Prologue 1

Prologue 1: A Stormy Evening

The Boy who Ran
Ombazza Town’s April showers were well known in the Baranga region both for how long they lasted and how much of a mess they left afterwards. Even with the upcoming competition, getting a ship into port was no easy task.
For Toby, the decision to come out here on his own had so far been perhaps the greatest one made in his entire brief life. Much preparation had been made leading up to this momentous occasion. Years spent in self-taught training with his beloved Growlithe against the most vicious of Rattata and Caterpie, being the self appointed “protector” of his little town when nobody else was willing (or felt a need) to step up to the plate, would finally pay off.
If he could ever get onto dry land that is.
The old boat captain seemed to be having trouble getting himself properly anchored and tied aground to the simplistic wooden dock. The freezing rain fell around him in brutal splats, refreshing yet viciously cold.
His Growlithe shivered and huddled up to him for warmth. There was precious little cover upon this small dingy, and it desperately wanted to get ashore so it could find someplace properly heated for a change.
“Toby, I’m cold…” it whined. “Shh” shushed the youth. He didn’t want to hear any griping, not when his defining first impression was so close at hand.
Toby was a very impulsive lad, his Growlithe not so. He was action, and the Growlithe was restraint. Pathos to logos, chocolate to peanut butter.
“We can still turn around” his Growlithe whined. Toby made an active effort to ignore him now, impatiently shuffling around the boat to the captain. “Hey gramps, can we hurry it up a little? Its frigid out here.”
The sour old man, wrinkled as a pickle, seemed to be in no hurry. “Don’t fuss young man. You can’t rush these things you know. Rushing can be dangerous in storms like these.”
Toby rolled his eyes and tapped his feet. “Anything I can do to help?” The captain shook his head silently and kept at his task.
Arceus, this was boring. Growlithe loitered up to him, paws twitching in the uncomfortable wetness. “I still don’t think this is a good idea Toby.” “You never think anything is a good idea” Toby replied.
“Your pup might just be right young man” replied the captain, butting in on the conversation with a casual air of indifference. Toby flinched, as did his Growlithe. Then he recalled. Of course. Why wouldn’t the captain respond?
The people of Baranga were more in tune with the world supposedly. They heard the voices of Pokemon. Lived with them, not around them as the others did. Secular, secretive, quiet, these were all words which fitted this strange land.
Nobody at home heard the voices like Toby did. There were some, scattered across the regions as they were, but they were few and their gift was largely insignificant in the grand scheme of things. It was just a quirk really.
Toby brushed off his mild embarrassment at his forgetfulness and redirected his focus to the captain. “You don’t think I can do it?” he challenged him.
“No” he said bluntly. It cut deeper into Toby than he expected, and Toby was about to voice a harsh retort when the captain added in “But I think you should do the run anyway. It would be a good learning experience for you.”

Toby zipped his acidic retort away and let his thoughts dwell upon the man’s comment. The run, yes, the Baranga Run, so named after the eponymous region. A contest, an invitation for outsiders to come and test their mettle.
And oh, how they had come.
Toby was one of the first. The town probably had no more than a few dozen at the moment, a hundred at most. Soon it would be infested with all manner of folks who sought the fame and fortune that the Run offered at its end, the metaphorical pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Tens of thousands of people were expected, with twenty thousand being a conservative estimate, well more than double the town’s population. People would be literally sleeping in the streets in the days leading up to this mess.
Growlithe thought, knew in fact, that Toby was overreaching. The boy hadn’t fought a single trainer battle in his life, yet now he expected to be a champion. Preposterous. “Perhaps a hard lesson would be better for us then…”
Toby flashed a grin. “Don’t be so down yeah? Come on, it’ll be easy! Just gotta get into the swing of things, and we’ve got plenty of time to practice!”
There was a sharp tug as the boat secured itself in place, here to weather out the storm until it would set sail yet again. The old man turned once again to the boy. “What brought you here anyway? I don’t believe you’ve told me.”
Toby hesitated. “Why do you want to know?”
The old man smiled. “In case you win, I’d like to have heard it from the champion’s mouth.” Growlithe looked once again to Toby. It was difficult for the youthful lad to tell whether or not that should be taken as an insult. A few moments went by and, when Toby decided no intentional slight had been made against him, he began to ramble. “Well, I mean, same reason as anyone would! Fame and fortune gramps, fame and fortune!” The captain, bemused at the youngster’s predictable reply, cocked his head. “Is that truly everything?” he smiled.
Toby stammered his response. “I-I mean no, but, well, the other stuff isn’t as important!”
The old man gave him a long, piercingly hard look, before at last softening and turning away. “I understand. You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”
Good, thought Toby. Piss off. His Growlithe, sensing the anxiety within his master, nuzzled against his leg as he tended to do in these times of stress.
The captain lowered the ramp allowing for Toby to step off the boat, something which he was all too eager to do. It took all the restraint in the world not to dash away before the old man began speaking again.
“If I were you, I’d start making some friends. Its gonna get awfully crowded here soon, and the next few months of your life will be awfully lonely without a pal.” Toby gave it some thought.
“Such as?” said Toby, jogging in place. The old man leveled his cane over to a peppy girl with an Azurill bouncing back and forth across her neck. “Why not try an old-fashioned approach?” At the moment, she was skipping through the rain without a care in the world, splashing amidst the puddles on the docks with her Pokemon, giggling and laughing and enjoying life in its most natural state.
Something about her carefree spirit made Toby feel nostalgic for something, but he could not fathom why.
“It’d be nice to have a friend” commented Growlithe. His voice broke Toby out of his trance. “Yes, yes it would. Right! Thanks gramps!” He dashed off the boat, nearly slipping and banging his head onto the docks and bringing his story to an unfortunately early close. The old man just smiled and waved.

