nothin’, do yous? Bilgewater Cartel. Like one big dysfunctional family what steals from one another and is always stabbin someones in the back. Tha only goblins what joined the Horde. Plenny’a cartels out there. Mo money in remainin neutral in this war.”

“You were talking about that earlier. Your Horde is fighting the Alliance. Burned down their homes and killed their children in a fire, right?”

  It was Paz’s turn to sigh, “Yeah. It’s complicated. Horde and Alliance has been at war since forever. But we got ourselves a real asshole for a warchief. Like, she’s downright evil. Trust me, you don’t want nothin’ to do with her. Keep ya head down til this is all over.”

“If you’re so against it, why not leave?”

“Ain’t so simple. All my friends and family is Horde. Whether they’re innocent or not, Alliance gonna be out for blood, kennit? I don’t wanna hurt nobody what don’t need they’s asses kicked, but I can’t just shove my hands in my pockets and read about my friends deaths in the Obits, ya know?”

“What’s an obits?”

  Paz pivoted on his heels to turn around atop a swollen mass of sand, “This is the problem with hermits. You may as well be a fuggin Pandy. No, at least they was social. Had cities and stuff. Kid, ya gotta million questions, but even if we talk all week, ya ain’t gonna get edjamicated. Ya know? If ya really -really- wanna know about the world, ya gotta get out of Azeroth’s largest sand trap. We gotta expression where I live, it’s called, ‘Where ya been, livin under a rock.’ And for you folks, that’s literal!”

  Omru folded his hands behind his head, daring to look up at the sky as the smallest of baby clouds came out of nowhere to dip beneath the sun. Woo, that’s a good luck sign. “They’re called burrows and they’re comfy. Buut, I can’t lie. Your way of life sounds way more interesting. Why don’t you take me with you?”

  Paz shrugged his shoulders, “I mean, iffens ya want, sure. I could use the company. I gotta list of errands to run, but I can always pick ya up. Besides, yous people helped the Horde out, Horde helped you out, we made fast friends. Could prolly put you on a boat.”

“You know, it’s not exactly uncommon to hear of a vulpera who abandoned the sands for a life at sea.”

  Paz grinned, “Yeah, I know. I been to Tiragarde. Anyways, check it out, we’re five minutes from where I found yous.”

  As the goblin pointed ahead towards the mountain ridge, Omru’s gut knotted up. How long had he been enslaved? A few months, for sure. Maybe longer. Slavery wasn’t just a Setharak thing. Humans did a lot of it, Trolls even more so. As they traveled closer and closer to the slave mine, Omru went over it again for perhaps the hundredth time. He had been looking to scavenge at a small stone building, could have been the beginnings of a small temple. The sands had a way of hiding and then uncovering all kinds of lost architectures. One minute he had been eating a popkin, a sandwich of sorts, the next he had been fighting against half a dozen snakeholes. They had stripped him of all his gear and brought him here, to the mines.

  A pair of shadows crossed the sky, but as Omru looked up, there was nothing there. Whatever it was had moved fast. Or maybe this place was just putting him on edge and he was seeing things. Only thing up there was that little baby cloud.

“How’s the clothes fit, by the by?”

  Omru grinned as Paz looked back at him again. “Little loose, but I tied it all down well enough. I’ve worn baggier. Just lucky you rescued me and not some hulking Tortollan. Though, their kind only help people in exchange for stories. Not that they’re jerks or anything, they’re just ancient and nosy.”

“Everyone’s nosy, kid. Just the way of the world. You uh.. Gonna be okay in here? I could poke around for yins, if ya.. Ya know. Can’t do it.”

Omru bit at his nails again, snipping just the tiniest chip off his index fingernail and spitting it out onto a hardened tan rock. “Thanks, man. I’ll be alright.”

Paz nodded, then lit up a torch and stepped inside.

  Omru had spent three nights recuperating with Paz. He had been reduced to fur and bones by the time the goblin had saved him, but the rejuvenation magicks from the water totem had been no joke. Over that time, the two had shared plenty of tales, including Om’s capture. How he had been working the mines here with a dozen other vulpera. How he had rebelled time and time again, perhaps once a month for half a year or so? He managed to kill one of the guards on his last attempt. Then, as he had finally found his necklace and put it on, everything had went black. He had woken up in chains, stretched out and unable to activate the wooden totem.  If they were smart, they would have killed him, especially considering the magic he had used against their sorcerers back at the maybe-a-temple. However, when push came to shove, their magick was simply stronger than his had been. Bunch of dicks.

--

“Is you sure at’s all yours? Seems like a lot, s’all I’m sayin’.”

  Omru patted himself down, smoothing out the leather armor, adjusting his belt, feeling his pouches, his weapon hilts and the heft of his knapsack. He had found everything in just a few short hours. In a sing song voice, he piped up, “Got my grappling hook, check. Got my swords, my daggers. Got that acidic bug juice, got a naked troll woman carving. Never know when ya might need to bribe a perv. Got a few books that I know the Tortollan will wanna barter for. I gotta pistol that fires golden bullets.”

“Wait, golden bullets? Where did ya get that?”

“Humans down south. They’re mining down there and making really interesting weapons.”

“Ugh, Ashvane. Sorry, keep goin, I know ya proud and whatnot. Just, do me a favor and walk n talk, kay?”

  The two continued out the mines as Omru listed two or three dozen more items, “And this shovel has a shorter handle than most. Somehow that makes it easier to dig holes? I can’t remember the whole story. Oh and these marbles make fart sounds when you smash them open. I thought it was hilarious, traded a chicken for them. Don’t ask me where I found the chicken. A real desert delicacy. Oh and I got this--”

  On and on he blabbed. Stuff he had. Stuff he used to have. Stuff he wanted. Stuff he heard of. Stuff he saw one time. Stuff he dreamt up that didn’t exist yet. Each item held his curious eye at one time or another. Clearly there was an emotional attachment to his ‘stuff’, and by having found it all, his spirits had been lifted incredibly high. From the mines all the way back to their little hidey hole hours away he chatted about his things, his friends, his family. Where he found the totem necklace, what he had actually been -looking- for when he went scavenging that day.

  As the sun was going down and Paz was starting up a small fire in their home away from home, he couldn’t help but grin at the kid. The boy loved his stuff. It was more than garbage, more than things. They were memories. It probably made nomadic life in the desert a little less lonely.  “Yo, Ommie. I did ya another solid, helpin you find ya things today. Tomorrow, you take me to Keyi, okie?”

  Om plugged a thumb’s up, paired with a wink, “You got it, dude.”