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Pokémon Gifts of the Mountain

zion of arcadia

too much of my own quietness is with me
Pronouns
she/her
Partners
  1. marowak-alola
Submission for Small PMD Writer's Union October prompt:

General: "Look. I know this may be hard to believe, but I'm on your side."

Specific: A routine trip to buy dungeon supplies goes horribly wrong.

a/n: This oneshot was based on a concept I wrote a few years back but tweaked to better reflect my writing style and also incorporates more original characters. Wanderer is the protagonist of my Mystery Dungeon main fic (which will probably debut around the same time as Half-Life 3 at this rate). Her backstory is pretty much perfect for an anthology series, and it has the extra benefit of letting me further flesh out the character and the world, so I decided to roll with it. I wrote this in under a month, which is like mach speed compared to my normal glacial pace, although looking it over I spotted a number of things I strongly dislike. But oh well, too lazy to edit more. Enjoy.

Special thanks to Demiurgic Pen and Namohysip for beta reading and listening to my flailing. Especially Namo, for preventing me from committing the grievous sin of being typist, haha.


...

Mareep. Arbok. Roserade. Silcoon. Stunfisk. Lycanroc. Flabebe.

The world rocked back and forth. Wanderer was sailing far, far away, somewhere no one could find her. A sky for an ocean and clouds for waves solidified her fantasy. The various shapes were her companions, names long forgotten, accompanying Wanderer on her journey home.

"... and then there was the time he scalped that poor duskull. Turned around and sold the reaper cloth for twice as much as he'd bought it. Maybe this was a mistake. We should go back: he's fine. Probably."

Cinderblock was enormous, even for a mudsdale, her hooves not so much clopping as thudding against the gravel trail in a steady bass cadence. Her voice, by contrast, was soft and reedy, almost nasal, as she vacillated between timorous outrage and quiet concern.

For Cinderblock, shelves and counters filled the sky; fluffy white notice boards with memos denoting her next errand (transport and delivery more often than not); A strident bell ringing every time she entered and exited the store.

Impatient customers demanding to know where Kecleon was, when they could expect service, this was unacceptable, who was in charge around here. Cinderblock couldn't answer—words choked and died in her throat—and the longer he was gone, the angrier they became until:

A dusky-skinned marowak strolled in. Her calm indifference was like an eye of the storm.

"If I help you find him, could I get a discount?"


"... Do you think he's fine?" Cinderblock asked. Wanderer was surprisingly heavy. Solid and compact.

"Dunno. Only one way to find out," Wanderer said. She was tired, usually asleep during the day, and fought to keep her eyes open. The gentle rocking of Cinderblock's trot didn't help matters.

Cinderblock whinnied, melancholic, in response. There was silence for a time until Cinderblock took up complaining again with soft-spoken gusto. Tales of Kecleon's laziness, his bossiness, his cockiness, his kindness when two hungry siblings came by asking for food for their ill mother...

More clouds drifted across the sky. Wanderer lay on her back, hands resting behind her helmet, cradled between Cinderblock's broad shoulders. There was a sharp, clear scent hanging heavy in the air—pine resin—and the sense of a steady but gradual incline.

They say Groudon made these mountains. A promise of peace to both Rayquaza and Kyogre. They are ancient and have seen many things. Long after we die, they will remain.

A shadow scuppered the clouds. It circled overhead, lazily, and Wanderer traced its path. Lower, lower, lower, until it was not a shadow but a dragon, all sound and fury, red and blue and white with a slavering jaw and murderous intent—.

Wanderer bolted upright, reaching for her bow. But Cinderblock noticed their assailant too, heard wings slicing through the air like the hiss of a slit jugular, and reared, braying, before taking off at a gallop.

The world lurched, spinning; colors merged into a kaleidoscope of grey. Wanderer gripped Cinderblock's thick, ropey mane, clinging on for dear life. At last, Cinderblock slowed and eventually halted. Wanderer poked her head up.

They'd plunged off the path and deep into the mountain forest, thick branches and dappled shadows protecting them. Roars echoed overhead as the salamence declared their lives forfeit; there would be no mercy for trespassers. He spoke in the regal tongue of dragons, and Cinderblock did not understand him.

"Charming fellow." Wanderer hopped off Cinderblock's back and inspected her bow for any signs of damage. Thankfully it looked fine.

Cinderblock didn't answer. Her eyes rolled, and Cinderblock snorted, stamping the earth repeatedly (the earth trembled in response). A shadow the size and weight of clay bricks (like the ones she'd haul back to the store) rested on her heart. She was large, but the might of a salamence would crush her—grind her into dust.

"We're doomed," Cinderblock said. She shied away when Wanderer turned toward her. "We're doomed. We're doomed, and so is Kecleon, he's dead, I just know it, oh, I should've come sooner, he's dead and it's my fault and soon we'll be dead too—."

"Cinderblock. Breathe. Just breathe." Wanderer suddenly had an air of authority about her, eyes gleaming pale blue within the off-white mask. Cinderblock stopped talking and stared. "In through your nose and out through your mouth."

Cinderblock complied, nostrils flaring. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Again. And again. Slowly, Cinderblock relaxed. Then the wind changed direction, bringing with it a familiar scent. It smelled like safety; it smelled like home.

"Kecleon is somewhere nearby." Cinderblock's ears pricked forward.

Wanderer gestured. "Lead the way."

They slogged through thick bramble and dense underbrush. Neither dared risk the open road, not with a salamence lurking in the skies.

The going was slow and arduous, Cinderblock stopping often to find the scent trail again. She fretted that they were heading in the wrong direction—she was no lycanroc, no beartic, after all—and Wanderer soon tuned Cinderblock out.

"Did you know there was a salamence in the area?" Wanderer asked suddenly. The salamence had fallen silent, setting her far more on edge than when he had been crudely asserting dominance.

"No. Well, there's reports of a very dangerous one living deep in the mountains. But these are just the fringes."

A roar punctuated the exchange.

"Looks like he's expanding." Wanderer groaned, relaxing somewhat. "Such a hassle."

All she'd wanted were supplies for a shortcut through the Thadrian Desert mystery dungeon so she could reach Steelmont quicker. And somehow that simple need had spiraled into traipsing through a forest at elevation while keeping an eye out for a territorial salamence.

This is why you never cut deals, Wanderer. Always fucks you over in the long run.

Cinderblock stopped. An enormous tree loomed before them, ancient and sprawling, roots jutting out of the earth and revealing a gaping chasm beneath. "He's here."

She was too large to fit into the entrance, even her head barely squeezing into the space. Drawing back, bits of debris clinging to her mane, Cinderblock faced Wanderer. Wanderer understood.

"Won't be long, Cindy."

Cinderblock snorted at the distasteful nickname but stepped aside. She mournfully watched Wanderer squirm inside.

The tunnel beneath the tree was dark and damp. Wanderer rifled through her things, pulling out a bone club, and the end burst into magenta flame. Her night vision was excellent, but Wanderer didn't want to risk startling Kecleon. She walked forward, holding the torch aloft.

The tunnels are full of terrors
Killing among fields of mushroom and mold
The lights are eyes of cave dwellers
They whisper 'if you dare come seek our gold'
Sharp fangs like knives
They watch from the walls
Buried miles beneath the sky
You hear their cries
As the earth around them falls
The end for us all is nigh

After an interminable length of time, she spotted a stranger's fire. The tunnel broadened into a cavern. Kecleon sat hunched in the center, surrounded by incomprehensible scrawling, watching her approach. He was suspicious and wary.

"Stay back. Back, I say!" Kecleon growled out. His ribs were showing; his scales were sallow.

Wanderer held up her arms, non-threatening. "I mean you no harm, Dunner."

"What did you just call—actually, never mind. Who sent you? It was that nosy fool, Kirlia, wasn't it? I bet it was." Kecleon bristled.

He'd never seen a marowak quite like her before but knew pokémon were sometimes born strangely colored, and therefore rationalized her oddities away.

"No, I, wait, do you mean Kirlia from the bazaar? That Kirlia?"

"I knew it."

"No, no, no. I wouldn't work for that jagoff." He'd ripped her off back in Meadowford. "Came looking for you along with Cindy—I mean, Cinderblock."

"Cinderblock is here? That witless pack mule managed to track me down all the way out here? I don't believe you." Kecleon relaxed despite himself. Cinderblock was his most loyal employee; she would never betray him.

Wanderer remained expressionless, but the flame on her torch turned an ugly, violent shade of red. "It's true. The entrance was too small, so she's waiting for us by the tree. Now hurry up and let's get out of here."

"Absolutely not. Salamence, the beastly creature, has stolen my supplies, and I won't budge until I get them back."

He'd toiled deep in the mountains searching for those supplies—shed blood and tears in the process, only for it to be leeched from him by a parasite. Kecleon could not, would not, abide someone who broke bread on the back of another's hard work.
Wanderer was tempted to turn and leave then and there. But that wouldn't fly with Cinderblock. Sighing, Wanderer knelt, face-to-face with Kecleon. He squinted at her, mucus congealing in the corners of his eyes.

"Don't be stupid, Dunner. Let's get you home and let a guild worry about this salamence."

"No. He is a thief, and has taken what is mine." Kecleon's claws scraped and kneaded the earth. He was a demon possessed, scales darkening, teeth bared with restrained fury. "I already have a plan. The locals don't like Salamence any more than I; he came only a few months back, driven out of his home because it was turning into a mystery dungeon, supposedly, which would be very sad and all if he wasn't such a brute. Honestly, the rabids there might be better off."

Kecleon then dragged a piece of parchment—faded and worn, creased and wrinkled—lines scribbled in charcoal webbing across its face. He smoothed out the map, a futile effort, staring knowingly at Wanderer. She said nothing.

"This is a map of the tunnel system throughout the mountain range. The locals gave it to me. Salamence lives here"—Kecleon drew a line to a northwestern point circled in red—"and that's where he hoards all his stolen treasures. Help me get back what's mine, and you can have your pick of whatever remains as your reward. And, with Cinderblock here, we can perhaps haul even more back…"

He became lost in a vision filled with jewels and baubles and rare items and sweet, sweet revenge.

Wanderer pulled the map toward her, inspecting it. She quelled the urge to throttle Kecleon, and after a moment, sighed in resignation. "Okay, fine. I'm in. But we can't get there through here; Cinderblock is too large.

