Fandom Pokémon: Shadows

[StatusUndead]

Swirls of darkness loomed on all sides. An unpiercable veil of ethereal shadows. Figures that could only be made out by their fuzzy outlines fly in all directions and at all speeds. Their faces would occasionally come close enough to almost be distinguishable. Some seemed like they may be Pokémon, while others seemed like they may be human, though they were all impossible to truly be made out.

Along with the disorienting swarm of shadows and shapes came a cacophony of voices and cries. Individual words were difficult to make out, but the tones were clear. It was a cry of pain. A cry of fear. A cry for help. Only a few words in warped voices would be able to make it through the noise.

"Llyrcarn"... "Corbrân"... "Friend"...

Along with a few vague words, the shapes seemed to conjure vague images. The village of Llyrcarn was shown, along with the face of Corbrân and Bearach. Following that were images of unfamiliar areas outside of the nearby woods. And beyond that, images of unfamiliar people dressed in dark, traveller's garb. It shouldn't be too difficult for one to decipher their meaning. The spirits were directing someone to gather enough help and travel outside of the area to aid them. To free them from whatever torment they were being subjected to.

The recipient of this vision was Els. Their unique predicament gave them an ever growing connection with ghosts. The spirits were placing their hopes of being freed from torment upon Els. Although it was difficult for them to coherently convey information, they had faith that Els could succeed in understanding them.



There has been talk about dark forces at work in the forest. From the Etherwild to the Haruspex Hallows, as well as the greater forest beyond. Reports of Pokemon that are powerful beyond what should be capable for their species are in abundance. Even stranger than that is the behavior of these creatures. Reports are often of species not native to the area, as if they were introduced, and although they often cause damage and destruction, it's like it's planned. They can't be distracted or swayed from their path or goal, whatever that may be.

Llyrncarn would have received many reports about a specific Rhyhorn. It tramples around the outskirts of villages. Specifically disrupting travel routes. Merchants have been having difficulties moving between villages. Reports from panicked villagers would have mentioned its imperviousness to damage. People also say that there's a sick intelligence behind its eyes, and even a wicked smirk on its face. Sightings of the Rhyhorn often coincide with sightings of a dark-cloaked traveller, though no connections between them have ever been made.

 

[Echocoa]

When Els awoke her sheets were damp with sweat and her breathing was shallow. Groggily fluttering her eyelids open to the dim light filtering in through the covered windows, she pulled herself upright, using more effort than one would expect for such a simple action. As she came to a sitting position, her vivid red hair slid down around her long, pointed ears in messy waves, and the glaze of sleep began to clear as she blinked her icy blue eyes. She reached up in a great stretch, her dark grey skin making her seem almost a shadow in the low light, before carefully swinging her small frame out from under the sheets. When she tried to stand up, however, she surprised herself by stumbling, only closely catching herself on her dresser with a slam, stifling a startled breath. Pausing for a moment to breathe, she slid her hands along the wood until they found the small jar, and opening it she put the rim to her lips and took a quick sip. Sliding down the dresser until she sat on the well-kept floor, jar between her hands, Els let out a sigh and took another gentle sip before trying her best to recount what had come to her that night.

It had been more vivid this time than in recent months; for the first time there were distinguishable words.
Llyrcarn... Corbrân... Friend…
And the places that she saw… A village she didn’t recognize, an unknown face, and one face she did recognize: that of her close friend Bearach. Was it possible, then, that this other person was Corbrân, and that village Llyrcarn? She had heard that latter name before, but had never gone far enough from Wisteria to know where it was nor what it looked like. She would have to ask Dr. Fletcher about it, she supposed.

She took another sip from the jar before attempting to stand again. This time, thankfully, she was able to get to her feet without incident. Her medicine was already working to cool her fever and return strength to her limbs after that draining night, as she knew it would. The first time it had happened she hadn’t been prepared to wake up so weak, and she was only able to lay in her bed until Dr. Fletcher had come to check on her for not being up. Thankfully she had started keeping a tea made with her medicine close at hand each night since then in case it happened again. And happen again it did; this was the fourth time she had heard those voices, seen that swirling darkness and unpierceable shadow. Every time those cries left her shaken and afraid. And yet, this time, she felt unusually calm. And something seemed to be stirring within her chest. Excitement? Anticipation? She couldn’t say for certain. But for the first time she had some clues, and as energy began to return to her body, she felt compelled to search deeper for answers. If these were messages from Ombrandr as she had come to hope and believe, if this had anything to do with home, then she had to get to the bottom of it.

