Astor's origin

Astor's Tale

Imagine if you will a young pale boy sitting alone, on the outskirts of his small village in Akkala. Travelers pass him by, paying him little mind. He lives alone with his mother. His father was a soldier once stationed at the Citadel, a man who ran away with another woman. The boy's mother sees him as a reminder of her unfaithful husband, tainted. She beats him often. It's Hylia's will, she always says, a way of cleansing his sins. Yet the boy never cries when she beats him. He never makes a sound. He just stares. And that makes her beat him more.

Late at night he'll leave the house and venture into Deep Akkala. He gazes at the stars, wondering what messages they have for him, what dark designs lay reflected in their light. One night he wanders further than usual... and soon he finds himself at the shores of a mysterious lake. It is deep, with no bottom in sight, like staring into a void, yet strange tall plants grow from it all the same. He begins to hear whispers. "Drink," they say. "Drink." He steps forward in fascination. "Drink, claim this power, drink and let the hatred and malice flow," the whispers grow more agitated, frantic, manic. Another boy might have been frightened, might have ran. But not this boy. He is drawn forth like a moth to a flame. And he drinks the waters from the skull lake.

It is dawn when the boy returns to his home. His mother is awake and waiting, cane in hand. She motions for the boy to come to her, to receive his punishment. But there is something different about the boy now. His pale skin has been bleached white. A dark aura surrounds him, dimming the light of the rising sun. And there is a feeling... a presence... like someone or something else stands there instead of the boy. His mother's voice trembles slightly, showing the first signs of fear.

It is the last mistake she will ever make.

The dark tendrils stab forward in an instant, piercing her heart before she can even blink. She makes no noise, the air ripped from her lungs, before she falls to the ground. The boy simply stands there. He does not cry. He never makes a sound.

He just stares.

By the time the neighbors discover the grisly scene, the boy is long gone. The whispers have directed him to parts unknown, to secret blasphemous shrines. They promise more power, more knowledge. The boy learns to be grateful for the voices. And in time he will work to bring their owner into the world once more.