Kecleon tsked and tapped his chin. "There should be a trail a few miles away that'll bring us to Salamence's home. An irritating setback but unavoidable, I suppose. Very well, let's be off."

He brushed past her. Wanderer gritted her teeth but followed suit. They exchanged empty pleasantries, the return trip somehow twice as long as when Wanderer first ventured down the tunnel.

"So, you know the Egg?" she asked, in an attempt at small talk. Only worms and fungi and roots kept them company.

"I have no idea what you mean by that."

"Kirlia."

"Oh. Him." Kecleon scowled and ploughed straight into the earthen tunnel wall. Wanderer held her torch higher. He stepped back, 'harrumphed', and then continued, "He has this thing called a grab bag. You've heard of it?" Kecleon didn't wait for an answer. "Ridiculous name, don't know how anyone takes it seriously. Grab bag. Grrrrab bagge.

"Anyway, grab bags are a cancer, like dive bars. Or religion. What's in the bag? Open it and chances are you'll get a plain seed, or maybe an oran berry. But if you're really lucky, it'll be something rare, like a gold ribbon or a specialty orb, and all for a 'bargain'. Today might just be the day I win big. I won't, but I might. Bah. It's a scam, but they fall for it every time, hook, line, and sinker. And you know what pisses me off the most? That Kirlia thought of it first."

Kecleon smacked a fist into his opposite palm.

"Truly a tragedy." Wanderer lapsed into silence, disinterested in prolonging the conversation. Being around Kecleon filled her with immense distaste; she wondered what Cinderblock saw in him.

Cinderblock was overjoyed when Kecleon emerged from the bowels of the earth, then baffled by his abrupt explanation of the situation, and then aghast when everything clicked into place. She trailed behind them, skittish but quiet, eyes rolling and shying away from even the most inconspicuous of sounds.

Aside from a few terse instructions, Kecleon ignored Cinderblock. He remained focused on the map and the current task. Only when Wanderer suggested they eat did Kecleon stop. He voraciously tore into their food like one dying.

They came upon the main road cutting a path through the forest and up the mountain. It was broad and open. Exposed. They'd need to cross it to get to their destination. Dread premonition pricked Wanderer's neck, and she yanked Kecleon back.

"Wait, numbskull. It's not safe. Everyone, get down."

They all crouched, Cinderblock rather awkwardly and clumsily, hiding in the thicket. Nothing happened. Kecleon, losing patience, fidgeted. They heard a noise from down the path. Everyone froze. Kecleon camouflaged with his surroundings, only the bright red stripe across his belly unchanged. He hunkered lower to the ground in hopes of hiding it.

The ursaring strode forward with a confident tread, hailing from the north and having the misfortune to not be in the range of Salamence's territory during Wanderer and Cinderblock's frantic escape. An enormous hiking pack hung from his back. He moved easily, uninhibited by the weight, singing a nonsense tune, voice deep and smooth like honey.

"A mew few pew, a mew few pew
Aiye aiye aiye a mew few pew
A gloom, a gloom
Aiye aiye aiye a mew few pew"
A living tempest descended from the heavens. Trees bent before the whirling frenzy, bowed before their king. The ursaring stopped singing, adopting a defensive stance, expression a mixture of wariness and fear.

Salamence stood there, impassive, looming larger than life. No interlopers would pass without paying the toll. Smoke curled out of his nostrils, and his eyes burned with brimstone.

Cinderblock bit into a thick, jutting root to muffle any screams.

"Give me your bag. Now." Salamence's voice rumbled like thunder. Ursaring faltered and then stood tall with foolish defiance. He shook his head.

When Salamence spoke again, smoke poured out of his jaws. "Very well. Answer the riddle, and you may pass:

"What force and strength cannot get through
I with a gentle touch can do,
and many in the street would stand
were I not a friend at hand."​

A key. It was a key. But only Wanderer realized the answer, for Salamence spoke in his native tongue, and few knew the language of dragons. Cheater. He played by his own rules.

Ursaring stared at Salamence, blank and uncomprehending before his expression shifted, and he attacked with a snarl. If he did not fight, he would die. He moved quickly for one his size, bounding on the balls of his feet. But fast as Ursaring was, Salamence was faster; only Wanderer tracked both their movements fully.

Salamence's tail, thick as a tree trunk, lashed out, tripping Ursaring. Salamence spun and lunged, pinning Ursaring down. Ursaring struggled, but it was feeble like a reed wall in the face of a hurricane.

Ursaring remembered, then, with startling clarity, where the river met the stars, where the silver flash of fish scales met the golden shine of sunlight, where his mother took him as a cub and how he never—.

Cinderblock whimpered into the root. The world went still.

Salamence paused, tilting his head. Then he growled and turned Ursaring over, like a doll, ripping off the bag and spilling its contents onto the ground. Water and berries rolled free.

"Worthless." More smoke billowed from Salamence's mouth.

He caught sight of a metallic gleam and rifled through the pile. A gold bracelet glittered in the bright sunlight. Salamence picked up the bracelet, inspecting it, and then, satisfied, slipped it on his tail. He admired his appearance before gathering the rest of Ursaring's pack, and took off in a whirlwind, heading home to his hoard.

No one dared to move for a long time. At last, Kecleon summoned his courage, creeping across the road. Slowly the others followed. They couldn't afford to dally. The dull eyes of the dead ursaring watched them leave, unspoken accusation burning into their backs.

Cinderblock cried softly.

"Kecleon, can we please go home? I'm scared," she sniffled.

"Go? After all of that? Absolutely not!" Kecleon was shaken, too, and hid behind false bravado. He couldn't back down in front of his employee. "It's all the more imperative we strike now and show that menace what's what. I've been tracking Salamence for the last few days. He'll bring his new, ill-begotten treasures home and then leave again at dusk to hunt."

Wanderer was silent but grim. Loathe to admit it, she agreed with Kecleon—Salamence was a menace. To do nothing yet again felt wrong. Her eyes burned silver within the confines of her helmet, and the shadows around Wanderer swayed. The group continued their trek up the mountain.

The forest and the air both thinned as they rose higher and higher. Wanderer could see Cinderblock's breath. Kecleon led the way, checking his map from time to time, and directed them toward a narrow, winding path along the side of the mountain.

Cinderblock eyed the path nervously but didn't voice her concerns aloud. Wanderer was also worried, but for a different reason: they would be wholly exposed scaling the mountain. Kecleon pressed onward, assuring them that Salamence wouldn't leave yet—that there was a crevice further up the mountain they could wait in until dusk—and they had no choice but to follow.

Moving slowly, precariously, taking each step like it might be her last (which, if wrong, it very well could be), Cinderblock lagged behind the others. Her caution proved wise, for the earth crumbled away—but it wasn't Cinderblock who fell. It was Kecleon.

He yelped as he plummeted and reached out, grabbing the swiftly disintegrating ledge. It only held for a moment, but that fraction of a second gave Cinderblock time to react. She lunged forward, biting Kecleon's shoulder—he cried out in pain—and tossing him onto her back.

The entire path was falling away, and Wanderer grabbed hold of Cinderblock as she bolted past. They charged forward, wild and careless, terror lending Cinderblock wings as she raced against death itself. At last, the ground beneath her feet widened out and became stable. Cinderblock didn't slow down.

"Stop! Stop! We're safe!" Kecleon shouted. Cinderblock skidded to a halt, sides heaving and covered in lather. Kecleon dismounted, as did Wanderer, after a brief pause. Touching his back, blood shone slick and red on his claws. Kecleon bit back a snarl. "Look at what you did to me!"

He brandished his claws. Flecks of blood dotted Cinderblock's muzzle; she pinned her ears back. Before Cinderblock could apologize, Wanderer had Kecleon shoved up against the mountain wall. Her bone club pressed against his throat. She burned hot like a miniature sun.

"Count your blessings, Dunner. Personally, I would've let you fall and saved us a lot of trouble."

"Marowak!" Cinderblock's voice was shrill and loud. "L-leave him alone."

Kecleon choked in response. Wanderer let go and backed away—Kecleon dropped to the ground with a strangled cry—scanning the valley.

Before them spread an ocean of trees, covering the lower half of the mountain range. She picked out the main path, like a vein in the mountain's wrist, as well as various lakes from the glacier that had passed through the area many centuries ago. And even farther away, on the edge of the horizon, lay the shadow of the city of Earthbound. Wanderer turned toward the tip of the mountain, capped in snow, and—.

"Oh. Found the crevice," Wanderer said.

Wanderer slept, dreaming of long-forgotten memories, while they waited for dusk. Kecleon nursed his injuries—and his pride—in sullen silence. Cinderblock stared at the horizon, quietly longing for home. She wondered if the ursaring had had a family.

"No one else wanted to come look for me, did they?" Kecleon asked out of nowhere.

Cinderblock didn't answer, which was an answer in and of itself.

A fierce roar woke Wanderer. She stretched and shook away the cobwebs of the past. They watched Salamence fly past, spiraling down into the valley on blood-red wings. Kecleon stood, grim and determined.

"Stay here, Cinderblock. It's safer that way. We won't be long." He walked away without another word. It was a definite improvement in Wanderer's opinion.

The cold nipped at their skin. Frost threaded across Kecleon's scales like delicate silver lace. He shivered, stripe along his belly bright red against a pale white backdrop, and brushed away the frost with a soft crssh.

Crystals webbed the cracks in Wanderer's skull helmet before melting from her internal body heat. Gentle eddies of steam swirled around her. She felt nothing more than mild annoyance.

They walked in silence far more frigid than their surroundings.

"Would you really have let me fall?" Kecleon asked.

"Probably not." Wanderer scratched the underside of her chin with her club.

The scrape of bone on bone—like nails on slate—had Kecleon grinding his teeth. Something about her mannerisms and appearance struck him as vaguely familiar, but Kecleon couldn't put his claw on why, and she was far too irksome a creature to devote much energy on anyway.

"Why are you here, anyway? What's in it for you?"

"What, don't think I'm doing it out of the goodness of my heart?"

Kecleon snorted.

Wanderer relented and said, "I was promised a discount."

"... How much?"

"Half-off."

