Who: Ghirahim and you
Where: Near where the Church used to be
When: After meeting Ganondorf (and sulking for a few weeks)
Style: starting with prose, will match!
Status: open
The caves were quiet and boring. But it had given Ghirahim time to fume, scream in rage, swing swords and knives into walls, and sulk. Anger is good. Yes. Anger keeps him going, helps him keep focused. Whipping himself into a fury to be vented in complicated revenge plots and in carving up walls is preferable to the sickening feeling that's been hounding him since his reincarnated master rejected him.
Rejected.
It's a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach, a disgusting, soggy weight on his mind. Rejected. By Demise. Ghirahim has but one purpose. One thing that delights and drives him. Serve Demise...by what the demon king instilled in him millennia before. Kill. Maim. Destroy. All in his name. Ghirahim has enjoyed every minute of it. Even when he was fighting Link, no matter how much the sky boy infuriated him, he enjoyed the thrill of the fight.
And Demise's reincarnation doesn't want it. Ganondorf doesn't want anything to do with him, or any of it. Sola refuses to take Ghirahim for himself. He is a sword without a master. A demon without a purpose.
It's driving him insane.
He stops on the outskirts of the city. Yes, that's good. A nice big solid wall. He walks over to it and slams his head into it a few times in order to burn off the sickening amount of frustration that's built up in him. Which is where people are likely to find him, given how loud the metallic clangs from the impact of his head against the wall are.