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A collection of all my one-shots, drabbles and related art done for contests, events or just for fun, complied into a single thread for convenience sake. All stories are (currently) Pokémon Mystery Dungeon focused and may contain spoilers for all games.
NIGHT FLOWER
Deep within the night, a ninetales stands above a frigid cliff side. Alone she inhabits the frozen wastes, wearing a headdress of sacred bamboo. There she waits for the fated dawn, when the ancestral vision gifted by the Moon and Stars will come to pass.
Drums of war ring through her ears as the ninetales watches the night face its sudden end. The Sun rising a crimson red, the eight-petaled flower made of Ancient weaponry blooming—its pistil fashioned from the remains of a notebook.
The ninetales shakes with uncertainty. Voice hoarse, she whispers, “Please, goddesses…don’t leave us.”
NEW DAWN
The Sun walked over the pieces of his heart, scattered across his sanctuary, with a senseless indifference. Ever since that Ancient’s attempt to steal his heart, a new awareness had awoken within him; one that caused him to look upon the Moon and Stars with hatred. The skies were his and only his. The act of trickery and thievery done by the Ancients, Moon, and Stars embroiled him with a deep, blistering fury.
They will grovel. They will burn. They will pay.
With a bellowing roar, the Sun leapt towards the skies. His resolve hardened. A new dawn was coming.
NO SUNRISE COMES
Two goddesses stood beneath the shadow of a great mountain, their new alliance solidified by the night skies; mirrored by a field of white lilies, moonflowers and roses. It was a beautiful sight.
The Moon gave a deep sigh of relief. It was over. The battle was won; the Sun had been locked away, putting an end to his rampage; and the scorched lands could finally heal. The Moon gave the Stars a reassuring glance as the two walked together, ready to ascend towards their permanent position in the skies.
For the very first time, there would be no sunrise.
DAYDREAM AND NIGHTMARE
She refused to look at the shadows, out towards the distance, or from the corner of her eye. However such precautions were in vain, for she was always aware of It.
It prowled the edges of her daydreams, observing her, waiting. For when day became night and the buildings into trees, the fun truly began. Such was the game they played. The rules were simple; It would fashion her dreams into its domain, a beautiful nightmare, and she would run. She would always win but It was not discouraged. It was patient and It would only need to win once.
BURIED RUIN
Clink, clink clink!
The sound of claws tapping at a cave wall echoed in the dark. There, a sandslash chipped away at the sturdy rocks with a paw, holding a modest lantern in the other.
The rumours… They had to be true! He couldn’t have gotten this far if they hadn’t. He’d seen the evidence in this very cave: collapsed pillars, crumbled hallways, and ornate but faded carvings. It all beckoned his insatiable curiosity. Sure, there was always the risk of stumbling across a Mystery Dungeon entrance but the reward was too great.
The Ancient treasures within would be his.
SECRET BAZAAR
“Are you sure that this is a good place to set up shop?” Mime Jr. asked Kirlia.
“Of course! This is a well-traveled path. We’ll be sure to get a bunch of customers,” Kirlia giggled, voice filled with whimsy.
“We’re in a Mystery Dungeon!” everyone, except Kirlia, roared in unison.
“Only a Class 2,” Kirlia rebuked. “Besides, isn’t helping travellers while making poké what we set out to do in the first place? We can easily adapt our services to help make travelling through any Dungeon a lot less of a pain.”
Kirlia’s team shot each other nervous looks.
THE DEEPEST FLOOR
The depths of Silent Chasm stood indifferently above the shivering form of a torracat. Just a simple dare, she thought when she disregarded all elders’ warnings about going too deep into a Dungeon. She would prove to Nidorino that she was brave.
She wasn’t.
The Dungeon’s dark secret hung suspended like a loose netting. Rust coloured dust fell from the interweaving tethers like ash. The more Torracat stared, the more she heard it. The web thrummed with unnatural whisperings. Words. These were words in an unknown language.
The moment she heard them was the moment she saw them.
Torracat screamed.
SOMETHING’S STIRRING...
Hoothoot perched beside his mother, begging her to tell a story from when she was an explorer. A small chuckle resonated in her deep chest.
“Very well,” she said softly. “It is said that Dungeons have Winds because the Winds change the Dungeon’s layout. But there are some who believe that there is something else that causes the Winds. Slumbering so deep beneath the ground that it may as well be on the other side of the world. When the Dreamer stirs in its slumber, so do the Dungeons, which is why we must be careful not to disturb it.”
ELECTRIC WASTELAND
Crrrrzzzt!
Electricity surged in time with the impact of fists. Beyond the dungeon’s watchful eye, a pangoro sneered in silent taunt. The receiving machoke’s growl caught on a quickly spat out tooth, sparks fleeing from the impact sight.
“Expected a former guildie to put up more o’ a fight,” Machoke panted. “Unless...” A twisted grin. “Them rumours are true.”
Pangoro’s eyes narrowed but his composure remained. “It’s your arm Boss will be makin’ a trophy of, not mine.” He readied his fists. “So shut up fucking punch me! A happiny hits harder than you.”
Machoke roared and Electric Wasteland swelled.
LUMINOUS SPRING
An eager nod met the sourceless voice. The spring’s welcoming light caressed the ruffled fur of a yamper who stood at its edge. Yamper shook from excitement, anticipation, the chill of early dawn? He couldn’t tell, all that he knew was that he was ready.
Emboldened steps disrupted shimmering water. The shock of cold water did nothing to deter Yamper as he carried himself to the great tree of crystal and bark that watched over the forest like a nesting talonflame. The mysterious voice awaited him where the water was at its deepest.
“You…who seek awakening… Let us begin.”
LAKE OF MYSTERIOUS LIGHT
In a land long abandoned by all, obscured by thick blanket of fog, lies a lake, whispered only in myth. Part of a triad, it shone with mysterious light that instilled great resolve in all who bore witness. Now it remains muted in ruin and decay, abandoned by its stalwart guardian.
Dark waters, pooled and hidden away from all living things, spread influence. The lakes infected, grew stagnant, stopped only by deep mist. Blessed are those of the present, such a sight would surely make them weep.
None except the passing visitor, who rushes to meet the water that shrieks.
Silverglint was born a runt. Weak compared to his siblings and other pokémon his age had left him an easy target. However, one seemingly normal day, Silverglint is presented with a strange object which, unbeknownst to him will become a gateway into a new life.
A one-shot that acts as a brief glimpse into the backstory of the Explorers of Time/Darkness/Sky partner character.
***
Pokémon Square was as peaceful as ever. Shopkeepers tended to their stalls, engaging in conversation with the occasional customer; pelipper were flying high above the clouds, with the mail’s daily rounds; adventurers were filtering their way in and out of the main square; all the while gentle afternoon light filtered its way through browning leaves, detaching themselves from their branches. It was yet another uneventful day for the residents of Pokémon Square.
Or so it had seemed in that very moment.
Stillness broke with the desperate scampers of a persian carrying a generous supply of Energy Seeds in his maw. To see the poised and regal banker in such a state was unheard of, but contrary to the mundane atmosphere, today was different. Very different. At least five bystanders were bowled over by his inelegant bounds before he’d finally reached his destination.
The tiny hut that he’d called his home hummed with occasional mewling. He turned his frantic gaze to the furthest end of the room where he bore witness to his mate, laying atop a thick layer of bedding. Though she appeared to be completely exhausted, the perrserker was kneading and purring deeply as six newborn kittens were having their first meal.
“Willowsheen!”
The perrserker lifted her head towards her approaching mate as he rubbed his head against hers, careful to avoid her horns, before he examined the litter. Of the six, four were Ironclad —indicated by the tiny, black coins on their foreheads; the other two were Golden.
“Two sons and four daughters Silkstone,” Willowsheen uttered breathlessly. Tears of joy pricked the corners of her eyes. She watched as her mate moved behind her to lay down, absorbing every second of the moment.
“Have you named them yet?”
“No. I wanted to do it together. You know how powerful names are, it wouldn’t feel right if I did it myself.”
“Of course,” Silkstone whispered as he studied the litter. Willowsheen was completely right. It would’ve been entirely wrong if only one of them had decided on the names of their kittens. After a brief exchange of glances, the two began naming the kittens, together. Silkstone was confident enough with the names of the first five but he could not for the life of him decide a name for the final kitten. The dusty silver tabby was the smallest of the lot by a fair margin, undoubtedly, the runt of the litter. However, the beautiful sheen of his gold coin indicated that he was in perfect health. Willowsheen on the other hand, seemed to have known what to name him the moment she’d laid eyes on him. She lowered her head, whispering softly into the kitten’s ear—
“Glint of a Speckled Silver.”
***
The months passed. Autumn gave way to Winter and then to Spring and then to Summer before going back to Autumn again. During this time, Willowsheen watched her kittens grow with confidence. Now nearing adolescence, they’d managed to pick out preferred names for themselves and had grown to become quite capable; helping out with several errands such as aiding Willowsheen with a few small chores, or helping their father’s business by helping count the stored coins, or helping him memorize which stack of coins belonged to which team. Yet they continued to play as if they hadn’t aged a day.
The morning was mild, if a bit windy, but fine enough to play at the pond at the behest of her children. From there, Willowsheen watched her mate entertain a Rescue Team composed of a charmander and a psyduck, a grim reminder of current events. Rescue Teams had always been plentiful in the area, however, a recent surge of natural disasters had made them even more common. The chance of her family becoming a victim of these disasters drenched Willowsheen with worry. What could she do if such a thing were to happen? What if the square was suddenly struck by a common earthquake? She dared not to entertain the possibility of what she’d do if she’d lost—
“MAMA!”
Willowsheen’s train of thought was brought to a halt by Quicksteel, one of her Ironclad daughters. “Wh-what is it dear?” she inquired of her panicked daughter.
“Ferric pushed Silverglint into the pond and now he won’t stand up!”
“What!?”
“Yeah, Ferric wouldn't stop teasing Silverglint for being the coward he is so Silverglint tried to attack him before he was shoved into the pond!”
Willowsheen’s blood turned to ice as she turned to make a dash for the pond, begging for Oriana’s or any other deity’s mercy. Quicksteel followed closely. Silverglint had always been noticeably weaker than his siblings and his shyer disposition had made making friends difficult. It was incredibly easy for others —including his siblings— to pick on him, but none of that mattered to Willowsheen. Silverglint was still her son and right now, he was in mortal danger.
Upon her arrival, Willowsheen saw Ferric sitting at the edge of the pond, right besides Whiscash. A mortified look was plastered on his face, however he seemed to be more afraid of any potential punishments he’d be facing rather than the realization as to what he had potentially done. At Ferric’s paws laid Silverglint’s body, unmoving but still breathing. A warm wave of relief flooded Willowsheen upon noticing Silverglint’s shallow breaths. Relief that quickly manifested itself as anger directed towards her other son. Meeting Ferric’s eyes, Willowsheen let out a quiet snarl, “Go to your father, right now. We’ll talk about what you’ve done once I’m done making sure that your brother is safe.”
“But I—”
“GO!”
Ferric knew better than to push his luck against his mother’s anger. He plodded back towards the square, head hung low as if he was not only trying to avoid the furious glare of his mother but also the bewildered stares of his siblings.
Once Ferric had left her sight, Willowsheen turned all her attention to her son, flattening his fur back to his body and clearing him of any dirt and grime. By the time Silverglint opened his eyes, he had completely dried off. He hadn’t the time to process what had happened and even less after being smothered by his mother who had begun babbling about how worried she was that anything might have happened to him. He could barely process her words and before he knew it, he was picked up by the scruff of his neck. Dragging him around the place had always been an easy feat. To his parents, he was the easiest to carry; to his siblings, he was the easiest target. So easy to bait and overpower, it was not the first time Ferric had done this. It left Silverglint with the burden of being useless. So, very useless.
***
Parents distracted by Ferric, Silverglint snuck his way back to the pond. The skies were being painted by the evening at this point, his siblings long gone. Only Whiscash remained, as he always did, half-awake and bobbing in the water. Silverglint sat himself by the pond’s edge, his amber-eyed reflection staring dumbly back at him. He had always been small, he had always been scrawny, he had always been weak and being weak made him a burden; he was why he couldn't make any friends. In the midst of his sulking, something gleaned in the corner of his eye.
Despite his best attempts, he could not ignore it and instinctively searched for the source. Upon grabbing the supposed treasure, he was greeted by a bout of disappointment —it was just a rock with a flat edge. It fit perfectly in his paw and as he turned it over, an intricate pattern carved on the flat-side revealed itself. Silverglint had never seen anything like it. It felt… important. Somehow.
As Silverglint continued to examine the strange rock, a deep, amused hum rang out from behind him, causing him to jump back in shock and to nearly drop the odd stone back into the pond.
“Oho! What have you fished for yourself, young one?” It was Whiscash, who Silverglint thought to be sleeping or daydreaming or not paying any attention to him at all.
“I, uh—” Silverglint began to stutter, “noticed this strange rock… I-If I’m stealing or anything I can return it, I was just a bit curious.”
“A strange rock you say? How strange indeed! May I see it?”
“Uh, sure?” In a movement, nothing more than awkward, Silverglint presented his finding pattern-side up to Whiscash.
“Now where did that come from? I’ve certainly never seen or felt it anywhere in my pond. It couldn’t have been dropped in here either, I would’ve noticed the moment it touched the water.”
“F-Felt?
“My whiskers tell me of every little thing that resides in this pond, from their shapes, sizes to the very way they move but I haven’t noticed this thing until you scooped it up. The only explanation I can come up here is that it just manifested itself out of thin air!”
“Why would that happen?” Silverglint asked, bewildered. “Things just don’t appear out of thin air for no reason!”
“Ah, but perhaps there is a reason for its sudden appearance. Perhaps,” Whiscash’s voice trilled with fascination. “It appeared just for you to find it.”
“Appeared… for me?” It made no sense! Things just don’t appear out of nowhere for a specific mon, especially not one like him. “I-I don’t think that something would appear for me like that. It’s probably meant for someone else…”
“Oho, I wouldn’t say that. You’re the one who found it so I think you should keep it either way! Besides, that pattern is remarkable, I’d say that you’ve found a real treasure there.”
Their conversation continued for a little while longer —it was only when the skies had taken on a deep red hue that Silverglint realized how much time he had spent studying the rock with Whiscash. The moon would be rising at full light and if his parents were already done with Ferric, they'd be worried sick after that display from earlier. Hastily, he bid his farewell to Whiscash before picking up the rock with his mouth and taking off on all-fours.
***
Silverglint had trouble sleeping, that weird rock that he found two weeks ago was gnawing at the edges of his mind. He was still unsure what to make of it. Its sudden appearance was one thing but that strange pattern had captivated him. He had to find out what it meant, he just had to. So far, he’d kept the rock to himself but he at least wanted to show his ma. As luck would have it, Ferric was still receiving the lecture of his lifetime by the time Silverglint had returned, he’d managed to overhear what punishment Ferric was saddled with: forced to count the Poké in da’s bank for the next month and no one else was allowed to cover for him.
As Silverglint deliberated on what to do, he cast his gaze out the window to be met with the sight of a countless number of stars illuminating the Autumn night. The moon was nowhere to be seen, according to da, it meant that the night was something called the “Quiescence”. It had something to do with the moon needing rest, meaning that only the stars watched over the night sky. It also meant that it was darker, which meant that it was easier to sneak around. Careful not to awaken his sisters, Silverglint slowly stalked his way towards his parent's room. His da was knocked out but ma still seemed to be somewhat awake.
“Hey, hey ma, you awake? I needa show you somethin’”
Gradually, Willowsheen opened her eyes. “Eh? What is it?” she mumbled.
“It’s this thing I've found,” Silverglint whispered. If the tone of his voice hadn't already given his enthusiasm away, then his purring put it on full display. Boldly, he produced the strange rock. “See, there's a weird lookin' pattern on the flat part, Whiscash said he’s seen nothing like it and he’s really old, but maybe you’ve seen anything like this?”
One look from his mother told Silverglint that she was just as ignorant as Whiscash was but was just as eager to theorize about its existence. “…No, I don't think so, but it does look as if it's some sort of fragment.”
“Fragment?”
“A piece of something,” she explained. “Looks like that it may have come from some sort of relic.”
“Oh?” Silverglint buzzed with a new type of excitement. “Like something made by the Ancients in those stories you told us?”
“Why yes! It could very well be Ancient-made! Oh Silverglint, you've found a real treasure now, haven't you?” his ma purred deeply.
“I have, I have, I have!" Silverglint hollered in delight. So much so that he forgot entirely that his da was sleeping right beside him, which resulted in a string of hastily made apologies.
“Anyway,” Silverglint whispered in an attempt to control his voice. “I really want to find this relic that this fragment comes from and maybe on the way, I can find tons of new treasure!”