Kecleon stopped and stared. Then, grumbling under his breath about Cinderblock's utter lack of business sense, he strode forward again. One way or another, Salamence would pay.

"She's a good girl," Kecleon said out-of-nowhere. Wanderer blinked. "There were two brothers, young, they often came by and bought supplies for their sick mother. Cinderblock would give them rides. Rambunctious little rapscallions, but she never once complained. I always had to make them stop when they went too far. Sometimes I forget that."

Wanderer didn't respond. But she disliked him a little less, then.

They reached Salamence's lair. It gaped, dark and deep, filled with unknown terrors. Wanderer waited at the mouth of the cave, keeping a lookout, while Kecleon plunged inside.

He stifled a gasp. Dying light filtered in from the entrance, revealing a sight far exceeding his wildest expectations. Treasures overflowed within the cavern—a sea of gold, gleaming, glittering, glimmering, glinting.

Mine, all mine.

Orbs and statues and seeds and items and bags and more flotsam drifted among the precious waters. In the center stood the lone island: a pedestal on which a strange clear sphere rested. Kecleon had never seen anything like it before.

He moved toward the sphere, fixated, only nominally aware of his surroundings. Coins clinked beneath his feet. It was warm, much warmer than outside, and idly Kecleon wondered if the cave led to some sort of vent deep within the earth's bowels. Or perhaps one of Salamence's items kept the place heated.

The sphere had a twisting series of red, white, and blue light caught within it. The lights writhed, trapped in an obscene dance for eternity. Kecleon touched the sphere, admiring its lack of imperfections, its smooth texture until it grew hot in his paws, and he dropped it with a hissed curse. The resulting clatter echoed loudly in the abrupt, claustrophobic silence, and Kecleon froze.

"Dammit, would you hurry up?!" Wanderer paced at the entrance.

Kecleon growled but set about searching for his bag. He spotted a variety of fascinating trinkets he longed to examine in further detail, but his own supplies proved infuriatingly elusive. Then Kecleon came across a familiar, abnormally large bag.

He tasted the air with his tongue and recognized the ursaring's scent, as well as the scent of blood and death (cold and hollow and empty like frozen caverns high in the mountains). Overwhelmed by sudden nausea, Kecleon doubled over, claws on his knees. The world tilted askew, and he swallowed back his bile.

"Uh, Dunner, we've got company coming in hot."

Fuck.

Kecleon scrambled, search turning frantic, almost tripping over loose coins. There. He recognized that specific cross stitch pattern anywhere. He dove, cradling the bag close, burying his head in the leather and breathing in safety and home—.

Salamence landed with a thump outside the cave's mouth. Wanderer had fled.

"I smell intruders," Salamence drawled, low and sibilant.

Kecleon knew a few words of Salamence's language, but it was a broken, garbled mess. However, Kecleon didn't need to understand to know he was in grave danger. His scales transformed into the colors of his surroundings, and he held himself very still.

Salamence swung to and fro, like a charmed snake, eyes burning with fire and brimstone. His forked tongue flicked out. When he stepped forward, the dunes of gold trembled.

"Oi, behind you."

Salamence whipped around. Kecleon's heart leaped into his throat; Wanderer had returned for him.

She stood, feet spread shoulder-width apart, bow drawn and knocked and gripped so hard her knuckles turned white. Already Wanderer regretted her stupid decision, but the time for regrets was long past. Salamence loomed over her.

"I know you, Immortal Flame. I have heard the stories."

"Well, stories often exaggerate," she answered in his native tongue. Salamence didn't visibly react, but he was impressed.

"You must have a great many treasures." Salamence's greed shone through his voice and eyes. "After all these years."

"Not really the possessive type." Wanderer cleared her throat. "Although I heard a rumor that if anyone could beat you in a series of riddles, they'd have the pick of your hoard."

A blatant lie. Suspicious, Salamence growled, asking, "And where did you hear that?"

Kecleon began to move. Slowly, cautiously, like every step was his last (which a single misstep would be). He didn't dare so much as breathe.

"Around. You know how rumors are." Wanderer feigned indifference. "I take it you're not interested, then?"

Salamence cocked his head, studying her. He indulged in this sudden amusement. "And if I win, you will give me a precious treasure of your own?"

"Sure."

Salamence reared up and slammed down on the ground. Kecleon fell over, but his graceless trip was masked by the various treasures tumbling around him. Salamence said, "Any tricks and I will kill you."

Then:

"In marble walls as white as milk,
lined with skin as soft as silk,
within a fountain crystal clear,
a golden apple does appear,
no doors are there to this stronghold-
yet thieves break in and steal the gold."​

Wanderer watched a red stripe drag a bag, edging against the cavern wall, from behind Salamence. She cleared her throat loudly. Something precious others tried to steal? A treasure that wasn't conventional—oh.

"An egg."

Salamence snorted in response. But he didn't attack. Pleased, Wanderer adjusted her grip, palms sweaty. Then she said:

"A hill-full, a hole-full
You cannot catch a bowl-full."​

Salamence became stone. Only his eyes moved in the dying light. At last, he said, "Fog."

"Mist, technically."

A growl rumbled in Salamence's throat.

"But fog works too." Wanderer shrugged. The arrow pointing straight at Salamence never wavered.

Pleased, Salamence unfurled his wings and stood a little taller. Solving riddles always brought him immense satisfaction. His tail swiped just above Kecleon's head (who froze, overcome with heart-pounding terror). Salamence said:

"Only one color, but not in size,
Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies,
Present in sun, but not in rain,
Doing no harm, and feeling no pain."​

Wanderer knew this riddle. She smiled and told him the answer.

Kecleon edged ever closer to freedom. He knew a technique that would let him melt into the shadows and escape, but he'd have to leave his bag behind. That wasn't an option. Wanderer's own, long shadow came alive for a brief moment and winked at him.

Salamence snarled, irate, claws digging into stone with a loud, unholy squeal. Wanderer gritted her teeth. She said:

"What goes on four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three in the evening."

A long pause. Salamence hesitated.

"Mew?"

Wanderer shook her head, triumphant. "A human."

Salamence roared, loud enough that the earth both above and below cracked and shook all around them.

"CHEATER!"

CHE-ater che-AT-er cheat-ER...

Kecleon stumbled again, the ground beneath his feet shaking, and this time Salamence heard. He turned, fire in his mouth, and Wanderer shot him. Her arrow found its mark, striking Salamence's eye. He screamed, high-pitched like a dying animal, and thrashed, knocking Wanderer over.

Kecleon scrambled to his feet and ran. The last thing he saw was Salamence, jaws snapping shut around Wanderer—she exploded into ash and shadow with a cry that cut off sharply like a snuffed candle—and all he could do was run and run and run.

The thin, frozen air dug knives into his lungs. Salamence was still screaming, and Kecleon's ears rang with the call of the clarion. The world spun on its axis—the world was ending, everything falling apart, he was falling apart at the seams, and then the sky vanished, and only dark earth remained to swallow him whole, just like the tunnels he'd crept and crawled through for weeks on end (and for what?).

Kecleon heard Cinderblock say his name. He clutched his bag close to his chest, breaths coming out in short, rapid bursts. His throat closed up, and all he could see was Wanderer dying, and it was all his fault.

It was all his fault.

"Kecleon!" Cinderblock tried for the umpteenth time. Kecleon rocked back and forth and didn't answer.

Outside Salamence hurtled through the air, shrieking obscenities. It took a long time for his cries to fade. His rage and pain circled around the crevice, pinning them in.
Despair welled within Cinderblock, followed by determination. She was afraid, but she had to try. She had to be brave. Kneeling, the movement awkward in such a cramped, confined space, Cinderblock brought herself eye level with Kecleon.

"Breathe, Kecleon. Just breathe. In through the nose and out through the mouth."

He choked on his spittle. Snot and tears dripped down his scales onto the worn leather of his bag. Like a child, Kecleon reached out, desperate for something to anchor him to reality, and splayed his claws against her chest. Cinderblock's large heart thrummed steadily beneath his palm.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth. All to the rhythm of Cinderblock's heartbeat. Thud, thud, thud. At last, Kecleon drew back. He pawed at his face in quiet shame.

"Marowak?" Cinderblock asked. Kecleon didn't answer. Cinderblock's ears drooped, and she looked away. Unshed tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. She hated Salamence then like she'd never hated anyone before, hated him with a quiet desperation.

"I heard her. She sounded like she was in so much pain. I…" He buried his head in his paws. Cinderblock didn't know what to say.

"Do you remember the time you invited me to feastday with your brother?" she asked out-of-nowhere. Immediately, Cinderblock felt like a blockhead. But Kecleon, blinking and baffled, looked up. Cinderblock barreled forward, enunciating poorly but driven onward by earnest emotion. "It was the best meal I'd ever had. I wanted you to know that. Just in case. When you didn't come back, I, I was afraid I wouldn't."

Kecleon stared at her. When he was young he'd go with his brother into the marketplace where all sorts of pokémon hawked their wares. And Kecleon had liked all the items on display, yes, liked admiring them, but what he'd loved was the banter, the back-and-forth between merchant and client as they danced with their eyes and with their mouths until reaching terms. The items simply facilitated the dance. It had been so beautiful.

When had he become so cold?

After a moment, Kecleon shivered and smiled, strained, drained, but real. "It was a very good meal, yes. Brother has a gift when it comes to the culinary arts. The stuffing, in particular, was divine."

"I liked the cornmeal," Cinderblock said. Kecleon chuckled. Something locked into place, the certainty of conviction, and he became calm and determined.

"We need to do something." Kecleon stood. His dark, beady eyes burned bright. "He needs to pay. All those things and he doesn't do anything with any of it! They just sit there when they could be out in the world helping someone somewhere. An item that isn't used is worthless. He is worse than a thief, he is a miser. There must be a reckoning, all those pokémon, and I—."

Kecleon's voice failed him, and he stared at his feet. The soft, almost rubbery lips of Cinderblock's muzzle brushed against his fin crests.

"I'm with you." And she meant it. He'd stood by her in her darkest hour, when she had nothing and no one, and given her a chance to make something out of her life. Cinderblock treasured Kecleon.

His paws dropped to his side. Kecleon smiled, eyes suddenly filmed over with tears once more. "Thank you."

