Linktober 2023

Day 1, Merchant

One traveler was notorious for buying from off the road merchants, salesmen that normal people would bypass. This man was told around fires like a ghost story.

Tags: Gen, Link Needs a Break, Link Uses Sign Language

People had to make a living somehow in this goddess-forsaken Kingdom. Peddling whatever you could, wherever you could was a job not many could handle, but those who did get by. In some ways it was a rewarding career. You got to see places, meet people, and do things most couldn't. Although some would argue the constant monster attacks aren't worth the pretty views and unique experiences.

Many people welcomed traveling merchants, although their wares were rarely bought unless by the people were willing to risk the unreliable and slightly shady goods. Their prices were fair and negotiable, although they always attempted to oversell. They had to make their living somehow. Yet if someone was willing to negotiate, they were kind.

But there was one man that never wanted to negotiate. He didn't speak, either. He used his hands to communicate in half-learned sign language. He paid for the goods at full price. He always looked underfed and exhausted. He was stressed, they could tell in his stance, the slight shake in his hands, the way his eyes darted around them, as if looking for a threat or escape route.

He said his name was Link. And he was more or less an urban legend.

The peddlers would gather at stables at night, pooling their goods together to make a meal for themselves. And they would talk about anything and everything, to anyone that would listen.

"I met an odd young man on the road last week," one man said over the fire at South Akkala stable. There was a group of them there, their carts and horses getting a well-deserved rest from traveling through the hard terrain. "He looked so nervous. And he paid full price! Poor guy looked too thin, but he insisted on the full price. I almost felt bad."

"Outrageous," one said. "Wonder what he was on," another commented.

"What did he look like?" another asked, raising a brow.

The first man spied him over the flames. "About yay tall, blonde hair, striking blue eyes. Quite a beauty, if he'd get cleaned up."

"He had a half mad look in his eyes," the other man supplied. "I saw him too. Said nothing, answered no personal questions. Met him around Lanayru Wetlands about a fortnight ago."

"I saw him in Hebra a week ago."

"I met him in East Akkala a few days ago, I think. Bought my entire supply of Hyrule herb."

"He bought a few jars of smotherwing butterflies."

"He bought the wings of a few warm darnners."

"Who do you think he is?"

"No clue. He gets around, that's for sure."

"How does he get from here to there so quickly?"

"Where does he get the rupees?"

"Perhaps he's a spirit of good fortune."

"Maybe he's a madman."

"He's probably both."

Link met another peddler on the road today. He stopped them and looked at their wares. The usual metirials that could be found if one just looked hard enough. Link knew where to find the best tasting rushrooms and where the smotherwing butterflies migrated this time of year and could get them for free in a couple hours if he really needed them.

But it wasn't really about needing the supplies. It's more about buying the things from these men risking their lives to make a living. They could have family wherever they came from. They could ne searching for a home. They could simply be trying to see this broken world, all the beauty and rich history it still has to offer. If they were willing to travel the monster infested roads, they needed the rupees much more than him.

Link never asks why they do what they do. It's not his place to wonder or ask. He's not a people person, anyway. He pays full price for the goods as the men look at him strangely, like they can't quite believe what they see. Link communicates in half-practiced sign, with as few gestures as possible so they don't ask many questions. Some ask anyway. Link's only answer is a shrug.

He always uses the goods, unless the mushrooms are rotten, or the arrows are snapped and brittle. On very special occasions he finds someone selling fabrics, and he can take them to Sophie or Lasli and get them turned into something nice. He always needs more arrows. He always needs more ingredients. And he always feels better after helping the men on the road selling whatever they could find. He thinks Zelda would be happy, too. Yet she would stop the men and talk their ear off, asking questions and listening to their tall tales.

The thought makes Link smile as he leaves the traveler behind.   

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