Toby turned back to look only to find him gone. He must’ve gone back inside the boat to wait out the storm. Behind him the stormy black clouds began to supersede the smothered sun, and night began to arrive. A fog was rolling in from out in the distance, soon to envelop the town.
But Toby wasn’t concerned about that. Toby was concerned about making allies. Best to not attempt this trial alone. He turned on his ‘charm’, puffed up his chest, and strode over to her confidently.
And so, he approached her with a tactful “Yo!”, causing her and her Azurill to turn about face. She blinked once, then twice. Her Azurill ceased its bouncing and began to idle in place, doing tippy-taps in a puddle.
“Heya! How are ya? What’s happening ya?” Her voice was nauseatingly sweet, filled with life and passion. Toby stared awkwardly. It occurred to him he’d rushed in to greet her without thinking of what to say. “Uh…” he spoke eloquently. His Growlithe made its best attempt to bury its face in its paws.
“…Ooh! You must be one of the other trainers! Hi! I’m Nova! Like a Supernova, or Super Nova like a superhero! Wanna be friends?” she chirped.
Just like that?
“I… I guess?” said Toby. He was pretty certain they’d skipped a few steps in the conversation. “Aren’t we jumping the gun a little?” he commented. Nova giggled. “You’re the one that came up to me, silly! If you didn’t want to be my friend, why else would you be speaking to me? Unleeeeeeeeess you wanna battle?” she said, humming.
…Was there something wrong with her? Why was she so peppy in this weather, and at this time of night? Some people just liked the rain, Toby supposed.
“So, which one is it, huh?” she asked, a strange gleam in her eyes. Toby blanched at the thought of battling with his Growlithe in the rain. The poor puppy could barely even stand as it was.
Toby cleared his throat and said to her in a faux masculine tone “Actually ma’m, I’m here to discuss an alliance of convenience. One that is mutually beneficial to the both of us.” It was an impressively verbose display of big words, though all it got out of Nova was amusement. “So, you do wanna be friends after all!”
Toby went red in the face while the Azurill spoke to her. “Oh, come on Nova that’s not fair, you’re embarrassing the poor kid.”
A button was pressed inside Toby’s mind. “I’m not a kid!” a flustered Toby suddenly said, raising his voice. That got Nova’s attention. Toby threw both hands over his mouth. Whoops. “I… I’m sorry I didn’t mean to yell I just…”
Nova’s smile however only grew, her face blooming into one of even more unrestrained delight. “Oh. My. Gosh! You can hear them too?!”
It certainly wasn’t the reaction Toby was expecting. Though in hindsight judging by the way the Azurill was addressing her, it shouldn’t have come to a surprise to Toby she shared the gift. It was just when people heard his talent, they tended to get a bit quiet, a bit nervous. His town was a superstitious lot, and Nova’s reaction was a refreshing change of pace from the norm.
“Yeeeeees?” he answered cautiously. The sound that issued forth from Nova seemed too high pitched to come from a human being, but it was certainly a happy noise at least.
“Wow! You’re, like, the second person only that I’ve ever met who can hear Pokemon too! Well, second person not counting the locals, hee hee…”

“Second?” Toby asked innocuously, only to find Nova having grabbed him by the hand and tugging him along onto a new adventure. Her Azurill threw its tail out and latched across her shoulder like a ring as she moved. “Come on! I want you to meet her, she’s a former champion!”
“Champion?” spoke a still flabbergasted Toby, mind and mouth still struggling to keep up. As the two dashed through the rainy steps of Ombazza, a soaking wet Growlithe trailed behind with cautious enthusiasm.
“What have we gotten ourselves into now?” it wondered aloud, pacing after his stupefied master. At the very least she seemed friendly, if a tad energetic. Like it or not, it realized Toby was going to be put through the wringer. That was good, Growlithe supposed. He had a bit of growing up to do.
They both did, in a sense.
________________________________________________________
The Reluctant Rookie
Aboard a boat much further behind Toby’s meager little chartered dinghy, nearly a half-hundred people waited aboard, trying to get their first glimpse of their dwellings for the next few days. From the distance Ombazza was a plaintive white chunk of carved rock, built of stone and adobe amidst a sea of lushous green, the adjacent Agnama Forest that caked this swathe of the region’s coastline.
Sam had always found the rain relaxing, and it helped to quiet his aching nerves. Every iota of his body was screaming at him, scolding him, telling him this was a bad idea, to turn around and go back. His Roggenrola stood by his side, gazing up at him with its blank faceless expression. Well, actually it was his parents Roggenrola. The life of a Pokemon trainer had never interested Sam. In fact, Sam would rather have led a boring life away from all of this battling nonsense. Much better to read about Baranga in a book as a quizzical oddity than to risk life and limb exploring the place.
Nevertheless, parents could be quite persuasive when they wanted to. A push here, a nudge there, and suddenly he was halfway across the world in mostly unexplored waters. “Isn’t this exciting? I’ll bet within a day you’ll have your first victory under your belt!” Roggenrola stomped in place with delight, clearly more eager than he was. Sam seemed to pale at the mere thought of being involved in any battle of any sort.
Sam tried to steady his breathing and found he couldn’t. Even though he was practically alone in the room, it seemed much too crowded for his liking.
“Is everything alright?” asked Roggenrola, somehow not knowing the answer. “No” said Sam.
Roggenrola tried to offer sagely wisdom. “When your mom and dad were feeling stressed, or that the world around them was falling apart, they- “
“Well I’m not my mom and dad now am I?!” Sam snapped at the eager boulder, causing it to slump and go quiet. Sam felt the shame welling up inside of him already. “Sorry. That wasn’t cool of me.” He hated being compared to the lofty heights of his mother and father, for it seemed like an impossible mountain to scale.
Sam’s parents had been champions, Pokemon masters of the highest quality. Their passion had been battling, in fact they had met in one of said battles. And when their precious child had been born with the gift of tongues, they had never been prouder.
Sam liked to think that he’d peaked the day he’d been born to save himself the disappointment of looking over the rest of his life. He truly felt such a talent had been wasted on an individual such as him, and despite all the envious compliments he’d received he always tried to play it off. So, you’re born knowing another language? What about it? All it did was make the world noisier.
But perhaps the biggest mystery was why his parents seemed to push him so much. What did they see in him? Sam wanted to be a librarian, a simple quiet life filled with knowledge, not adventure.

