[Pokémon] Aftershock

[Luphinid Silnaek]

Well!

This is one of my more curious pieces of fanfiction, Aftershock. The conception goes all the way back to early 2006, and has suffered many revisions and expansions since then to begin officially late 2007. At this moment I have seventeen chapters done, and will post them at (generally) regular intervals until all is complete. I also plan to write a detailed history of its gestation, but only once the plot is gotten underway.

This is an expansion from the first posting of Aftershock in the Serebii forums; it's always good to expand such things and bask in the doubled effects. I'll admit the standard of writing here is somewhat overwhelming, and I do wonder how my stabs at advanced writing will seem here. Even so, it never hurts to share, it only enriches the whole, and so I will.

Some warnings: first of all, the formal. The fiction is rated at least PG 15, T by game ratings. I really don't know. Beware, in any case, several adult themes and heavy depressing gore. There are also less official warnings I feel obliged to tell you about: this fiction is a mess, and incredibly dificult to get through--it is not light reading. There are thickets of references, implied stretches of unfocused plot, almost invisible irony and literary devices, and word usage that violates the fundamental rights of the English vocabulary. There also may be quite a lot of purple prose and complex, run-on sentences. There very possibly will be frayed threads of plot left untended to by my frazzled mind, and one might be justified in refusing to try and get any sort of meaning out of the story. I realize this is not very encouraging to the new reader, but I want people fully informed of what they're taking when they begin. This may be more important than reviews.

Anyway, enough with the delay. Let me begin.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing which can be recognized as Pokémon canon. Parallels between this fictional universe and the real are unintentional unless stated otherwise. Any given view expressed in this fiction has no obligation to coincide with my own opinion. I may diverge as far from the canon as I feel correct.

Punctuation notes:

"This signifies normal speech."
[This indicates the telepathic speech of the main character.]
[This signifies the telepathy of all pokémon and other humans.]
[this may in later course of time time time in later course of time signify vague unfocused thoughts of the character]



INDEX

Prologue: Run

Chapter 1: Compression
Chapter 2: The Uncertain Traveler
Chapter 3: Challenge
Chapter 4: New Developments
Chapter 5: Introduction into the Brine
Chapter 6: The Peak - Part 1
Chapter 7: The Peak - Part 2

[post=4169682]BRIDGE: an Introduction

Chapter 8: Aftermath [Aftershock][/post]
Chapter 9: 3S1
Chapter 10: Old Acquaintances
Chapter 11: Point of No Return
Chapter 12: Warm Hospitality
Chapter 13: Ruin to the Truth!
Chapter 14: The Third Act of Seymul Colt

(THE UNEDITED)

Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21

Aftershock​

Prologue: Run​

Amaren stumbled through the smouldering wreckage, fear erasing all other thought, flame licking at his heels. Memories flashed before his eyes in a daze of intuition.


…


The clamor of amazement, admiration, and a flash of ruby and white as the centerpiece of the display swiveled into full view.

Age three, if he recalled correctly. His uncle, an illustrious trainer with four badges to his name, had returned to his home village near the perimeters of Saffron City to relate the tales of the outside world with the members of his vast family. Amaren had been too young to understand him then, but the strange tokens of his adventures had not failed to dazzle him.

"Everyone must know what a trainer is, eh?" Amaren's uncle announced, his voice rising above the noise. A note of mock concern darkened his face as a large majority shouted back their ignorance of the trade, and he quickly remedied the fact with another speech. It was largely meaningless to Amaren, though he appreciated the wonder of the situation. Various greater participants to the discussion shot their comments at the old friend.

"And the pokémon were fine with that?"

"Madmen, they are, my man, don't get your head too turned by their flashiness."

"Go on, Artir, you can't possibly say you did that for a living…"

"Oh, yes, I did," Uncle Artir called back, producing a small, metallic ball from his breast pocket "And just because you won't believe me, I brought this: a pokéball, a device capable of capturing—yes, capturing, I know how it sounds—pokémon and fitting them into its tiny form! Watch!"

He pointed the sphere at a nearby spoon, and the odd device split down its middle into a red and white half. A beam of crimson light jumped at the spoon and swallowed it whole, before dissipating to leave a faint circle of soot where the utensil had been. With a laugh, he shouted out a command—"I call you: Teaspoon!"—and depressed a button at the center of the pokéball, releasing the beam again. This time, it materialized back into the spoon, at a different place. It seemed evident that the pokéball had somehow stored the spoon inside it, even though the spoon was far too long for its diameter, and this caused widespread amazement (and panic) among the group.

A great deal of time and bother was expended upon this new development, but relative order was finally restored to the gathering. Amaren's uncle took on a new gravity to his voice, though it was uncertain whether he has still joking.