“Really?” his da asked, midway through a yawn. “If that’s the case, then maybe you should consider joining an Exploration Team.”
“An Exploration Team?”
“Yes, I’m sure that you are well aware of the many Rescue Teams in the area, such as A.C.T.” Silkstone yawned once again before continuing, “Well, instead of rescuing Pokémon, some teams prefer to explore undiscovered areas to search for treasures or discover the many wonders of the world. If you do that, then maybe you might find the secret behind that treasure that you found. Heh, I always knew that you were special from the day you hatched!”
“Hatched?” Silverglint looked visibly confused. “But Ferric said that that's just a story adults tell children before they're old enough to learn about the chatots and the combees—”
“A discussion that you are far too young to be having,” Silkstone said firmly. “Now, I think it's time for bed for all of us, don't you think?” The conversation ended there, despite Silverglint’s attempts to get a few extra words in.
Silverglint made his way back to his room, not noticing his mother’s brief flash of worry. He took another look at his treasure, so a fragment of a relic that was most likely made by Ancients? He smiled to himself, he'd do just what his Da suggested, he'd join an Exploration Team, discover a bunch of new dungeons and many treasures to go along with it and then uncover the mystery of his Relic Fragment.
***
Early the very next morning, Willowsheen left to do the weekly shopping at the kecleon brothers’ stall. The morning chill was a sign that Winter was approaching briskly. Opening shop so early had started to become unpleasant these days, especially after the Quiescence. Willowsheen reflected on the conversation she and Silkstone had with her son last night. He wanted to become an explorer? By all accounts, she should have been thrilled to hear that he’d found a calling in life but she was left wracked with concern. Exploration, though exciting, was extremely dangerous —and much as she wished that it wasn’t the case— it would be too much for her runty son. Silverglint would have to get far stronger somehow before he'd even have a chance to join a team, let alone go on any large-scale explorations.
“Can I help you with anything, Perrserker?”
In the midst of her thoughts, it hadn’t occurred to Willowsheen that she’d taken a wrong turn. She was heading in the direction of the Pelipper Post Office, which led her straight to Wigglytuff's stall. Wigglytuff had always struck Willowsheen as… odd. Willowsheen had little to no idea what Wigglytuff was selling and she was friendly towards everyone; Willowsheen was no exception. Caught off-guard, Willowsheen could only respond with a “Oh, hello! I’m sorry, I just got a little distracted and went the wrong way…”
“It's not a problem~” Wigglytuff chimed in her singsong voice. “You just looked a bit distracted. Is anything the matter?”
“Oh, uh… It’s nothing, really.” Could she really tell her? There seemed to be no harm in it. “I'm just a bit worried about one of my sons. He told me that he wants to become an explorer but I’m afraid that the whole thing would be too dangerous for him. He’s not very strong and—”
“Not strong enough to be an explorer? Well! That shouldn't be too bad so long he gets the proper training!”
“Proper training? Where? Wigglytuff, I admire your optimism but everyone here knows that the only teams in the area are of the Rescue Division and by extension any and all training grounds and facilities are dedicated to them.” That was another big problem with Silverglint’s ambition: even if he were to become strong enough to tackle exploration; no institute in the area would recognize him. The experiences of being a rescuer and explorer were two entirely different things. Simply put: training to become an explorer in Pokémon Square was unfeasible.
“Yes!” Wigglytuff continued, unfazed by Willowsheen's comment. “I'm sure that you’re aware that the world is much larger than Pokémon Square and its surrounding areas. After all, some areas are teeming with Exploration Teams, just like how Pokémon Square is teeming with Rescue Teams. Take Treasure Town for example! My son runs a guild there, dedicated to training aspiring explorers and if this is the son I think you're referring to, I bet that it’d also be a great boon to his confidence! Although, he’ll have to be a bit older before they’d even consider letting him join.”
Willowsheen ruminated on those words. A guild dedicated to training aspiring explorers? It sounded amazing and perhaps it was something that Silverglint needed, but Treasure Town was on a completely separate continent, so far away from the square. The thought was almost selfish. She had no real reason to hold this potential path away from him, however. And it was then when Willowsheen reached a conclusion: Perhaps, when Silverglint was older and his aspirations of becoming an explorer hadn't faded, she could run the idea by him with the promise that he'd be able to achieve great things if he chooses to go.
***
Wordlessly, Silverglint stood before a large tent shaped like a wigglytuff. This is the place, he thought. This was the place where his Relic Fragment had brought him. In front of his paws laid a small grate, inviting him to take that step forwards into a new life. His heart hammered in a mixture of fear and excitement and he couldn’t bring his breaths to steady themselves in an effort to calm down. He tried to steel his nerves by remembering what he was here for. Several weeks after he had shown his parents the fragment, his mother told him that she had heard word of a guild that would take up and train aspiring explorers, all the way in Treasure Town. It had been a year since then and after making several arrangements with the travel-liner and many tearful hugs and farewells from his ma, he had begun his journey to Treasure Town.
A brief moment of silence echoed through the air as Silverglint clutched his treasure by his chest. Breathing deeply, he counted down… 3-2-1. His foot met the grate.
A postmon's job is never done! When a wingull apprenticing at one of the continent's largest post offices fails an important assignment, he's thrown into a chance encounter with a strange pokémon who shows him a world far beyond the scope of the post office.
Entry for Thousand Road's Friends and Partners one-shot contest. Ending contains spoilers for Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Gates to Infinity.
***
“…ey, wa…up… Come on, …ak up… WAKE UP!”
A wingull toppled over the edge of his perch with a surprised squawk, landing straight into a mess of nesting materials.
“And about time too. Could you imagine the amount of trouble I could have landed myself in if I had just let you slack off like this?”
Still disorientated from the fall, the wingull turned his gaze upwards to see his roost-mate. She was another, slightly larger, wingull who had taken to sitting on her roost-mate’s perch the moment he’d fallen off. The smaller wingull folded his stiff wings back into place, refocusing his attention back to his roost-mate.
“Come on Breezy. Are a few more moments of sleep too much to ask for around these parts?”
“A few more moments?! Crest, it’s almost an hour past moonset. The boss wants you to—”
“What are you, a dark-type? You’re just saying that to get me out quicker. You of all pokémon should know that I never sleep-in past… Oh.” Crest’s words trailed off the moment he bothered to look out the window. Sure enough, the once deep shades of black and navy had brightened enough for the last remaining stars to fade away into the sea of soft purples.
“Oh no oh no, I overslept again. Why didn’t you say anything sooner? Wait… you said that Ms. Dragonite wanted to see me?”
Breezy nodded, which left Crest with the most mareepish look a wingull could muster. He gave Breezy a weak chuckle, bolting off in a mess towards the main hall. Ducking and weaving, he created a path through the crowded, twisting, halls—almost slamming himself face first into several bags, corners and other obstacles along the way.
By the time Crest reached the grand scope of the main hall his feathers, along with any other nesting materials, were sticking out in every direction; looking more akin to an agitated skitty as opposed to any type of wingull. Crest stared beyond the cascading walls adorned with a long series of descending perches and windows; just stopping itself at the base of a large, circular desk. Seated in the center of the carved out ring was a dragonite, sorting through a tall stack of papers.
Upon seeing his boss, Crest dove towards the main desk—avoiding the flurry of beating wings entering and exiting the gargantuan hall; bags and bills filled to the brim with all assortments of mail. Crest touched the ground floor for less than a second, landing directly in front of the dragonite.
“Good morning, Ms. Dragonite. You said you wished to see me?”
Ms. Dragonite did not lift her gaze from the stack of papers she’d occupied herself with. “You’re late.” Her voice, though quiet, carried a powerful presence, capable of putting any misbehaving pokémon in line. Crest shrunk into himself as Ms. Dragonite continued, “I asked that you be here at moonset but now that you’ve finally arrived; you’re getting your first cross-continental assignment.”
“I…wha?”
“You heard me. You’ve been apprenticed to us for long enough and are more than capable of fulfilling this task.” Ms. Dragonite pulled out and unrolled a large map of the world, setting it in front of Crest. She pointed at the tail of the large northwestern continent, running through the details of the assignment. “Your destination is Crescent Bay, near Eliga’s southernmost tip. You’ll be given a special note to hand to your assessor; a pelipper wearing a bright yellow bandanna. It’ll be sitting right on top of the town’s post office—you can’t miss it. It is imperative that you do not overshoot and find yourself stranded in a Mystery Dungeon, such as the Cape of Wonders or Scalchop Beach. It’s happened more times than I care to count—I don’t want to see it happening again. Have you got all that?”
At Crest’s nod, Ms. Dragonite proceeded, “Very good. You depart tomorrow. Deadline’s on the 17th day of Hemit. One week.”
“Wait, only a week? It’s at least a three-day flight from here to Eliga’s westernmost edge for a wingull like me, it’ll take more than a week before I even come close to reaching Crescent Bay.”
“This is a test of your speed as well as your stamina. Besides, winds are predicted to be in your favour—giving you a distinct advantage over our other apprentices. Pass and you’ll be able to start working with us full-time; fail and you’ll be spending more time as one of our apprentices. Does that sound fair?”
“Yes, Ms. Dragonite.”
“Very good. Use today to prepare for the journey from here and back. Rest well and best of luck. Oh, and for Oriana’s sake, go clean yourself up; you look like you rushed here the second you fell from your perch. Dismissed.”
The day went by without a passing glance. Crest kept his bag light to not slow himself down with its weight, much to Breezy’s worry and insistence that he pack more. The next morning, Crest awoke before moonset for the very first time in his life. He was up earlier than most, including the post office itself, whose halls stood in silence, with naught but a draft passing through. Careful not to disturb that stillness, Crest crept through the spiraling halls, gliding down towards the main desk the second he passed into the main hall; ready to pick up the required note.
“Excuse me, Ms. Dragonite?” Crest whispered, drawing her attention.
“Up nice and early for once?” Her voice remained flat however her scaled features couldn’t hide the smile crawling its way up into the corners of her jaw. She retrieved a small pink note from one of her many drawers, securing it to Crest’s left leg with a small, silver badge as she recapped the assignment’s criteria from yesterday. “…You’re expected to complete the journey even if you fail to meet the deadline. In the event of an emergency, press the button in the middle of that badge around your leg and help will come your way as soon as possible. Have you got all that?”
“Yes Ms. Dragonite.”
“Excellent, you’re dismissed. You’re free to leave at any time, however you’d best be going sooner rather than later.”
Crest nodded, returning to his roost to pick up the small satchel that he’d prepared for the journey ahead. Careful not to wake Breezy from her slumber, Crest flew up to the small window that overlooked the miniature roost. He consulted his map one last time, the dawning skies brightening themselves enough for Crest to see where he was going. Confident in his abilities, Crest took off from the windowsill leaving the post office and Breakwater Town for what would be the longest time in his life.
***
The flight to Eliga proved itself far brisker than Crest expected. He’d reached the mountainous forms of Yanpei’s margins in two days and passed over Yellow Point not even a day after that. Not a cloud suspended from the sky, the winds blew in his favour and the waves below were cheering him on. Sure, he had a few close encounters with the odd feral pokémon, whether they tried to strike from above or snap at him from below; yet his maneuverability had proven itself to be superior. Land hadn’t been sighted for more than a day and a half as he flew over the great, dividing expanse that surged between the two continents.
However, as the winds began to slow, it took Crest another day to reach Eliga’s boundaries—keeping the continent’s coastline in view at all times. Time was trickling away at a steady pace. At this rate, he’d never reach Crescent Bay in time, he’d have to start flying overtime to give himself any sort of chance of making the deadline. He forced himself to flap his wings—growing heavier with each passing flap—more often to maintain his glide, driving himself to the brink of exhaustion just to make it to the bay before moonrise.
Then the world slowed itself to a halt.
THWACK!!!
A deluge of pain washed over Crest as he plummeted towards the beckoning waves, unable to make sense of what had just happened. He felt a distinct lack of a certain weight on his left leg, hearing something splash into the waters below. Crest was unable to process anything else as a powerful set of talons wrapped themselves around his body; crushing and stabbing, getting a tighter grip on him.
Crest’s vision blurred as the intensity of the pain ramped upwards. He tried to focus on his assailant, seeing only the grey and fiery orange underbelly of a much larger, feral bird-pokémon. A talonflame. Crest panicked. He’d been warned of feral talonflame by the many pelipper of the post office; telling him about how wingull were a favourite meal of theirs and how some would intentionally fly far from land for the chance to catch themselves one—they were just as bad as dark-types in that regard. The talonflame’s black tail fanned out behind it as it turned towards land, taking Crest far from his intended route.
Any attempt to struggle only caused the larger bird to tighten its grip. If he could just get a clear shot…
Angling himself just right, Crest unleashed a weak water gun at the talonflame’s head. It gave out a shrill cry. Stunned by the intense stinging sensation that the water attack left, it loosened its grip on Crest giving him the opportunity to wiggle out of its talons, falling into the alpine terrain below.
Crest tried and failed to open his wings and fly away, again and again. What would open instead was a blossom of pain deep within his breast and left wing. He couldn’t get a proper look at himself through his dizzied gaze, all that he could glean was that his left-wing had almost been crushed. Blood was continually trailing from it while his reddened feathers were sticking out in all sorts of directions. The right one seemed to be fine, at least. The talonflame didn’t follow him, scared off once it realized that its prey would fight back.
He crashed into a dense brush of dried grass which was nice enough to leave him alive in one piece with a series of what would be some nasty looking bruises if he didn’t have any feathers to cover them. Blackness overtook Crest’s vision as he saw the clouds above racing towards Crescent Bay without him. At least he wouldn’t be a talonflame’s meal.
***
The skies had yellowed by the time Crest awoke from the depths of unconsciousness. His entire body throbbed in a rhythmic ache with attempts at movement crescendoing that pain into an intense jab. He was stuck, left to admire the darkening skies accompanied by the sound of the wind’s swift jog rustling through the thickets. However, as Crest continued to take in the sights and sounds of an approaching moonrise, he swore that he heard something else shifting through the grass nearby. Taking what was his only possible chance for help—praying to the Moon and Stars above that he didn’t just alert another feral pokémon to the location of an easy meal—he called out. “Hello? Is there anybody there?”
The sound of shifting grass stopped, leaving Crest in silence. His heart skipped a beat as a second voice called back out to him. It sounded feminine. “Yes, I can hear you. Where are you?”
Crest had never felt so relieved hearing a stranger’s voice. He called back again, even louder, wincing in pain. “Over here! I’m in a patch of dry grass. Can you see me?”
“There’s dry grass everywhere,” the voice replied in a more sarcastic tone. “Are you, by any chance, up on that ledge?”
A ledge? Was he on one? He couldn’t tell, not that he had any chance to clarify, as the stranger spoke again.
“I’ll be up there in a moment. Hold on.”
The scrambling of claws on hard rock drowned out every other sound in the area, ending on the note of a small thud of grass buckling beneath a greater weight. Crest turned his gaze to the source, revealing a dark pokémon heading his way as it kneeled beside him. Getting a closer look at his rescuer revealed to him a sneasel. The small crest of feathers by the left ear meant that she was female, as if her voice hadn’t already been a dead-giveaway.
“Oh boy, you’re looking rather worse-for-wear aren’t you? I can patch you up but all my stuff’s back at the village I’m staying at, so I’ll have to take you there.” She took another glance at Crest’s battered form. “It’s not very far from here. Can you at least stand up?”
“I’ll try.” Crest’s focus shifted to attempts to roll himself over—working past each trust of pain each time he moved a muscle. Once on his feet, Crest fought beak and wing to keep himself standing. Sneasel turned around not long after revealing a pattern covering her back. It stood out like snow on dark rock, depicting some sort of flower encircled by a pair of dragonic heads. The flower rested on three sets of what Crest inferred to be wings. Two smaller sets spread across her shoulder blades whilst a far larger set trailed down the length of her back in perfect symmetry, stopping just above her tail-feathers. Crest had never seen anything like it.
Sneasel hopped back down the ledge, preventing Crest from admiring the strange markings any further. She shouted back to him, “Come on! It’ll get dark soon.”
He limped towards the ledge folding his wings. However only the right one responded, leaving the left to jut out at an awkward angle. Sneasel was waiting for him just below carrying a stuffed satchel, just beyond her was a well worn path carved into the grass.
“So—ow! How do you expect me to get down from up here?” Crest inquired. Indeed, the ledge was twice Sneasel’s height with no reasonable way of climbing up or down without claws like hers.
“You could jump and I’ll catch you,” Sneasel proposed. “I promise to be gentle!”
With no other option at his disposal, Crest gave her a reluctant nod. In any other circumstance, he’d have been mistrustful of such a pokémon but now, he couldn’t afford to be suspicious. If the dark-type was being honest, he’d just have to put up with her until they reached this alleged village; then he could receive help from a pokémon of a more trust-worthy type. Crest jumped.
