Firice da Vinci
Distinct lack of Leonardo
I swear I'm finishing this one...
I have had this idea for months to write a fanfic based off The Minish Cap, but never got around to it. I brainstormed ideas and got what I think should be a decent plot I can't say too much about it, except that is going to be way darker than the original game. Like, T for Teen or PG-13 darker. Also, just to keep in mind, this story uses the map in from the game it's based off of, but characters and items may be original or dragged from anywhere in the franchise. With that, here's the prologue:
The first day of spring let loose a sun no different than the day before into Link's golden, shaggy hair. The only thing that made that day any different from the last was the celebration held every year in Castle Town. There were games offering exotic prizes, free food made by the other races, and, most importantly for a blacksmith's apprentice, the chance to visit Hyrule Castle. Link had always dreamed of becoming a guard to serve under the king and the fair Princess Zelda. Despite his excitement, Link was only ten. He was too young to believe in alarm clocks.
“Link! Are you awake up there?!” Master Smith's voice reverberated throughout the small wood cabin. It shocked Link fiercely enough to make him leap out of bed in panic. It took him a few seconds to register the situation.
The youth gathered himself with a long, deep breath. While doing some quick morning stretches, he looked out the window and remembered what day it was. A toothy grin spread across his face, showing off his missing top incisor in the process, along with a mild chuckle.
Link rushed down the stairs, almost toppling over his own feet. When his big toe hit the first floor, he spun ninety degrees to the infernal heat of the smelting center, the other foot not getting the slightest chance to touch ground zero. For someone who had difficulty rising in the morning, Link was as restless as a Darknut.
“Gramps, did ya finish it?” Link's entire body was shaking with anticipation. His master stood in front of a window-lit anvil, obviously admiring something before turning to his student.
“Young man, where are your manners? I thought I raised you with better sense than that. Firstly, address me as 'Master', not 'Gramps' like some uneducated hooligan,” Master Smith readily, and rather huffily, corrected. “Secondly, greet me with a 'good morning' or a 'Did you have a pleasant sleep?' instead of ignoring your etiquette all together.”
“Ah, come on, it's the day of the festival! Can't you stop acting like King Hyrule for one day? And what about the sword? Is it done?” Link asked, barely affected by his teacher's remarks.
Master Smith's beard ruffled as he muttered inconsiderate words under his breath. “Yes, it's done,” he reluctantly replied.
Link was by his master in a flash. His eyes, gleaming with childhood innocence and purity, made contact with the elder's; they had a harsh and unwavering glare. Nevertheless, Master Smith picked his protege up by the back of his grass green tunic. He dangled a confused Link in the air until the apprentice saw the sword. It caught the radiance of the morning sun, as if it could absorb the life-giving energy from the rising star. Never before had a blade been so finely crafted. Link was at a loss for
words.
“Well, my little student, is the sword to your liking?” Master Smith had a haughty tone in his voice.
Link was silent for another moment. Only a “wow” was able to emerge from his lips when there was a knock at the door. Knocks, actually. Incessant, unrelenting, impatient knocks. Master Smith set Link back down on his feet to gawk at the sword. “Coming!” the blacksmith shouted at the rappings.
Master Smith opened the door like a shot. Putting his hands on his hips, the craftsman inspected his visitors. There were two of them. Both wore dark purple, knee-length tunics with white harem pants. They were tucked into their buckled black boots that went just above the ankles. Each of their heads held a cap that limply tapered down to their shoulders. Their pale faces were identical, cold; unmoving. The only difference between the two was that one carried a shortsword, while the other had a spear similar the the ones that Moblins fashion.
“King Hyrule was always an eccentric, but this is a little...” Master Smith thought internally, yet it showed on the outside with his perplexed face.
The one with the shortsword was the first to speak. “Are you the Maestro of this workshop?” he asked.
“Kids and their manners these days,” Master Smith started. “Do your parents teach you nothing about common courtesy? I swear, when I was a young lad –”
“Don't dodge the question. Are you or are you not the head blacksmith?” the soldier with the Moblin spear interrupted.
Master Smith sighed, “Listen, the sword isn't due to the castle until sunset. Was there some change in schedule? I see no reason for...”
The pair of soldiers tuned him out. They were whispering things to each other. I'm pretty sure it's him. No one else is here. He matches the description. Our Lord is waiting. Try not to hit any vital spots.
