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Old March 5th, 2013, 11:47 AM
Cutlerine
Gone. May or may not return.
 
Join Date: Mar 2010
Location: The Misspelled Cyrpt
Age: 20
Gender:
Nature: Impish
> Set the house on fire and climb out the window, if all goes well the aggressor would be dead.

The house is already on fire. The only thing stopping from going up in a hideous blaze right now is the fact that the kitchen tiles are harder to burn than the wooden floor.

> Look around the house to try and see why the hoard of monster-things haven't gutted you yet. Make sure to have a Spooky Flaming Torch and your Dangerous Makeshift Knife on hand.

You return to your campfire and stick the stout branch into the flames.

Othodox obtained one Spooky Flaming Torch! Othodox bore the Spooky Flaming Torch aloft.

Torch in one hand and knife in the other, you have a look around the house but see nothing out of the ordinary. You return to the door, a little nonplussed.

> Let's not increase the spread of the flames just yet, make Spooky Torch Mark 2 out of the stick and poke the flesh a bit with it.

At the mere sight of the flames, the horde begins to shift uneasily, and those members of it nearest to you start to crawl backwards over their fellows, desperate to put some distance between themselves and that unnatural green light.

An idea strikes you, and you get your Pokédex out. As you suspected, a new Eldritch Form has been added to the entry for Weedle.

Man. Whatever mutated the Pokémon was seriously kind to the Weedle. They've gone from pathetic hindrances to... well, slightly less pathetic hindrances, but they really do look a hell of a lot scarier than before.

The Eldritch Weedle part as you step out of the doorway, swinging your Spooky Flaming Torch boldly; in fact, they start to run, obviously associating you with the fire on Route 30 that, you realise, probably incinerated a good few of their brethren. A sudden feeling of Mightiness courses through your veins, and you get the feeling that a Spooky Flaming Torch is almost as good as a Belly Drum for raising the old fighting spirit.

A few steps away from the door, the horde breaks and flees: the ground, for ten horrible seconds, is a writhing mass of diseased flesh studded with spines and cancerous knobs of meat – and then the Weedle are gone, and you are alone with your Torch, and your ego.

Fan-freakin'-tastic. This is the most badass you have been since you woke up yesterday. Your mere presence causes the enemy to flee in terror; their puny minds cannot handle the might that is Othodox.

You gloss over the fact that what they're actually afraid of is the Eldritch Cyndaquil's fire. There's no need to lower the mood.
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