She was much softer than expected. Warmer too. He cracked an eye open, looking up at the sneasel. She took it as a query. “Don’t worry, I’m fine,” she reassured. “I’ll carry you the rest of the way. You’re very light, so it’s no problem for me.”
Careful not to disturb any of Crest’s wounds, Sneasel made her way up the makeshift path. Just as Crest was dozing off, Sneasel decided that she wanted to keep him talking. “So, where are you from? There aren’t any wingull around here—only the occasional pelipper who deliver the mail. And how did you end up beaten up on that ledge?”
Crest didn’t have the faith nor energy to answer her, he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Not that it mattered as just a few moments later, Sneasel’s pace quickened, jostling him back to reality.
“We’re here.”
Encroaching his vision was the sight of an old village reclining against the steepening landscape. Crest managed himself a brief glimpse at the sign hunched beside the settlement:
Sierra Village
Sneasel wasted no time, cutting through the village, bringing Crest in front of a tired inn. Sneasel threw her satchel by the door, entering the building with a lightened load. A spindly druddigon lifted its head from the reception desk, nodding at Sneasel, setting it back down again once Sneasel took to the stairs.
“You live here?” Crest asked, breaking the long silence between the two.
“In a sense. I pay, they let me stay. My room’s the second one on the left. I’ll go turn in my work for the day once I’m done patching you up.”
“Hold on. You’re not taking me to a healer?”
“I’m tight on Poké and I’d prefer to save whenever possible. I have the right equipment and experience patching up injured Pokémon—besides, I’ve watched the healers ‘round here work and they’re pretty second-rate if you ask me.” Crest was unconvinced, prompting Sneasel to sigh and give a half-hearted smile. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
“Why should I?”
“I brought you here to help you? If I didn’t want to help, I would’ve left you out on that ledge.”
“Well…” Crest stuttered as he was being set down on a bedside table. “How do I know that you’re not pulling some kind of trick—you know, the thing that you dark-types love doing?”
“What would I gain from that?” She opened a drawer just under Crest, pulling out a small healer’s-kit. “Now this will sting a bit, so hold still.” She began coating an odd-smelling salve—a common mixture of oran juice and heal seed powder—over his wounds, wrapping bandages around them once the salve had set. When Sneasel had reached his left wing, one of her claws poked his side, eliciting a loud squawk and the frantic flapping of his good wing.
“Sorry! Sorry, I tend to forget how sharp these claws really are whenever I’m doing stuff like this.”
“What do you mean you forget how sharp they are? Haven’t you been living with them your whole life?” Crest hissed.
“It’s uh… something I don’t pay much attention to. Anyway! That’s all for now. You won’t be using that wing for at least another four weeks. I’ll redress your wounds in the upcoming days.” Sneasel stood up and made her way to the door.
“Hey, where are you going?”
“I need to finish that job, you know, what I was doing before I found you?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Won’t be long.” And with that, she was gone leaving the room in silence.
Crest took the opportunity to admire his bandaging. His entire chest was wrapped in the stuff, his wing pinned tightly to his side. His attention turned to the room that encapsulated him which, while tidy, wasn’t very well organized. Papers detailing payment plans, maps, and some kind of cipher scattered themselves across the rough shelves. A simple straw bed was bundled in a corner and a small window—not too dissimilar to the one back at his roost—perched on the wall opposite to the door. Looking through it revealed little aside from the fact that dusk had settled over the village. With little else to look out for, Crest waited for Sneasel to come back, sensing each still minute pass. He stirred again the moment he heard the sound of creaking stairs.
Sneasel’s head peeked into the room, followed by the rest of her body, satchel looking much emptier now. She turned to Crest, taking a brief look at her handiwork. “How are you faring over there?” No answer. She tossed the satchel in the general direction of her bed, landing with a clatter. With muted mutters, Sneasel revealed a small pouch of Poké, placing it on the closest shelf.
“So! I guess you don’t know any other place to stay around here—so I’ll be your guide. Any places you wanna see?”
“Is there a post office here?”
“‘Course there is. Why? Do you need something delivered?”
“Why else would I be asking? Before I was attacked by that talonflame—”
“Well that explains the injuries,” Sneasel mused, cutting off Crest mid-sentence. “I thought they looked familiar.”
“Yes, anyway. I was being tested for something and I need to let the assessors know what happened and why I’ll be back much later than expected. As soon as possible.”
“I see. I’ll take you first thing tomorrow then.”
“Thanks. Do you have some fresh paper and an ink-pad lying around?”
“As you can see, there’s plenty of paper lying about,” Sneasel chuckled in an admittance of embarrassment. “As for the ink-pad, I saw one lying about in one of these drawers. Just give me a sec…” She trailed off, scavenging through each drawer. After successfully relocating their contents to the floor, Sneasel held up a small black box with a triumphant grin. She probed the pad, noting the amount of ink that transferred to her claw. “It’s a bit dry, so you might have to press a bit harder to get enough ink on the page.”
“That’ll do, just give it here.” Sneasel obliged, placing the pad and a loose sheet of paper right in front of him. Crest thanked her and began speaking of his journey and current circumstances in footprint runes—asking for the information to be relayed to Breakwater Town’s main office. Once finished, Crest rolled up the sheet of paper. “All done. The assessor will handle things from here.”
Sneasel nodded. “Well, now that you’re done, I suggest you get some rest and let those wounds start healing.”
“Isn’t it a bit early for that?”
“If you want to go to the post office as soon as possible, we’re going to need an early start. Besides, it’s not as if there’s much to do—everything’s closed now—so I normally go to bed around this time just to spare myself the boredom.”
“Aren’t sneasel supposed to be nocturnal or at least crepuscular?”
“Not this one,” Sneasel said with a yawn—stretching all the work she’d done for the day out of her system. “I’ll definitely be doing something less physically demanding tomorrow. I think those deliveries have given me a lifetime’s worth of heavy-lifting. You’re fine sleeping on that bedside table, right? I could give you some of my bedding if that makes things more comfortable for you.”
“I’m fine.”
Crest didn’t know how to feel. Here he was, being forced into the care of a dark-type with no say in the matter. He didn’t want to trust the thing but he felt as if he had to. What if this was all some kind of trick and the sneasel was just waiting for him to let his guard down to reveal her terrible game? He looked back at her sleeping form—he didn’t want to do the same but he was so tired.
With an ever-growing reluctance, Crest gave in placing his head beneath his wing, allowing the gentle rush of sleep to overtake him.
***
Crest awoke to Sneasel’s warm smile. He’d almost panicked but calmed as the memories of yesterday’s events reopened themselves to him.
“Rise and shine sleepy-head. Slept well?”
“I suppose so.”
“Good to hear. How are those wounds feeling?”
“Sore but they don’t hurt as much as they did yesterday.” It’d all dulled to a slow ache. Nothing stabbed at him anymore but he’d still have to contend with the pain for a while longer.
“Mhm. Ready to head off to the post office then?”
“Oh right, of course!” Crest grabbed the rolled up note in his beak, about to jump off the bedside had Sneasel not picked him up in time.
“Come on then,” she chipped, setting Crest on the floor—gauging whether or not he was fit to walk. Seeing him strut towards the door with little limp or hesitation prompted her to follow.
When the two stepped out into the morning light, Sneasel pointed to a cliff standing high above the village. “The post office is up there, you’ll see a bit of the village on the way there.”
Crest followed her at what he considered a safe-distance. The village was tiny, with a population that didn’t seem to go above 50. Passing by a few stores, the path ascended further upward as it began wrapping itself around the cliff-face. The path ahead thinned as the pair climbed the stony coils. Sneasel placed a paw against the shifting closer and closer to the wall of rock solid beside her whilst Crest trotted on ahead, right in the middle of the path. It took several more minutes of climbing for the simplistic post office to settle into view. It squatted itself on the cliff-top, its structure worn against the mountain’s winds. Crest entered the building to see a sleeping pelipper attending to empty shelves. He spoke up.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Wha…?” The pelipper gave Crest a tired look, forcing his tone into something cheerier. “Sierra Village post office at your service! How can I be of help?”
“Just a delivery. I need this note taken to Crescent Bay right now!”
The pelipper huffed—an unpleasant, guttural groan. “Listen kid: I ain’t doing any deliveries today. Wait for the next guy—he’ll be here in another three weeks or so.”
“But this is urgent! I need this delivered now!”
“Kid, the sooner I get back to Noe Town, the better. I ain’t taking any pit-stops for this.”
“I apprentice at Breakwater’s Town main office. I was given an assignment to deliver a note to someone in Crescent Bay but I was injured on the way and fell here.” Anger began to bubble within Crest’s voice as he gestured to his bandaging. “I need to alert them of my circumstances.”
“Breakwater Town you say?” The pelipper’s eyes narrowed as he shifted his gaze between Crest and the note, a slight smile working its way into the edges of his bill. “Fine, but it’ll cost ya. Let’s settle on 500 Poké. Upfront.”
“What!? You can’t charge for deliveries, it’s against etiquette!”
“Not to me it ain’t. If you’re gonna waste my time like this, I expect to be compensated in some manner. No Poké, no delivery, so cough it up.”
“I have good authority to report you for this!”
“Yeah, good luck with that kiddo. The post offices here don’t do jack shit with their reports.”
Sneasel spoke up from the entrance, “Wingull… please just leave it.” Her focus shifted to the pelipper. “I have the money but it’s back in my room—could you wait for just a few more minutes?”
The pelipper grinned. “See, your friend here’s talking sense. Be a good boy and keep ya beak shut and you’ll have your note delivered in no time.” He looked at Sneasel, “You have 10 minutes before I bump it up to 750.”
Sneasel needed little convincing. She ran off, leaving Crest alone with the mangy thing, which had started to doze off again. An eternity passed before Sneasel returned with the pouch of Poké, sliding it towards Pelipper.
He looked over the cash and laughed, “Well would ya look at that! A dark-type who’s able to keep her word. And here I was expecting it to be counterfeit. Very well then, I’ll deliver your little letter. Just remember to keep this between us. Was a pleasure doing business with you.” The pelipper proceeded to take both the letter and cash in his bill and took off, leaving nothing but a mess of frayed feathers.
When Crest was sure that he was gone he hissed, “I’m reporting him the moment I return to the main office. Why did you give him the Poké?”
“I was trying to help. You said that it was urgent, and if giving him the Poké was going to convince him, then I didn’t see a reason not to.”
“Oh… thank you. I uh… never expected a dark-type to be so honest.”
“Have you ever met another dark-type before?” Sneasel’s face showed no expression. It was clear that this wasn’t the first time that she had this conversation.
“Well, no… I only know what everyone at the post office tells me.”
“I see. I myself have met plenty of dark-types on my travels and not once have they deserved the reputation they have here. Meanwhile, that pelipper was far more in-line with the stereotype. You’ve got to be more open-minded about these things. After all, you don’t know when one is gonna save your life.” She looked at Crest’s bandagings and smirked at that last sentence. “So what’s Breakwater Town like? It’s quite far from here.”
“Yeah, it is. The main post office is huuuuuge with a bunch of windows and roosts for all the mailmons—mostly pelipper but there are a few other species in there too like pidgeot, swellow and I think I saw a dodrio once. It’s run by Ms. Dragonite, now she’s a serious one—”
“Anything outside the post office?”
Crest was caught off-guard. “Well… no. I don’t see much outside the glimpses I get during the training routines, they say it’s to keep me from ‘getting distracted’.”
“Surely there must’ve been a time before that.”
“Before that? I hatched in that office and began training the second I could fly. Apparently, some of the big offices steal eggs from feral pelipper and raise them to be the ideal mailmons. ‘Lot easier than just getting a bunch of pokémon to sign up for the job, even though there are some who do.”
A blank stare fixated itself on Sneasel’s face—it was blatant that this was the first time she’d heard of it.
“Not that it bothers me! That’s just how it is. We’re expected to fulfill our role as postmons just as kecleon fulfill theirs as shopkeepers but enough about me, what’s it like living out here?”
“Uh… uneventful. I do a bunch of jobs around the village and I earn enough to get by but some of the jobs I get can be rather interesting. Like, sometimes, I might be asked to go into this thing called a ‘Mystery Dungeon’ and other times I’ll discover something about the village, like a hidden passage. I also get quite a number of free days and whenever that happens, I like climbing up this cliff to admire the view. It takes a lot of my mind and I appreciate it for that.”
“Ahhh okay, maybe I’ll understand more when I see for myself.”
Sneasel smiled but said nothing else in response. In silence, the two descended the cliff. When the pair reached the village again, Sneasel spoke up, surprising Crest.
“I’ll see if Hakamo-o has any jobs on offer. His work doesn’t require much effort and he pays really well.” She hurried along, Crest trailing close behind, stopping herself right in front of a tent filled with all sorts of accessories. Right at the back, muttering pricings under his breath, an aging hakamo-o was busying himself with his wares.
“Mr. Hakamo-o!”
“Ah, why if it ain’t me favourite lil helper. How’s it goin’?”
“Good as ever! Any jobs or errands you need help with today?”
“Well, since ya offered, I suppose I could use yer help fer somethin’. A new supply of baubles just came in and I need ‘em organized and displayed nicely.”
“Easy! I’ll do it as quickly as possible—for the right amount, of course.”
Hakamo-o chortled, “It’s a deal and since ya’ve been so helpful, you can pick out anything you’d like here—as a gift. Sneasel was beaming and started digging through the large tangle of jewelry while Hakamo-o continued on about his supplies. “Been getting stuff from all over Kythra recently. The one that came in today is from Solunadia, so expect a lotta…”
Crest’s mind drifted from the conversation, taking in the moment. Sneasel’s sheer joy, Hakamo-o speaking with such passion about his wares… it made him realize that he had nothing to compare it to. All he knew was work. Preparing for work, speaking of work, just work. He shook his mind of work and allowed himself to be taken in by Sneasel’s happiness and when he did, Crest felt a strange warmness stir within him.
***
Everything had changed since Crest had started living life in Sierra Village. With him being unable to help out with Sneasel’s work, there was so much free time at his disposal. He always tried to be by her side, absorbing every new experience each passing day.
Sneasel kept the accessory from Hakamo-o wrapped around her ankle. She’d picked out a rather elaborate-looking bracelet—she was just as surprised as Crest with how easily Hakamo-o parted with it considering how valuable it looked. Crafted from many smooth, white stones dotted with luminescent flecks; the detailed carvings that composed the loop of the bracelet depicted what Crest thought to be waves, bobbing in-time with the wind. Meanwhile, Sneasel inferred that, since the bracelet came from Solunadia, they were sand dunes, rolling into themselves under the wind’s influence. Sitting in the center of the winding bracelet was a ring of blue stones encircling three, elegant scales that appeared to be either blue, silver or white depending on where the light struck them. A lightning bolt-like pattern coursed through them, giving them an even greater sense of finery.
Crest couldn’t even begin to visualize what pokémon those scales would have belonged to and it seemed like he wasn’t the only one; for when he’d asked Hakamo-o about it, he’d shaken his head saying that he had no idea. While the question still gnawed at him, he decided to pay it no further mind.
The days raced by. Crest’s wing was no longer pinned to his body and he could feel it strengthen with each stretch and exercise that Sneasel had made him do. Alongside the strength of his wing, his friendship with Sneasel grew with each passing day. He couldn’t put his wing on it but he could feel that there was something different about her. Her entire presence felt so open and comforting. It was as if he could travel to the furthest reaches of the world with her and everything would still be okay. He didn’t understand it, nor did he try to.
Soon, Crest was freed from his bandaging and his wing strong enough to carry him back to Breakwater Town. He’d have to leave Sneasel. It’d been more than a month since their first meeting and the more time that passed, the less ready Crest was to make the journey back. He had to return to his duties, lest he face the consequences for shirking work. The pair made their way to the cliff where the post office sat and exchanged their parting words.
“Now, don’t you overexert yourself. You don’t wanna become easy talonflame bait again,” Sneasel hummed.
“I’ll be sure of it. Think I’ve learnt my lesson from last time.”
“Glad to hear it. I’m going to miss having you around, you know.” The words slipped out with little fanfare. She had gotten used to seeing the little wingull around and his absence would take time to get used to.
“I’ll miss you too. I’ll be sure to visit you as much as I can!”
“But what about your work? Won’t someone notice?”
“Probably, but it’s not going to stop me. You’re the first real friend I’ve had. All my workmates just talk about that: work. But you talk so much more than that. You talk about a bunch of stuff that isn’t work and I like that a lot. I wanna start talking about non-work things with my workmates too, maybe then I can start calling them friends! But I’ll need to visit you if I need to find stuff to talk about!”
“I’ll be looking forward to it then, Wingull.”
“Oh, it’s Crest. You can call me Crest now.” A spur of the moment decision marked the first time Crest had ever given his preferred name to someone outside the post office. It just felt right to give it to her, she more than deserved it.