“...so if you could please let an old man be, I would highly appreciate it.” Feeling like a victor, the blacksmith closed his eyes and put on a confident smirk. His hands never left his hips the entire time. That was when the Moblin spear dug into his leg and the agonizing screams began. Unable to stand, Master Smith fell in horror. His eyes filled with bewilderment, pain, and hatred. The soldier ripped the spear out of his flesh, gashing the man's thigh. Blood trickled across the floor. It was especially scarlet from the glistening of the morning sun. “Who...are you people? Link..did you... get away...?” Master Smith had his teeth clenched, his hands doing the best they could to slow down the persistent bleeding. He slipped out of consciousness into a pool of his own blood, his soot-covered apron greedily soaking it all up.
Link had been watching the scene for a while, shaking nervously with the newly crafted blade about to fall out of his left hand's unsteady grip. Sweat and tears silently flowed down his face as a shortsword nudged his master's nearly lifeless chest.
“Yep, I'm sure he's out of it. So, which one of us is carrying the smith?” the guard poking Master Smith asked.
“You think I want to touch that thing?” the other disgustedly replied.
“I don't like anymore than you do, but our Lord is waiting. Any more time wasted and it might die.”
“Ugh, I'll just drag it by the collar with my spearhead. Why would our Lord want a good-for-nothing blacksmith like this?”
“It is supposed to be the best of its craft in of all of Hyrule and our master needs more slaves.”
“I don't care how good this thing is! The smith's at the mine are way better than this piece of trash! It isn't even worth living, let alone valuable to serve beside our Lord. If I were the head honcho, I'd kill it for fertilizer. Hylians aren't even worth eating. I don't want to risk the stomach poisoning I got last ti –“
Link snapped. He did not know what to do. Without any thought, he charged with his sword. The tears were so bad that all he saw were blurs. The boy was desperately shouting, the soldiers laughed at his pathetic attempt to save his master, but he was too traumatized to hear properly. The sword was frantically slicing the air, over and over; again and again, long after the soldiers dragged Master Smith out the door. Link just stumbled and fumbled until he could no longer walk. Then he crawled around bawling and wailing until his arms gave up on him.
All he could do was lie on the bloodstained floor, gazing out the entrance. At some point, a short, black figure appeared. He waddled over to Link, whose ears barely heard the figure say, “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Vaati sure has lost it since he stole that cap from Ezlo. Now then, what am I to do with you?”
With that, Link fainted from exhaustion.
I have had this idea for months to write a fanfic based off The Minish Cap, but never got around to it. I brainstormed ideas and got what I think should be a decent plot I can't say too much about it, except that is going to be way darker than the original game. Like, T for Teen or PG-13 darker. Also, just to keep in mind, this story uses the map in from the game it's based off of, but characters and items may be original or dragged from anywhere in the franchise. With that, here's the prologue:
The Sinful Cap - Prologue
The first day of spring let loose a sun no different than the day before into Link's golden, shaggy hair. The only thing that made that day any different from the last was the celebration held every year in Castle Town. There were games offering exotic prizes, free food made by the other races, and, most importantly for a blacksmith's apprentice, the chance to visit Hyrule Castle. Link had always dreamed of becoming a guard to serve under the king and the fair Princess Zelda. Despite his excitement, Link was only ten. He was too young to believe in alarm clocks.
“Link! Are you awake up there?!” Master Smith's voice reverberated throughout the small wood cabin. It shocked Link fiercely enough to make him leap out of bed in panic. It took him a few seconds to register the situation.
The youth gathered himself with a long, deep breath. While doing some quick morning stretches, he looked out the window and remembered what day it was. A toothy grin spread across his face, showing off his missing top incisor in the process, along with a mild chuckle.
Link rushed down the stairs, almost toppling over his own feet. When his big toe hit the first floor, he spun ninety degrees to the infernal heat of the smelting center, the other foot not getting the slightest chance to touch ground zero. For someone who had difficulty rising in the morning, Link was as restless as a Darknut.
“Gramps, did ya finish it?” Link's entire body was shaking with anticipation. His master stood in front of a window-lit anvil, obviously admiring something before turning to his student.
“Young man, where are your manners? I thought I raised you with better sense than that. Firstly, address me as 'Master', not 'Gramps' like some uneducated hooligan,” Master Smith readily, and rather huffily, corrected. “Secondly, greet me with a 'good morning' or a 'Did you have a pleasant sleep?' instead of ignoring your etiquette all together.”
“Ah, come on, it's the day of the festival! Can't you stop acting like King Hyrule for one day? And what about the sword? Is it done?” Link asked, barely affected by his teacher's remarks.
