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Old April 13th, 2008 (12:11 PM). Edited May 8th, 2008 by ShadowHoundoom.
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ShadowHoundoom ShadowHoundoom is offline
Shade isn't what he seems...
    Join Date: Mar 2008
    Location: Georgia
    Age: 29
    Nature: Adamant
    Posts: 56
    EDIT: This story is rated PG. There are a few moments of language, bully/scare tactics, and mild blood-drawing violence.

    This is my first fanfiction ever, and it's based off of a relatively new RP character I developed for another site. I hope I at least avoid screwing myself for the prologue...

    Prologue - Hoenn's Heroes

    Verdanturf Town. Home of Hoenn's finest Pokemon Contests and a halfway mark to many a greenhorn trainer's journey. Especially now, in the throes of a spring afternoon, the foliage cast upon the soft blue sky calms the soul and excites the imagination. What will I see next? How will I do in the Contest Hall? How good will today be for Pokeblock making? Is there a lucky someone - or something - I'll happen upon here? These questions - and more - seem to be on the mind every person, trainer, child, child-at-heart, adult, and even every Pokemon that resides in this quiet recluse.

    However, today is surprisingly quiet. People and Pokemon alike are going to the town gate, not to leave but to observe. It appears to be a respectable gathering, perhaps a vernal festival of some sort; is it the equinox? No, today is different; it is a day of memorial and prayer.

    Looking at the entrance from the wilderness of Route 117, the first visible objects (besides the flourishing fauna) are two statues - both look as though they were made out of silver, painstakingly forged, re-forged, and painted, shaped, and touched-up until every detail was perfect down to the tiniest speck.

    On the left side is a carefree-looking Breloom, her left leg raised about an inch off the ground, tucked ever so slightly inward. Her head is leaned gently to the right, a peaceful, charmed look on her face, a half-smile of sorts. Her tail flower gently streams against the soil behind her left leg, acting as a balance to prevent the statue from falling. Every detail is nearly flawless; the baby blue eyes, the greens, the slightly-faded reds, and tans all seeming to bring the statue alive. Standing at 3'11", it appears tame yet gently unnerving.

    On the right side, there looks to be a Houndoom, though at first glance it can't be right. The bottom half of the statue appears to be accurate, Houndoom's four paws, double-banded at the ankles, the skinny, triangle-tipped devil's tail bent into an "S" shape. But the upper half appears to be the same Houndoom, only this time human-like and bent slightly forward, horns ready to pierce, jaws opened about an inch, jagged teeth looking ready to sink into the nearest living thing. The arms extend forward and bend at the elbows. It has claws with opposable thumbs, prickly to the touch, yet fortunately immobile and therefore - thank the legendaries - harmless. The black fur is painted exquisitely and even carries several realistic strokes, as though a breeze were in the air. The pumpkin orange underbelly - both upper and lower halves - look warm and gentle against the black coldness. The white bands, horns, and claws look as if someone carved ivory and stuck it there. At 5'10", it appears to be ready to beat the crud out of poor little Breloom...

    There is a legend that goes with these statues, and explains why once a year, the living beings in Verdanturf aren't at their usual hustle and bustle, relaxation, contests, and pass-throughs. It resolves the tourist's confusions about the prayers and inactivity in contests. It tells simply of two unlikely friends, not only because of type but because of their fates...
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