Give it a try they said. Do it once and we won’t bug you again they said. Well, here he was. He knew if he just walked it back home, they’d never let him live it down. And worse, they’d sent this darned rock with him.
“It’s alright Sam. I know what you’re going through” she said, trying to get through to him unsuccessfully. Secretly, but more of an open secret at this point, he found himself frequently irritated by the little Roggenrola. It kept trying to preach wisdom to him as if it were an expert on the universe’s many mysteries and all the little secrets near and far, priding itself as the Pokemon of two champions and therefore a beacon of knowledge.
In actuality this Roggenrola had been acquired a few years ago after their last Pokemon from their battling days, a Simisage, had died of old age. Roggenrola had watched many recordings of battles, mostly his parents exploits, but she’d never actually taken part in one as far as Sam knew. She was the epitome of the know-it all at the back of the class that dispensed sagely advice for situations they’d never even remotely had any experience in.
Sam had at least wanted to pick out a Pokemon of his own, but his parents had been insistent upon her. Take someone to protect you they’d said. You can find a Pokemon when you get there they’d said. What a joke.
Sam exhaled and began nervously pacing across the room back and forth as he often did when he needed to concentrate. “What’re you thinking about Sam?” she asked.
“A first step” said Sam bluntly. He’d spent so much time fretting about the future he hadn’t actually planned out what he’d do once he got off the boat.
“Why not communicate with Shawn and see what he thinks?” Sam made a face. He’d rather not speak to Shawn right now. Unfortunately, Shawn came into the room shortly after he dared such thoughts, as if to mock him.
As fish congregate to a school or birds to a flock, whiners and pessimists seem to attract eachother. Shawn similarly didn’t want to be here, but unlike Sam’s parents who prodded him until he acquitted, Shawn was unceremoniously booted out the front door. At first, they had bonded well over a shared mutual dislike of their situation. But gradually, it became clear that while Sam was a reluctant and insecure fellow, Shawn was a mopey cringer who bitched his way through life without a care.
Also without a care was his Mareanie, who was chomping through a bag of Corsola bits so loudly it seemed to drown out the rain itself. Flakes of purple coral drifted to the floor and, with a rude yet boisterous belch, it tossed the bag to the ground and prodded Shawn’s hairy head. “Hey. Got any more?” it grumbled.
Oblivious to his Mareanies disrespectful nature, Shawn did what he did best to Sam, and that was sulk. “You good man?” asked Sam. “No” said Shawn miserably, making his way over to the nearest couch to have a lie down.
Sam would ask what was eating him, but the answer to that question would inevitably be a bitter tirade. Better he brood quietly than rant loudly.
Unfortunately, his Mareanie wasn’t having any of it. Prodding him, he demanded Shawn’s attention. “Hey sadsack. I’m hungry. Go buy me some more.”

Shawn slowly turned to the Mareanie, who winced under his depressive glare. The deadened look in his eyes, the trademark sloping shoulders of defeat. Mareanie wondered his luck to get such a moody trainer. Without responding, Shawn paused in his efforts to reach the couch, pivoted, and began to shuffle off towards the kitchen.
“I worry about that kid” said Roggenrola. Sam did too, but he could only worry so much before he became fatigued. “Forget about him” said Sam, brushing the moper out of his thoughts. “We need to focus on a first step. Steps like… like what kind of Pokemon should I get first?”
Personally, he’d wanted to start with a Grass-type. He’d always found the scent of flowers to be relaxing. “Well, I suppose that depends upon your final team composition and what you’re aiming for” said Roggenrola, trying once again to be ‘helpful’ and only confusing Sam. “Too far ahead” Sam brushed the thought away. He didn’t see the need to plan ahead for such a thing he knew would never be an issue, for Sam doubted he’d be in the run long enough for it to matter.
It might be better, Sam came to realize, to play this by ear. Or, more specifically, latch onto anyone who might be able to help him. Kowtow to someone stronger and more experienced. Sam himself was a scrub when it came to being a trainer, but he wasn’t stupid.
And furthermore, he knew of somebody else on this boat with the gift that may just be who he was looking for. Many other such people aboard had already come to the same conclusion.
He made his way down to the lower decks of the ship, past a trainer trying to get its Munchlax away from a buffet table, around another painting with their Smeargle, and through the kitchen, tiptoeing around Shawn who was currently rummaging for food.
Mareanie saw Sam walk past but only shrugged and said nothing. Their owner may be a loser, but at least it had its Corsola Bits. Delicious, crunchy, Corsola Bits. Shawn passed it another bag which it eagerly tore into. “Hey, quit being such a sadsack” it spoke to Shawn, a mouth filled with food. “It’s not the end of the world you know.”
“Might as well be” Shawn complained to the sound of Mareanie chewing on more Corsola bits. “What’s the point of anything? All I’m doing is feeding this stupid world’s mindset we live in. Fight this, go there, why can’t I just do what I want to do?”
“Like what?” asked Mareanie.
“I dunno!” Shawn said with a pinch of existential dread, throwing up his hands in defeat. “Quit interrogating me, okay? Sheesh…” Looking away from his Pokemon, he sighed sadly. Mareanie rolled its eyes. He’d been a going away “present” for the angsty lad. As to what Shawn’s problem was, Mareanie neither knew nor cared. He intended to ditch the kid as soon as he got a chance.
Sam just kept going, paying Shawn no further mind, and successfully slipped by without being noticed. His target lay even further below and, after climbing down a ladder, he emerged in front of a door.