"This was my very first pokéball The one item, bestowed to me by a professor himself, which made me an official trainer. I spent the entirety of my journey with my dear starter living within this very 'ball, but now I have moved on from it, and I must carry its legacy to the next holder. I bestow this to…" Choosing randomly, he picked through the crowd and pointed at one member…

"Little Amaren, of course."

The toddler looked about in confusion, and then realized the privilege he had been given. He gaped in wonder and pride.

"Someday you'll become a great trainer like me, but until then, keep this with you to remember your uncle Artir. I made a chain to go along with the pokéball, so you can keep it around your neck!

"Here, Amar, this is how it works," he explained, crouching down to the boy's level to ensure he had his full attention—an unnecessary task, by the raptness of his sheer joy... and the present Amaren felt his consciousness of the memory slipping. A single sentence reverberated off in his mind, before it finally faded…

Someday you'll become a great trainer like me…


…


Age twelve, the beginning of Amaren's coming of age in the village. Winter fast approached, and the last stores of supplies for its preparation were being collected. He and his elder brother, Garten, had been assigned the task for firewood, and it was to this end that they hastened from their small abode, their parents shooting a flurry of cautionary words as they jogged down the path to the ring of forest around their village.

Heedless of danger they dared a heavy sprint, blundering through the silver forest, and came to rest at a promising clearing. A great deal of branches had shed from a great deal of trees around them, and the boys quickly worked to collect them in neat piles.

Despite the bleak onset of cold, a decided air of good spirits yet wafted in the air, and the brothers worked with the efficient swiftness of cheer, calling out jokes to each other sporadically. They soon settled completely into their respective tasks, working single-mindedly, before—

"Did you hear that?' Amaren suddenly whispered, and the snap of dried twigs punctuated his statement. Winter was a lethal season for the forest-dwellers, and many pokémon (otherwise tame and peaceful) were driven into desperation in preparation for the frost. Legends told of the lone, deathless houndoom who prowled the frigid confines, preying on the weak…

Another rustle, and Garten's hand tensed on his hunting knife. A single, maniacal eye peered out of the darkness before them, devoid of reason, and Amaren slowly drew out his own blade—

A full-grown mightyena burst out from the gloom in a roar of desperation and lunged for Amaren's brother, who dodged out of the way nimbly, pushing his paralyzed brother away from the fray. On flashed his knife, zooming into the monster's side, but the moment of offense cost him his guard; the mightyena pounced on Garten, attempting to crush the human under the wolf's steaming weight, and Garten's left arm was pinned down despite his attempts to dodge to break with a sickening crack.

With a cry of pure agony, the human tore away from the mightyena's rough embrace, staggering off; and this cry alone had the power to jar Amaren into motion. He raised the knife held loosely in his hand and threw himself in the path of the creature. Soon, however, Garten pushed him back away, turning feebly to face the mightyena, and prevented all of Amaren's attempts to join the brawl. The wolf reared back again, charging for the elder fighter's forlorn figure, but iron stabbed his great chest this time, clean through the heart, as Garten threw the knife with the last of his strength – and the monster fell at last with a great report.

The two minutemen staggered together, out of the battleground.

"Why didn't you let me help you?" Amaren groaned as he heaved his brother's near-limp weight onto his shoulder. "I could have held my own with him!"

"No… you couldn't! You should have stayed out of this, you're too—" He trailed off into unintelligible tangents of agitation.

"Too what?" his supporter snapped bitterly. "Too weak, too incompetent, too useless?"

But Amaren felt his thought slipping from this memory and pull into another, fresher...


…


Present day, age fourteen. Lone sojourns into the forest were finally, grudgingly allowed him by his parents, and he took this privilege very well.

What had transpired to cause the forest fire, and how the Water Sport proofing yet allowed its devastating tongues to envelop the land whole, no living observer could say; and these secrets are lost forever with the forest itself. Amaren himself, however, had moved halfway up the untrodden dirt path that clove the woods in two when he first heard of it.

The fire had made its abrupt introduction by wrecking the way of the path with the charred remains of a fallen trunk, forcing him into the woods into panic and in search of escape. Every bottleneck, every natural gateway, every ford, was utterly ruined by the desolate ravages of flame, and Amaren felt an insuppressible rage of panic flood his own mind, pushing him forward through bramble and peril. Soon, within moments, reality seemed to give way entirely to nightmare, and at each turn lay another wooden corridor blocked with searing flame, another puzzle to unlock, another game with no lesser stakes than his very life. The length of his flight reached an event horizon, pushing his mind closer and closer to insanity, nearing the point of infinity…

A clearing, and a single Abra huddled at its center. A brief moment of indecision, and then grudging determination; the clink of chain as he took out the pokéball from within his shirt, compelled to save at least this last remnant of his home, his life, despite all inhibitions. With a flash of light, the tiny form was hidden safe within its sphere, and a feeble twitch and a ping, though startling, served only to convince the human of the complete intersection between the pokémon's path and his. Another exhausted, desperate sprint, and then air.