They planned and prepared, swiftly because they were rapidly losing daylight. Cinderblock hid further down the trail, close enough to help but far enough away that Salamence wouldn't spy her. Hopefully.

Kecleon rifled through his bag, pulling out a luminous orb. He could see his reflection in the smooth crystal and grimaced. Walking to the crevice entrance, Kecleon held the orb aloft, closed his eyes, and broke it with a loud crack. A brilliant white light sang out, cutting through the darkness, and a gentle wind caressed his scales.

Dots spotted his vision. Kecleon blinked, dizzy, and stumbled back a few paces, leaning against the wall for balance. An answering roar pierced the heavens, followed by a dark shade hurtling into view.

Salamence barreled toward Kecleon, red tears streaming out of one slit of an eye. Blood streaked the hunter's muzzle. Fire rumbled in his maw.
Kecleon took out a seed, aimed, and lobbed it at Salamence. The seed exploded, knocking Salamence off course. He crashed into the side of the mountain with an ear-splitting cry. The mountain shook, rocks and debris showering Kecleon, and he fled deeper into the crevice, terrified.

Salamence hauled himself up and lunged forward, spewing smoke everywhere. He was slightly too big for the entrance, but he didn't care—there would be retribution—and brute-forced his way inside. The mountain quaked and quailed before Salamence's unmitigated fury.

Cinderblock witnessed it all. She reared up and slammed her massive hooves into the earth. The heart of the mountain stirred. Cinderblock tried coaxing it ("help me"), but the mountain was afraid ("he is the wind that wears me away").

Had she failed? But she couldn't, Kecleon would die if she failed. He trusted her.

Cinderblock became angry ("help me or else I'll never forgive you!"), and the mountain's heart beat faster. Cinderblock slammed into the stone once again. It reached forward with outstretched fingers, became a clenched fist, and the world began to end.

Violent tremors shook the crevice to its core. Kecleon lost his footing, stumbled, the contents of his bag spilling loose, items tumbling free. He reached out as if to gather them close, clutch them to his breast, and then instead grabbed a single, solitary seed and chucked it behind him at the onrushing Salamence.

bang

Flowers of fire blossomed forth. Stone screeched and squealed in protest. Salamence roared, but now panic tinged his voice; he'd realized the trick too late.

"Wait!" Salamence cried, turning, desperate, but Kecleon did not understand him.

The heat scorched Kecleon's dark red scales, debris striking him as the crevice collapsed. He needed to escape. With one last longing glance at what remained of his supplies, Kecleon melted into the shadows of the earth.

Everything was dark. Kecleon had never been great at sneaking through shadows. And the path was breaking down. He would be lost forever if he wasn't quick.

A magenta flame appeared. It bobbed in front of him and then began drifting forward. When Kecleon didn't follow, it stopped and twitched, an air of—of impatience to the action. Something about it felt familiar.

"Marowak?"

No answer. It started moving again, and Kecleon placed his trust in it. They walked together on paths and tunnels unseen. When he resurfaced, it felt like breathing for the first time; the cold, thin air had never tasted so wonderful.

Kecleon rolled onto his back, coughing, covered in ash and dust, ugly burns blackening his arms. Cinderblock hovered over him, worried. He sat up, wincing, and rubbed the back of his neck.

The crevice had become a tomb. Nothing stirred from it.

Both Kecleon and Cinderblock took a moment to just breathe. They mourned Wanderer together in silence. Cinderblock even mourned Salamence, because that was just who she was.

"What now?" Cinderblock finally asked.

Kecleon thought about the question. He thought about a lot of things. His stomach growled.

"Let's get something to eat and discuss your promotion. I'm sure the locals will be very interested to hear all about what happened." Kecleon stood and brushed some of the dirt off. Cinderblock stared at him, wide-eyed. Kecleon hauled himself onto her back with difficulty, grumbling about his own lack of height, and then patted her neck. "And, Cinderblock? I'm sorry."

Her ears pricked forward, and she nickered in response. They began the long trek home. Not once did Kecleon look back.



Kecleon was old, scales faded, and had seen many types from behind the counter. When the scrawny scrafty came in, just short on poké, Kecleon gave him an apple regardless and threw in a piece of candy as a buy-one-get-one-free special (the special ended as soon as the scrafty walked out the door).

Cinderblock was in back taking stock. Arthritis had slowed her down quite a bit. She didn't often handle physical affairs anymore.

The door chimed open. In sauntered a dusky-skinned marowak: Wanderer looked the same as all those years ago.

"Hey, so, about that discount, Dunner?"
 
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NebulaDreams

Ace Trainer
Partners
  1. luxray
  2. hypno
Okay, wow. I don't think I'll do a preamble for this one and just cut to the chase, like this one-shot did with its own premise. I'm not sure what I was expecting going into it, but I was definitely floored by some aspects, mostly to do with the atmosphere and the prose of the story. Well, they kind of go hand in hand with each other in this case, but in any case, that was what stood out to me the most about this one-shot. I don't think I've read a PMD story that has evoked such a classic fantasy feel to it like this one has. Not only in terms of the PMD setting, which is arguably fantasy, but also in terms of its general pacing, some tidbits about the world (especially where other mons and dragons stand) and the mysticism surrounding it, especially with the sing-songy passages here and there with the riddles and such.

For me, the prose was the strongest aspect of this story. It conveys a lot of information in a short amount of time without needing to go into long scene-setting descriptions. It knows when it needs to hit a beat and does it as concisely as possible, so it can rely on the strength of the storytelling. With introductions as evocative as these: 'A dusky-skinned marowak strolled in. Her calm indifference was like an eye of the storm.', again, it does a lot of stuff just through the power of the words. It does establish a lot about Wanderer's cool demeanour and her general attitude throughout the fic. There are other passages like the Ursaring's life flashing before his eyes before he's crushed by the Salamence that also evoked fear and sadness despite him just being a character with only one scene. While I think this is a great strength of your writing, this also leads into my main gripe with this fic: the pacing.

For me, things moved a bit too fast for them to have much impact. The story and emotional beats are there, with Kecleon's character development and Wanderer's 'death', but since the story doesn't slow down to let the characters breathe that much beyond establishing their base motivations, there was a lot of dissonance between how I was supposed to feel for the characters and what lasting impression it ultimately left on me. It's hard to know where exactly you could've fit all of this in without changing the writing style, since again, conciseness is a strength of yours, but stuff like the interactions between the characters, especially with Wanderer's protective dynamic for Cinderblock, as well as Cinderblock's relationship with Kecleon, could've been magnified since it's evident in the story through their actions, but the pacing doesn't really reinforce that. Maybe some scene setting, or just a chance for the characters to enjoy a moment together in their natural environment, would've conjured up more emotional investment in them when the stakes eventually start getting higher at the end.

I do have one small nitpick about the swearing as well, which fit the gritty tone of the piece, but also felt a bit out of place in a PMD setting. Outside of that, I enjoyed reading this story and am excited to read more of your works when they eventually come out.
 

zion of arcadia

too much of my own quietness is with me
Pronouns
she/her
Partners
  1. marowak-alola
For me, things moved a bit too fast for them to have much impact. The story and emotional beats are there, with Kecleon's character development and Wanderer's 'death', but since the story doesn't slow down to let the characters breathe that much beyond establishing their base motivations, there was a lot of dissonance between how I was supposed to feel for the characters and what lasting impression it ultimately left on me. It's hard to know where exactly you could've fit all of this in without changing the writing style, since again, conciseness is a strength of yours, but stuff like the interactions between the characters, especially with Wanderer's protective dynamic for Cinderblock, as well as Cinderblock's relationship with Kecleon, could've been magnified since it's evident in the story through their actions, but the pacing doesn't really reinforce that. Maybe some scene setting, or just a chance for the characters to enjoy a moment together in their natural environment, would've conjured up more emotional investment in them when the stakes eventually start getting higher at the end.

Believe it or not, before Namo and I went over the rough draft, character interactions were even more spartan than they are now. It was a conscious decision I made, because I was worried I'd lose tension. They're constantly stressed and nervous, and I didn't want to disrupt that with a slower paced scene. I guess what I'm saying is, I see where you're coming from, but I didn't feel the trade-off was worth it.

I do have one small nitpick about the swearing as well, which fit the gritty tone of the piece, but also felt a bit out of place in a PMD setting. Outside of that, I enjoyed reading this story and am excited to read more of your works when they eventually come out.

Swearing was something I've equivocated on quite a bit. But it fits the Wanderer's character which is why I ultimately went with it (also you reminded me that I should probably add a vulgarity tag, thanks for that). Thanks for the review! Much appreciated.
 

canisaries

you should've known the price of evil
Location
Stovokor
Pronouns
she/her
Partners
  1. inkay-shirlee
  2. houndoom-elliot
  3. yamask-joanna
  4. shuppet
  5. deerling-andre
I decided to check this story out as I was intrigued by the post you'd made on improving prose and wanted to see what kind of writer you were. I'm glad I did, as it turned out to be a rather unique experience. Like Neb said, there's a strong classic fantasy feel to it which peaks with the riddle fight between Wanderer and the Salamence, feeling like it's straight out of a fable (well, one part actually was).

I need to disagree slightly about the prose, however. There is a lot of great, creatively vivid description, but in places the verbosity seemed to go over the top or even interfered with my understanding of the events. It is true that I'm ESL, but only a few words were unfamiliar to me, and those I could understand right after looking them up - the issue, I think, came more from the fact that this is indeed fantasy and so it isn't always given what's just a metaphor and what isn't.

I actually struggled a lot to piece together what was happening in the beginning as in the PMD games you absolutely have real locations made out of clouds, but then gravel is mentioned, so that kind of goes out the window unless gravel can be put on cloud and why couldn't it be if it can support pokémon too and if people are gonna be walking there they might need something to prevent slipping... but enough of that, as it's just one aspect that negatively impacted the beginning for me - more confusion resulted from the quick switching of the narrator's viewpoint character between Wanderer and Cinderblock. As I couldn't properly tell which part was whose (given very little context was otherwise solidly given), I actually couldn't even tell the mentioned dusky Marowak was Wanderer because I'd thought the memory shown was actually from Wanderer's viewpoint. I only realized it at the mention of her off-white mask, and that's quite some time to spend with a question mark in place of one protagonist.