“Alright then, Crest. I’ll be waiting for you here, then.”
He nodded and took off with a running start, ready to soar over the winds and waves again. Sneasel watched him from below with a smile. As Crest gained altitude, a short gasp escaped Sneasel when she was struck with a sudden realization: she hadn’t told him her name yet. She ran to the cliff’s edge and, as loud as she could, shouted, “Elliana! My name is Elliana!”
Crest had a hard time making out her words but the moment he heard them, only one thought danced across his mind; What a funny name.
***
“So, you failed.” Ms. Dragonite was unimpressed. Her disappointed tone of voice biting.
“Yes, Ms. Dragonite.” Crest had returned to the post office exhausted a few minutes ago. His left wing was stiff with aches, and began his best attempt to explain himself; from losing the note and the badge to what he’d been up to during his extended absence.
“Yet you didn’t see to alerting either me or the assessor. Why?”
“What? But I did send a letter to the assessor about the circumstances, surely they must’ve received it.”
“Not a word of it. Do you really think you can get away with lying about this sort of thing?” Her eyes narrowed.
Crest flinched. “No, no of course not! It was that pelipper. He lied to us!” The sudden realization dawned on Crest that the pelipper had never intended to fly to Crescent Bay. He was just taking advantage of the situation to make a quick buck. It made his blood boil.
“Us?”
“The pokémon who rescued me. She showed me the way to the village’s post office and paid the pelipper once he demanded payment for delivering the letter.”
“I see, I’ll file a report to Noe Town but you mustn’t see yourself getting attached to strangers. You understand that they just distract you from your work, correct?”
“Yes Ms. Dragonite.”
“Good. Nonetheless, this failure has put a large dent in your time training with us. To make up for this, you’ll be continuing your apprenticeship for one more seasonal cycle from today.”
“An entire seasonal cycle? But that’s more than a year! I’ve only been gone for a month and a half, what do I need all that extra training for?”
“Making up for lost time, unlearning any unwanted habits from strangers and ensuring that you’re properly prepared the next time you’re given a task to that scale.”
“But I was prepared. I was just caught off-guard by that talonflame,” Crest moaned.
“Then perhaps you might want to see to using that extra time to learn how to pay attention. You’re dismissed. Tomorrow, I want to see you right here at moonset to begin your extra training.”
Crest could only lower his head in response. He trudged his way back to his old roost, at least he could tell them about Elliana and the things she taught him—they’d understand. Once he reached the roost, he was greeted by the sight of Breezy and the rest of their roost.
A chorus of questions from the rest of the roost peaked the second Breezy opened her beak bombarding Crest from every direction ranging from the “what happened”s to the “what took you so long”s all the way to the “why did you write to us”s.
“Ack! Give me room to breathe and I’ll tell you everything.” The room went still in a heartbeat, allowing Crest to tell his tale to the entire roost. “That’s better. Everything was going well until the day before the deadline…” He recited the events that had transpired over the course of his absence, leaving no stone unturned—placing a lot of focus on Elliana and the relationship he’d built with her. The roost made no sound until Crest finished his story. “…and that’s why I’m going to start taking days off to see her again. I want her to show and teach me more things that isn’t mail delivery—”
The roost exploded into a flurry of worried squawks and flapping, resuming their assault of questions.
“Crest, have you gone mad?”
“You can’t!”
“You’ll be caught before you make it to Yellow Point!”
“What would Ms. Dragonite think of this?”
“You can’t!”
“You trusted a dark-type?”
“You’re being taken advantage of!”
“I bet she wants you to go back so she can use you to her liking!”
“You can’t.”
“You can’t.”
“Yeah! Crest, you should know better than this—it was one of the first things we were taught!”
“How could you be so foolish?”
“Forget about it.”
“You can’t.”
“You can’t.”
“You can’t.”
Crest’s shouts cut through the dissenting voices. “I could’ve died if she didn’t rescue me! How could I not be at least a bit grateful for that?”
“She must be playing with you. If she didn’t have some sort of agenda, she would’ve left you alone. Crest please don’t be difficult… Please… Don’t do this.”
“But she’s not like that! She’s kind and clever and warm—”
“Warm? How can an ice-type be warm?”
“Not literally! I mean that whenever I’m around her, I get this warm feeling within me—like we could do anything together and we’d be okay. It was as if… we completed each other.” Like raindrops trickling down a clear wall, the words fell out of his beak. Complete—that was how it felt being around her, only realizing that with her lack of presence. “That’s… that’s why I want to see her again… because I miss that warmth.”
“No, Crest. You’re staying here. Ms. Dragonite will put things back on track and get rid of those unwanted thoughts of yours. Oh, please don’t be upset, we're trying to help you, not hurt you. Does Ms. Dragonite know about this?”
“Yeah… she does.”
“Good. Now go get some sleep. You’ll start feeling better once you realize that you escaped that nasty trap that that sneasel was setting for you.”
Tears pricked the corners of Crest’s eyes, vision blurring as the entire roost flew back to their perches—falling asleep as soon as their heads were tucked under their wings. Their words cut deeper than any talonflame’s claws. He looked back at Breezy, whose face was wrought with worry. She tried to comfort him.
“I’m really glad you’re back. Even if I don’t think you should see that sneasel again, I’m glad she saved you.”
“It’s not true, you know. What everyone said about her, it’s not true.”
“Crest, I want to believe you but I just can’t imagine it. But even if you’ll never see her again, you still have me, right?”
“I guess so…”
Breezy smiled. “Well, goodnight then.”
“Goodnight…”
Crest had never felt more isolated from the world around him; numb to the roost’s presence and Breezy’s hollow affirmations. He wished that he’d just kept his bill shut or at least omitted the fact that Elliana was a dark-type—maybe then they would’ve listened. The echoes of the roost’s objecting words still ringing in his head. However, the more he thought about what they said, the more determined he grew to see her again—an opportunity just needed to present itself.
The first light of moonset touched the roost, stirring Crest from the monsoon that’d become his thoughts. With no sleep to aid him, Crest slogged his way towards the main hall, ready to start the new day with a stale set of jobs. Ms. Dragonite didn’t even wish to acknowledge him, recapping Crest’s daily set of jobs like clockwork. He’d once prided himself with this work but now, the days were just repeating themselves. Menial task after menial task, letter after letter, blending together in a viscous mush. Sometimes he’d get a delivery to another town like Baram or Metemall but Crest couldn’t care less. He just wanted to see Elliana again.
Only one thing of note happened on these deliveries, when Crest had noticed something strange. The job was just like any other, a simple delivery to an important figure in Metemall town—something about a Rescue Organization—however when he’d arrived to deliver the note to the gothitelle, Crest caught a brief glimpse of her four daughters. Whilst there was nothing out of the ordinary with the eldest, second, and youngest; there was something strange about the third one. She didn’t resemble her mother and sisters at all; sporting a thicker coat of fur, smaller ears, and a more angular facial-structure. However, what caught Crest’s attention was the markings on her arms.
While very different in design, they reminded him of the mark he’d seen on Elliana’s back. He didn’t ask about it then as it had slipped his mind one too many times but he’d be sure the next time they saw each other. Perhaps there was some kind of method of marking fur that he didn’t know about. Would they work on feathers too? He might consider getting one for himself if they did. As Crest was thinking about all the potential designs that he could cover himself with, his train of thought was halted in its tracks the moment the third daughter noticed that she was being stared at. Not taking kindly to it, she shot Crest a glare that screamed at him to back off, causing him to make an audible squawk and fly off to continue his work. Psychics. He'd never get used to them.
***
The long string of deliveries to Metemall town revealed an opening to Crest. By the time he returned to the office, Ms. Dragonite had departed for Baram Town to organize a few things there. It was the perfect window to make the flight to Sierra Village. Nobody suspected a thing, thinking that Crest was doing more of the regular busywork. He slipped out—taking off towards Eliga—without so much as a passing glance.
It took him five days to reach the small village Elliana called home, arriving not long after moonrise. Elliana, as promised, was waiting for him on the cliff with the squatted post office. Her anklet glistened in the moonlight, drawing Crest’s attention. With a holler, Crest dove towards Elliana, allowing himself to be caught by her.
“Elliana! I’m back! Like I promised!”
She set him down, beaming. “It’s been quite some time, huh?”
“Yeah, but I’m here now! I missed you and your warmth so much!”
“My warmth?” she giggled. “Crest, I don’t have much of that to go around—ice-type, remember?”
“Oh, not like that! I meant the warmness I feel inside whenever I’m around you. I feel complete around you.”
“You do… I-oh.”
Elliana’s smile faded causing confusion to ebb and flow throughout Crest’s thoughts. Did she know what that meant? Elliana changed the subject, stopping him from considering any other questions.
“Let’s head back to the inn, we have a lot to talk about. How long are you planning on staying, by the way?” Elliana started making her way down the path to the village, giving Crest a very clear view of the marking on her back.
“A few days at the very least. I want to make the most out of our time here.”
“As do I. How’s work been for you?”
“Terrible. Everything is just so boring now. I keep thinking of our time here and I keep wanting to come back to you.”
“Surely something interesting must’ve happened during your time away, right?”
“Well, there was one thing. On one of my deliveries, I saw a pokémon with these weird markings all over her arms. It reminded me of the one on your back.” Elliana went still. Crest continued, “and it really got me thinking about how you can get them. Is it a method of marking fur? Does it work on feathers because it looks really interesting and I would like something like that—Elliana?”
Elliana stared down at herself, muttering something beneath her breath. She looked back at Crest, gaze serious, voice drained of all enthusiasm. “Follow me. I need to tell you something.” She quickened her pace to something Crest was not used to following, refusing to slow down until both of them were in her room. Elliana stood in the center, unmoving.
Between pants Crest asked, “What do you need to tell me? What’s wrong?”
Elliana took a deep breath. “It’s this marking that you see on my back. I’ve had it for as long as I have been here.”
“Since you’ve been here—ohhh, so it’s some kind of birthmark?”
“No. I mean when I first came to Sierra Village. I come from a place that is very, very far away—so far that you won’t find it on any map.”
“It must’ve been quite the journey…”
“Yes.”
“So then how did you get the mark?” Crest’s attitude perked again. “Did the pokémon back at your old home give it to you as a parting gift? Why did you leave? Could you at least tell me what it’s called, I might try to visit it one day!”
A sad, hollow laugh reverberated throughout the room. Elliana had no choice but to smile at Crest’s sincerity. “No crest, no one gave it to me. You can’t paint fur in this way—it’s a permanent fixture of this body.”
“‘This body…?’ What does that mean?”
“Crest… despite what my appearance will tell you, I’m not a sneasel—I’m not even any kind of pokémon capable of changing their appearance, like a ditto or a zoroark, for that matter.” She hesitated, “I’m a human. A human who was called to this world to apparently save it.”
Human—the word was new to him. Was it possible for non-pokémon beings to exist? He had a rudimentary knowledge on the Ancients, but Ms. Dragonite shot down any further questioning about them telling him that he shouldn’t distract himself with children’s stories but something else Elliana said caught his immediate attention. “Save this world? Save it how?” The world didn’t seem like it was in danger.
Elliana shook her head. “I don’t know. One night I had a dream, someone was calling out to me, asking me to do something important. The dream just stopped before I was told of anything of importance. I woke up, not as myself but as a sneasel with a mouthful of dirt. I suspect that the mark on my back is some kind of branding, you know to keep track of me. But ever since that initial dream, I’ve heard nothing. I don’t know what to do or where to even start. At this rate, I’ll be stuck here for the rest of my life.”
“Oh… well at least you still have me by your side.”
Elliana turned back to face Crest, a teary look in her eyes. “None of this bothers you?”
“Why would it? I’m your friend! It doesn’t matter if you’re not really a pokémon, you’re still Elliana to me!”
She began smiling again. “Thank you. It… means a lot to me.” For many long, drawn-out minutes the two sat in fragile silence. Delicate enough to be broken with a single word.
“Alola.” Crest gave her a confused look. Elliana obliged him an explanation. “You wanted to know the name of the place I came from. It’s Alola.”
“That’s a nice name. I like that name. I bet it’s a nice place too.”
“Yeah…”
For the rest of the night, the two did not utter a single word; reveling in each other’s company.
***
When Crest had to leave Elliana again, he ensured that he’d make his visits far more frequent. The amount of time he’d stay in the post office diminished with each passing visit. Every time they saw each other, Crest asked Elliana if she had any more dreams—the answer was always ‘no’. The risk of being caught increased by the day but Crest didn’t care anymore, nobody would stop him, until Ms. Dragonite halted him in his tracks one foggy morning.
Her stern voice pierced Crest's confidence. “I take it that you’re leaving to deliver the mail and not departing on another one of your escapades.”
Crest stuttered, “Me? Shirk work… I-I would never—”
“Wingull. You know I’m not stupid. You’ve been vanishing from the post office for weeks at a time and these periods have become more common with each passing month. I take it that you’re visiting that stranger who patched up your wing?”
“N-no… You said so yourself, she was just a distraction…”
“And it seems that I was right. Seeing that you can no longer be trusted, from now on you’re forbidden from leaving this building without supervision—both during and outside of working hours. Report to me everyday.”
“You can’t do that!”
“I can and I will. You should be thanking me for your punishment should be far more severe. Now leave the departure windows, you’ll be summoned back once I’ve given you the appropriate supervision.”
“That’s not fair!” Crest’s hissed. His feathers stood on their ends.
“What’s not fair? The fact that you’ve been abandoning your post for weeks and you’re only now being punished for it? Because if it is, then yes. It is unfair for me, not you.”
Crest offered no rebuttal, choosing instead to glare at the floor. He was steaming in anger as he flew back to his roost, Dragonite watching him with her ever-present, authoritarian gaze. Navigating through the tangled mess of halls that had grown more and more unfamiliar with each passing day. Crest arrived at the roost with a screech of frustration, throwing nesting material all over the cramped room—getting some on himself—unaware that he wasn’t alone. Breezy had been resting at her perch, privy to everything happening below. Awaking with a start, Breezy flapped her wings distracting Crest from further vandalizing the roost.
“Crest! What’s gotten into you? What are you doing to our roost?”
“It’s not ‘ours’ anymore,” Crest said bitterly.
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“I’m leaving. For good.”
“Why?! What about everyone, the post office?”
“I don’t care anymore!”
“But what about me? Aren’t I your friend?” Her voice stilted in the anguish but Crest didn’t care to hear her.
“Doesn’t matter anymore. I only care about Elliana. I’m going back to Sierra Village to spend the rest of my life with her.”
“Crest you can’t… What will Ms. Dragon—”
Crest spat at her name. “I won’t listen to her ever again! That worm doesn’t command me anymore!”
“Crest please, you’re not listening to reason… you can’t just quit just like that—”
“I can, and I will… right NOW!”
“Crest, NO!”
Too late. Crest had taken off through the roost’s window, flying away as fast as he could. Breezy could only sit there, watching Crest’s diminishing form against the sky for the last time.
Crest’s emotions transfigured themselves into the powerful winds and waves of a great storm, leaving him reeling. He refused to rest, to eat, he just kept flying towards his destination. He needed to see Elliana, everything would be alright then. It had to be.
***
Sierra village was covered in a thick layer of clouds, colouring the skies grey. Crest, worn from his lack of rest, flew high above the village searching for Elliana—she wasn’t in the usual place. Maybe she was still working, or maybe she was back in her room. He scanned the entire village and when that produced no results, he searched the outskirts only to be presented with nothing again. Fine. He descended towards the village center, ready to ask for her whereabouts.
“Excuse me, Mr. Hakamo-o.”
“Oh, it’s you. Been a while hasn’t it?”
“Yeah. Do you have any idea where Sneasel is—you know, the one who helped you organize your wares?”
“Ah, that kind lil thing. I’d tell ya in a heartbeat if I had any clue but she’s been gone for just over a week. Last time any o’ us saw ‘er, she was following a chandelure, just after moonrise. Now, I have no idea what it said to make ‘er run off like that but I’m certain that she must’ve explained it to someone—especially since she’d been expectin’ you to come visit any day.”
A weight began forming within Crest’s chest. Trying his best not to sound panicked, Crest demanded, “Who can I ask then?”
“Yer best bet would be the keeper of the inn she was staying at, since that’s where she’d been living the moment she arrived to this place.”
“Understood. Thank you.”
Crest made a frantic pace towards the inn Elliana had called home. Once there, he leapt to the innkeeper’s desk and inquired, “The sneasel who was staying here, second room on the left. Where is she?”
The druddigon eyed him closely. “You’re that wingull she liked, huh? Was a chandelure who came asking if there was a sneasel ‘round these parts. When I told him that one was staying at this inn, he asked to see her. I agreed after a bit of convincing and let the two talk for a bit. Were locked in that room for over an hour and when Sneasel finally came out, she just told me that her stay here had ended—just like that—her stuff had been packed too but before she left with the chandelure, she asked me to give you these.” The druddigon handed Crest a folded note and the anklet that Elliana had so dearly treasured. Crest nodded and unfolded the note.
