(Information in discussion thread)
We live in a feral world, hearts clasped by the will only to survive. But do not doubt the world we live in, do not doubt our feral hearts. We are not like you- we do not extend our reign over greed, we do not take more than we need, we do not live solely out of malice.
We may not be civilized, we may not have a code of right and wrong, we may throw off grief in order to live. But we are Pokemon. We are wild. We might live to pass on our genes and only then rest content, but, if given the chance, if given the need, we will rise to be much more than raw, feral minds.
Our story is one of discovery. One were we stumble upon one of the few ruins of the old world and learn of the past, and of ourselves. And perhaps, along the way, we might just have found friendship in a world were it has long been forgotten.
(I apologize for the rather lengthy nature of this post. I do not think I can fully introduce a character in a short post, but I can promise the rest won't be too incredibly long. I know it is no fun to read or respond to essays for some people.)
A rather small Nidoran was sitting on his haunches in the darkness of his burrow, scratched by some other creature's claws. His poisoned, purple coloring was deemed dull by the shadows that teemed around him, broken only by a flickering of light at the far end of the tunnel. The tunnel itself, with walls of loose soil, was bow-shaped and ran just below the surface, so that if he peered, he could catch the slightest glimpse of outside. It ended in a burrow that seemed too large for just him, and a draft at his right told tale of the only other shaft in his home. This tunnel was smaller and stuffier, running longer and winding as roots began to break in from the ceiling and walls like dusty intruders. It was clearly disused and seemed to be more of an escape tunnel, if something happened to go terribly wrong.
Many times the Nidoran wondered if it had been used, and if the original occupants had ever returned after fleeing through it.
The Nidoran was sitting in a rather odd position, putting full weight on his back legs, he had lifted his front from the ground and curled them against his belly, right below his chest. The queer creature was obviously quite content with the position, and sat for awhile longer as light slowly drained from the bow-shaped tunnel's entrance until it was as thin and feeble as a spiderweb trying to cast a shadow. Only then was it apparent that the Nidoran, without moving a muscle, had fallen asleep.
The light, having given full reign to darkness, seemed to wake the creature in its absence. He swiped his front paws across his nose twice, dropped down to all fours, and scuffled around in the black burrow, stretching and scratching lightly at the floor. After a moment, he moved to exit the burrow and appeared into the twilight, the forest at his back.
He turned, and ran into the trees, large ears perked and constantly swiveling as if guards, always alert for anything other than himself. An ache at his belly and a twitching at his paws drove him onward, almost as if he were fleeing. His movements suggested he had traveled these paths before, but a sudden change in stature alerted the movement into new territory, and the small Nidoran proceeded slower this time, his ears seeming to strain in the black of night.
Something smooth began to tingle at the pads of his paws, smoother than seemed real, that seemed to wash against his paws with an acidic tinge, and had that aftertone of something sinister, so slight it seemed imagined. Wary, he stopped short, then took a few cautious paces forwards, the strange surface disappearing and reappearing beneath layers of leaf mold and gnarly roots like debris on a sandy beach.
Now, it can be said that, despite the feralness that had set to seed in every Pokemon's hearts, the sense of adventure and curiosity remained, dwelling inert until stirred into action by some sense or another, starting slowly to well up inside in times when survival came easy. In that manner, so had Kithrah's curiosity welled inside him, until his sense of adventure had brought him forth into parts of the forest he hadn't dared to enter. It should be understood that he couldn't back down now, not with this unknown surface and strange, heavy presence probing his curiosity further.
And so it was that Kithrah, with his ears swiveling and beady eyes picking up the faintest drifts of dawn light, had taken the last few steps forward into the ruins of a time he knew nothing of, save for wild tales spun from the smallest of truths, told in the safety of darkness.
We live in a feral world, hearts clasped by the will only to survive. But do not doubt the world we live in, do not doubt our feral hearts. We are not like you- we do not extend our reign over greed, we do not take more than we need, we do not live solely out of malice.
We may not be civilized, we may not have a code of right and wrong, we may throw off grief in order to live. But we are Pokemon. We are wild. We might live to pass on our genes and only then rest content, but, if given the chance, if given the need, we will rise to be much more than raw, feral minds.
Our story is one of discovery. One were we stumble upon one of the few ruins of the old world and learn of the past, and of ourselves. And perhaps, along the way, we might just have found friendship in a world were it has long been forgotten.
(I apologize for the rather lengthy nature of this post. I do not think I can fully introduce a character in a short post, but I can promise the rest won't be too incredibly long. I know it is no fun to read or respond to essays for some people.)
A rather small Nidoran was sitting on his haunches in the darkness of his burrow, scratched by some other creature's claws. His poisoned, purple coloring was deemed dull by the shadows that teemed around him, broken only by a flickering of light at the far end of the tunnel. The tunnel itself, with walls of loose soil, was bow-shaped and ran just below the surface, so that if he peered, he could catch the slightest glimpse of outside. It ended in a burrow that seemed too large for just him, and a draft at his right told tale of the only other shaft in his home. This tunnel was smaller and stuffier, running longer and winding as roots began to break in from the ceiling and walls like dusty intruders. It was clearly disused and seemed to be more of an escape tunnel, if something happened to go terribly wrong.
Many times the Nidoran wondered if it had been used, and if the original occupants had ever returned after fleeing through it.
The Nidoran was sitting in a rather odd position, putting full weight on his back legs, he had lifted his front from the ground and curled them against his belly, right below his chest. The queer creature was obviously quite content with the position, and sat for awhile longer as light slowly drained from the bow-shaped tunnel's entrance until it was as thin and feeble as a spiderweb trying to cast a shadow. Only then was it apparent that the Nidoran, without moving a muscle, had fallen asleep.
The light, having given full reign to darkness, seemed to wake the creature in its absence. He swiped his front paws across his nose twice, dropped down to all fours, and scuffled around in the black burrow, stretching and scratching lightly at the floor. After a moment, he moved to exit the burrow and appeared into the twilight, the forest at his back.
He turned, and ran into the trees, large ears perked and constantly swiveling as if guards, always alert for anything other than himself. An ache at his belly and a twitching at his paws drove him onward, almost as if he were fleeing. His movements suggested he had traveled these paths before, but a sudden change in stature alerted the movement into new territory, and the small Nidoran proceeded slower this time, his ears seeming to strain in the black of night.
Something smooth began to tingle at the pads of his paws, smoother than seemed real, that seemed to wash against his paws with an acidic tinge, and had that aftertone of something sinister, so slight it seemed imagined. Wary, he stopped short, then took a few cautious paces forwards, the strange surface disappearing and reappearing beneath layers of leaf mold and gnarly roots like debris on a sandy beach.
Now, it can be said that, despite the feralness that had set to seed in every Pokemon's hearts, the sense of adventure and curiosity remained, dwelling inert until stirred into action by some sense or another, starting slowly to well up inside in times when survival came easy. In that manner, so had Kithrah's curiosity welled inside him, until his sense of adventure had brought him forth into parts of the forest he hadn't dared to enter. It should be understood that he couldn't back down now, not with this unknown surface and strange, heavy presence probing his curiosity further.
And so it was that Kithrah, with his ears swiveling and beady eyes picking up the faintest drifts of dawn light, had taken the last few steps forward into the ruins of a time he knew nothing of, save for wild tales spun from the smallest of truths, told in the safety of darkness.