Fortunately this was the only time where a crucial detail was obscured for me, as later uncertainties were only in details. I gradually picked up the correct context and rejected the incorrect impression I'd previously gotten, that Wanderer and Cinderblock had known each other for longer. This is partly my fault for interpreting the given story prompt too rigidly (routine involving only closely known people), but perhaps it could have been clearer through Cinderblock asking about Wanderer, which could also help establish more of her character (such as with vague answers, which would show the reader that there definitely is a character rather than feeling like the story might have just forgotten to describe her).

On the subject of characters, though, the others certainly come across strong and clear. Cinderblock's personality certainly fits a drafthorse mare - gentle and friendly, but easily spooked - and Kecleon's a nasty little gold gremlin who gets a wonderful arc of him realizing how others view him and remembering his generous side. The description works wonders for establishing these details; much is shown rather than told, with stressed eye rolling for Cinderblock (though some may be unfamiliar with equine behavior and misinterpret this) and the rotten appearance of Kecleon. Salamence also is shown to be the savage dragon that makes the stakes so high through the murder of the Ursaring, but he still has that characteristic dragon greed and affinity for riddles common for beasts of fable, which lets him strike a memorable impression which a simple oooh scary evil monster could not have.

In terms of Wanderer, she's kind of too mysterious and distant to be relatable and so works more as a narrative force than a character - her impact is more important than her identity. It's in no way a bad thing, just a thing among others - but this does mean that the start that goes through her old companions feels pretty detached, as it's never explored or brought to relevance again. It really boils down to what purpose you want more for the story; to introduce Wanderer or to stand on its own. But of course a standalone should still have its unanswered questions (why Wanderer calls the Kecleon Dunner, how she knows the dragon language, what role do humans play in the world etc), don't get me wrong, that's one of the top ways to make a story ageless.

These tie into the worldbuilding, which is lovely with legends and languages alike, though I have to admit seeing a location named "Earthbound" really caught me off guard. The italicized excerpts of lore were inspired but seemed somewhat detached from the narrative as well, just kind of being there without a prompt other than characters being at the place they talk about at the moment. I'm guessing it's something Wanderer remembers, but that could be worked with more by mentioning how that came to her mind or how it makes her feel at the moment.

Then for some nitpicks (my favorite):

The ursaring strode forward with a confident tread, hailing from the north and having the misfortune to not be in the range of Salamence's territory during Wanderer and Cinderblock's frantic escape.

This is a pretty hefty sentence, and it took a while for me to see how it was a misfortune, as being there when the escape happened would also have put him in the sightlines and so, been a bad thing.

Before them spread an ocean of trees, covering the lower half of the mountain range. She picked out the main path, like a vein in the mountain's wrist, as well as various lakes from the glacier that had passed through the area many centuries ago. And even farther away, on the edge of the horizon, lay the shadow of the city of Earthbound. Wanderer turned toward the tip of the mountain, capped in snow, and—.

"Oh. Found the crevice," Wanderer said.

Wanderer slept, dreaming of long-forgotten memories, while they waited for dusk. Kecleon nursed his injuries—and his pride—in sullen silence. Cinderblock stared at the horizon, quietly longing for home. She wondered if the ursaring had had a family.

I'm not a fan of interruptions ending in periods like that as it feels like it defeats the purpose, but that's wholly subjective - I have a more relevant gripe with the line "Wanderer slept" here, though. It comes very suddenly and right after a very in-the-moment action of a reactionary line of dialogue, kind of giving the mental image of her just instantly dropping down unconscious. The clause of "while they waited for dusk" should therefore come first in my opinion, as it establishes the change of the time frame.

Crystals webbed the cracks in Wanderer's skull helmet before melting from her internal body heat. Gentle eddies of steam swirled around her. She felt nothing more than mild annoyance.

I'm going to be that person that injects physics into pokéfic and say that ice really can't form in a place they would melt in right after. Snowflakes can fall onto it, but those are really not what people think about when crystals are mentioned, especially right after the mention of frost on Kecleon's scales.

The sphere had a twisting series of red, white, and blue light caught within it. The lights writhed, trapped in an obscene dance for eternity.

at last, after all these years, the orb of colgate

I really can't see how simple lights can move in a manner that's obscene, though, as I doubt they know how to twerk.

He screamed, high-pitched like a dying animal,

well he kind of is

"Kecleon!" Cinderblock tried for the umpteenth time.

"Umpteenth" is really a word suited for more comedic contexts.

His rage and pain circled around the crevice, pinning them in.
Despair welled within Cinderblock,
Cinderblock's large heart thrummed steadily beneath his palm.
In through the nose,
Fire rumbled in his maw.
Kecleon took out a seed,

These paragraph breaks seem to be missing their second row change.

Cinderblock became angry ("help me or else I'll never forgive you!"), and the mountain's heart beat faster. Cinderblock slammed into the stone once again. It reached forward with outstretched fingers, became a clenched fist, and the world began to end.

This is exhibit B for my "metaphors are dangerous in a fantasy world" point, as I really can't know if it's an actual literal hand that caused this or just a poetic abstraction. After all, the mountain is very anthropomorphized here already with the dialogue between it and Cinderblock.

That would be all for my thoughts! I know you said this story's a few years old, but I hope my critique has some useful insight anyway. Be seeing you.
 

zion of arcadia

too much of my own quietness is with me
Pronouns
she/her
Partners
  1. marowak-alola
Thanks for sharing your thoughts, much appreciated.

Yeah, I've had a couple of people comment on the beginning in particular. I'll probably look it over... one day... I'm working on other projects though, so I'd rather focus on those than get stuck in an editing loop, haha.

Wanderer was written as more of a pivot to help transition Kecleon and Cinderblock's arcs, yeah. A lot of her motivation and backstory are expanded upon in the main story, which puts me in an odd place for a short story like this because I'd rather not explore those concepts before they actually become relevant.

The Earthbound thing is something I pondered since on a meta-level I understand why it would be distracting. But it just sounds so beautiful and it fits my theme so well, I can't bring myself to change it. ;.;

Nitpicks are noted and will be taken into consideration for the eventual edit session. Although the em dash into period will probably stay because I like the way it looks. You're not the first person to mention that, though, and I get where you're coming from. Although I can't believe you would besmirch umpteenth's good name like that. ;P
 
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Negrek

Play the Rain
Staff
It's great to see another story from you! Very different than what I remember from your old chapterfic, and not in a bad way! The atmosphere of this one-shot is superb. Like other people have said, you nailed the larger-than-life high fantasy feel, through your use of language, the use of the archetypical terrible and greedy, riddle-loving dragon, and through the way you incorporate the natural world into the story. I always respect a story with a strong sense of style, and this definitely ranks.

As others have said, I think the strongest part of this story is in the latter part, once the group is actively working towards bringing Salamence down. The fight scenes were good and tense, with real peril and an appropriately epic feel. I also thought that while Kecleon's change of heart was kind of fast, it wasn't unbelievably so. Such an intense event seems like it would be enough to shake someone out of their usual way of thinking. All in all you did a good job of tying the character progression to the narrative action in this story.

And there were good bits throughout this story, not just at the end. I thought the scene where the salamence killed the ursaring was really well done; one of those cases where not really giving a blow-by-blow of the bear getting ripped apart is actually more viscerally upsetting than a more graphic approach would be. Also, weirdly enough, one of my favorite aspects might have been how you described how grotty and lackluster Kecleon was looking after spending however long in the wilderness without his supplies. Some great imagery there, I thought, and a great way of getting across how absolutely obsessed he is with getting back at this salamence while apparently not even realizing how far gone he is.

It was kind of funny to see the way kecleon was portrayed in this story--not so much that he's a greedy jerk, which I think is a common characterization, but rather because I'm used to seeing kecleon in PMD settings treated as memetic badasses. It's like, why isn't this guy just beating that salamence into tar? We all know who the scarier mon here is. From a non-game standpoint, this interpretation makes way more sense, of course. I did like how echoes of that typical game role come through in how utterly unable Kecleon is to let the salamence's theft go, and I thought you put kind of an interesting twist on it when Kecleon actually sees Salamence's hoard and thinks that the real crime isn't so much the stealing but that the dragon never actually uses anything he acquires.

Wanderer's an interesting character. I didn't particularly *like* her, per se, and she was a bit of a cipher throughout the story. It was interesting that Salamence had apparently heard of her, while Kecleon certainly didn't seem clued in to at least the "immortal" bit. I was particularly intrigued by the part where Kecleon notices something familiar about her, but dismisses it. Alluding to some story we haven't seen yet, perhaps? If that was something I should have been able to figure out from the one-shot alone, I clearly didn't manage, heh.

I was a bit confused by some of the elements of their plan for Salamence, though. Like... Why did they not send Cinderblock home after Kecleon was found? She made it clear she didn't want to be there, Kecleon had a pretty low opinion of her usefulness in a fight, I'd have to imagine, and I don't know why Wanderer would care to keep her around after she'd served her purpose. At first I thought it might be because they needed her to haul off the treasure they were planning on stealing, but apparently the extra treasure was more of an afterthought, and they ended up leaving her behind when they went to the lair anyway.

And that was all they were ever planning to do, steal back Kecleon's bag, and maybe grab some other stuff while there? Sure, if the salamence is such a greedy, covetous creature, we might imagine that he frequently counts through his hoard and would actually notice one bag going missing and be super disturbed/angry about it, but... that hardly seems like striking a serious blow against this menace. I can see how Kecleon would think that stealing his bag back from the dragon, and maybe some of the other stuff, too, would be a super fitting and terrible punishment because he's so greedy himself, but with Wanderer inwardly going on about not wanting to stand by and do nothing with the dragon terrorizing people, "I'm going to teach this dragon a lesson by taking some of his stuff" kind of seems like a weak way of striking back. Perhaps Wanderer had always planned to do something more than just swipe some loot when they got to the lair? She seemed pretty dismayed to have found herself in a fight when it came to that, but I don't know.

Some nitpicky bits:

It struck me as a little weird that Wanderer carries/uses a bow, since as a marowak I figured she'd use the classic bonemarang for distance attacks. And it's not like she doesn't *have* a club for some reason, she just has a bow, too. Though on the topic of the club, I thought that having its fire change color in response to Wanderer's mood was a neat detail.