There was a heavyset older man guarding the way to the unremarkable steel doorframe The sounds of chatter could be heard inside.
Roggenrola instantly knew what Sam was planning. “Oh no. Sam, you aren’t serious, are you?”
“I am.” It was the safest way to get through all this, even if it wasn’t the most morally ethical decision.
The man raised an eyebrow at Sam’s words. Sam blinked and remembered what company he was in now. It was an awkward mistake he often made. “I… uh, speaking to her.”
The bouncer nodded. “Just like the boss huh. What’s that like anyway?” Sam shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. I’ve never not had it. Just… sounds like more people are talking I guess.”
They seemed satisfied with that rather plain answer. “Here to join?” he asked. Sam nodded, and without a word, the man opened the door, beckoning Sam through.
He ducked under the top of the doorframe so as not to bump his head, and stepped into the dimly lit smoke-filled room.
Most of the place was assorted cargo, save for a chunk in the back which had been carved out to allow for a table and some space to crowd around it. At the table, chomping on the god of all cigars, was a young-ish man in a pinstripe who looked as if he’d walked straight out of an old gangster movie. One of his eyes had an eyepatch over it, and upon his shoulder was perched a Murkrow that gave a pre-emptive caw of warning as Sam entered.
“Oy boss! Dere’s another one!” it squawked. “Boss” looked up to Sam, as did the other few dozen people in the room. Many of the trainers that had been on this passage were in this room as a matter of fact, along with several of the man’s more obvious associates.
“Another one huh? You’re late to the meeting. This started fifteen minutes ago pal.”
Sam began to sweat. “Sorry, I was hesitant.”
“Nickel.”
Sam blinked. “My name” he explained. “His name!” the Murkrow repeated with dramatic flair. “If you’re gonna talk to me, address me by my name. Now try again.”
Sam swallowed and retraced his steps. “Sorry Nickel, I was hesitant.” Nickel nodded in a satisfactory manner, tension leaving his eyes. “Good man.” The Murkrow cackled. “Tell em off boss! Show that git whose really in charge here!”
Sam was beginning to dislike that Murkrow.
Nickel leaned back in his chair, Sam gradually coming to the realization that the eyes of everyone in the room were upon him, be they Human or Pokemon.
“So why do you wanna join up then, eh?” asked Nickel. A harmless question enough, but it made Sam nervous regardless. “Probably wants ta mooch da cash eh boss?” snickered Murkrow.
“Because I’m weak, Nickel, and I want protection.”
“Don’t lead with that!” chastised Roggenrola.
Nickel frowned. “Why would I wanna work with someone who’s weak?” The Murkrow cawed a cantankerous cackle. “You tell ‘em boss! We don’ want no losers on this team! Tough guys only! Real bonafide gangstas! Legends! Pro bono- “
“Shaddup” Nickel said, snapping his fingers. Murkrow protested. “But boss- “
“Shaddup, shuttin’ up” he repeated. This time, Murkrow kept its beak shut.

Sam eyed the Murkrow, who returned his gaze with a suspicious look. “I have rare talents, Nickel” he explained. Nickel seemed disinterested. “Such as?”
Sam pointed to the Murkrow and said to it “What’s your favorite color?”
Murkrow gave Nickel a look. “Humor him” the mafioso ordered.
“…Blue?” It dwelled on that thought. “No, wait, yellow!” it said, correcting itself hastily.
“Well, there you go then, his favorite color’s yellow” said Sam. The air of the room changed from judgmental to curiosity. Nickel’s good eye affixed on him and widened. “Ahhh… I getcha now. That is a rare talent.” He mulled his cigar over in his lip. Sam noticed his Murkrow was doing its best to keep its noisy beak as tightly closed as possible, now that it was aware Sam could understand him and his biting commentary. A coward and a craven, as all Murkrow tended to be in Sam’s experience with the pests.  “But you’re still weak, and I already got two others like yerself in my posse.” Both Sam and Roggenrola flinched at his verdict.
Two?! His gift was one in a million! Was he trying to tell him there were a minimum of five people with the same rarity on one boat? The odds of that were… well, not statistically likely to put it lightly. Damn, he’d been banking on his uniqueness being a selling point. He wasn’t sure he had a backup.
Nickel tapped his fingers on the desk. For a moment, Sam grew worried he would have to perform some unscrupulous task in order to prove himself, like a battle or something. If possible, Sam was intending to get through this with as few battles as possible. However whatever ideas Nickel had seemed to dissipate, for he relaxed and looked Sam in the eye. “I expect you to keep up with us, capiche? That means if you start slowing us down, you get left behind.”
Sam exhaled in gratified relief. “Capiche, Nickel.”
Roggenrola looked to him with as much disappointment as a being without a face could muster. “We’re going to regret this” she whispered to him.
But Sam didn’t care. He felt much more confident about his chances now. First schmirst, so long as he had a chance for even a little success, he’d take it.
Even if it meant siding with the bad guys.
____________________________________________

The Mad Priest
Ivan stuck out his palm and felt the droplets impact against his skin. He smiled to be alive and witness one of Arceus’s finest creations, rain. He inhaled, felt Arceus’s breath flow through him, and was reborn through its clarity.
Behind him, his Snivy struggled to carry his massive leather-bound book upon its back. A holy construct of centuries worth of paper and ink, the poor petit snake had to crawl on all fours just to bear its weight, and even still struggled. It was currently wrapped in a coating of plastic further held within a bag so as not to get wet, for Ivan valued the book more than his own life. After all, it was the gospel of Arceus, the holiest word of all, the one and true god of the universe. What else could be more important?
Snivy, on a bad day, may have perhaps suggested scoliosis, but pushed the thoughts away in hopes that once it evolved it would become an easier burden to bear.
“Is the child near?” wheezed Snivy. It was sore all over from lugging the scripture around, and terribly hungry. It had not eaten since yesterday, and the only reason it had was because that baby Pidove hadn’t been paying attention to its surroundings in the slightest. Nature was cruel, but methodical.
Ivan closed his eyes and felt the world speak to him, whispering its secrets into his cauliflowered ears. “Yes” said Ivan, certain of his answer. “Yes, he is near. Pray follow.”
So, they did, Ivan occasionally pausing in impatient irritation to allow Snivy to catch up. Once, Snivy had dared to ask why Ivan could not carry the book since it was much more his size. Ivan had gotten quite irate at that. Such a holy scripture was not meant for Human hands to hold he had said. Only someone as worthy as a Pokemon could touch it, and for that Snivy should be grateful.
He had felt honored then, and still felt honored now, though the pain was getting to him, and he had to watch his footing in the dark lest he slip and bash his head on the ground. That was the problem with making everything out of smoothed stones, it was all rather slippery when wet. At least it looked nice.
It took Ivan about an hour to find his quarry exactly, being guided by his holy visions that he claimed to receive. Snivy did not know how the man did it, but he claimed to be touched by Arceus, and was thus born of supposed miraculous powers of sight and senses. They felt lucky to have such a talented master.
Once Ivan had finally found his target, the evening had turned to night, and a very dark one at that. There were no streetlamps in Ombazza.
He knocked upon the door. A groggy but kindly looking woman came to the door, a Munna glued to its head. “Hello?”
“I understand you have a child here you have recently taken into your care” said Ivan bombastically, sticking his chest out as he spoke. “I desire to speak to him.”