Master Smith's beard ruffled as he muttered inconsiderate words under his breath. “Yes, it's done,” he reluctantly replied.
Link was by his master in a flash. His eyes, gleaming with childhood innocence and purity, made contact with the elder's; they had a harsh and unwavering glare. Nevertheless, Master Smith picked his protege up by the back of his grass green tunic. He dangled a confused Link in the air until the apprentice saw the sword. It caught the radiance of the morning sun, as if it could absorb the life-giving energy from the rising star. Never before had a blade been so finely crafted. Link was at a loss for
words.
“Well, my little student, is the sword to your liking?” Master Smith had a haughty tone in his voice.
Link was silent for another moment. Only a “wow” was able to emerge from his lips when there was a knock at the door. Knocks, actually. Incessant, unrelenting, impatient knocks. Master Smith set Link back down on his feet to gawk at the sword. “Coming!” the blacksmith shouted at the rappings.
Master Smith opened the door like a shot. Putting his hands on his hips, the craftsman inspected his visitors. There were two of them. Both wore dark purple, knee-length tunics with white harem pants. They were tucked into their buckled black boots that went just above the ankles. Each of their heads held a cap that limply tapered down to their shoulders. Their pale faces were identical, cold; unmoving. The only difference between the two was that one carried a shortsword, while the other had a spear similar the the ones that Moblins fashion.
“King Hyrule was always an eccentric, but this is a little...” Master Smith thought internally, yet it showed on the outside with his perplexed face.
The one with the shortsword was the first to speak. “Are you the Maestro of this workshop?” he asked.
“Kids and their manners these days,” Master Smith started. “Do your parents teach you nothing about common courtesy? I swear, when I was a young lad –”
“Don't dodge the question. Are you or are you not the head blacksmith?” the soldier with the Moblin spear interrupted.
Master Smith sighed, “Listen, the sword isn't due to the castle until sunset. Was there some change in schedule? I see no reason for...”
The pair of soldiers tuned him out. They were whispering things to each other. I'm pretty sure it's him. No one else is here. He matches the description. Our Lord is waiting. Try not to hit any vital spots.
“...so if you could please let an old man be, I would highly appreciate it.” Feeling like a victor, the blacksmith closed his eyes and put on a confident smirk. His hands never left his hips the entire time. That was when the Moblin spear dug into his leg and the agonizing screams began. Unable to stand, Master Smith fell in horror. His eyes filled with bewilderment, pain, and hatred. The soldier ripped the spear out of his flesh, gashing the man's thigh. Blood trickled across the floor. It was especially scarlet from the glistening of the morning sun. “Who...are you people? Link..did you... get away...?” Master Smith had his teeth clenched, his hands doing the best they could to slow down the persistent bleeding. He slipped out of consciousness into a pool of his own blood, his soot-covered apron greedily soaking it all up.
Link had been watching the scene for a while, shaking nervously with the newly crafted blade about to fall out of his left hand's unsteady grip. Sweat and tears silently flowed down his face as a shortsword nudged his master's nearly lifeless chest.
“Yep, I'm sure he's out of it. So, which one of us is carrying the smith?” the guard poking Master Smith asked.
“You think I want to touch that thing?” the other disgustedly replied.
“I don't like anymore than you do, but our Lord is waiting. Any more time wasted and it might die.”
“Ugh, I'll just drag it by the collar with my spearhead. Why would our Lord want a good-for-nothing blacksmith like this?”
“It is supposed to be the best of its craft in of all of Hyrule and our master needs more slaves.”
“I don't care how good this thing is! The smith's at the mine are way better than this piece of trash! It isn't even worth living, let alone valuable to serve beside our Lord. If I were the head honcho, I'd kill it for fertilizer. Hylians aren't even worth eating. I don't want to risk the stomach poisoning I got last ti –“
Link snapped. He did not know what to do. Without any thought, he charged with his sword. The tears were so bad that all he saw were blurs. The boy was desperately shouting, the soldiers laughed at his pathetic attempt to save his master, but he was too traumatized to hear properly. The sword was frantically slicing the air, over and over; again and again, long after the soldiers dragged Master Smith out the door. Link just stumbled and fumbled until he could no longer walk. Then he crawled around bawling and wailing until his arms gave up on him.
All he could do was lie on the bloodstained floor, gazing out the entrance. At some point, a short, black figure appeared. He waddled over to Link, whose ears barely heard the figure say, “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Vaati sure has lost it since he stole that cap from Ezlo. Now then, what am I to do with you?”
With that, Link fainted from exhaustion.