The stunning vastness of Saffron City hammered his hazy eyes.

Aftershock​

Chapter 1: Compression​

Saffron city, at first inspection, seemed no lesser than the grand kingdoms of legend itself, pushed into reality and dipped in pure, shimmering light. Where Uncle Artir's technological souvenirs had numbered no more than three or four, Amaren saw a great legion of such devices as he could only label magic, so fully integrated into the lifestyles of the strange folk that he wondered if they were mere humans, or higher, transcendental beings.

His arrival (and, possibly, his appearance) seemed to cause a fair quantity of unrest among the city-folk, eliciting everything from rapidly-quelled glances in his direction to naked staring and interested comments, most of which he ignored. It was only when a passerby reached the extent of stopping him from his wayward wanderings and asking if he was perfectly fine, that Amaren replied, suddenly remembering the emergency lying within his one pokéball.

"Where are you from?" exclaimed the nonplussed jogger, thoroughly bewildered by Amaren's old-fashioned apparel. "You couldn't be from the village in the forest, could you?"

"Er… it's a long story," the villager replied. "I heard there were departments committed to healing pokémon, do you know where I might find one?"

"What, you mean a pokémon center?" The stranger's expression was intensifying every moment. "Um, yeah, sure, it's just in the next street. Take a right from that intersection. You'll see a building with a distinct red roof."

Amaren began walking to the indicated "intersection", still fighting with shock. His village, the center of his world… all of his life, he had been ignorant of its infinitesimal niche in an unknown forest, seeing cities as the mere stuff of legends. He had never realized: the village was but an offshoot of the grand Saffron city; his home lay secluded within the woods, but the city itself was the center of civilization, fixed on a sweeping plain at the crossroads of the raging universe around it. Now that the burning ruin of his old illusions lay behind Amaren, he felt an overwhelming urge to accustom himself to the true scale of events, but, try as he might, it was beyond him.

He spotted a vividly noticeable, red-roofed building carrying itself amidst the crowds with a distinct amount of pomp and remarkableness. With no further thought, the newcomer plunged into its chrome interior.

A short line awaited a reception desk at the head of the entrance room, and Amaren joined it with an equal lack of contemplation, after the manner of those awaiting breakfast back at home. Without incident, he met the pink-haired receptionist and wordlessly handed her his pokéball.

"A pokéball!" she exclaimed, as though it was something quite as treasured as Amaren felt it to be. "Do you know how rare these things are?" She peered intently at some invisible marking at its bottom, and gasped.

"Late 1990's, this is! I don't even know if we have a recovery machine to fit it! Hold on—"

She fumbled with a lower drawer in her vast desk, searching within hoards of heavy metal objects. With a satisfied sound, she pulled out a flat steel slab, with six shallow, spherical indentations carved into its top surface. A thick layer of dust dulled its mirror-like polish.

"Here you go, the Pedestal should work—" and the nurse shakily grabbed at Amaren's pokéball, placing it neatly in the topmost niche. "Let me see, a minor abra, caught less than an hour ago, moderate burning and heat exhaustion. What have you been doing with the poor thing?" She fixed him with a stern look, and then relented. "Never mind, not my business to know. Here, just have a seat at one of the chairs over there, I'll have your abra back in a moment."

And so he fell into one of the row of chairs lined up near the walls, reaching the first he could find.

A large, burly man sat to his left, seeming as if he would find it at home at the butcher's at Amaren's home village, but the girl to his right possessed a light cerulean to her eyes and hair that legend had assured him was reserved exclusively for the highest class of nobles. What was this strange, fantastical land?

The moment of brief interest which Amaren had lent the girl seemed to be repaid tenfold back to him, and a question followed it.

"Hi, have we met before?" she said brightly.

"No," he replied, not bothering to look up at her. An irresistible wave of distrust of this people had overwhelmed him since his bewilderment.

"Call me Ruki," she persisted. "Where are you from… er…?"

Amaren stared intently at his hands for a moment, and then realized what this new character implied. "My name is Amaren," he ventured.

"Oh, hello, Amaren. You don't look like you're from around here."