His nature was off-putting to the woman, who shied away from him and placed a hand on the door in the event she needed to slam it on his face. “Mike?” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “How do you know Mike?”
Ivan cleared his throat. “I do not know the child personally, but I am aware of his gifts. I must confirm them for myself, as per my credentials of a holy deacon of the Church of the Eighteen Eyes.”
The woman moved to close the door, but Ivan put his foot in the doorway. Snivy hissed, her Munna woke up in a drowsy state. “I don’t think you understood me, girl. I said must, not may I. This is not a request.”
What followed was a long, viciously uncomfortable staring contest between the two. She was half-tempted to call his bluff, and half-worried over what he’d do if she got it wrong. He was too big to get around, and the house, small as it was, only had one exit.
She considered screaming for help, but the rain was too loud. It would only drown out her ruckus. “Not going to rob me I hope.”
“The boy, ma’m” repeated Ivan with more attitude this time.
She looked to her Munna, who looked to her. “He just wants to see the child. I checked his head” it said sleepily, and closed its eyes again. With a somber nod, she allowed him inside.
He didn’t even have the decency to wipe his feet on the carpet, and promptly tracked mud into the house, much to her mounting consternation.
The house itself was not large. None of the dwellings in Ombazza were. This one was mostly just three rooms squished together into a space not much larger than two garages worth, and in the middle of a corner of the dwelling, squat upon a carpet in a square shaped nook, was a lad. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen at the absolute most. They were quite a puny thing, with messy, overgrown hair and seemingly clothed in nothing but overly fanficul swaddling. He was as skinny as a rail, as if nourishment itself were an accessory.
Mike, as the woman referred to him, lay with his eyes shut and his legs cris-crossed in deep concentration. Coiled around him was a Dratini, the largest (and only) one Ivan had ever seen. Its head rose to greet him with the protectiveness of a mother bear guarding its cub. Judging by its alarming size, it was close to evolving.
“Ah, a Dragon. Truly one of the most majestic of Arceus’s creations” Ivan smiled poisonously. The Dratini stared him down, hissing. Snivy in turn hissed back. “Dare you do not besmirch his presence! This is a holy man!” said Snivy.
The Dratini snorted and spoke for the first time. “Seems to me that anybody who goes around calling themselves holy isn’t exactly what they claim to be.” Dratini prodded a tail towards Mike, who slowly began to open his eyes. “That right there is holy, and you aren’t taking one more step towards him, lest you want to lose a limb.”
Snivy bared its fangs but did little. It did not have the gall to take on the dragon.

“Now now, let’s be diplomatic about this” said Ivan, reaching slowly and deliberately into his coat pocket. He did so whilst making the utmost surety that the Dratini saw his every movement. “I come bearing no threat. In fact, I bring a gift.”
Mike blinked the eye boogers away and yawned. “Who are they?” he asked. “Clowns” responded Dratini. “From a third-rate circus.”
Watching all of this with silent interest and caution was the owner of the house, who was half-tempted to slip away at this point were it not for the fact she’d feel guilty leaving the child alone.
From within his coat Ivan removed a crude pot, within it a plant. “I bring to you this sad specimen. Pray, can you bestow upon it some generosity?”
Dratini scowled. “More people who wish to prey upon your gifts. Send them away Mike, we don’t want them here.”
But Mike would not have it. He vested his interest upon the suffering foliage, and beckoned Ivan to bring it closer. Dratini waited for the slightest twitch, the tiniest suspicious movement so he could slam Ivan to the ground, but it never came.
Mike took hold of the plant, a withered, decaying specimen devoid of care and attention. “Such a sad thing. Why is it so sick?” he asked, turning to Dratini. “It is sick because it has been neglected, blessed one. See how it browns and withers at the slightest touch.” Mike prodded a leaf, and it crackled, before flopping lifelessly to the floor.
This wouldn’t do at all. Cupping the dying foliage as delicately as possible, he let out a soft breath of oxygen upon it…
…Sowing a miracle.
“So, it is true then” Ivan said breathlessly. Snivy only stared, eyes lit up like a candle.
At first, with the quietest of creaks, the puny bark strengthened into sturdier wooden knots. Then the plant affixed its posture, turning upright once more. The leaves went from brown to green. Dead, bare branches bore buds, which then blossomed into flowers, until the very top was a blooming rose, shining a powerful hot pink.
There were many rumors surrounding the child, told by Ivan’s congregation. Wherever the boy cried, his tears either rotted the ground or gave life, dependent on the origin. Likewise, his gentle touch caused wounds to heal. His laughter made crops grow, his eyes could pierce into the gaze of a rampant Hydreigon and stop it dead in its tracks with innocent blue eyes. Whatever he thought, happened, and the true extent of his powers was not yet known. Pokemon flocked to Mike, for he had a natural affinity to them. They loved him, and he loved them.
“I had heard the rumors I must admit… but to see it in person is…” Ivan began, finding himself at a loss for words. It was a truly magical experience.
“Stunning?” guessed Snivy. “Humbling” corrected Ivan.
“Really? Good! I’m glad to hear your curiosity was sated. Now kindly get out of this poor woman’s house would you kindly?” insisted Dratini.
But Ivan just chuckled and stood his ground. “Oh, wonderful specimen. I am not simply here to ogle the child, gifted as he may be.”
“What a shame” interrupted Dratini. Ivan continued unimpeded. “Rather, now that I have confirmed his miracles for myself, I wish to offer my services. He is a holy child. And a holy child of Arceus deserves a holy priest, does he not?”
Dratini eyed the book. It was old, and upon it was a depiction of Arceus with eighteen eyes and limbs. The Church of the Eighteen Eyes was a very old sect, one primarily made up of looneys, zealots, and demagogues in the common opinion.

