Jan 222012

After the raging success of my interview with the Lagiarcus I decided to continue my gaming icon interviews. After mulling over a few potential subjects, I realized there could be only one person to face my journalistic scrutiny – Lord Ghirahim, who rose to fame during The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword I made my way to Skyloft and began looking for people with a speech bubble over their heads. My source had informed me these were the people with something to say. After a few tedious conversations involving the strange Skyloftian language of grunts and hand gestures, I found out that the self-proclaimed demon lord had gotten himself an agent. Sparrot the fortune teller had decided it would be best to take up a secondary trade after the loss of his crystal ball and was representing Ghirahim to members of the press.

After a long, boring meeting with Sparrot where I was asked repeatedly to gaze into his eyes, I was able to arrange a meeting between Ghirahim and myself at a location just outside the Ancient Cistern. I chartered passage on a Loftwing, whose owner begrudgingly agreed to transport me after I dangled a few red rupees in front of his face.

I landed with surprising deftness on the ground below and stowed my sailcloth so I could take a look at the scene around me. The serenity of the sunshine and bright foliage was a stark contrast to the pure malice and evil radiating from Ghirahim as he paced beside the stools that had been set up for us. I inched closer to him very slowly, not wanting to appear as if I was a threat. When his back was turned I perched on my stool and put on my best cheesy grin and got my recording device ready.

Ghirahim faced me and when he saw me, his expression mirrored my own. After what seemed like an eternity (it was really only seconds) his serpentine tongue darted out from between his lips and licked at the air before retracting.

”Shall we get started?” I asked, not wanting my nervousness to show through in my voice. In a silent reply, Ghirahim took his stool and continued his menacing stare into my soul.

“I don’t know, shall we?” His tone was mocking, like a schoolyard kid who didn’t have the intellect for a better verbal jab. I chose to simply take it in stride and charged right in to the interview with my first question.

“So I think the obvious question on my readers’ minds is in regards to your fashion sense. It’s a bit like Jean Paul Gaultier meets Lady Gaga meets an Alice In Wonderland themed Cirque du Soliel show. Do you design your own clothes, and if not, where do you get them?”

“Every STITCH of clothing is of my own design. Every single garment is hand stitched from a sheet of fabric crafted from the cocoon silk of virgin Sacred Butterflies. It is then gently steamed over magma vents in the Eldin Volcano, and soaked in Kikwi tears. Do you really think pathetic HUMANS could possibly make apparel of appropriate design for my incredible physique?” Ghirahim scoffed at me and rolled his eyes so hard I could literally hear the sound they made – like a couple of ball bearings falling into a tin can.

“Ah yes,” I said, hoping the stutter in my voice wouldn’t be too obvious, “your…uh…’codpiece’ is quite pronounced in that particular garment.” That statement seemed to get a positive reaction out of the Demon Lord, and he arched an eyebrow slightly and took on a coy grin.

“Let’s go get something to eat after this interview, shall we? All this talking as left me absolutely faaammmissshed. I hear THE SOULS OF THE KIKWI are particularly sweet this time of year!!!!” He screamed at me as he leaned forward on his stool, clenching his fist. His facial veneer cracked to reveal darkness beneath.

“Uhhh…we’ll see. So for my next question, I was wondering what you like to do when you’re not plotting the end of life as we know it by resurrecting your ancient and undying master, Demise.”

It was clear that Ghirahim’s whole attitude had changed. He was perched on the edge of his chair and smiling, which was even more disconcerting that the malicious expression he had been sporting when the interview began. “Well, I do like sewing…I go through so many of my white jumpsuits these days. You would be surprised what an unsightly stain BUCKETS OF YOUR ENEMIES’ BLOOD will cause on white Sacred Butterfly silk. I also enjoy SHARPENING BLADES! Moonlit strolls through Faron Woods are nice too.”

I tried to stow my grimace at his random shouting. This was a demon lord on the edge of madness and I did not want to risk personal injury over this. “Tell me about your childhood. What was it like growing up as a young demon lordling?” I was did not like where this conversation was going and was trying to get it on another course.

“I was NEVER a child. I simply was.”

This time, it was my turn to roll my eyes. My imagination had formulated all sorts of probable outcomes for my meeting with this villain, but the last thing I expected was for him to slip into some existential beatnik poetry. I was only sad I hadn’t brought my bongos and beret.

“I can put both my legs behind my head,” my subject said, completely out of the blue. “Want to see? It is a uniquely delectable thrill unlike any you will see either in Skyloft or on the surface.” Before I could even answer, he had his lithe body on the ground, laying on his back, with both of his ankles behind his head. He was grinning at me impishly.

“Uhh..wow, that’s uh…..really special, Lord Ghirahim.” Was he coming on to me? As if in response to my silent, internal query, Ghirahim snapped his fingers (still in his fancy pose) and conjured a pair of red Bokoblins in a spray of brightly colored diamonds. One handed me a singular Ancient Flower, the other began playing a song on a rudimentary instrument that vaguely resembled a violin. I assume the song was supposed to be romantic. It was reminiscent of someone chewing broken glass while scraping a handful of rusty nails down a chalk board.

“Bleeeeep bleeeep!” I held my hand up to the side of my face in the classic “hang 10” gesture, pantomiming a telephone. “What’s that you say? Something bad has happened? I’ll be there right away!” I caught Ghirahim’s confused glance. “Oh that,” I said nodding toward my hand, “that’s the new Nokia.”

“I hate to cut this short my lord, but I must be on my way. There is a very pressing and urgent emergency I must attend to.” I was scrambling, gathering my belongings. At least he had gotten up off the ground by now, and dismissed the Bokoblins.

“I understand. Don’t be a stranger! Next time we meet I will not take your flirtation so…lightly.” The tone in his voice was enough for me to understand what he was implying. Ghirahim started to walk away, then turned and waggled his fingers at me over his should in a sort of prissy/cheeky wave, and then vanished in a poof of diamonds.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I made my way home. The path was easy, and involved only four lily pads, a whip, two clawshots, six bombs, and a red potion. I hadn’t gotten much printable material out of my interview with the Demon Lord Ghirahim, but with a generous font size and double…perhaps triple spacing. I knew I would be able to make a passable feature. As I flipped, jumped, swung, and rolled out of the Ancient Cistern area, I began trying to decide who I should do for my next interview. It would take someone really special to be as interesting, or terrifying, as this last one had been.

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