The stranger to the city finally raised his head and gave the girl a closer gaze. Pleasantly slim, with shoulder-length hair tied in a simple ponytail, she carried a natural, disarming vestige of good looks—common, it seemed, with these civilized city-folk. Her hair colour still baffled Amaren.

"I only just came into this city," he began, and was compelled to explain the long story which he had denied to so many others. Disconcertingly, his faint xenophobia was quickly falling into submission.


"I'm a rookie trainer, as you can see," Ruki explained. "Got my first cyndaquil the normal way, from Prof. Oak right here in Saffron. "

From what he had heard, the eminent professor lived in a tiny town in some secluded corner of the region, and Amaren said so.

"Oh, Pallet Town? That was ages ago, generations up the line. Where have you been? After Prof. Gary Oak became the Champion of Kanto itself, I believe he got so much publicity that he couldn't stay in a village like that at all. Of course, I think it was Gary Oak. History class was never my favourite, you know."

There were a fair amount of things which Amaren failed to understand in this bout of explanation, but he allowed it to pass.

"The… nurse…" he began. "She said my pokéball was rare, an antique. What did she mean? What's the usual way to do it?"

"Oh, wow, you have a pokéball?" she said, showing some reflection of the receptionist's ardent admiration. She eyed it appreciatively for a second, and then answered Amaren's curiosity. "No one ever uses those things anymore. They developed a 'revolutionary new storage device' now that is really exactly like a pokéball, except one of them can keep up to twenty-five pokémon inside it. Here, have a look at mine."

A small, rectangular version of a pokéball was produced from the pocket of her jeans—no denim in his own village would ever be that delicate, Amaren wondered—and he had to admit he saw no point in redesigning the pokéball into this form.

"They haven't changed the rules," she continued, "about maximum pokémon in a party, though. Once you get seven or more, you have to pick six pokémon of your choice at a pokémon center like this one, using that machine, over there"—she indicated to a nondescript grey iron box at a corner of the room—"just before you leave any town at all, and you can't change them until you reach the next town. Which means, of course, that these concentrated storage devices mean exactly the same for us trainers as an ordinary pokéball. I really like Silph Co.'s sense of logic, don't you?"

It was Amaren's inability to participate in the conversation which disconcerted him this time—but, at lighter thought, he was gradually accustoming himself to the new life inevitable to him.

From his recollection, it had been approaching that time when a call from the receptionist raised Ruki from her engagement.

"I have to go, Amaren, nice talking to you," she spoke in a rush. "I'm going to be here for a while, so you can meet me any time if you want. Tomorrow, same time, main hall?"

Without waiting for an answer, she hurried to the severely multitasked receptionist-nurse, conversed with her briefly about the length of her stay (where?), and disappeared into one of the doors that led from this entrance hall with what appeared to be a set of keys. The only conclusion Amaren could draw from this was that this center lent free lodging for those who sought it. The foyer of the building was, after all, merely a foyer, and there were undoubtedly several rooms, a main hall, and any other luxury an adventurer would care to wish for.

It seemed not long afterwards that he was also called to the main desk to receive the abra in his pokéball. He decided, then, to explain his predicament to the nurse and ask for help.

"We can give you five days' free stay here," she replied apologetically, "but no more than that, I'm afraid. You'll have to start paying then."

"All right, I'll take the five days." He required only some time to plot his further course of action.

"Though, you know," she leaned over confidentially, "you could always become a trainer. Your method of obtaining Abra is unusual, but not illegal. No, that would be murderously unfair. If you get registered as one, you can have free lodging forever."

Amaren hesitated, contemplating what he could say, and was immediately cut off by the nurse's persistence.

"You could turn your pokémon over to rehabilitation centers, but the methods there aren't always luxurious. It would be best for him if you decided to train with him."

But this served only to increase his apprehension. With a somewhat disappointing "I'll think about it," he ducked into his temporary quarters in the confines of the massive Pokémon Center.

[{//\/\/\/\/\//\\//\\//\/\/\|/|\|/\/\/\\//\\//\\/\/\/\/\/\/\}]​

Amaren lay in the midst of the labyrinth of soft, cotton covers which consisted of his bed. A warm, wooden side table accompanied that corner of his room, and another glass-topped table covered its center, placed on rich carpet. Though he had only recently bathed with greater luxury than he could ever remember, the tasteful decorations adorning every surface seemed fit for kings, and he felt small and unworthy as he huddled in the bed. A lamp stood beside him, a beaker of some species, filled with a scarlet liquid and accented with suspended, violet globules. A hidden light at its bottom cast a near surreally beautiful glow around the dark room, reflecting off the other technological marvels to create a starscape of rainbow light. Or, at least, such it seemed to him.