Mike seemed interested, resting his sleepy head upon a pillow. “You want to come with me on my journey?” he asked. Dratini cringed, Ivan beamed. “Correct. I offer my services. Voluntarily of course. Thou may only say the word and I will depart forever more. But I encourage you not to waste this opportunity. I am gifted and enlightened to the world itself, and I too can perform miracles. For we both have the gift of tongues, you the touch of life, and I the sight of the heavens.”
Dratini looked to Mike, whose attention was now upon the priest. The child was important. Dratini had been raised alongside the child to ensure its destiny was secured. Said destiny was here, deep within Baranga. The Run was but a distraction, a luxury. This tale would conclude for Mike here in this strange land, with or without the competition. As to how or what that destiny actually entailed, even Dratini did not know. All he could hope for was that the answers be made clear with the passage of time.
And, hopefully, without this pesky priest and his Gollum-esque pet snakemon. Sadly, this was not to be.
“He can come along” said Mike with another barely stifled yawn, snuggling into his pillow. Dratini coiled around him, fraught with worry. “Mike, please…”
Mike didn’t respond. He couldn’t care less at this point. All he wanted now was a nap. Instead, he rested his soft hand upon Dratini’s forehead. As delicate a touch as it was, it brought a soothing energy over Dratini, one which made the whole of the earth seem as simple as a glass of water. His anxieties were submerged beneath its warmth.
“Tomorrow we should explore the town. And you and him can teach me things again” said the boy. Ivan smiled, while Dratini scowled. “It would be my greatest pleasure to serve you, oh holy child of Arceus.”
“As I’m sure it would be,” said the forgotten owner of the house. “However, it is getting late, and I’m terribly sorry, but we have no more room for you” she said, approaching on the priest.
Ivan’s eye twitched, irritated at the interruption. “The floor will suffice for me if a couch is not an option.”
She smiled a predatory grin, one warning that she was about to be pushed beyond her breaking point. “No” she said simply.
Ivan considered his options. Force might be unwise at this time. Snivy look to him, eager to do battle, overconfident as it was. Ivan however realized that his options given to him were not generous.
He wouldn’t want to make a bad first impression to Mike after all.
“I understand. Thank you for your hospitality” said Ivan, biting down on as much sarcasm as he could in so few words. He was promptly shown the door and let back out into the storm. Ivan and Snivy both heard the door lock behind them.
“What a sad day it is when a house will not shelter a poor priest” commented Snivy.
Indeed, thought Ivan. Indeed.
_________________________________________

The Dutiful Knight
The captain of the K.S.S. Filiana jammed his good eye through the glass of the telescope and scowled. “Blast this weather” he grumped. “And blast those damned ports!” He slammed the scope back into his socket and stamped across the room, bellowing orders at the overworked and overstressed helmsman.
“Is it that bad, captain?” asked Bernice, 1st Knight of the House Filia of Kalos. As proud a person as her accomplishments and golden hearted on the inside, she was a prime example of not judging a book by their cover. Externally she looked as if the ugly stick had called for reinforcements, and the entire ugly tree had collapsed on her coming out of the womb. Such opinions of course were not voiced openly. Bernice had cultivated far too much respect to be brazenly disrespected by all but the most bullheaded and obstinate of fools. Fools who she quickly put in their place.
Though in the Captain’s opinion the unibrow could be done away with. Nobody had yet gotten the courage to ask her about it.
“Worse. The damn ports clogged. Even if we could get her aground there’s no room for us.” He stomped his feet in frustration, trying his best to keep himself from blowing his top in front of nobility. “Their docks are meant for fishing boats and house dinghies, ours is too fething big. We’ll have to find somewhere else to anchor her, lest we be run aground. Or worse, capsized.”
Bernice nodded. “Do what you must captain. House Filia trusts your judgment.” The captain did not reply, quite likely because he was too busy barking orders for her to be heard. Sensing her presence on deck was no longer necessary, Bernice slipped away as quietly as someone in full plate armor could possibly hope to do.
“A bit of a testy fellow wouldn’t you say?” said Bernice. Her Honedge replied with a dismissive guffaw. “Bah, I knew the whippersnapper back when he was a lad. Always a sour grape that one. Take as many shots of whiskey as he does and it’ll turn your brain runny.” Honedge considered his words, then chuckled. “Of course, I don’t have to worry about such things now. Life is so much simpler when you’re a sword.”
This Honedge was her ancestor. All knights of the House of Filia became Honedge when they passed as was tradition, their souls clinging on tenaciously to continue the ritual even after their demise. They in turn helped their descendant, who would be expected to guard the family with both their lives, their Pokemon’s lives, and after those were spent, to repeat the cycle. Indeed, the halls of House Filia were lined with Aegislash many centuries old, vested in tradition and old memories.
“Really, it’s incredible how easily your worries slip away once you’re a Honedge. Quite relaxing actually.”
Bernice having the gift of tongues was simply an added bonus that made her life that much easier. What better trick was there to using a sword that you could communicate with?
However, the Baranga Run’s draw, tempting as the challenge may be, had not been for Bernice. Rather, instead, it had been for the Princess Filia VIII, or Patricia as she preferred to be addressed. It was time for her coming-of-age trial, and her development had been a tad lacking in the battling competency department. And some lessons were best learned the hard way.
Bernice marched past an assortment of guards, all saluting her silently. They respected her seniority despite her gender. Enough skulls had been knocked around to quiet all but the boldest of murmurs, murmurs which would be quickly silenced again once she got wind of them.
Women were not traditionally knights, but there were some exceptions for those who were clearly gifted as Bernice was.