Her eyes rolled, and Cinderblock snorted, stamping the earth repeatedly (the earth trembled in response). A shadow the size and weight of clay bricks (like the ones she'd haul back to the store) rested on her heart.
You use virtually no parentheticals in this story, and I'm not clear with why you used them here rather than writing everything in normal narration, especially the second one.

and she was far too irksome a creature to devote much energy on anyway.
Should be "devote to" rather than "devote on."

He'd toiled deep in the mountains searching for those supplies—shed blood and tears in the process, only for it to be leeched from him by a parasite. Kecleon could not, would not, abide someone who broke bread on the back of another's hard work.
Wanderer was tempted to turn and leave then and there. But that wouldn't fly with Cinderblock. Sighing, Wanderer knelt, face-to-face with Kecleon. He squinted at her, mucus congealing in the corners of his eyes.
Missed a paragraph break here.

He stepped back, 'harrumphed', and then continued,
Don't think you need the quotes here.

The ursaring strode forward with a confident tread, hailing from the north and having the misfortune to not be in the range of Salamence's territory during Wanderer and Cinderblock's frantic escape.
I'm confused... How was it a misfortune that the ursaring wasn't there earlier? Because if he'd heard the salamence go off at Wanderer and Cinderblock, he would have been warned? Or might have been able to sneak past unmolested while Salamence was busy?

Touching his back, blood shone slick and red on his claws.
Dangling phrase here; the way this is constructed, blood is what's touching Kecleon's back. "Kecleon touched his back, and blood..." would be one way to fix it.

"Oh. Found the crevice," Wanderer said.

Wanderer slept, dreaming of long-forgotten memories, while they waited for dusk. Kecleon nursed his injuries—and his pride—in sullen silence. Cinderblock stared at the horizon, quietly longing for home. She wondered if the ursaring had had a family.
Missing a scene break here, maybe?

"She's a good girl," Kecleon said out-of-nowhere.
No need for hyphens.

She stood, feet spread shoulder-width apart, bow drawn and knocked and gripped so hard her knuckles turned white.
*nocked

Outside Salamence hurtled through the air, shrieking obscenities. It took a long time for his cries to fade. His rage and pain circled around the crevice, pinning them in.
Despair welled within Cinderblock, followed by determination. She was afraid, but she had to try. She had to be brave. Kneeling, the movement awkward in such a cramped, confined space, Cinderblock brought herself eye level with Kecleon.
Missing a space between these paragraphs.

Anyhow, this is a fun one-shot and nicely self-contained despite being connected to a larger project. It seems to me like I see fewer PMD one-shots than those of other genres, but perhaps that's just me. One way or another, color me interested in the larger story you've been working on! I'd definitely be interested in seeing more of this world. Thanks for sharing this one, and I hope your writing goes well.
 

zion of arcadia

too much of my own quietness is with me
Pronouns
she/her
Partners
  1. marowak-alola
Thanks for the review! Much appreciated!

It's great to see another story from you! Very different than what I remember from your old chapterfic, and not in a bad way!

Mmm, memories.

I was a bit confused by some of the elements of their plan for Salamence, though. Like... Why did they not send Cinderblock home after Kecleon was found? She made it clear she didn't want to be there, Kecleon had a pretty low opinion of her usefulness in a fight, I'd have to imagine, and I don't know why Wanderer would care to keep her around after she'd served her purpose. At first I thought it might be because they needed her to haul off the treasure they were planning on stealing, but apparently the extra treasure was more of an afterthought, and they ended up leaving her behind when they went to the lair anyway.

This wasn't something I'd even considered. The main reason being Cinderblock would be too scared to head home alone (and because it's dangerous to go alone, don'tchya know). The crevice was reasonably nearby and somewhat defensible. Or at least, that's why it made sense in my head. I could probably clarify that a little. Some day.

And that was all they were ever planning to do, steal back Kecleon's bag, and maybe grab some other stuff while there? Sure, if the salamence is such a greedy, covetous creature, we might imagine that he frequently counts through his hoard and would actually notice one bag going missing and be super disturbed/angry about it, but... that hardly seems like striking a serious blow against this menace. I can see how Kecleon would think that stealing his bag back from the dragon, and maybe some of the other stuff, too, would be a super fitting and terrible punishment because he's so greedy himself, but with Wanderer inwardly going on about not wanting to stand by and do nothing with the dragon terrorizing people, "I'm going to teach this dragon a lesson by taking some of his stuff" kind of seems like a weak way of striking back. Perhaps Wanderer had always planned to do something more than just swipe some loot when they got to the lair? She seemed pretty dismayed to have found herself in a fight when it came to that, but I don't know.

Kecleon you pretty much nailed; he's thinking irrationally throughout much of the opening portion. I didn't think about that for Wanderer though. I'll look into adjusting it eventually.

It struck me as a little weird that Wanderer carries/uses a bow, since as a marowak I figured she'd use the classic bonemarang for distance attacks. And it's not like she doesn't *have* a club for some reason, she just has a bow, too.

It's talked about more in the main story, but Wanderer makes her own weapons. So she has a bonemerang but figured it wouldn't be as useful in the current situation. Plus she just really likes her bow. I suppose I can try and clarify that in the text, but I'm not sure it's that important.

You use virtually no parentheticals in this story, and I'm not clear with why you used them here rather than writing everything in normal narration, especially the second one.

If I'm remembering the beta session correctly, it's because the sentence read strangely when written in normal narration. I can give it another look, though.

I'm confused... How was it a misfortune that the ursaring wasn't there earlier? Because if he'd heard the salamence go off at Wanderer and Cinderblock, he would have been warned? Or might have been able to sneak past unmolested while Salamence was busy?

Yeah, he would've heard Salamence's cries during the chase and known there was danger. You're the second person to mention that, so I'll look into clarifying it at some point. Or maybe just deleting it altogether, who knows.

Other nitpicks are noted. Although I'm not sure how I made that k/nocked mistake, I remember looking it up and double-checking the correct spelling, haha. Thanks again for taking the time to share your thoughts.
 

WildBoots

Don’t underestimate seeds.
Pronouns
She/Her
Partners
  1. moka-mark
  2. solrock
Hi, Zion! Excited for the excuse to read your work! Your thoughtful reviews and prose guide have had me curious for a while. So, I am writing this on my phone—my apologies if there are any weird autocorrects. Feel free to DM me to clear up any muddled language! With that—

You’ve done a great job building up a high-fantasy atmosphere! The salamence was a very Tolkein-like figure, a mashup between Smaug and Gollum! (But in this world, the faithful steed gets to have opinions.) The moment when Keckleon gives his ultimatum reminded me not of PMD but of Witcher! The tonal shift from the PMD version of a dungeon crawl was cool to see. And I also see you’ve put your love of poetry to good use! Those bits were fun, too.

Keckleon was definitely the character I enjoyed most. (Though I also love me a mudsdale and appreciated her inclusion.) The apparent contradiction of his stubborn pride and his occasional generosity really work for me! The shadow-sneaking and camouflaging are a good fit for a character who’s so hellbent on profit and making a stink ... without being able to fully put his money where his mouth is. I aldobelieved his about-face!

I know this one is over a year old now, but I had some sentence-level gripes, mostly about clarity. The prose gets in its own way in some places, and the POV jumps were hard to keep up with, especially when they were so frequent and fast. More on that below:

Mareep. Arbok. Roserade. Silcoon. Stunfisk. Lycanroc. Flabebe.

The world rocked back and forth. Wanderer was sailing far, far away, somewhere no one could find her. A sky for an ocean and clouds for waves solidified her fantasy. The various shapes were her companions, names long forgotten, accompanying Wanderer on her journey home.
These felt out of order for me. We get the list of species before it’s clear that she’s imagining them in the stars. All the ocean imagery here also muddied me up—the shift to the road was jarring because I accidentally took it rather literally.

Turned around and sold the reaper cloth for twice as much as he'd bought it. Maybe this was a mistake. We should go back: he's fine. Probably.
This was hard to connect to the passages immediately before it. I’m also not entirely sure who “he” is—Keckleon? Is she arguing they should stop searching for him?

Cinderblock was enormous, even for a mudsdale, her hooves not so much clopping as thudding against the gravel trail in a steady bass cadence. Her voice, by contrast, was soft and reedy, almost nasal, as she vacillated between timorous outrage and quiet concern.
Nice characterization here.

"... Do you think he's fine?" Cinderblock asked. Wanderer was surprisingly heavy. Solid and compact.
This juxtaposition was a little hard to parse, in part because I hadn’t realized W was on C’s back. If there had been talk of Wanderer bouncing along with her steps, it might’ve helped clarify that and link their two sections. “Fine” also feels like an oddly soft word. Maybe “safe,” or even “alive”?

They say Groudon made these mountains. A promise of peace to both Rayquaza and Kyogre.
I like the reframing of this myth through a pokecentric lens, but it’s not clear to me how a mountain could be a peace promise to Kyogre.

A shadow scuppered the clouds.
I’m not sure this is the right verb! Scudded across? Punctured?

slavering jaw and murderous intent—.
I don’t think you need this period here! (But you are consistent with it throughout, at least.)

Roars echoed overhead as the salamence declared their lives forfeit; there would be no mercy for trespassers. He spoke in the regal tongue of dragons, and Cinderblock did not understand him.
Too bad this is doomed over! Would’ve been nice to establish his persona this early. I struggled with Cinderblock not understanding his language yet still understanding his sentiment? I also didn’t understand why Wanderer did know this language!

A shadow the size and weight of clay bricks (like the ones she'd haul back to the store) rested on her heart.
Hmmm but shadows don’t have weight.

stopping often to find the scent trail again. She fretted that they were heading in the wrong direction—she was no lycanroc, no beartic, after all—and Wanderer soon tuned Cinderblock out.
Another place where the juxtaposition of Cinderblock and Wanderer was jarring.

Did you know there was a salamence in the area?" Wanderer asked suddenly. The salamence had fallen silent, setting her far more on edge
Suggestion: The salamence had fallen silent, and that set her far more on edge ...

I appreciate this moment of accusation, though. I’d also be mad about going into this kind of quest without all the facts.

The tunnel beneath the tree was dark and damp. Wanderer rifled through her things, pulling out a bone club, and the end burst into magenta flame.
Ooh, nice! This was the first time I realized that Wanderer was a marowak though—would’ve been nice for that to be clearer sooner.