The pokéball lay still on his chest, beating serenely alongside his heart. Usual ritual requested him to take off the heavy device before bed, but the ball had suddenly gained much more value than he had once accorded it, being his only remaining possession. There were other reasons for its sudden amplification of worth, as well. It was undoubtedly a rare antique even in this kingdom of gold, priceless by monetary measures, but there was another, implacable instinct deep within him which urged him to keep it safe. One, he realized, as he struggled to uncover it, which saw it as a link to home, and also to a concept closely bound to his aged Uncle Artir. Amaren pushed a tad more, and then let the matter rest.

The small boy within the king's mansion had not yet forgotten the abra, still lying dormant inside his ball. He knew he would have to eventually decide what to do with it, but he was compelled each time he pondered it to procrastinate, hold the matter off. He had thought of allowing the psychic out of its shell temporarily, but he had a growing adversity against seeing it again, despite how fully he knew the abra would inevitably become a part of him. Amaren wished to stall the inevitable still, if only for a while.

As the last strains of sleep finally overcame him, a half-forgotten memory of a memory resounded through his head.

Someday you'll become a great trainer like me…

Very dearly did he wish to stall the inevitable still. But for how long a while?

 

[Post Office Buddy]

I like it. I think it is very well written and has a great idea behind it. I don't think I've ever read another fic where the trainer was Amish, so it is original by all means.

I don't think there is a single thing here that I can criticize, so good work. I am usually pretty aggressive with reviews when it comes to writing, so feel proud that you have me stumped here. Keep up the good work and just post chapters at your own pace. I look forward to your next update.

 

[Sydian]

Wow.

This is definately one of the better fics that have been posted this week.

~As I walk through the valley where I harvest my grain
I take a look at my wife, and realize she's very plain
But that's just perfect for an Amish like me
You know I shun fancy things like electricity~

Yes, this is quite original in the Amish thing you've got. ;D

-Silver

 

[Luphinid Silnaek]

Weell...

jeffback: That's encouraging, thank you. In fact this prologue and first chapter comes down from a long line of revisions, and it has been smoothed down more times than I can think of. Large portions of the plot are similar in this regard, since it did begin a ew years back. But I am honoured it was well-done enough to have this reaction from you.

SilverSmeargleSplatter: The origin was one of my first thoughts in beginning Aftershock, and I knew I would have to make some beginning for Amaren which was away from the mainstream; good to know I avoided the usual second-hand themes. In fact, however, the Amish feel you're enjoying is not a major element, and I confess it means to be pushed aside somewhat recklessly. (Amaren, though at first technologically illiterate, will prove to be anything but simple in most ways.) There will be other attractions, though (I hope).

Thanks for the reviews, jeffback and SilverSmeargleSplatter. I think I'll update next somewhere around the middle of next week.

EDIT, 12 April: With some consideration, I've contracted the timing. I figure there are likely not many more reviews to wait on, so--tomorrow? (An experiment can hardly hut too much.)

 

[Luphinid Silnaek]

Chapter 2: The Uncertain Traveler

CHAPTER 2. Please let me know if the fiction is going too fast. I do want to get the old chapters down soon, but I'd never want to rush it.

Aftershock​

Chapter 2: The Uncertain Traveler​

"But, Mother," Amaren said, with a hint of dismay, "is there no other alternative?"

Mother Jivate sighed. She was a maternal old lady with much apparent inner resolve, the head of the Pokèmon Center, and took both her position and her title with a kind of dignified pride, not hesitating to give guidance and hospitality to any who wished for it.

"There are quite a lot of other occupations, dear, but you're much too underage for them. Only trainers can legally be as young as you are, remember. You could live in an orphanage, but you wouldn't want to, would you?"

Amaren hung his head, oppressed by his dilemma. He had once felt to be content with anything but a trainer's life, but now his alternatives seemed positively deplorable. Suddenly fired with an urge, he raised another topic.

"When the forest burned down…" he began, and then trailed off. It was evident however what he wished to know, and Mother Jivate nodded gently, compassion in her eyes.

The shock and grief of two day's loss finally came crashing down upon him, and he raised his head again, fighting back waves of dread. It could not be right…

"The fire surrounded the village completely, before anyone could escape. I'm sorry, Amaren, but the village was ruined."

"Then, my family…" He stopped himself before he could go too far. Stating it was bringing it fully into his presence, and he could live without doing that, couldn't he? Of course, of course…

He was suddenly struck with an all-pervasive urge to do something, anything at all. It filled every extremity of his thought, blocking out all other feeling, and the adolescent was compelled abruptly to rise from his chair in the small back-garden, excuse himself curtly from Mother Jivate's office, and return to his quarters, registering very faintly the rudeness of his departure.