Dear Crest,
I’ve left this note for when you return here as I’m leaving Sierra Village to fulfill my task. Remember when I told you that I was brought here to say the world? Well, I’ve finally gotten myself some answers to my questions! According to my escort, there’s this hydreigon who has been throwing the world out of balance and putting it in peril and I need to stop him before it’s too late. This entire time, the pokémon who sent me here was trying to contact me via telepathy but couldn’t because of my dark-typing. It must’ve been hard for her, wishing so hard for someone to save the world, only to be unable to contact them when they finally do come. I have to go see her face-to-face so we can discuss how we can try to stop that hydreigon.
Much as I wish to tell you, I have been forbidden from disclosing my location to you in fear that I might be followed/intercepted on the way by any spies, outlaws or even by Hydreigon himself—Quite the cautious type that munna is. I’ll do my best to write to you whenever I can, so look out for any letters by any sneasel back at that post office of yours. Who knows, once I’m done saving the world I might pay you a visit!
Anyway, I’m running out of time and letter space, so I’ll end it here. Thank you for being there with me while I was waiting for this news. I look forward to seeing you again.
Until next time, Elliana.
Crest read the note over a dozen times, each time lowering him deeper and deeper into the pits of sadness. Elliana was gone. Crest looked back to the innkeeper and in a strained voice asked, “What…what do I do now?”
The innkeeper gave him a tender look. “Hey now, don’t feel bad! We all miss her. I can take your mind off her with a few stories if that makes you feel better. I’ve got a ton of those if you’re willing to listen, like how a few days ago, you could see this rising, golden light from the village!”
This story was equal parts heartwarming as it was heartbreaking. Elliana's secret was pretty well-telegraphed from the get-go, with lines such as:
I have the right equipment and experience patching up injured Pokémon—besides, I’ve watched the healers ‘round here work and they’re pretty second-rate if you ask me.
being very clear signposts yet subtle enough to be missed upon first glance.
I thoroughly enjoyed the perspective of Crest and the gradual dissatisfaction / awareness of the world around him he was getting. The elements of "raised from birth work, with no distractions" gives a ruthless and methodical atmosphere that, while efficient, has chilling undertones. Watching him try to tell the others about the world outside and the nice person he met only to be met with objections simply because his coworkers could not possibly know... it really hit all the right beats.
“Crest, have you gone mad?”
“You can’t!”
“You’ll be caught before you make it to Yellow Point!”
I think the only critique I have for that particular part is more of a personal quirk - I feel like the first "You can't" should be cut, to give a "1-2-3" repetition vibe rather than a "1-1-2-3" one. It makes total sense why it would be repeated though - the Wingull would know little outside what they have been taught, after all - just a rule of three may help better with the overall cadence.
And then there's the letter...
Quite the cautious type that munna is. I’ll do my best to write to you whenever I can, so look out for any letters by any sneasel back at that post office of yours. Who knows, once I’m done saving the world I might pay you a visit!
And then it simply ends with Crest chatting with the Innkeeper... the dangling questions hanging in the air like the Sword of Damocles. Would Crest be able to live out on his own? Would Elliana be able to make it back? Would they be able to find one another before it's too late, or are they simply fated to tragedy?
This was an overall fantastic piece, and I definitely want to learn more about this cruel world and the forces that are trying their best to change it!
The perrserker lifted her head towards her approaching mate as he rubbed his head against hers, careful to avoid her horns, before he examined the litter. Of the six, four were Ironclad —indicated by the tiny, black coins on their foreheads; the other two were Golden.
helping out with several errands such as aiding Willowsheen with a few small chores, or helping their father’s business by helping count the stored coins, or helping him memorize which stack of coins belonged to which team.
To his parents, he was the easiest to carry; to his siblings, he was the easiest target. So easy to bait and overpower, it was not the first time Ferric had done this. It left Silverglint with the burden of being useless. So, very useless.
As luck would have it, Ferric was still receiving the lecture of his lifetime by the time Silverglint had returned, he’d managed to overhear what punishment Ferric was saddled with: forced to count the Poké in da’s bank for the next month and no one else was allowed to cover for him.
There seems to be some inconsistency in what the children call their parents - "mama" to "ma" I get if they changed it when they got older (like "mommy" to "mom"), but "da" being capitalized in just this one part seems like it's an error.
“Hatched?” Silverglint looked visibly confused. “But Ferric said that that's just a story adults tell children before they're old enough to learn about the chatots and the combees—”
I didn't have many thoughts about this considering its small length and scope, but I liked it. The names feel somewhat Warrior Cats-y (disclaimer: I have not actually read Warrior Cats), Whiscash is a nice fish, and an underdog (cat?) story for the partner gives them more depth.
Hey Inke, how goes it??? I've been dying to get cracking at this thread, so i started with your drabbles! My brain's a little fried from last week, so I hope you don't mind if I just stick to general temperature reads.
These were some really, really neat drabbles! Honestly, they were only made better by the corresponding art. It gave me a little more insight into what was being portrayed, even though I feel like it was meant to be a little ambiguous/vague. Your writing was all in all very dreamlike and almost wistful, and maybe even a little melancholy, and I super enjoyed it. I felt for these characters even in the short 100-word spans I got to spend with them.
I had a feeling that the first three were somehow connected in a certain way? From the Ninetails looking up toward the Moon and Stars--presumably the goddesses--and calling out to them in the first one, to the Solgaleo bounding up toward the sky to fight the Moon and Stars in the second one, and then I think the third one was these goddesses coming to form in the first place? I hope I got that right LOL. It felt like this was a sort of reverse timeline, too? Like, the third one was the first one in the chronology, and so on and so forth. All in all, I just liked the vibes they gave. Old-timey legend/fable-like. I dig that stuff. The fourth one definitely felt similarly, if not a little more dark, but I don't think it went along with the story the first three were apart of. Just it's own thing, which was cool in itself!
This was a neat little drabble collection (and the first one I've ever read and reviewed!) and I appreciate you sharing them! I hope there will be more to come <3
I'm here for Over the Wind and Waves! What a bittersweet story...
I love to see the potential of Gates to Infinity's other humans getting the use it deserves. Every wandering light is tragedy gone untold. The fact that all shopkeepers are Kecleon, Pelliper run the mail system, ect, being taken and and shaped into exactly what it would have to be like for it to really work (would the right word for that be a caste system? I think so, but I'm not sure) like that is eerie to witness. The two together make for a melancholy story, which is an emotion I love to be made to feel, and an unfortunately uncommon one, because it's not an easy balance to strike.
I think what makes it strike that balance so well is that, even after the bitterness comes out, it's still better for it to have happened and gone than to have never happened at all. I'm loathe to imagine Crest passing the exam, never meeting Elliana. Even though she died, and they couldn't be partners, I'm glad he had the impetus to break free. The right mix of bitter and sweet.
I'm also curious to see how this ties into the rest of your world. From what I know of it, you world has this sobering feel to it that this caste system plays perfectly into, in a way that leaves me wanting more of it. I'm also interested by the glimpse of Bellatrix we see, I'm glad she gets out of that situation she's been in during the snippets you've shared... and what an odd living situation she seems to find herself in indeed...
Hello! I read this several days ago but somehow, amazingly, haven’t been able to pull together the focus to review it until now. I didn’t forget, I promise! Just… had to scrape together the energy. It seems like most of your feedback at the time of my reading had gone to Speckled Silver and your drabble collection, which I’ll also get to someday because you’re bound to have an original take on Explorers’ pre-story, but for now I focused on Over The Wind and Waves.
I would say, overall, my first impression is unique! I don’t mean that badly—your prose has a lofty tone and you manage to strike a very unique vibe that reminds me a lot of children’s fantasy; the kind of prose/setting vibe that appears in Warrior Cats and Mortal Engines. Exotic, alien-but-still-familiar settings that keep things fanciful while also dropping a bucket ton of lore on us effortlessly just by way of being in this world that’s so different from ours. When viewed through this lens it feels right that the PMD world should hit a vibe like that, and you’ve painted it very well.
I’m not really sure how to quantify what gives me that vibe, but it’s something in the prose, the general styling of the environments and world, and details here and there, like Elliana’s Human Branding and there just being this big, worker cult post office with questionable ethics no-one questions the existence of. It feels like a small story told in a large world, self-contained enough that I don’t feel like the vibe overtook the story but with just enough scope to give the story a distinct vibe. Definitely my favorite interpretation of anything Gates-esque, and if you came back to write anything else in this world I’d totally be all over it.
The beginning of the oneshot was definitely slow. I think I only really found myself beginning to get hooked once Crest met Elliana and they began to hang out together in the village. I found it sweet, and was absolutely horrorstruck when he finally escaped the post office to see that Elliana was gone and implied to be dead via dramatic irony. It was definitely an ending that felt a bit like slamming into a door when I read it—I’ll dig into that a bit later—but I do ultimately think it was the most appropriate one. The middle of the oneshot was my most favorite part, especially seeing how the post office changed for Crest once he’d had his perspective widened a little.
Crest and Elliana, the main characters, were cute as well! Elliana was very likeable as a character, which that made the end that much more of a knife-twist, and watching Crest slowly discover this whole new world he never even knew about was adorable. I think it’s both interesting and kind of sad that their friendship was only ever going to be temporary, and I think this is something the oneshot could have maybe dug into more considering the ending—Elliana was always going to be called away to save the world somehow, and even if she ending up being one of the Lucky Ones who didn’t walk into Munna’s trap, she’d have been spirited away at the end by Hydreigon anyway. Maybe in another world, these two could have been a hero-partner duo in the background, but here the bullet is bit before it can really hurt, and maybe that was better.
I do think that, while the overall throughline made sense to me (Crest has to deliver a Very Important Letter -> A predator guns him down and then he’s carried off to recover by Elliana -> Crest recovers and begins to realize that hey, there are other things in life than delivering mail -> he goes back to post office and realizes all work no play sucks actually -> Crest flies back to town but learns Elliana left, it’s implied she’s dead), I do think that the ending was pretty rushed. His realization that the post office’s doctrine of ‘Nothing But Work’ is pretty yikes felt anticlimactic to me, since he pretty much just got told off and then flew out through a window. And when he gets back to the village, Elliana is gone and he’s just there at the inn. I feel like there was something akin to maybe “Crest realizes life at the post office sucks -> he tries to go back to Elliana -> realizes he’ll need to live without her, but that doesn’t mean he can’t live”, but I end up feeling whatever thematic buildup it had got a bit lost in translation to me. IIRC this was written for a contest with word limits, so that may have had something to do with the sudden pacing change?
One thing I did like was the slow buildup of wondering what calamity Elliana was here to solve, and then realizing at the end “oh shit this is the Gates mass summoning and she fell for Munna’s trap D:”—The bits and clues were layered really well, from the general hinting at the populace having that nasty edge to them the Bittercold would be feeding off of, to the fact that they’re on a misty continent, to the random other branded human I originally assumed was a cameo of someone from your main flagship fic—IIRC one of the main characters is a gothitelle too?—and then we get to the end and realize what happened, and then all those pieces that didn’t mean much finally come together in hindsight. Perfectly executed plot twist.
On the whole, I’d say spectacular work! This has a lot of depth and punch of a oneshot, and I’ve gushed about the vibe a lot but I really liked that too. I’m interested to see more of your writing, especially your main work when you get around to releasing it! I can vibe harder than anyone with it needing to feel perfect in presentation, but if it’s anything close to this in quality level than I don’t think I’d be able to make much of a distinction.
~SparklingEspeon
Listening to: Culmination at Corson V – Mark Mothersbaugh
Hi Inke! I've been hoping to get to review you sometime this Blitz.
To start with, the pre-prose stuff. That's some deeply gorgeous art! Love the swoop of the wingull and the gorgeous waves and grass, particularly. So, this one's about a postmon, huh? I have a soft spot for couriers, and indeed I have written my own PMD courier story for that reason. I love the inclusion of some good maps and I could probably stare at them a while if given the chance. The brand is fascinating up close, gives a strong hydreigon vibe, and makes my brain light up with the foreknowledge that it indicates a summoned human.
A few live thoughts from my reading.
Crest's pretty cute, I like the idea of a wingull apprentice given we usually see pelipper. Good luck to them. I like that Ms. Dragonite is in charge of the mail service, since one of my stronger associations for that species is the adorable courier from M01. I like that Crest is enough of a nuisance to get the talonflame to back off, feels like a realistic degree of escalation. I like that he disparages dark-types in that very interaction only to immediately have to rely on the support of a sneasel. Dramatic irony – we know why she's not used to those claws~ I enjoy the interaction between Sneasel and the crooked pelipper, even if her conclusive statement to Crest is a little heavy handed. It's pretty disturbing that the wingull are 'obtained' the way they are. Professional training from birth doesn't leave them with much agency! Sneasel's situation is far more wholesome, and I hope Crest takes off for a life more like that, or partners up with Sneasel, since she's, y'know, human. Love the bonding going on, and the exchange of names. Pacing's a little odd during the transition, I feel it could use some more body language and scene setting amidst the summary and dialogue. 'Unlearning habits' is disturbing, good grief. And the flock are so... Ugh. Naive and xenophobic, I guess. Breaks my heart, though. The separation and reunion are really touching, although the reveal of Elliana's human nature to Crest was also paced a little oddly, I think. Ms Dragonite's treatment of Crest really is starting to feel like indentured servitude... I love the dramatic departure and return to Elliana's home, only to find she's finally Made Contact. Oh my. Feels like a start to a legitimate fantasy epic! Exciting!
Additional feedback written after Week Three of Blitz closed:
In general, this had pretty strong writing. Every now and again, there were conversational exchanges where a lack of dialogue tags, paralinguistics and scene-setting made the pacing go a little wonky, but that was about all I noticed in terms of stylistic shortcomings. I particularly liked the strong, distinct voices for each character and the progression of Crest from harangued apprentice to emboldened devotee of his human friend. In particular, the way his time with Elliana changes him enough that where he would once have been very much one with his flock, he's now fitting in very poorly. I like that he's pushed to leave and rebel by the harshness of his master and that he tries to explain his new understanding to his flock. The emotional vibes are really good, during several scenes it felt like it ought to be animated and set to a score full of string instruments. I also liked being able to point and gawp at Bellatrix. That was her, right? It really does feel like a big world with a big story coming, and I like that. And it was CUTE! Really cute.
Good fic, Inke. I'll be reading more of yours, I'm sure!
Hey, Inke! Sorry it took me so long to write up a proper review here. I enjoyed this one. At first it seemed like a pretty typical PMD-style story, with a humble character going on a coming of age tale. But in the second half, things took a dystopian turn and the story became bittersweet.
Crest is a cute, sympathetic main character. It's clear from the start that he's young, naive, a bit bumbling, but good-hearted. He's comfortable in his life and respectful of Ms Dragonite and the responsibilities of his office. I did notice that in the initial segments of the story, up through Crest's rescue by Sneasel and early days in this village, he's not given much internality or voice by the narration. I wasn't sure if this was an intentional choice, in order to emphasize how he begins to discover new meaning in life as he gets to know Sneasel and the village, but it did have the side-effect of making me less invested in Crest's early travels. That in turn made the beginning segments feel a bit slow and perfunctory.
From the outset, Sneasel is extremely kind and giving. She goes above and beyond for Crest without seeming to think that's at all odd. The human-reveal caught me off-guard--I'd accepted that we were exploring a more mundane space in the PMD world, away from humans and heroes--but it explains a lot of Sneasel's generosity. She's been the one crashlanding without friends before and knows what that feels like. She also doesn't really have anyone else in the world. While she seems to be well-liked around the village, there's no one she appears to be close to.
The story really kicked into gear for me when we began to learn more about how the post office functions and the truth behind Crest and the other wingull. Babies stolen from their parents and raised to serve the world by providing mail services is a big yikes. I liked the process of Crest beginning to consider that there are other things in the world beyond obligatory service. Particularly, I liked that Crest doesn't turn right away on the postal service. He thinks he can both do his duty and maintain his friendship, but the postal service is far to strict for that. Ms Dragonite's warnings about outside influences and the reactions of the other wingull create the feeling of cult. I do wonder how common Crest's situation is. At some point wingull must be given outposts in isolated places, making them liable to stray from the dictates of the post office. The scene with the corrupt pelipper suggests that Crest is not the only one who rebels, though the pelipper obviously took a less wholesome route. That was a fun scene--it's the first time that Crest's perception of the world is challenged. The petty corruption and laziness of the pelipper gave the whole setting a nice dose of realism. On the note of worldbuilding, I did feel like the anti dark-type prejudice was somewhat heavy-handed and didn't ultimately seem that relevant--Crest's major dilemna really ends up being whether he's willing to put a relationship over his obligations to the postal service and the subplot of him overcoming his kneejerk dark-type prejudice was a less interesting precursor to that, since there's no real push-pull--Elliana does everything for him, and he occasionally thinks 'but dark-types!' I think that section of the story could have been cut down a bit.