The tunnels are full of terrors
Killing among fields of mushroom and mold
The lights are eyes of cave dwellers
They whisper 'if you dare come seek our gold'
Sharp fangs like knives
They watch from the walls
Buried miles beneath the sky
You hear their cries
As the earth around them falls
The end for us all is nigh
I love this! But it did arise fully out of nowhere. I wish it were grounded somehow in W’s thoughts.

Kecleon bristled.

He'd never seen a marowak quite like her before but knew pokémon were sometimes born strangely colored, and therefore rationalized her oddities away.
Another place where the POV-jump stuck out for me.

Absolutely not. Salamence, the beastly creature, has stolen my supplies, and I won't budge until I get them back."
Hahaha oh man. This guy.

Kecleon could not, would not, abide someone who broke bread on the back of another's hard work.
Wanderer was tempted to turn and leave then and
Nice sentiment. Looks like you lost a paragraph space here.

Honestly, the rabids there might be better off."
Oh, I like this wording! Implies that the attacking pokemon in dungeons are literally rabid, that sickness is what makes them aggressive, and not that they’re inexplicably lesser versions of species that can also be sapient.

lines scribbled in charcoal webbing across its face.
“Webbing” feels excessive and doesn’t help me picture this one more clearly.

He smoothed out the map, a futile effort, staring knowingly at Wanderer
Nice.

He brushed past her. Wanderer gritted her teeth but followed suit. They exchanged empty pleasantries,
This feels like a weird moment exchange pleasantries when they’ve already been talking for a while.

So, you know the Egg?" she asked, in an attempt at small talk. Only worms and fungi and roots kept them company.

"I have no idea what you mean by that."

"Kirlia."
This threw me off. I wasn’t sure why it came up here or why Kirlia is The Egg. (It does show how, uh, top-notch her small talk skills are though, lol.)

Cinderblock was overjoyed when Kecleon emerged from the bowels of the earth, then baffled by his abrupt explanation of the situation, and then aghast when everything clicked into place.
I wondered if this couldn’t be done with body language instead of having to make yet another jumó to get POV. (Great body language cues right after this!)

He voraciously tore into their food like one dying.
I think “tore into” does the same thing as “voraciously” for me. “One dying” also hits my ear oddly. I kept wanting to go “one dying ... what?” Maybe “as if it were the last he’d ever eat”?

Kecleon camouflaged with his surroundings, only the bright red stripe across his belly unchanged. He hunkered lower to the ground in hopes of hiding it.
Nice physicality here.

The ursaring strode forward with a confident tread, hailing from the north and having the misfortune to not be in the range of Salamence's territory during Wanderer and Cinderblock's frantic escape.
Hailing from the north—are there physical cues that give this away?

A living tempest descended from the heavens. Trees bent before the whirling frenzy, bowed before their king.
I wasn’t sure how literally to take these, given the pokemon setting. Took me a moment to realize this was Salamence’s reappearance.

Cinderblock bit into a thick, jutting root to muffle any screams.
Maybe “to keep herself from screaming”?

"Give me your bag. Now." Salamence's voice rumbled like thunder. Ursaring faltered and then stood tall with foolish defiance. He shook his head.
I think this paragraph should be split after “thunder.”

Moving slowly, precariously, taking each step like it might be her last (which, if wrong, it very well could be), Cinderblock lagged behind the others. Her caution proved wise, for the earth crumbled away—but it wasn't Cinderblock who fell. It was Kecleon.
I love the rhythm of the reveal of keckleon’s fall after so much of C’s fear. However, “which, if wrong, it very well could be” was a little funky. I think this would work better as it’s own sentence instead of an aside.

"Marowak!" Cinderblock's voice was shrill and loud.
Are they not in a first name basis? I thought they were friends?

"No one else wanted to come look for me, did they?" Kecleon asked out of nowhere.

Cinderblock didn't answer, which was an answer in and of itself.
! A nice emotional moment. It sure was out of nowhere, though. I wish I knew what has prompted him.

The cold nipped at their skin. Frost threaded across Kecleon's scales like delicate silver lace. He shivered, stripe along his belly bright red against a pale white backdrop, and brushed away the frost with a soft crssh.

Crystals webbed the cracks in Wanderer's skull helmet before melting from her internal body heat.
Weird setting for a dragon!

Wanderer scratched the underside of her chin with her club.
Nice! Love this mannerism.

"She's a good girl," Kecleon said out-of-nowhere. Wanderer blinked. "There were two brothers, young, they often came by and bought supplies for their sick mother. Cinderblock would give them rides. Rambunctious little rapscallions, but she never once complained. I always had to make them stop when they went too far. Sometimes I forget that."
I wasn’t sure who this was about?

Orbs and statues and seeds and items and bags and more flotsam drifted among the precious waters.
Ooh
I love this litany of objects (of course he’s taking stock!) but I wasn’t sure what made the waters “precious.”

He moved toward the sphere, fixated, only nominally aware of his surroundings. Coins clinked beneath his feet. It was warm, much warmer than outside, and idly Kecleon wondered if the cave led to some sort of vent deep within the earth's bowels.
I wondered why this note about the warmth in this room hadn’t been mentioned when they entered. I love the continued physicality of the coins, though.

search turning frantic, almost tripping over loose coins. There.
Excellent rhythm.

"I know you, Immortal Flame. I have heard the stories."
Hell of a nickname!

but his graceless trip
Isn’t tripping usually graceless?

Wanderer knew this riddle. She smiled and told him the answer.
I wish we got the answer here!

He knew a technique that would let him melt into the shadows and escape, but he'd have to leave his bag behind. That wasn't an option.
Great character moment.

Wanderer's own, long shadow came alive for a brief moment and winked at him.
Ooh this too! (Could be its own paragraph though? Maybe with a quick reaction from Keckleon?)

"What goes on four legs in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three in the evening."

A long pause. Salamence hesitated.

"Mew?"

Wanderer shook her head, triumphant. "A human."
A fun inversión of this classic riddle. Interesting that humans are known-of in this setting!

The last thing he saw was Salamence, jaws snapping shut around Wanderer—she exploded into ash and shadow with a cry that cut off sharply like a snuffed candle
Oof, intense! No wonder he thinks she’s dead.

His rage and pain circled around the crevice, pinning them in.
Despair welled within Cinderblock, followed by determination. She was afraid, but she had to try. She
Another lost space.

Breathe, Kecleon. Just breathe. In through the nose and out through the mouth."
Aww, I like this repeated bit of advice.

to anchor him to reality, and splayed his claws against her chest. Cinderblock's large heart thrummed steadily beneath his palm.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. In throug
Another space.

she asked out-of-nowhere.
I’m not sure you need the hyphens!

An item that isn't used is worthless.
I liked this as a division between Keckleon and Salamence. Makes sense for a shopkeeper: he wants to be useful!

Cinderblock tried coaxing it ("help me"), but the mountain was afraid ("he is the wind that wears me away").
This was cool! I love way of interacting with her element.

Both Kecleon and Cinderblock took a moment to just breathe. They mourned Wanderer together in silence. Cinderblock even mourned Salamence, because that was just who she was.
Wait, what happened to her guiding fire?

the special ended as soon as the scrafty walked out the door
Lol!!

I do also get a strong sense that Wanderer is a character with a lot of history. Looking forward to perhaps someday seeing her in action again (?)

Hope these lil notes were helpful! ❤️
 

zion of arcadia

too much of my own quietness is with me
Pronouns
she/her
Partners
  1. marowak-alola
Thanks for the review! Perfectly understandable, so no worries.

Yeah, I wanted to push myself outside my comfort zone by attempting 3rd omniscient, but as you can see, I... struggled. A very good learning experience, though. Kecleon was my favorite too, and he's the stealth main protagonist despite not showing up until halfway through. Tolkein-vibes were definitely the goal, although I see what you mean by The Witcher influences as well.

Apparently, the spacing issues were because I went from google docs to here. They weren't a problem in the original. I'll try to fix them!

Are they not in a first name basis? I thought they were friends?

This is something I probably could've clarified better, but it's more like Wanderer is taking on the search for Kecleon as a job. A rescue mission.

I’m not sure this is the right verb! Scudded across? Punctured?

I was going for a ship metaphor, but it seems I forgot the actual ship. That is unfortunate.

I wasn’t sure who this was about?

This was a cute reference to Explorers, which has a Marill and Azurill sibling pair. The Kirlia was also a reference to the Kirlia you find in the secret bazaar. Originally this oneshot was based in the Explorers world and I indulged in a few references as a result.

Oh, I like this wording! Implies that the attacking pokemon in dungeons are literally rabid, that sickness is what makes them aggressive, and not that they’re inexplicably lesser versions of species that can also be sapient.

Yeah, I dislike feral. I spent a long time coming up with an alternative. Lightbulb moment, as they say.

Good tips on the prose. I'll definitely look them over.
 

Pen

the cat is mightier than the pen
Staff
Partners
  1. dratini
  2. dratini-pen
  3. dratini-pen2
Hey Zion! I know this is on the older side, but I'm running out of your stuff to review! Where's that chapter fic you mentioned here, huh?

I really enjoyed the rich fantasy universe you've built here. Very The Hobbit, with riddles and wonder, and ordinary people doing something big. I like that the focus of this story really comes to rest on Cinderblock and Dunner, two people far outside the heroic mold. Cinderblock is timorous, Dunner's greedy, complacent, and a coward. I also appreciated the way you integrated their backstory. It's not front-loaded, or heavy-handed, but full of mundane, concrete details that make Cinderblock and Dunner's relationship compelling.

You've put a lot of care into your prose, and there are some lovely turns of phrase here. I can really feel the attention to choices of verbs and adjectives. I do think this fic hits the issue of working so hard to make each tree (sentence) beautiful and unique, that the forest itself (the story as a whole) doesn't quite feel cohesive. POV plays a big part in this.