[{//\/\/\/\/\//\\//\\//\/\/\|/|\|/\/\/\\//\\//\\/\/\/\/\/\//}]​

It had been two hours since Amaren had locked himself in his room, and his restlessness was showing no signs of submission. He toyed with each of the decorative articles in turn, but no fraction of his previous fascination for them could contest for his attention; he picked up the complementary Slate hanging over the wall, turning it on to find no interest in the generated images which flashed across its reflective surface. He tried mulling over his future plans, but foresaw no progress in that direction. A second's pacing and no more was afforded him – in a single jerk, he turned to the only possibility remaining: his Pokèball.

A flash of light, badly startling the holder, and the Abra was released.

A humanoid creature lay in a lazy curl at the corner of his carpet, a yellow, flat-headed pokémon with a distinct resemblance to a human fetus. Dark russet plating covered his torso like a loose shirt, but the harmlessness of its closed, contently serene eyes seemed to ridicule Amaren's fear of the creature. He recalled tales of others' encounter with the species, and realized that it was unlikely the abra would know even how to attack. Why, then, was the trainer – temporary caretaker of a pokémon, more accurately – so irrationally incapable of approaching it?

He kneeled down and nudged the abra in the side, feeling ridiculously similar to a king contemplating a pile of something contemptible on the streets. He wondered what the Abra would think of his behaviour, and subsequently began to wonder what his father would have thought of his previous notion. The Pokèmon was likely in some absurd world of its own, or too underdeveloped to understand the meaning of his gesture – and, in any case, only those of an eccentric calibre felt the opinion of a Pokèmon to carry any significance to them.

It was then, with a sudden jolt of pain, that a thought entirely foreign to his own wandered in his mind and echoed across its walls: [I'm not that unworthy.]

Amaren nearly fell backwards, realized the meaning of this oddity, and allowed himself the fall he had tried to prevent into a nearby chair.

He stared at the abra for so long that the pokémon shifted with discomfort, and then averted his eyes. "Telepathy," he whispered.

Louder, though still carrying an apprehensive tone: "You can talk with your mind?"

The abra merely curled into a deeper sleep, giving no indication that it had sent a telepathic message into Amaren's head. A vague hint of disdainful contempt did, however, enter his mind in the exact manner as the words. The trainer – caretaker – wondered if he was mad.

Amaren was yet unwilling to forfeit his communicative rapport with the pokémon, however, and picked it up apprehensively with both hands. The abra was surprisingly light for its size; its head alone weighed a considerable bulk, and it was apparently difficult for the abra to lift it. Wondering when he had transformed from wandering stranger to a mother figure, Amaren cradled it awkwardly with his arms, attempting to coat his strange aversion to the meaning of the creature within his mind with a disguise of the care which, seemingly, the pokémon demanded.

Suddenly, nerve-wrenchingly, the abra opened a condescending eye and lifted himself into the air, supported by nothing at all. That was disturbing, the telepathy calmly continued, placing Amaren in a position he was profoundly relieved would never be seen again by living eyes.

[There you go again with the "pokémon don't matter" mentality. Was this the heroic adventurer that helped me in my direst peril?]

Boy and abra faced each other, both pondering what to do with the one before them. The abra chuckled, unpleasantly, as though he was amused with the thoughts currently passing through Amaren's head. In honest moments, Amaren would admit the sight of the airborne abra disturbed him deeply.

"If you're that advanced," the villager suddenly said, attempting to gain a vaguely oppressive air, "how did you end up trapped and comatose in the middle of a burning forest? Tell me that."

The pokémon spoke physically this time, opening his mouth to emit a cry entirely drowned by the telepathic message which accompanied it. Though Amaren could not define how he knew it to be true, this method of speech seemed more natural to the psychic.

[What, have you never been a psychic-type? (Oh, wait, you haven't. Anyway,) magical elemental powers aren't so easy to gain with us abra. I only have rudimentary telekinesis and hereditary telepathy—they're such crude—shallow (and also rather vulgar)*—words that have no relation to their subject—at this point. *I mean, distance-thinking? Distance-moving? Ow, my head.

Indeed…]

Amaren suspected the abra was attempting to tastelessly (and perhaps incorrectly) wrong-foot him with absurdly complex thought-sentences, at which his perpetrator inserted a "right, you are," within its labyrinth of punctuation. Perhaps it would be more convenient for all concerned if he simply admit—

[Thank you, your highness,] the Abra suddenly blurted, cutting clean through the chaos of both Amaren's and his—its—own thoughts. [It takes great suffering for an exalted creature such as yourself to accept that I am the sole source of intelligence in this room, and am therefore higher than you.]


