[shadow=black,left]Flicker.[/shadow]
The Hall was eerily quiet at two in the morning, cavernous and foreboding of presence. The chamber was dark, the few lights that were never off casting their faint glows across the walls. The room was empty of people and bereft of furnishings, all but for a single, glass case that swept from ceiling to floor. Small, flickering lights barely illuminated the display, and the lone man sitting forlornly before it struggled to make out the miniature text scribbled at the base of the awards. There were many, far too many to count these days, spiraling up through the levels of glass and gold hierarchy to the top of the kingdom.
[shadow=black,left]Flicker.[/shadow]
The display itself could be likened to the rings of a great old tree; if one were to look closely they could tell the passing of the ages by the number of rings in the wood of the tree. Whereas, in a tree, the rings echoed outwards, the younger layers forming a protective barrier around their elders, the oldest trophies in the display case remained at bottom, their old strength being used to support the weight of the new ones. Their weariness was palpable. The gloss and gleam they once possessed was now dulled by age and neglect, dust somehow managing to worm past the thin glass barrier to rest atop them, graying them and shielding them from view.
[shadow=black,left]Flicker.[/shadow]
The man reached out a solitary finger and traced it down the length of one trophy in particular, one on eye-level by his place on the floor. This one, too, was weary and gray; the ability to dazzle having long been taken away by those that had succeeded it. The finger came away black with dirt, and he wiped it on his pants in disappointment.
[shadow=black,left]Flicker.[/shadow]
It might confound you to find this place to be the Hall of the Champions, where those that win the League come to register their Pokemon and achievements in history. Every trophy had its own tale to tell, its own past of sweat and tears and, yes, sometimes blood. The recent ones, the ones that still resounded in the minds of the general populace, gleamed bright and proud their triumph near the top of the display; but those that had long since had their turn lay low, no longer shining and their tales dead to the world.
[shadow=black,left]Flicker.[/shadow]
You might think it strange that one could simply walk into the Hall thus, bypassing security systems. After all, only the Champions are allowed to enter these grounds. Well, one does not tread forbidden ground with impunity. The door to the Hall opened with a crash, and a heavy security guard shined their flashlight upon him through the gloom.
[shadow=black,left]Flicker.[/shadow]
"Hey!" He called out, irritation mingling with faint recognition upon his face. "You ain't supposed to be in here!"
[shadow=black,left]Flicker.[/shadow]
The guard made quick work of the strange man's presence, apprehending him with no frivolities. He was escorted out without a sound of protest on his part, nothing but a small glance back at the display case before the door shut with a slam.
[shadow=black,left]Flicker.[/shadow]
Back in the Hall of Champions the light in the display case flickered dimly, dancing over the deep engravings of one trophy in particular. The words were highlighted in blacks and whites and grays, and in the dark they read:
‘Lance, Dragon Master, Pokemon Champion.'
As the world spins round, and Pokemon Trainers come and go, there remains but one, solid truth hidden deep within the confines of the League: There can only be but one Pokemon Champion.
[shadow=black,left]Flicker.[/shadow]
The Hall was eerily quiet at two in the morning, cavernous and foreboding of presence. The chamber was dark, the few lights that were never off casting their faint glows across the walls. The room was empty of people and bereft of furnishings, all but for a single, glass case that swept from ceiling to floor. Small, flickering lights barely illuminated the display, and the lone man sitting forlornly before it struggled to make out the miniature text scribbled at the base of the awards. There were many, far too many to count these days, spiraling up through the levels of glass and gold hierarchy to the top of the kingdom.
[shadow=black,left]Flicker.[/shadow]
The display itself could be likened to the rings of a great old tree; if one were to look closely they could tell the passing of the ages by the number of rings in the wood of the tree. Whereas, in a tree, the rings echoed outwards, the younger layers forming a protective barrier around their elders, the oldest trophies in the display case remained at bottom, their old strength being used to support the weight of the new ones. Their weariness was palpable. The gloss and gleam they once possessed was now dulled by age and neglect, dust somehow managing to worm past the thin glass barrier to rest atop them, graying them and shielding them from view.
[shadow=black,left]Flicker.[/shadow]
The man reached out a solitary finger and traced it down the length of one trophy in particular, one on eye-level by his place on the floor. This one, too, was weary and gray; the ability to dazzle having long been taken away by those that had succeeded it. The finger came away black with dirt, and he wiped it on his pants in disappointment.
[shadow=black,left]Flicker.[/shadow]
It might confound you to find this place to be the Hall of the Champions, where those that win the League come to register their Pokemon and achievements in history. Every trophy had its own tale to tell, its own past of sweat and tears and, yes, sometimes blood. The recent ones, the ones that still resounded in the minds of the general populace, gleamed bright and proud their triumph near the top of the display; but those that had long since had their turn lay low, no longer shining and their tales dead to the world.
[shadow=black,left]Flicker.[/shadow]
You might think it strange that one could simply walk into the Hall thus, bypassing security systems. After all, only the Champions are allowed to enter these grounds. Well, one does not tread forbidden ground with impunity. The door to the Hall opened with a crash, and a heavy security guard shined their flashlight upon him through the gloom.
[shadow=black,left]Flicker.[/shadow]
"Hey!" He called out, irritation mingling with faint recognition upon his face. "You ain't supposed to be in here!"
[shadow=black,left]Flicker.[/shadow]
The guard made quick work of the strange man's presence, apprehending him with no frivolities. He was escorted out without a sound of protest on his part, nothing but a small glance back at the display case before the door shut with a slam.
[shadow=black,left]Flicker.[/shadow]
Back in the Hall of Champions the light in the display case flickered dimly, dancing over the deep engravings of one trophy in particular. The words were highlighted in blacks and whites and grays, and in the dark they read:
‘Lance, Dragon Master, Pokemon Champion.'
As the world spins round, and Pokemon Trainers come and go, there remains but one, solid truth hidden deep within the confines of the League: There can only be but one Pokemon Champion.
[shadow=black,left]Flicker.[/shadow]
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