Patricia was a delicate soul. She’d rather pick flowers and play piano than represent the house upon the honored field of battle in Pokemon duels. While this would be fine in most other royal houses, Patricia’s situation was unique.
She was the first member of House Filia to be able to speak to Pokemon. Such a gift, rare and exotic as it was, was greedily coveted. The day they had caught her listening to Oddish in her garden, following instructions from her Furfrou on how it would like its mane to be groomed, her parents had been overjoyed. A feast had been declared, a holiday for every servant. Surely their daughter would grow up to be a delightful specimen, a jewel to the House of Filia.
While Patricia had indeed grown up to be delightful, she had so far failed to meet their lofty standards. The kindness was there, but she remained naïve to the world and reluctant to take part in battling.
This competition, intense as it was seemingly shaping up to be, was what her mother and father hoped would toughen her up. Though Patricia wanted a life of relaxed luxury frolicking away with frivolities, she understood that sooner or later she would need to grow up.
Bless her heart, she was trying at the very least, unlike some spoiled specimens of the nobility who were so inbred they could not see their toes past their sloping chins and elongated noses.
As Bernice approached a wooden door, two guards with spears blocked her way, cris-crossing their weaponry to bar her from the door. It was not meant as a hostile gesture, but rather a traditional one. “Who goes there?” they answered. Honedge rolled its eye. “Oh bother, this drivel again. Even in death there’s no end to it.”
“Knight Bernice, of House Filia” she replied, as was customary. “What purpose does Knight Bernice of House Filia have to approach the Princess?” they spoke, as per script. “To request an audience with the Princess.”
She’d done this routine so many, many times that it was ingrained into her memory. “Your request is granted. Maintain your manners when speaking with the shining jewel of Kalos, lest your sins be held aloft for all to see.” Then they let their spears free and allowed her access to the door.
A second later one of the guards cursed. “Dammit, did I skip a line?” asked the first guard. She looked new; Bernice didn’t recognize her. “Eh, the one about asking why the business is so important at this time of night. You’ll get it down” said the more experienced of the two guards.
Definitely new.
Bernice knocked upon the door. “Princess, it is I, your knight. May I enter?”
“Thou may, Sir Knight” Patricia replied a courtesy from behind the door. The two guards stepped fully out of the way and allowed Bernice to enter.

The princess’s room was nothing short of opulent. A chandelier carved in the likeness of a Chandelure hung from the ceiling. A full cadre of Sunflora automaton, currently asleep, would sing to her in the morning from their patches of soil. No less than a half dozen Indeedee imported from Galar waited upon her every whim at one time, though for now they slept.
Currently, she was tucked away in bed, snug as a bug, her chubby Petilil by her side as a living pillow. The thing was quite fat for one of its kind, having been spoiled sweet by Patricia who had taken an incredible liking to it, but was too much of a pushover to enforce an exercise routine.
“I take it the situation has not improved?” she asked. “Regrettably correct, Princess. We will have to wait until morning to disembark unto Ombazza” said Bernice. Her Petilil yawned and shifted, trying to return to its interrupted slumber.
Patricia did not seem bothered by the news, nor surprised. “We are in no hurry” she said, stretching. The hour was late, and her eyes were tired.
“Did you practice your battles today?” asked Bernice. Patricia froze, eye contact wavering as a guilty smile crept up her lips. “Perhaps” she lied, poorly at that.
Honedge removed itself from her scabbard. “Before you sleep, you should at least get some practice in” the knight encouraged. “It would do your Petilil good to get some practice.”
The Petilil moaned its discomfort and snuggled into Patricia’s arm. “But I don’t want to battle. I’m a hugger, not a fighter” it cooed adorably. Patricia gave it an amused look, but did cross her arms and try and encourage it to stand. “One battle. Then you can sleep.”
This was not what Petilil had been expecting. “Eh?! B-but I’ll be creamed!” She took one look at her foe and nearly fainted dead away.
Honedge meanwhile tried its best to goad it. “Come on you shrubbery, have at you. Work those… hm, no legs. Arms? Do you have arms under there?”
“No! Stop making fun of me!” the pudgy Pokemon pouted.
“One attack lass. All I’m asking for.”
Unleashing a furious war cry, the Petilil charged at breakneck molasses trickling speeds directly into the Honedge. It may, in theory, have constituted as a Tackle. “Owie!” she yelped. “Owww… My head! I got a booboo!”
As she mewled pitifully, the Honedge looked up in profound sadness at Patricia, who threw her arms out with a shrug of defeat. “Princess! Help me! Give me kisses please!” the Petilil begged to an increasingly red-faced Patricia, steaming with embarrassment.
Bernice placed her face in her plated hands and pinched the bridge of her nose, groaning.
“Perhaps… we should put her on a diet and exercise regimen first?” suggested Bernice, while the Petilil pitifully rolled on the floor in a grossly exaggerated tantrum.
Patricia thought it was a wonderful idea. The Petilil thought it was dying of its terrible injuries, but nobody was really paying too much mind to its opinion at the moment.
Oh dear. Bernice realized this was going to be an uphill battle.