And, at that comment, the creature fell silent, returning to its stubborn slumber in a washbasin at the left wall.

Amaren sighed, exhausted. Every step he made was no less than a blunder into yet another unforeseen, undesirable complication.

[{//\/\/\/\/\//\\//\\//\/\/\|/|\|/\/\/\\//\\//\\/\/\/\/\/\//}]​

Despite the deepest implorations of his shrewdest inner devices, Amaren continued to attempt to engage the Abra in conversation daily, obeying some whim of his own which he did not wish to analyze. He was still averse to the idea of training, but some coil somewhere in his mind (or, perhaps, in some entirely different being, solely committed to Amaren's changes in thought) had unexpectedly shifted, opening some unseen latch to a new universe of thought, whose inevitability grossly outmatched his own powers of resistance.

His apprehensive mission, unfortunately, encountered little progress in its weary trek. The abra seemed to have lost all regard for Amaren after his first encounter, and deigned to speak with the human for lesser and lesser periods of time, preferring to spend the majority of the days in his peculiar feigned sleep. The days grew shorter, more and more quickly approaching his fifth, last night of stay at the Center, and the monumental task of rebuilding a life seemed only to grow greater and more forbidding, enfeebling his attempts to tackle it.

On the fifth evening, however, Amaren strode into Mother Jivate's office, the Pokèmon in his care hovering bizarrely over his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, he began.

"Mother, I've decided."

"Have you? And what do you plan to do?" She was undoubtedly surprised by his sudden confidence.

"I was really unsure if I had the strength to take a job that involved so much… spirit," he began.

[And I was all for finding a new forest and starting a new lease on life, you know,] the pokémon unexpectedly added.

Heartened, Amaren continued. "I heard that becoming a trainer could even mean being reborn, to take on an entirely new life."

[And, as you can see, he could hardly stand a change that big, of course.]

Mother raised her eyebrows, seeming unsure as to the purpose of all this.

"My abra here wasn't too willing to cooperate with me, either."

[I had my reasons,] he retorted defensively.

"So you can see how much hope I had in that direction. And, in any case, I really didn't want to train."

"All right," Amaren's audience said uncertainly, "what have you decided?"

"I have decided…"

[We have decided…]

With the sigh, and the unloading of eternity's burden: "I will be a pokémon trainer."

[And I shall be Amaren's 'starter', as they call it.]

[{//\/\/\/\/\//\\//\\//\/\/\|/|\|/\/\/\\//\\//\\/\/\/\/\/\//}]​

"What should I name you, though?" the trainer murmured, speaking to the lazily rocking abra on his shoulder.

[Why, your impertinence… I'll have you know I come from a glorious, enlightened community, and have long ago developed the primitive tradition of names by myself!]

"All right, then," he said with mock, irritating dubiousness, "what are you called?"

[Oh, nothing very extravagant. Just this—]

In a flash of thought, a series of visions hammered Amaren's mind: idyllic jade, giving way to passionate scarlet, and a reconstruction from gray, the rebuilding of a house, a mansion, a hill, a mountain: a cliff, a plunge—and then utter demise.

Reality recovered itself shakily, restoring normality. Amaren had long learnt to withstand such experiences with a minimum of bother, but he was still given to wonder of the inner workings of his Pokèmon's mind.

[—well?]

The human looked around, realizing that his pokémon had not yet ceased talking. "What'd you say?" he asked, severely relieved his voice was not shaking.

[I said, I am commonly referred to as Ytarrik.]

At this, Amaren gratefully drowned his weakness in a snicker, as visible as he humanly could make it. "Ytarrik is a very… normal name," he admitted.

"Tell you what," the trainer continued, "I shall appoint you the glorious nickname of Yt. Like that? Yt?"

[No!] he cried, sending a wave of affectionate irritation into Amaren's mind. [Don't debase the beauty of a verbal work of art!]

Amaren merely laughed, running down the entrance stairs of the Department for the Registration and Provision of Neophyte Trainers. There, after a long show of identification and paperwork, he had become an official Trainer, complete with beginning supplies. Surprisingly he had met with no resistance against his requests, despite his peculiar position.

"Shut up, Yt," he said good-naturedly. "Look, their official trainer provisions are… shiny."

He was holding up a moderately large backpack, containing a great variety of glimmering objects inside it.

[Shiny?]

"You get my point. Here they have a store of five Potions—'Relieves most minor scratches and burns, and assists greatly in the healing of average to moderately serious injuries,' it says. Not bad, not bad... Oh, great, they even have a Super Potion! Those things are expensive, I've heard. And what the heck's this?"