I really liked that you chose to leave the ending open. Crest left the postal service for Elliana, but now she's gone, having finally found a destiny of her own. Crest now has the chance to make a new life now, but he doesn't have the direction he thought was going to guide it. He loved her, and he didn't get the chance to say it. It's an ending tinged with both tragedy and hope, and one that's very true to how life works out--the world doesn't always wait around upon your personal revelations. I admittedly don't have a background in this particular PMD canon, so I don't know how Elliana plays into the ultimate 'main' story, but I like the feeling we're left with of Crest's life intersecting with something bigger and yet we're still left with Crest's small world and the consequences of his decision. It's a kind of pleasant subversion on the idea of love making someone change their life. Crest makes his big break for Elliana's sake, but he's going to have to find a way to live his life for himself now. On the specifics of the end, I do think you need a little more there. It cuts off very abruptly--even when an ending doesn't tie up all loose ends, the prose should still give a sense of finality to the story. I did a bit of a double-take when I hit the end, because the story didn't sound like it was over.
Since I did pretty extensive line-by-lines on this one, I won't spend too much time talking about prose. Big picture, you'll want to work on proper semi-colon usage and on correcting dangling modifiers. I'd also recommend paying attention to the connecting words you use--think about what the logical relationship between two clauses really is, and go from there to find what word should connect them. I noticed that you're very fond of a sentence construction that appends an -ing clause. There's nothing wrong with that, but it's worth keeping an eye on to make sure your syntax stays varied throughout the story. I also saw several instances of unidiomatic phrases and usages--it might be worth having a beta-reader look over the story for things like that. A final thing you'll want to watch out for is head-hopping--in third person limited, which the story appears to be, it's distracting to jump for a couple of sentences into the mind of a different character. Feel free to dm me if you want clarification on any of the grammar stuff or syntactical stuff.
Lastly, I have to comment on the incredible chapter art. The image of the wingull's wings becoming the foaming ocean is lovely, and speaks to how Crest slowly discovers freedom over the course of the story. Thanks for sharing this one, I'm glad we ended up doing this exchange!
Semicolons connect two independent clauses--that means sentences that can otherwise stand on their own. They are not the equivalent of commas and cannot be used the same way.
By the time Crest reached the grand scope of the main hall his feathers, along with any other nesting materials, were sticking out in every direction; looking more akin to an agitated skitty as opposed to any type of wingull.
"looking more akin to an agitated skitty as opposed to any type of wingull" is a dependent clause--it doesn't have a subject and main verb. That means it can't be connected with a semicolon on its own.
You could say,
By the time Crest reached the main hall, his feathers were sticking out in every direction; [B]he looked[/B] more akin to an agitated skitty as opposed to any type of wingull.
Changing "looking" to "he looked" makes the sentence independent. However, I'd still advise not using a semicolon here. Semicolons are best used when sentences have a parallel construction. (Oddly, these sentences have a relationship that could support a colon, though again I wouldn't make a habit of overusing them. Colons can connect independent clauses when the second clause in some way explains the first.)
By the time Crest reached the main hall, he looked more akin to an agitated skitty than any type of wingull: his feathers, fluffed up with nesting materials, were sticking out in every direction.
"Looking more akin" is best paired with "to" for a comparative sentence.
Crest stared beyond the cascading walls adorned with a long series of descending perches and windows; just stopping itself at the base of a large, circular desk.
This semicolon would best be converted to a comma. I'm a little confused here as to what the "itself" that's being stopped it. The wall? The perches? The windows?
Upon seeing his boss, Crest dove towards the main desk—avoiding the flurry of beating wings entering and exiting the gargantuan hall; bags and bills filled to the brim with all assortments of mail.
This should probably also be a comma. I think you might want the em dash in a different place as well, actually.
Crest dove towards the main desk, avoiding the flurry of beating wings entering and exiting the gargantuan hall—bags and bills filled to the brim with mail.
Careful not to disturb that stillness, Crest crept through the spiraling halls, gliding down towards the main desk the second he passed into the main hall; ready to pick up the required note.
The last clause is probably more suited to being it's own sentence, but honestly I don't think you need it at all.
Careful not to disturb that stillness, Crest glided silently through the spiraling halls towards the main desk where the required note waited for pick-up.
Sure, he had a few close encounters with the odd feral pokémon, whether they tried to strike from above or snap at him from below; yet his maneuverability had proven itself to be superior.
This one should be a comma. You'll also want your conjunction before the whether clause, for clarity.
Sure, he had a few close encounters with the odd feral pokémon, but whether they tried to strike at him from above or snap at him from below, his maneuverability had proven itself superior.
Crest was unable to process anything else as a powerful set of talons wrapped themselves around his body; crushing and stabbing, getting a tighter grip on him.
He’d been warned of feral talonflame by the many pelipper of the post office; telling him about how wingull were a favourite meal of theirs and how some would intentionally fly far from land for the chance to catch themselves one—they were just as bad as dark-types in that regard.
He’d been warned of feral talonflame by the many pelipper of the post office. Wingull were a favourite meal of theirs and some would intentionally fly far from land for the chance to catch themselves one—they were just as bad as dark-types in that regard.
If the dark-type was being honest, he’d just have to put up with her until they reached this alleged village; then he could receive help from a pokémon of a more trust-worthy type.
So this semicolon is grammatically correct because the clause connected is independent. I don't see any particular reason to use a semicolon here, though. A period would work just as well.
When a sentence trips me up, usually before I can put into words why I need to reword it to figure out how it wouldn't trip me up. Any suggestions in here are mostly for the purpose of explanation.
“What are you, a dark-type? You’re just saying that to get me out quicker. You of all pokémon should know that I never sleep-in past… Oh.” Crest’s words trailed off the moment he bothered to look out the window. Sure enough, the once deep shades of black and navy had brightened enough for the last remaining stars to fade away into the sea of soft purples.
“Oh no oh no, I overslept again. Why didn’t you say anything sooner? Wait… you said that Ms. Dragonite wanted to see me?”
This story is from Crest's perspective, but describing the dragonite first as if she has absolutely no significance to Crest makes it seem like we're outside Crest's head, then switch abruptly into it. You could say,
[QUOTE="Inkedust, post: 34279, member: 261"]
Seated in the center of the carved-out ring was Crest's boss. The dragonite was busy sorting through a tall stack of papers and didn't look up as Crest dove towards her.
[/QUOTE]
This has the narration recognize her first in the terms Crest knows her by. Then you can get in the detail of her species (though it's not super necessary, since her title makes that clear.)
“You’re late.” Her voice, though quiet, carried a powerful presence, capable of putting any misbehaving pokémon in line. Crest shrunk into himself as Ms. Dragonite continued,
You're treating the post office in this sentence as if it's animate, both substantively and grammatically. "Whose" only refers to living things. Inaminate objects get "which."
Naught is a pretty archaic word that's a bit strange to see in narration that's otherwise not archaic.
He was up earlier than most of the post office. The building stood in silence, other than the occasional draught.
Confident in his abilities, Crest took off from the windowsill leaving the post office and Breakwater Town for what would be the longest time in his life.
Are there any ways you could get across that Crest is confident about this without explicitly saying that? Maybe he only glances at the map once before sticking it away--after all, he knows the route.
The flight to Eliga proved itself far brisker than Crest expected. He’d reached the mountainous forms of Yanpei’s margins in two days and passed over Yellow Point not even a day after that. Not a cloud suspended from the sky, the winds blew in his favour and the waves below were cheering him on.
I'm a little confused as to how brisk is being used here. In the context of the sentence, I'd expect the meaning of 'cold but bracing' but the rest of the paragraph seems to suggest you mean brisk as in fast. You might want to use something like "smooth" for describing a flight--brisk is very tied to walking.
You're showing a contradiction between these clauses "tried to focus" "seeing only", which makes something like "but" a better connector than just appending seeing.
He tried to focus on his assailant, but saw only the grey and fiery orange underbelly of a much larger, feral bird-pokémon.
He seemed pretty panicked already? I'd want a little more here on how his panic at being seized by a hostile large bird changes when he realizes what particular kind of bird it is.
It's a little odd to me that his narration notes this--obviously he cares about the mission, but he is panicking about being killed, and it seems lik that would be top of mind.
Angling himself just right, Crest unleashed a weak water gun at the talonflame’s head. It gave out a shrill cry. Stunned by the intense stinging sensation that the water attack left, it loosened its grip on Crest giving him the opportunity to wiggle out of its talons, falling into the alpine terrain below.
"Let out a cry" or "Gave a cry" are both idiomatic, but "gave out a cry" isn't really a thing.
The way the bolded phrase is put, it makes it sound like we're in the talonflame's perspective briefly. We can infer why the talonflame loosened its grip from the circumstances without needing to head-hop.
Angling himself just right, Crest unleashed a weak water gun at the talonflame’s head. It gave a shrill cry, and its grip loosened just enough for Crest to wiggle out of its talons.
This information about why the talonflame didn't follow sounds like it comes from somewhere other than Crest's perspective. You can attribute the thought to Crest, though I think it would read better without the extra explanation. The talonflame didn't follow. We naturally assume from that that it decided this prey wasn't worth it.
He crashed into a dense brush of dried grass which was nice enough to leave him alive in one piece with a series of what would be some nasty looking bruises if he didn’t have any feathers to cover them. Blackness overtook Crest’s vision as he saw the clouds above racing towards Crescent Bay without him. At least he wouldn’t be a talonflame’s meal.
After the narration having pointed out that Crest can't see himself well, it's a bit weird to have this long comment on how his body will bruise based on the crash. It's also a sentence with a lot going on--I think it would read better with that phrase cut.
You're trying to use with as a conjunction here, but it can't really do that. It's a preposition and you don't want to use it to connect complex phrases together.
His entire body throbbed with dull pain. When he attempted to move, that pain sharpened into an intense jab.
The scrambling of claws on hard rock drowned out every other sound in the area, ending on the note of a small thud of grass buckling beneath a greater weight.
This sentence is hard for me to untangle. First, you might want "scrabbling" over "scrambling." The second clause has a
lot jammed in and it's just a bit hard for me to understand what that particular sound is or how Crest would recognize it as that.
Crest turned his gaze to the source, revealing a dark pokémon heading his way as it kneeled beside him. Getting a closer look at his rescuer revealed to him a sneasel.
It's kind of odd to me that Crest can recognize the sneasel's gender by something as specific as a featehr crest when he's never met a dark-type before. How would he know?
Careful not to disturb any of Crest’s wounds, Sneasel made her way up the makeshift path. Just as Crest was dozing off, Sneasel decided that she wanted to keep him talking.
This is a comma splice--you're using a comma to connect two independent clauses. Funnily enough, a semicolon would work fine here, particularly because the cnstructions are mostly parallel and being contrasted.
Crest didn’t have the faith nor energy to answer her; he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts.
This sentence feels unecessarily confusing. How is the village encroaching? That denotes something negative--isn't he relieved to see it? Personification is a cool technique, but I'm not entirely sure what image I should be getting here. Is the village on the side of a hill? What makes it reclining? The passive construction and many -ing words make this hard to parse.
Sneasel wasted no time, cutting through the village, bringing Crest in front of a tired inn. Sneasel threw her satchel by the door, entering the building with a lightened load.
She turned to Crest, taking a brief look at her handiwork. “How are you faring over there?” No answer. She tossed the satchel in the general direction of her bed, landing with a clatter.
“That’ll do, just give it here.” Sneasel obliged, placing the pad and a loose sheet of paper right in front of him. Crest thanked her and began speaking of his journey and current circumstances in footprint runes—asking for the information to be relayed to Breakwater Town’s main office. Once finished, Crest rolled up the sheet of paper. “All done. The assessor will handle things from here.”
Here he was, being forced into the care of a dark-type with no say in the matter. He didn’t want to trust the thing but he felt as if he had to. What if this was all some kind of trick and the sneasel was just waiting for him to let his guard down to reveal her terrible game?
This logically reads oddly to me. Ever growing reluctance implies that Crest's resistance to falling asleep increases with each moment, when the rest of the sentence tells us it's in fact overcome with each moment.
“Sore but they don’t hurt as much as they did yesterday.” It’d all dulled to a slow ache. Nothing stabbed at him anymore but he’d still have to contend with the pain for a while longer.
It might also make more sense here to have the narration describe his pain before it's been asked about. Otherwise it feels like the pain pops up on narrative command.
“Come on then,” she chipped, setting Crest on the floor—gauging whether or not he was fit to walk. Seeing him strut towards the door with little limp or hesitation prompted her to follow.
“Breakwater Town you say?” The pelipper’s eyes narrowed as he shifted his gaze between Crest and the note, a slight smile working its way into the edges of his bill. “Fine, but it’ll cost ya. Let’s settle on 500 Poké. Upfront.”
“What!? You can’t charge for deliveries, it’s against etiquette!”
“Not to me it ain’t. If you’re gonna waste my time like this, I expect to be compensated in some manner. No Poké, no delivery, so cough it up.”
“I have good authority to report you for this!”
“Yeah, good luck with that kiddo. The post offices here don’t do jack shit with their reports.”
“Yeah, it is. The main post office is huuuuuge with a bunch of windows and roosts for all the mailmons—mostly pelipper but there are a few other species in there too like pidgeot, swellow and I think I saw a dodrio once. It’s run by Ms. Dragonite, now she’s a serious one—”
“Before that? I hatched in that office and began training the second I could fly. Apparently, some of the big offices steal eggs from feral pelipper and raise them to be the ideal mailmons. ‘Lot easier than just getting a bunch of pokémon to sign up for the job, even though there are some who do.”
“Not that it bothers me! That’s just how it is. We’re expected to fulfill our role as postmons just as kecleon fulfill theirs as shopkeepers but enough about me, what’s it like living out here?”
Hakamo-o chortled, “It’s a deal and since ya’ve been so helpful, you can pick out anything you’d like here—as a gift. Sneasel was beaming and started digging through the large tangle of jewelry while Hakamo-o continued on about his supplies.
This kind of with construction reads pretty clunkily. You might try, "Since Crest couldn't help out with Sneasel's work, he had lots of free time at his disposal." That makes the connection between the clauses clearer and also phrases it in a more active way.
“Oh, it’s Crest. You can call me Crest now.” A spur of the moment decision marked the first time Crest had ever given his preferred name to someone outside the post office. It just felt right to give it to her, she more than deserved it.
The narration seems to zoom back here despite this being a pretty important personal moment for Crest. You might want to keep the POv closer here. I'd also be curious to understand more of the significance of giving his personal name like that in this culture. Is the reluctance part of the Post office culture or a wider thing?
As Crest gained altitude, a short gasp escaped Sneasel when she was struck with a sudden realization: she hadn’t told him her name yet. She ran to the cliff’s edge and, as loud as she could, shouted, “Elliana! My name is Elliana!”
His left wing was stiff with aches, and began his best attempt to explain himself; from losing the note and the badge to what he’d been up to during his extended absence.
“I see, I’ll file a report to Noe Town but you mustn’t see yourself getting attached to strangers. You understand that they just distract you from your work, correct?”
“No, Crest. You’re staying here. Ms. Dragonite will put things back on track and get rid of those unwanted thoughts of yours. Oh, please don’t be upset, we're trying to help you, not hurt you. Does Ms. Dragonite know about this?”
However, what caught Crest’s attention was the markings on her arms.
While very different in design, they reminded him of the mark he’d seen on Elliana’s back. He didn’t ask about it then as it had slipped his mind one too many times but he’d be sure the next time they saw each other. Perhaps there was some kind of method of marking fur that he didn’t know about. Would they work on feathers too? He might consider getting one for himself if they did.
Nobody suspected a thing, thinking that Crest was doing more of the regular busywork. He slipped out—taking off towards Eliga—without so much as a passing glance.
“Crest… despite what my appearance will tell you, I’m not a sneasel—I’m not even any kind of pokémon capable of changing their appearance, like a ditto or a zoroark, for that matter.” She hesitated, “I’m a human. A human who was called to this world to apparently save it.”
“I don’t know. One night I had a dream, someone was calling out to me, asking me to do something important. The dream just stopped before I was told of anything of importance. I woke up, not as myself but as a sneasel with a mouthful of dirt. I suspect that the mark on my back is some kind of branding, you know to keep track of me. But ever since that initial dream, I’ve heard nothing. I don’t know what to do or where to even start. At this rate, I’ll be stuck here for the rest of my life.”
“Oh… well at least you still have me by your side.”
Elliana turned back to face Crest, a teary look in her eyes. “None of this bothers you?”