Els changed into her day clothes as her companions began to wake up. Well, one of them was waking up; Weydroote didn’t really sleep in the traditional sense. But as Els began to prepare herself for the day, his body began to creak with signs of his returning consciousness, and his single red eye flickered alight. Six leg-like roots arranged themselves underneath him to raise him from the floor beside Els’ bed, and with surprising care the Trevanant maneuvered himself out around the water basin and the other sleeping Pokémon so that he might assist Els however he could as she prepared for the day. As for the other Pokémon, half-submerged in the basin in the corner of Els’ room, she had little interest in getting up or helping. She hid silent and still within her ten arms, one slightly shorter than the rest, the increased rate of bubbles appearing on the surface the only sign that she was awake. Els walked over for a moment to check how the little Mareanie Venez’s short arm was regrowing, to which the Pokémon didn’t respond. A quick look showed that it was almost back to its full length without any sign of injury, which was good. With Venez’s permission, of course, she could likely take another to produce some more restorative ointment later that day.

But for now, she didn’t disrupt the little Pokémon any further. Instead, she walked back over to her mirror, beside which Weydroote was dutifully waiting, and the two made quick work of brushing and braiding her hair. With a quick tilt of her head back and forth to check both sides, she gave the girl in the mirror a satisfied smile, and then one to her trusted friend beside her, whose eye softened in support. Els grabbed her satchel off her dresser, double-checking that she had everything she might need, and opened her door to engage another exciting day!

 

[asphodelus]

In the far corners of the woods where dark-types ruled in the eerie day — stood green-silver iron rusted gates, hoarding the little maenor Cygœd, better known to the wider world as the hidden village Llyrcarn, all to themselves.

There stood in that fortified maenor an old castle, newly inhabited, and an old tower, oldly inhabited: home of the wicked, the elusive, the Lord Cynfrain Corbrân.

Here, part of our story begins…

∆¥Ω​

He stumbled out of his rickety bed, no less tired than he had been before his latest attempt to rest. The last dregs of his bedside candle struggled to blaze on, and he pitied the dying flame, putting it out with a gentle poof.

Corbrân stood alone in his dark room, eyes gradually adjusting to the lack of light. His magic allowed him to sense more than see in the moonless night, not that there was much furniture for him to avoid as he wandered through the abandoned tower halls and down the spiral staircase; with each step, the cold stone floors like sharpened knives laid flat against his soles.

He found himself perched on the silver railings overlooking what should have been a bustling kitchen.

The hearth fire was going.

"Mamfæth," Corbrân called, striding into the chamber. The warmth stroked something within him, served to make him alert —

Sickly yellow, wrinkled skin; a pretty brutal grin with pointed teeth, and a dirty off-white beard — Mamfæth rose up from where she had crouched whilst tending to the blaze.

She looked at him, hard eyes gleeful.

He looked indifferently back.

"I'm to tend to the flock," Corbrân said finally, making slowly for the door.

Mamfæth then groaned and chittered, aggressively flinging an overripe plum-berry over her head, weaving it past levitating pots and pans until it flew, colliding neatly with Corbrân's gloved fingers.

It pulsed, unnatural psychic energy leaving it in breaths.

He accepted it in silence.

∆Ω¥​

The pantialtllan had a habit of hiding the rising sun behind dark, spindly trees that seemed ever taller as if in loathing that day would ever come.

Where elsewhere daybreak would be visible hours before noon, midnight and especially a starless twilight dragged on and on in the silent skies above Cysgœd, eventually giving way to an hour or so of abrupt and eerie day before the sun fled once more, allowing for the misty dusk and night and again midnight.

Now, Corbrân left his tower through the back door under the dim cover of late twilight, which others might know as early morning, and went not twenty paces before the youngest child of the bringer of death fell upon him.

He held out his arm, psychic fruit swiftly snatched from his hand, and felt the brush of silk-steel feathers before his attention shifted to the onyx talons digging into the flesh of his arm; soon followed by the fledgling's outrageous squawk-caw call, which left a ringing sensation in his ears.

The corvisquire amused himself by pulling at whatever strands of dark hair escaped Corbrân's hood.

"Cyrchnos," chastised Corbrân although he was pleased. Few of his ravens took so kindly to him. Only this one bothered with blatant affection.

The cynfrain dropped his arm; "Come, show me to your mam," and Cyrch cried dolefully at the loss of his perch, circling about petulantly before relenting, leading his servant-master to the rest of the elusive flock.