I saw in your response to OSJ that you were trying out omniscient third in this one. The difference between omniscient third and head-hopping is a difficult one for me to pin down. It's definitely a 'know it when I read it' feeling, but I've been trying to think of what makes omniscient third work, so I glanced back over the first few pages of The Hobbit. A few thing struck me. Tolkien chooses to insert himself into the narrative with the first person, which is definitely a bit more personality than you're going for here. But I do think the trick of opening with lines that are clearly not within the close third POV of a particular character are a good way to prime your reader for your POV choice. "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit." We know at once this is a story that's being told. We're therefore much more ready to accept that we have a narrator with full knowledge, who is making deliberate choices to give us information and insight into different heads. Your oneshot, in contrast, opens with a very close third moment on Wanderer. We're completely immersed in her mind, in a disorienting fashion that works well when the whole fic is intended to be from her perspective, but less well when we immediately leave it, and in fact, spend less time in her head than the other characters. I wonder if you could lean into more of a storytelling frame here--start the story zoomed out, give us the image of a dusky marowak finding shapes in the clouds from a bird's eye view. I could even see this fic working well with the twist that the narrator turns out to be Dunner at the end, telling the story of the time that changed his life, and the aftermath.

The next thing I noticed in The Hobbit was that we don't tend to hop between heads within the span of a few sentences. When Gandalf stops to speak with Bilbo, we get the whole conversation from Bilbo's side, his observations and impressions of Gandalf, rather than alternating between the two. This gives the scene some consistency, and also feels like a choice--Gandalf is meant to feel impressive and mysterious to the reader. At the end of their conversation, Bilbo goes back inside, but we don't follow him right away. The narrator takes a paragraph to give us Gandalf's reaction--but does not dip into his head. We're clearly not limited by Bilbo's knowledge here, but again, there's a choice by the narrator to keep Gandalf distant. Why does he laugh? Why is tapping the door? We don't know. Tolkien anchors the shift back to Bilbo with time. Gandalf departs "just about the time" Bilbo is finishing his meal. This chronological relation motivates the switch. The second switch away from Bilbo's limited knowledge that stood out to me was when Tolkien tells us briefly what Thorin thinks of all this. Tolkien gets there by pointing out the hood that belongs to Thorin (which Bilbo doesn't know), then telling us how Thorin feels. I think it's significant that the narration doesn't jump straight from Bilbo's head to Thorin's. The info about the hood acts as an intermediary, smoothing that transition, and reminding us that we aren't actually just following Bilbo, but being told a story by someone who knows more than Bilbo.

My takeaways are that Tolkien doesn't hop back and forth between heads, and that when he does dip into an unexpected character's head, there's some cue in the writing that motivates the switch. There's also a clear storytelling reason for how much info he chooses to give the reader. He wants Bilbo transparent to us, and Gandalf clouded. You're currently doing some trickier juggling in this oneshot, because you're trying to keep two mysteries at once. You're trying to keep Wanderer and the extent of her abilities and knowledge hidden, and you're also trying to keep alive the mystery of why Cinderblock cares about Dunner. The story starts by putting us more in Wanderer's head, so that Cinderblock is the more unknown one, but midway through that seems to reverse, and we lose track of Wanderer. I don't think that kind of switch is helpful in a third omniscient. It reads strangely for a character to start as open to the reader, but gradually become less so. I would recommend keeping Wanderer a more distant figure throughout. Ultimately, she doesn't have a character arc in this fic--the punchline (as it were) of her not being dead relies on distance, and so I don't think the story loses much if you keep out of her head throughout the story. Who is this person? Why is she helping them? Why does she stay? One moment I found unconvincing as written is when Wanderer so easily gives in to Dunner's demands, when his proposition seems so idiotic. The fact that we keep dipping into her head made the lack of internal explanation feel troublesome, but it wouldn't if her motivations were mysterious from the start.

I decided not to do line-by-lines since you said you're unhappy with the prose but not interested in messing with it further. (Happy to go through at some later point if you ever decide you do want to return to this.) A few things that I found jarring were the sudden swell of parentheticals, the em dash interruptions followed by periods, and a general sense that I didn't know quite where we were in space.

Loved your twist on the classic 'four legs two legs three legs' riddle, Wanderer's use of shadows, and the poignant scene with the ursaring. Dunner and Cinderblock's relationship is tender and lovely. I really liked your decision to end on a postscript, the 'where are they now' that shows how this experience altered Dunner and Cinderblock's lives for the better.

A beautiful read, overall, and I'm definitely intrigued to read anything more you write about Wanderer, who is, as far as I can tell, practically immortal?

Here's a Rilke poem for Wanderer.

"Only [she] who has also raised
[her] lyre among shadows
may find [her] way back
to infinite praise.

Only [she] who has eaten with the dead
from their stores of poppy
will never again lose
the softest chord.

And though the pool's reflection
often blurs before us:
Know the image

Only in the double realm
do the voices become
eternal and mild."
 

tomatorade

The great speckled bird
Location
A town at the bottom of the ocean
Pronouns
He/Him
Partners
  1. quilava
  2. buizel
I was recommended one of your newer fics to review, which I will hopefully get to, but I'm too much of a rebel to listen. Also, I've seen this fic around for quite a while. It always intrigued me, and you've been an author I've at least known about since my earlier days browsing fanfic.net, so this is like an alternate universe nostalgia trip or something. idk.

Anyway.

I love your prose. You pick up on great details that say a lot about characters without feeling overlaboured. comparing Wanderer's view of the clouds to cinderblock's view of shelves is wonderful. Great names, too. Though I wonder who named cinderblock. Do they have concrete in PMD world? Either way, someone was setting her up for somethings, that's for sure.

You're braver than I am in word choice. Timorous, scuppered, these are things I've never heard of. Normally, I'd complain because of my deep insecurities, but I still haven't learned what either word means and I still think they have the intended effect. Or at least, they create some sort of image in my head, even if it may not be precisely the one you intended.

I always like characters like wanderer. Some of the mystery is definitely related to my impression of like, cowboy movies and other lone wolf archetypes, but she's also got an immediate presence in the story from line two. A real sense of history. She doesn't strike me as untrusting or unkind, just adrift. Searching for... something, though I can't quite tell in this snippet. It doesn't take long for her to run into trouble, though she seems like the type.

I will say, it's not quite clear to me how the poem exists within the story. It's a lovely poem, but a little jarring when I'm not sure how I'm supposed to be hearing it. because of italics, I'm assuming it's a thought, but the other italics didn't feel clearly defined enough as Wanderer's thoughts for this to qualify for me (if that makes sense).

Dunner's a real charmer, isn't he? I love this characterisation. Kecleon's always a fun piece of PMD that I forget until they pop up in a fic I'm reading and suddenly I'm getting excited over however the author decided to portray them. They tend to be greedy weirdos, which makes sense for the most obviously capitalist part of PMD lol. Dunner takes it a little further than normal, maybe. He's not in a great place here, but there's not even the veneer of civility you'd normally see.

I do have to wonder why Wanderer is so... not eager, but willing to go along with him. She clearly hates him, even as she's the one trying hardest to be civil between them. I suppose this connects to her general apathy. What's interesting is how capable she is of moving past disaster, clearly recognising the threat but not really responding beyond 'oh, that's going to be annoying'. Does a discount mean that uch to her?

And after we might have my favourite little character moment in the fic. Dunner ranting about egg's 'grab bag' and then capping it off with perfect comedic timing of: 'I wish I did that!' is great.

Poor cinderblock.

I thought we were about to get very mythical with a sphynx-adjacent salamence, but turns out he's just a dick lol. Did I mention how much I like your characters? I salivate over little details like this. Like, what motivates a bulky boy like salamence to invent an unsolveable riddle just to catch out passerby? Some draconic pride, I suppose. It also adds some bonus depth for Wanderer knowing dragon language.

Also a very clever way of moving through ursaring's death. Admittedly, I tripped over it on first read, but rereading and realising I just skipped a line, I like it a lot more. There's a great flow between their final visions, cinderblock's reaction and the following.

I find your pacing very unique. Large sections of time pass by between lines and without a line break to indicate scene change. It feels both stream-of-consciousness and a little contemplative. I think it helps in tandem with revealing other character's viewpoints. I'm referring specifically to the group's rest in the cave. Even though there's only three or so lines about Dunner asking whether Wanderer was the only one willing to look for him, it still gives off the impression that he's thinking deeply on that. Maybe I'm just reading into his character. I have enjoyed thinking about him.

I do think that Kecleon believing Wanderer had left and her return was abrupt enough to be a little pointless. Like, he thinks it one moment and before I can really register that she's gone, she returns. Not really a big deal deal though.

Glad to see the riddles come back. Ever since learning Wandered knew the lingo, I was excited for this final confrontation. The title of 'eternal flame' caught my eye. She plays it off, but if it's literal, that's an interesting take. It's so funny to me that this big slamence, brimming with pride and self-satisfacion makes a deal for Wanderer's precious treasure and she treats it like an adult giving a toddler a prize because she pretended to lose a footrace lol. 'Sure'.

I don't think I ever read the hobbit or LOTR (blasphemous, I know) but this scene reminds me of what I've heard of smaug. It's suitably tense, getting easily the most attention of all the events in the fic. A great climax, too. Everything falling apart in such a vivid, visceral way. Easily my favourite part of the fic.

And wtf. I thought Dunner was only out here for a couple day,s but weeks? Get a job, dude, honestly.

hmmmm, an unexpected callback to Cinderblock's initial journey with Wanderer. I didn;t expect her to get a character arc, but it's fitting, I suppose. She seemed like the least set character of them all. Oh, And an unexpected arch for Dunner. Honestly, I expected him to die in classic greek fashion as a result of his own hubris, but I like him and am glad he gets to be alive. Instead, the salamence gets their deserved.

I love the detail of Cinderblock speaking to the mountain. I hear a lot of metaphor around connecting to one's type floating around the pokemon space, but I've never seen it used this literally. It lends a great flavour to the worldbuilding. Another piece that makes the world feel very mythical and alive.

What a fitting end to salamence. I really enjoy how things are tied back to each other. It feels like such a complete package.

wtf she lives. Turns out eternal flame was apt.

I really enjoyed this and regret not having read anything of yours all the years I've scolled past it ignorantly. It's such a dense piece, so many moving parts that all seem to come together even when I don't expect them to. I loved the prose, generally. Sometimes there were moments I thought could do with a little more description but these were small moments. The characters and world were real standouts.

Sorry for reviewing somethign pretty old. This one was for my own conscience.
 
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