“Why would it? I’m your friend! It doesn’t matter if you’re not really a pokémon, you’re still Elliana to me!”
“I can and I will. You should be thanking me for your punishment should be far more severe. Now leave the departure windows, you’ll be summoned back once I’ve given you the appropriate supervision.”
“That’s not fair!” Crest’s hissed. His feathers stood on their ends.
“What’s not fair? The fact that you’ve been abandoning your post for weeks and you’re only now being punished for it? Because if it is, then yes. It is unfair for me, not you.”
Hi I said I’d return for Speckled Silver, and here I am now!
I knew going into this that it’d be a backstory for the Explorers Partner, but I wasn’t sure how. This oneshot was interesting! I definitely got Warrior Cats vibes from the Adjective-Noun names half of the characters in the story had, and the story itself had glimmers of that ‘animal fantasy’ vibe less industrialized PMD settings and things like, well, Warrior Cats has.
The story ended up being a lot shorter than I thought it’d be, but I could still find an easy throughline. I think it led to some things not getting as capitalized on as they should have been (Silverglint being a runt and bullied a lot is a good conflict, but it’s only really use as his call to adventure—makes sense but isn’t really compelling IMO), but the throughline itself is solid and makes a lot of sense for what’s basically an introduction leading up to the main game.
Though I think my big crit here is that… well? It’s a prologue. The whole thing just feels like the beginning of an adventure without the adventure part, and I get why that is. It’s meant to lead into Explorers, rather than tell a whole story about Silverglint. And when viewed as that, it’s serviceable. It just ultimately has the fundamental issue for me that all prequels do—they’re designed to tell around a story, not just tell one. And here I get the feel that Silverglint’s story, with his Warrior Cats name and the story’s different vibe, is different enough from Canon Partner that it feels like the opening of another version of Explorers that won’t ever come. Ultimately this crit boils down to how much you’re okay with that, which means it’s subjective. Disappointed me, but ultimately viewing it for what it is—an introduction—it works pretty well!
I don’t want to make it sound like I didn’t like it, though, because I did. It was a smooth read the whole way through, and basically the biggest thing I can find to complain about is that there isn’t more of it. Overall good job sequel oneshot pls!
The life of a dark conqueror isn't all that it's cracked up to be. Sure, there's all the might and glory but all the behind-the-scenes work is really, quite menial. Things appear to be shaping up to be yet another night of thankless work but then, a stranger comes to visit.
Entry for Thousand Road's Mischief and Malice one-shot contest. Contains mild spoilers for Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Explorers of Time/Darkness/Sky.
***
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Echoed throughout the suffocating darkness. At its source, a great figure was slumped over a desk - like a puppet on a string - tapping the wooden surface with a claw. He would’ve blended in with his surroundings had it not been for his bright, blue eyes, one of them covered by a long, white mane that billowed in a nonexistent wind. Hatred bubbled within his core once his gaze settled. He could not stop narrowing his eyes into slits nor the small growl that escaped his throat.
Paperwork.
The figure heaved over with a sigh, reaching for a quill pen that glowed with the light of a dying ember. A little souvenir - a reminder of what would happen to those who tried to cross him. Not even a supposed creature of legend could escape such a fate. The memory helped alleviate his frustration, though his motion remained punctuated by a long string of expletives from a wide array of languages.
It was an unfortunate fact of the matter that running a large cult with so many moving parts would include a pyroar’s share of administrative work. He couldn’t leave such an integral part of his plans by the wayside. He needed everything to succeed but he just wondered why he had to be the one to do all this menial work. A list of new recruits to check off; updates on supplies; permission to raze a few small villages to the ground. Perhaps he should just hand it all off to that pesky thievul he saw wandering the halls on several occasions or maybe even that pawniard who always seemed so desperate to please his superiors.
Then he remembered what happened to the last pokémon he’d assigned this task to. The stupid thing was bold enough to misspell his name. Slow wittedness was a crime in of itself but that? That was unforgivable. He’d thrown that pathetic creature into a never-ending nightmare. Some may have argued that the reaction was extreme but that was wrong. It was far, far too reserved. Such blatant disrespect could not be overlooked. A stark reminder that he was the only one capable of such a task. Anyone else ran the risk of derailing things with their incompetence.
Incompetence. Perhaps the one thing he hated more than paperwork.
Hours marched on by, the stacks of paper that littered the room vanishing with each passing strain, led on by the scratches of pen meeting paper. Each tick and sign lulling the figure’s mind back into the vast recesses of his thoughts. Memories of his exploits were the only things keeping him sane during these sessions. That wondrous rush of adrenaline when he watched civilisations fall, subjugated by his own hand. The joyful music of the survivors’ panicked screams as he forced each and every one of them into subservience. It brought a smile to his dreary features. He would have to arrange for another excursion in the future.
Yet none of this even came close to comparing to his greatest achievement: The sabotage of Temporal Tower.
He couldn’t help but admire his own cleverness. With a skill he’d so lovingly borrowed from Dialga, he’d manipulated the course of fate to fall in his favour. He’d seen it all. The failure of many upstart heroes enlisted by that abhorrent Cresselia; the god of time falling deeper and deeper into a spiral of insatiable madness; the birth of his perfect little world, cold, dark, desolate…
Beautiful.
The dark figure laughed, a long, shuddering cackle that reverberated in the skulls of anyone who heard it. He couldn’t help it, it was too brilliant; brilliant enough to surprise himself.
Spirits lifted, the figure reached for another sheet of paper from one of the many remaining piles.
“My, my, and here I thought that I was terrible at tooting my own horn!”
The figure, once composed, immediately shot up at the sound of the strange voice. His claws dug into the underside of the beleaguered desk, leaving another set of small dents behind. The voice was soft, playful, but most importantly, close. Whoever had spoken was in the same room as him.
“Show yourself,” he barked. He had little time for these games, especially those played by disrespectful phantoms.
“Goodness, talk about a stick in the mud,” it called back. “Very well, if you insist…”
The air wavered and shimmered like a mirage in the desert. When the moment passed, another figure stood in the room, right across the desk, just barely illuminated by the feather quill. The dark figure narrowed his eyes, appraising the trespasser’s appearance.
A harrumph. A zoroark. A massive one too. It must’ve been at least twice his own height. That explained how he didn’t notice its presence until now but that wasn’t right; zoroark were a cowardly species, never leaving their territories, hiding themselves with their illusions. So why was one standing right here in his office? As the figure looked closer, he couldn’t help but notice that several aspects of this zoroark were…off. It was covered in thick, whitish-grey fur with red accents, giving it a spectral look. The mane was loose and covered the entire left side of its face. From the right, a grey eye stared him down, the look was complimented by a wide, toothy grin.
No… Wait. He’d heard tales of this zoroark before. This must’ve been…
“Mannerless cur. I shouldn’t be surprised,” the dark figure behind the desk grunted, suppressing the irritation in his voice. “I’ve heard of you and your exploits, Stranger. However, I regret to inform you that you have wasted your time coming here. I’m not interested in any of your deals. I already have everything I could’ve ever wanted.” He waved a clawed hand towards the door, dismissing the Stranger like he would with any other subordinate. “The exit is a few doors down.”
The Stranger laughed and leaned onto the desk. “Ah, so you have heard of me,” he tittered. “And I am pleased to admit that I can say the same of you. Your many names too. Now, what should I call you—”
“Darkrai,” the dark figure snapped. “You will call me Darkrai.”
The Stranger propped his head up with a paw, not even flinching at the outburst. “Very well then,” he said with a nod. “I would’ve preferred to have met under more proactive circumstances but you looked so bored. Such a tragedy, I couldn’t help but shed a tear. All that paperwork and not a single opportunity to do what you love most.”
Darkrai slammed his fist on the desk. “You mock me,” he growled. “While it is true that my methods don’t bring immediate satisfaction, they are significantly more effective than whatever you’re doing. I am a conqueror. Feared and respected by all. The mere mention of my name sends even the greatest of pokémon into shock. You, on the other hand, are just a bogeymon. A fairytale told to keep misbehaving children in line.” His eyes narrowed. “Now leave. I do not care for whatever deal you had in mind for me. I will not repeat myself again.”
The Stranger, instead, sat down shaking his head with a small tut-tut. “Ah, well, it appears that we’re not seeing eye-to-eye on just a few things here,” he chuckled. “For one, I don’t have a deal for you. Just a conversation. Second, you are drastically oversimplifying my line of work.”
The Stranger leaned further into his paw, using his free one to count the number of corrections he was making. He appeared to be studying a seed that rested between the two claws he held up, not even bothering to spare Darkrai a passing glance.
“Perhaps there is a kernel of truth within your words,” he continued, “but, to me, nothing beats the simple pleasure of giving someone a glimpse of hope, only to rip it away from them in the cruellest way possible. Surely, as a creature who thrives off nightmares, you can relate.”
“Unlike you, I have goals,” Darkrai deadpanned.
“Ah, yes, world domination. The lofty goal that requires your full attention. The classic nirvana of any aspiring evil mastermind,” the Stranger replied in a sardonic tone of voice. He dropped the seed in his claws, shattering its delicate balance, before snatching it with his paw. It vanished in a thin stream of dark smoke. His eye widened and his characteristic smug grin had vanished. “Cliché.
“You see, whenever I’m presented with that hypothetical, I always ask myself this: What is there to conquer?” the zoroark asked. “The world is already miserable. A hollow shell of its former self. The altruistic route would be to make it a better place but you and I both know that that’s not in your best interest, now is it?”
“You have a lot of gall to lecture me,” Darkrai sneered. “If you were anyone else, I would’ve thrown you into an eternal nightmare by now. The only thing stopping me is that I happen to find the tales of your exploits the slightest bit entertaining and I would be mildly disappointed if they ended so abruptly. Besides, I have a point to prove. Something that I’m certain is a foreign concept to you.”
“Really now?” The Stranger did not appear to acknowledge the threat. “Perhaps you could enlighten me.”
Darkrai frowned, he didn’t have the time for this. He raised himself upwards in an attempt to tower over the seated Stranger. It took a lot of internal bickering with himself but Darkrai decided to humour the Stranger’s request - if only to get rid of him faster.
“Fine,” he said, rapping his claws on the desk to give himself more presence. “Throughout all my life, I was hated and despised by all. A fact perpetrated by that pitiful Cresselia, who I am sure you’ve heard of. I was doomed to wander the shadows for as long as I lived. All because I refused to walk the path others expected of me,” Darkrai explained. “Instead, I vowed to prove them all wrong. To become something greater than any of them could have imagined.” He gestured to their surroundings. “And look at where I am now. Are you impressed? Satisfied with that answer?”
The Stranger was not. “So you tried to break away from the rueful perceptions of others by…proving their point?” he asked. “I’m shocked, truly. I never took you for being petty.”
“Proving their point?” Darkrai sputtered. “Do you need your ears checked? I just said that I desired to break free of their notions by becoming greater than them.”
The zoroark leaned back, holding up three claws. “And that’s the third time you’ve misunderstood me. I must say, I admire your tenacity towards doubling down. What I heard is not that you were hated for what you are but for who you are,” he rebuked with a giggle. “I’m sure that if you’d just tried to be good towards others as opposed to playing into this evil overlord persona, you wouldn’t be having this issue.”
“Hmph.” Darkrai crossed his arms. “I don’t care to be some snivelling whelp who bends to the whims of others for fear of looking bad. If I ever cared about being labelled ‘evil’, then I wouldn’t be here as a great conqueror right now, now would I?” he asked, the edges of a growl creeping into his question.
“Perhaps not,” the Stranger hummed. He was now playing with a stray part of his mane. “How far do you think you’ve gotten? How many finer details have you missed? It’s just the big picture to you, and as someone who knows the world as well as I, your eventual downfall becomes as clear as day.”
Darkrai’s mane billowed more wildly, his grip on the desk strengthening at each of the Stranger’s words.
“You see, curiosity drives me. It would drive anyone as old as I. The tales of my exploits have existed for many, many generations and in that time, I have witnessed so many things. Like watching the great powers of this world fall into dormancy like the receding tides; or the many different expressions of my victims when I pull the rug out from under them.” The Stranger glanced at the half-filled file on Darkrai’s desk. “And I’m not stuck in an office doing paperwork all day for that, either,” he added, his smug grin returning.
Darkrai took one deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to recompose himself. “And that is where we differ,” he stated bluntly. “I have plans to achieve my motive. You just want things and expect them to happen because you desire it.”
“Oh come now, there’s a lot more to it than that—”
“Is there really?” he snapped. “What are you doing to achieve your goals? What are they to begin with? Questions you have no answer to. Meanwhile, I have spent many of my days building towards my goals. I set up this cult that sees new members every day. I was the one who manipulated the flow of time itself to chart the course of destiny. I created the world of my desires, which I have seen with my own eyes. A world where darkness rules uncontested. You, on the other hand, choose to languish in your own mediocrity.”
Throughout the entire diatribe, the Stranger sipped from a steaming mug of unknown origin. “‘Seen it with your very own eyes?’” he repeated, looking up from his drink. “That’s a roundabout way of saying ‘time travel’.” A shrug. “I’d still advise caution. Destiny can be tricky. Has a habit of snatching things from right under your nose, I should know,” he chuckled. “Watch out for any young upstarts. Especially if they aren’t from our world,” he added with a raise of his brow.
“Do I need to give you a list of names of ‘young upstarts’ who I have and will bring to ruin?” Darkrai demanded. “Because by all means, I can deliver. My victory is assured.” To say that he despised this zoroark would be an understatement. Who was he to prattle on about topics that Darkrai had dedicated his life’s work to studying?
“No, I don’t think it’s necessary,” the Stranger replied, his laugh turning into a cackle. “I’d keep that ego in check. Make all the claims about how many times you’ve won this game of purugly and bidoof, just remember that you only need to lose once for everything to crumble.”
Darkrai’s core rolled as a boiling tsunami of anger and frustration surged within him, the waves of the desire to prove himself to this Stranger crashing down on him. It took every ounce of his self control to keep his desk intact.
“My patience is running dangerously thin, Stranger,” Darkrai said, voice low. “It appears that I spoke too soon on not throwing you into an eternal nightmare. This is your last warning.”
The Stranger did not react beyond tapping the side of his mug with a claw. The sound rang hollow against the walls of the distant halls.
Darkrai glared. “Come. There is something I wish to show you since you refuse to take me at my word.”
“If this was any other circumstance, you’d be calling me wise for not doing so,” the Stranger replied in a wistful tone.
Darkrai only gave the Stranger the briefest of glances as he drifted towards the maze of halls that laid before them. The mug the Stranger had been drinking from was gone. Only a puff of dark smoke remained. The Stranger stood up to follow not long after. Interestingly enough, he appeared to be adamant to walk on two legs as opposed to the four that was more comfortable for his kind.
Darkrai found this annoying. He didn’t like feeling small but he dismissed it. For now.
Once the Stranger drew close, Darkrai vanished into the darkness. He stopped a fair distance away, waiting for the Stranger, his eyes a weak beacon allowing for plenty of opportunity for the Stranger to become lost. It was Darkrai’s turn to toy with him.
Or at least it would’ve been but the moment Darkrai stopped, he felt a couple taps on his back. He stiffened in surprise, mane standing on end.
“Oh? Did I surprise you?” asked the Stranger’s voice. “There’s no need to wait for me, I can keep up just fine,” he mocked.
Darkrai grumbled. He didn’t dignify the Stranger with a response, continuing down the dark hallways.
Several minutes of travel around many blind twists and turns passed. The hallways seemed endless - a fact that Darkrai could proudly proclaim was by design. No wanderer or intruder could ever hope to leave.
“I understand that you have a borderline fetishistic love for darkness but is it really too much to ask for a lighting system?” the Stranger asked, breaking the silence with a huff.
“Unnecessary. The darkness does not obscure my vision which makes it a simple, yet effective security system as you have so kindly demonstrated.” Darkrai halted in his tracks and held up an arm to stop the Stranger from continuing. “We’ve arrived at the stairs,” he explained. “Watch your step unless you wish to take a long tumble down.”
The Stranger began to probe his surroundings, finally dropping on all fours to keep his balance on the stairs as he followed.
The trip down the stairway felt several eternities long, courtesy of the Stranger’s slow, awkward gait. He was bold to be so flippant considering his glaring weakness to stairs. The two travelled deeper and deeper, long periods of silence interrupted by the Stranger making a quick jab or two at Darkrai.
It had to have been at least an hour before the faint glow of magma crept into view.
“Not much farther now,” Darkrai said with a smirk. “You should know that this lair is built right on top of a Mystery Dungeon,” he bragged. “Of course, we’ll be avoiding it for now, but I picked this Dungeon for a very specific reason that you will soon learn.”
There was a flicker of recognition in the Stranger’s eyes, though the Stranger chose not to voice it.