Outside of their room, the new guard shuffled her feet. Bernice was indeed correct in her assessment. She was new, very new.
In fact, she’d just gotten started as soon as she’d stepped on the boat.
Nobody had quite put together the fact that she’d been a tall man in his sixties up until a few weeks ago.
For now, she waited, a smile creeping up her lips. She couldn’t wait to get started.
________________________________________________

The Professional
It was the dead of night, and the storm raged on. Sybil tromped through the mud and rain up the hill, each step done as carefully as possible so as not to break a leg and begin a fatal, slippery slide in the dark. Between the rain and the fog, one could barely see more than a few yards ahead of them.
Yet this was where she'd said she'd be if Sybil ever changed her mind, and a challenge offered was perhaps the best bait one could give to someone like her who was ravenous for chances to prove their mettle.
The lighthouse continued to beam out into the turmoiled seas, and Sybil marched on. The Carnivine wrapped around her was fraught with worry, anxiously gnawing on its leaves. “Really now Sybil, is this truly necessary?”
Without even looking back, she kept up her implacable advance. “We need to ration our supplies properly. And with the rates the inn is charging, that would take us beyond our budget. Therefore, we have to improvise in a tried-and-true method” she explained.
A flash of lightning briefly illuminated her target, standing near the cliffside in defiance of wind and gravity. Sybil removed a pair of gloves from her hand and stretched them out, fitting her digits in before flexing them until the joints let out a satisfying crack.
“Of course, mistress.”
Nevertheless, Carnivine kept a firm grip on her. He had promised to keep her safe, and it was a promise he never intended to break, for Sybil was all that he had left of them.
Standing precariously upon the edge, arms outstretched in a t-pose, stood a very strange woman indeed. She wore a corset covered in barbs, and little else, for her hands and feet were bare and raw with blisters and water. Her frazzled blond hair blew in the wind freely, and she stared up at the black thunder clouds in awe and wonder at their power.
In short, she was crazy.
Flanking her side was a Mareep. Theoretically at least. It seemed half-zombified. Patches of its wool were missing. What remained was a miserable flat texture lacking any of the typical fluffy goodness, and it was so skinny it was a wonder the thing was still standing at all.
Worst of all however was its skull. Most of its skin was missing. An eye without a lid rolled in its socket and turned to Sybil, affixing its attention on her. It smiled from between a lipless mouth. “Reese” it croaked. “You have guests.”
Slowly pivoting without moving from the spot, Reese turned around with a wide-eyed smile. “Ah, the noble warrior herself. Have you re-considered my offer?”
“For a battle? Yes”, said Sybil, cracking her knuckles once more.
Reese stepped forwards in great loping strides, putting her body in a treacherous position should she lose her footing. She never did, despite a lack of footwear and thus traction. “The eight-league superstar, the prodigal daughter, the whisperer. It was such a delight to see one of your talent in such a quiet place as this.”
As she approached, an over protective Carnivine bared its gnashing jaws and snarled at her, prompting Sybil to push its face away with one of her gloved hands. “If a challenge is offered, and I deem it worthy of my time, I shall make an effort to overcome it. A brand-new region is a worthwhile challenge, I hope you would agree.”

Reese stopped but inches away from Sybil. She was shorter than she was. “Only the battle then? Not the other?” she asked, only slightly hopeful. Sybil shook her head. “I need the money.”
Reese sighed disappointedly. “Drat. And it was the perfect chance for me to conduct an experiment on someone too. No matter, I shall use myself. When the experiment concludes, we shall battle.”
Reese turned around to walk back to her original spot, failing to notice Sybil’s hands tightening into a fist. “I don’t have time for this. You asked for me, I expect you to oblige my time.”
Without turning back, Reese responded rather cheekily with just a pinch of anger. “I asked for you several hours ago. Then, you denied me. I gave you my location if you changed your mind, but now I’m rather busy. So, do be patient please and I’ll get back to you when I’m done working.” She proceeded to creep back to the cliffside and wait, holding her body outstretched once more.
What was she trying to do, wondered Sybil? Get electrocuted? She exhaled, trying to let the tension leave her body before she lost her temper on the strange, strange person before her.
Of all the people to run into with the same gift as her, it had to be the one with every single screw either loose or missing entirely. Sybil hoped the locals would prove a more interesting conversation partner. In her entire life she could only count a handful of times she’d ever met another like herself.
Especially where she came from, where such gifts were frowned upon at best.
As Sybil slipped deeper into thought, Carnivine grew worried again. She was thinking to herself again, and when she did that her thoughts often slipped into dark spots from which it was difficult to find the light again.
An ancient and proud legacy, reduced to a single girl all from stupid bigotry. But he would protect her, for he had promised them that. She was precious to him. “Mistress? It’s okay. We can find another place for the night. I’m sure a local will take us in, they seem friendly.”
But Sybil wasn’t having any of his kindly words. “We battle. And we wait, however long it takes.”
Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on one’s point of view, that wasn’t very long. As the storm raged, Sybil felt something peculiar. A taste of metals in her mouth where there had prior been none. Her hair began to stand up.
“Hit the deck!” Carnivine warned her as she threw herself to the ground. Reese just laughed, and embraced the apex of the violent torrent. A moment later a calamitous bolt of lightning struck her dead on in a blinding flash that temporarily made the world bright as day. A flash of blue-white fire briefly pierced through the flash, and Sybil felt a breath of heat upon her back.
There was a distinct smoky smell as Reese toppled to the ground, her Mareep bleating with excitement. “Yes! Yes! Another excellent experiment!”
Sybil stood up straight and rushed over. “Is she dead?”
“Most likely” said Mareep. Sybil’s heart skipped a beat. It had been a while since she had to perform CPR, but she would do what she could. Reese’s outfit was blackened and charred from the lick of the lightning, and she remained absolutely still, the same manic grin affixed to her face.
Yet before she could even touch her, the mortified Mareep imposed itself in the way. “Wait! You’ll ruin the experiment!”
And so, despite her protests, Sybil waited. And watched.
Some time passed.
First there was a convulsion of her limbs, then the rest of her body. Lastly, with a rattling sound reminiscent of a jostled skeleton, Reese stood up, seemingly almost entirely without bending her knees. “Ahhh~” she sighed in relief. “Excellent. That proves my theory perfectly.” She seemed remarkably perky for someone who'd just survived what would kill most other people in very short order.

Sybil had to wonder just what ‘theory’ this madwoman was even trying to prove. She decided not to ask.
“Right then” Reese turned around. “Ready for a battle?”
Sybil adopted a fighting stance. She was born ready. It was all she lived for in fact.
Around them, the storm raged, a foghorn blew loudly through the haze, and their battle commenced under the pitch black clouds and the dead of night.