Another half hour or so passed before the pair finally reached the bottom. The glow of the magma’s heat revealed several things. Just as Darkrai said, the uncanny edge of a Mystery Dungeon was not far off, yet the mirrored natural formation that marked the entrance was nowhere in sight. It must have been much closer to the surface. Darkrai led the Stranger away from the wall of the Dungeon, into a darker part of the caverns.
“Come, take a look.”
With the aid of the magma’s faint glow, the Stranger could make out the immense form of something deeper. His nose wrinkled as it was assaulted by the overpowering stench of rot.
“Do you know what this is?” Darkrai demanded. His eyes fixed on the Stranger, trying to gauge his reaction. “Why underestimating me would be your death sentence?”
The Stranger’s look of disgust ebbed away and was replaced with a wide, manic grin. “Oh, you are desperate, aren’t you?” he laughed.
That caught Darkrai off-guard. “Desperate? In what way is this desperate?” he growled.
“Trying to use the great dragon, Lightless, a creature who is more force-of-nature than pokémon for your own gain? I can’t imagine any scenario where this doesn’t horribly backfire,” the Stranger replied. “How on earth do you even attempt to control him?”
“Once again, you seem all too eager to demonstrate your foolishness. Did you think that I did not consider the creature’s unpredictability? If my plans weren’t logically sound, I wouldn’t have even bothered to begin with. Of course I have a means of controlling it, though it’s much easier if I just showed you what I plan to do rather than explaining it.”
“Oh, you continue to humour my curiosity?” the Stranger asked. “How flattering.”
“Because you won’t stop pestering me,” Darkrai rebuked. His eyes glimmered dangerously, raising a hand alight with sinister power. He slashed at nothing, ripping apart the fabric of reality like wet paper. In an instant, a dark, unstable portal wobbled in the air, threatening to close at any second.
Darkrai, satisfied at his own handiwork, looked back at the Stranger. “This dimensional hole will take you to the Heart of Dark Crater,” he explained, pointing towards the nearby Dungeon’s border. He grabbed the Stranger by his mane, trying to be as rough as possible, dragging him towards the portal. The Stranger gave Darkrai a look of mild annoyance instead of the pained yelp that he’d expected or desired. Darkrai grumbled, shoving the Stranger through the dimensional hole before following through it himself. It closed seconds later.
A stream of dancing lights and vertigo greeted the two before their surroundings solidified. Darkrai found the Stranger recovering from his small push. It was enough to make Darkrai smile. “Now, must I walk you through everything you’re seeing here?” he asked.
Dark Crater’s Heart was nothing more than a small plane of rock that resembled an arena, surrounded by magma that illuminated the area. Immense rocky spires jutted out from the molten bedrock, ascending into the darkness beyond the baleful light’s reach. At the centre of the makeshift arena was a shallow divot three metres in diameter. A long crack ran right through the depression. Though it was hard to see, ominous, black smoke leaked from it.
“Now, I know what you might be thinking and I agree, the Voidlands entrance is a lovely touch to this haven of mine, but it is not part of my gambit to control Lightless nor why I find this place so desirable.” Darkrai gestured upwards, towards the thing entwined around the stone pillars. His beloved Relic.
The Stranger’s gaze followed Darkrai’s hands upwards and at this, Darkrai smiled. He’d reasoned that it would only be a matter of time before the zoroark succumbed to the Relic’s effects. That distant thrum that etched its way into the back of the mind, scratching against its walls. A persistent sensation morphing into growing whispers. Whispers that, while unintelligible, imprinted their emotions on the memories of those who heard it. Horror, regret, despair, transitioning into maddening, agonising shrieks. So visceral that one could almost feel the same torture that produced those screams.
He couldn’t wait to see it. The desperate attempts to keep hold of any semblance of sanity. The strain, the dread, the increasingly manic begs and pleas to make it stop. Darkrai would relish it. All to distract him from the fact that, deep down, it still unsettled him.
So Darkrai waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And the Stranger laughed.
Darkrai let out a confused snarl. What was the meaning of this?
The Stranger’s gaze was affixed to the Relic, taking no notice of Darkrai’s reaction. “Oh this is good. Far, far too good to be true,” he snickered. “You well and truly have no idea what you’re messing with, do you?”
“I have studied this Relic for many, many years,” Darkrai growled. “My knowledge on this subject is far greater than you could ever imagine. Are you even aware of its purpose?”
“Yes, of course. Made to subjugate deities, granting unimaginable power to their master. I know,” the Stranger replied with a dismissive wave of his paw. “I am correct to assume that you plan to do this with Lightless?”
Darkrai was caught by surprise. The winds were taken out of his proverbial sails. His prepared speech was left in shambles. By the pale Moon’s light, how did he know about this? “Y-yes. That is correct,” he stuttered. “The blackened necrozma, Lightless, I’ve wanted to make its power my own for the longest time since I first witnessed its power… How…?”
“Yes, that’s all well and good, but I’d advise against that,” the Stranger hummed, ignoring Darkrai’s question. “You’re ignorant to a very important detail about Lightless and these Relics. A detail that will cause a few things to not pan out so seamlessly. I will admit, I had suspected you were up to something like this, which is the reason why I didn’t come to you with a deal. You’re already in the throes of one by your own volition!”
Several long moments passed, filled with nothing but the sound of boiling magma. Darkrai couldn’t tell if the Stranger spoke true or if he was just trying to plant doubts within him. None of this was right. All those years of research couldn’t have been out the window thanks to this accursed zoroark.
No.
No, no, no. It was a lie. It had to be. “This ‘detail’,” he demanded hoarsely. “What is it? Answer me! How do you know these things? You, a mere ruffian? I have dedicated years of my life to studying each component of my plan!” he repeated as if it would invalidate everything the Stranger said on the topic.
“Now where’s the fun in just telling you?” the Stranger retorted. “After all, this is exactly like one of my deals. You’ll find out about that little detail soon enough. All I will say about Lightless is that he is not going to like listening to you very much and he’s going to make it very known to you,” he added darkly.
The Stranger’s characteristic grin shifted into a look of utter contempt. His gaze snapped away from the Relic but instead of looking at Darkrai, he was focused on the sealed entrance to the Voidlands, pointing an accusing claw towards it. “And she will certainly have a thing or two to say about that,” he spat. His malice evaporated allowing for his playful tone to take over again. “Oh, if you’re wondering how I know so much about this Relic here, I witnessed the creation of one a long, long time ago,” he said nonchalantly.
“You… Liar!” Darkrai screeched. “Lightless is not capable of any form of thought beyond the instincts that drive it and I have little care for your pronoun game! The creature that was bound to this Relic is dead and has been for a very long time. She won’t be able to do anything because she can’t! Now get out of my sight before I resign myself to using force!”
Darkrai’s frantic gaze shifted between the Relic and the Stranger. Despite believing everything the zoroark said to be a lie, a small part of him was desperate to reconcile the Stranger’s words with everything he knew.
“I should have expected as much but I have had enough of your lies. You lost me the moment you tried to claim that you witnessed the creation of the Relic. If you knew anything about it, then you would know that it is older than Kythra itself!”
“I did say that I was very old,” the Stranger reminded, unfazed by the outburst. “And I wasn’t present for the creation of this ‘Relic’, just a Relic,” he added, holding up a claw. “That one broke, before you ask. These are newer and were made with far more potent materials. Even if the methods used to fashion them could be described as rather… Unethical.” He then shrugged and padded towards Darkrai, towering over the dark-type, malevolent glint in his eye. “But if that’s the narrative you wish to spin for yourself, I certainly won’t stop you. I find them to be the most entertaining, wouldn’t you agree?”
Darkrai had enough. He met the Stranger’s gaze, fists clenching as a dark aura began to manifest within them, sparking in time with the magma. “Get out of my sight,” he spat. “I’m done talking with you.”
The Stranger’s eye narrowed, as if appraising Darkrai’s threat. One look at the energy around his fists was enough to make him back off. He didn’t want to be on the receiving end of a face-full of dark-type energy. He took a couple steps back and shrugged. He got what he came for, a fact made clear by his grin growing even wider than before. “Such a drama queen, but very well. If that is what you wish…”
The air shimmered, not from the heat but from another illusion. The Stranger had vanished in an instant, leaving only a gratified cackle that echoed throughout the dungeon and Darkrai behind.
Darkrai released his fists, dissipating the dark energy with it and sighed, lowering himself to the ground. He would never see the Stranger again. That much he knew but, in that moment, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the permeating feeling the Stranger left behind. That hollow pang at the realisation that he had allowed himself to be made a complete fool. The sensation of falling into each and every one of his traps. The painful itch of those seeds of doubt felt like salt to his wounded pride. A sting that would continue to follow him even when on the cusp of executing his plans. What once felt like a foolproof foundation was now a rickety shack of many, many unknowns.
The Stranger had accomplished his goal.
And at the end of it all, Darkrai couldn’t help but feel cheated.
(And please bare with me this will be a via phine review so expect typos. Misspell/grammar issues, and no direct quotes)
Like how first line in we get evil overlord list entry... Well sorta. Card carrying bare minimum per the summary (formatting got messed ip thought it was the story intro that I caught on to eventially... Meh)
No "tap tapping on your chamber door" line? I admit I couldnt resist the temptation in the review it must of been unspeakable during the initial penning...
So we got entity shrouded in darkness stuck with the papers. Fun times they must be a joy come tax season...
So moltress feather or ohho? I suppose its one way to put a pick me up on your desk. The original pheonix down as a pen... Its an interesting touch to show your pov characters ruthlessness though that level of interest in taxadermy in a mon... Yeah ick... Bad brain. No hanibal jokes...
Why does that feel like a lysandre move? Murder for the smallest error/imperfection. I mean im tempted to suggest a spelling bee/grammer test for the underlings and winnow based off of that... Less chances for getting a new rug vs a new secritary....
Or a new voice yowling in the void. Hello darkrai.. Or is it dark ray? I gotta side with the ex. Sec. Some of the mon names are a nightmare... To spell. And yes that pun was premeditated and thus a crime
... Oh well.
I mean i've heard think happy thoughts but yesh overkill much? Mild quibble with the descriptor "dreary face" I mean it can work with being dull and inspiring such but heh that's a new one.
Ive heard about laughing at ones own jokes but cackling at ones own plans? All we need is a thunder sound effect to top it off.
I suspect this is when the "stranger" mosys in... Lets see.
Now considering typing and powers you would think our pov could just roll thier eyes and see/sense any ghost type... Right?
I'd say... Its not confusing per say but the jump from "the figure" (which felt gender neutral as most legends are) to "he" felt a bit jarring at first and just as i'd adjusted we got the "another figure" popping in... Again its not confusing per say but something about it raised an eyebrow... Like our new guest might of benifited from a diff descriptor?
Huh a hat. Zoroark that has temptation vibes aka mephistopheles. Nice foil with our evil desk jocky...
Part of me is like... "We are royally underestimating wrong colored z. Here..." The rest of me is like. "And youre gunna just let him walk out unsupervised... Because if he feels snubbed there might be some serious property damage with this route"
No wait you can get a paper shredder... Hes probably got multidimensional connections to get you one of those at least..
Huh iwonder if the seed is the "kernel of truth" hes going on about. I could see Stranger going "heres the truth" and leaving the seed as a joke. Stranger definitly is giving trickster coyote vibes here and when juxtaposed against mr lawful evil its an interesting contrast.
Love the ego.. Its all about Dark isnt it... Hes not lecturing hes screwing with your head and you responding is passing him a tool box and saying "go at it"..
And by agreeing to anything its like saying " hi wanna have me take a few cracks for you first?"
This feels bad... For dark at least.
Heh I can see the Stranger mentally grading the motive rant after all hes seen this before x times. So its not new. Love how he just has a drink in hyperspace to sip as it drags on...
When he whips out a meal or popcorn that probably feels like an achivement in lung development if nothing else...
Having just replayed kh2 I am hearing xenoharts voice from Dark during this rather amusing "and now what" Z's puting Dark through.
Laughs... Boarderline? Id say its so deep intrenched all the psychotherepy in the verse wont shake it out...
You know if this bites "dark" in the butt "because you wont stop pestering me" is going to be a very ironic statment to haunt dark for a long time.
So strangers been there seen it....
Yeah I think Stranger won the second Dark asked him and Stranger was like "this sounds like a deal and im not here for that," in sing song no less.
Well this was a fun read thanks for sharing with us and kudos for participating in the contest.
Hey! This was a really fun read. Darkrai is such an openly villainous guy, reveling in classic evil overlord things and torturing his underlings for the smallest slight, and for the villain of a story it'd be kind of cheesy, but in this story it just makes it so satisfying to watch the Stranger dance rhetorical circles around him, point out the idiocy of his plan, and leave him shaken and full of doubt.
In general the Stranger is just a really fun character, and I enjoy his strong character voice and how unimpressed he is with all of Darkrai's everything. Darkrai's over-the-top villainy makes you root hard for the Stranger here even though he's also nominally a dubious figure, and that's always fun - love to be able to just really enjoy a character being a bit of a bastard. Darkrai gets the humiliation that's coming to him, and the Stranger gets to be a fun trickster troll.
I don't recall the plot of Explorers enough to be sure how much of this actually relates to that - I know Necrozma definitely wasn't around in Explorers, and I gather the Voidlands are a Super thing? There's a degree of complexity added by introducing these elements of a plan that don't seem to be the canon, which makes me wonder if this story is set in the world of another story exploring this further. But I do think it basically works here, for the role it's serving as an evil plan Darkrai has that the Stranger can easily poke holes in thanks to his age and experience.
A harrumph. A zoroark. A massive one too. It must’ve been at least twice his own height. That explained how he didn’t notice its presence until now but that wasn’t right; zoroark were a cowardly species, never leaving their territories, hiding themselves with their illusions.
I was a little confused by this paragraph initially because it goes from "the Stranger was at least twice Darkrai's height" to "That explained how he didn't notice its presence until now" - I sat here blinking at this, wondering how on earth being particularly large could explain Darkrai not noticing him, until I realized what you meant was that his being a Zoroark explained it. Should be fixable with a simple rephrasing.
Either way, an enjoyable story, and I'd love to read more about the Stranger sometime. Nice work!
Hi, friednly cat sap here to review on a cat fic. (Seriously the pic inspired me to come here first). Lets get startrd.
When anyone starts with "any other day" i get suspicious that that isnt going to hold. Its a nice way to flaunt setting but my low grade paranoia rears its cheery head and chants "wait for it"...
So i am guessing time stamp is late autum or start of winter.
Banker cat is in a rush... I really hope he doesnt trip in transit as i suspect this migbt be a medical emergency... Probaly on a personal level since there's no doc/healer tagging along... Or getting dragged... And our cats loaded down with meds.
For very good reason... After birth care being huge... Glad everything seems to be going ok this far...
Though i am a bit at a loss for the type difference between the kittens... Perhaps the steel are the ones that look like perserkers and gold are kantoian?
Regardless its interesting to see willowsheen amd silkstones interactions. You get a vib of formal respectful folk off of them with a strong undercurrent of affection even if they arent overt/over the top in showing it.
I suspect 'silver's going to be out pov or focus in the up and coming sections.. lets see.
Two years later and adolescent mon age fast dont they?
Willowsheens a worrier. Fair per being a mom but shes taking it really far. If a real crisis hits i suspect it wont go well...
Well... Joy... We get front seat viewing i guess?
Ah the "joys" of sibling bullying. Going too far at first gander... This is getting worse and worse. At least the kids got a pulse. The pov shift mid scene was a bit jarring.. And the content was a bit disenheartening if understandable. Bullyings left scars on this one.
Still its his coureousity and bravery (because going back to the scene.of nearly dying is not for the weak) seems like its going to net him something.
(Maybe he has pick up?)
Yeah that monsters important. And 'silvers goong to be in for hard times considering.
Helpful old man stereotype whimscash.. I mean the 'stash makes it fit... Wonder if he's the villiage's town sage.
In which whimscash have odd senses... And kitty gets crash course non kitty biology 101. As well as a free plot coupon.
Snorts. Recalling the lion king scene where simbas like "dad..dad..daaaaad" with gnawing. Silvers better behaved, mind, but it is the hazard of parent pay "odd thought wake up calls".
Though siover did let them sleep in for 2 weeks so hes nicer than most...
I like the nods to sheens benign plotting tying to caution. You can easily imagine her loading down her youngest with supplies and a firm " write" on his way out while tryong not to cry. I can also imagine that despite being a feline... silvers dad being codoned to the dog house...
Sheen: Couldnt you have suggested something safer?
Silk: But look how happy...
Sheen: Safer!
Silk: it was 2 in the morning...
SPECKLED SILVER (WC: 3,258)
OVER THE WINDS AND WAVES (WC: 10,007)
NEGOTIATIONS WITH A STRANGER (WC: 4,871)