He showed Ytarrik a flat, black tablet, with a table of official-looking details displayed electronically on its front surface, pertaining presumably to himself. A metal very like gold plated its top face, seeming as if it could fit like the top of a cartridge to some other device.

[Oh, that?] he said, rolling his closed eyes. [Can't you read? That's your Trainer Card. It tells people who you are, so they can begin officially serving your tyrant whims.]

"How'd you know that?" Amaren asked, impressed.

[It's on the note attached so delicately to the back of the card, which you tore off two seconds ago. You didn't notice it, but if I couldn't go into your subconscious memories and decipher what it said, I'm not an abra, am I?]

He seemed very proud of himself, expecting some more praise.

"Oh, okay," Amaren muttered, attention rapidly waning. He had not yet emptied his new bag of its contents to the full.

A collection of assorted sundry preceded the discovery of another hidden treasure: one glittering Concentrated Storage Device, lying at the very bottom of the pile of overturned objects inside the backpack. While his admiration had been somewhat dampened by his first experience of its kind (seeing it in a light inferior to his one pokéball), Amaren could not deny a distinct admiration for the fact that no less than twenty-five different living beings could reside inside it. He pored over its many controls, noting that the maximum Pokèmon limit in this specimen had been demoted to a mere five, seemingly accounting for the extra Ytarrik residing in his pokéball.

A sudden jolt of memory reminded him of a character he had met centuries before, when his integration into this new world was yet incomplete. Beginning to move with greater purpose than his idle roam, therefore, Amaren headed back to the Center in search of Ruki. He dove into the main hall, an area he had been previously shunning due to the excess of resident society, attempted to cut through the amalgam of bewildering colours and appearances, and spotted her sitting alone at a small table at the back.

Ruki was clothed in a delicate white shirt, made in some elegant style of which Amaren knew not the purpose, let alone the name; and her jeans were those indeed which she had worn on Amaren's first encounter with her. There was no friend or acquaintance to keep her company, but she seemed perfectly complete by her lonesome, content in her sole orientation towards her own inner devices.

She looked up with alert interest as he came near, and greeted him warmly, as though to an old friend: "Ah, yes, Amaren, I knew you'd come eventually."

"Hello, Ruki," the boy returned, somewhat wrong-footed by her reply. Yet, even as his first encounter with her, a useful semblance of comfort soon took over him, and the newfound friends engaged into deep conversation.

"I've done as you insisted, so long ago, if you remember," the new trainer announced cheerily, "and started training pokèmon" – this, eliciting a noise of surprise and delight from his companion.

"I knew you'd take the sensible path in the end, didn't I say? Although I was suspecting it from the start, you know, seeing from your abra." And, with a single motion, she took Ytarrik out from his airborne position to Amaren's side, commenting on how adorable he was. She met with only minimal protest from the pokèmon's part, severely surprising Amaren.

"You know, of course," she suddenly brought up, "how they force all trainers to travel in groups, for our own safety? Well, I was thinking I really didn't want to adventure with anyone else all my career. I thought…"

"You thought…?"

"I've never really liked many people, but I have my few friends. Er… you're—you're—" she trailed off, seemingly with no intention to continue

He sat in slight bewilderment at the awkward silence—but soon he saw. "You want to train with me?"

Despite her beginning intention, it was clear his understanding was not something Ruki felt a positive development. "That is, only if you want to…"

But Amaren grinned openly, to grant great relief to his companion. "Why, of course. I'll travel with you!"

[Hey,] Ytarrik suddenly interrupted, drawing scarce as much attention as he had once known. [Don't I get a say in this?]

"No, you don't," laughed Amaren, but Ruki asked for Ytarrik's opinion, with great seriousness. She seemed to see some hidden gravity in the Abra's words.

The speed with which he replied suggested he had no real need to state the fact, while the solemn slowness of his words explained that stating the fact was none of his intention.

[I deem,] he replied with great pomp, [by the excellent and undeterred powers of rationality and foresight gifted to my house from my oldest fathers, that…] The pause stretched a moment, a second, and then multiple seconds...

"That?" the humans chorused.

[I approve of this union. Mainly. I see, however,] and here he could not keep the mirth from his thought, [that great destruction and misery lies in this path, but I am unable to care. Let the adventure begin!]

Taking his words as jokes (for no party involved – no even the Abra – could see any other point to them), they began their new life: their rebirth. A world of thought had died behind Amaren, but a greater still lay before him. Affairs had seemed most hastily out of control before, but now he felt ready to match his pace with theirs.

 

[Post Office Buddy]

Very nice chapter. Only one mistake really jumped out at me, and although it is a minor one, I feel that I should still show it to you.

Mother Jivate, sighed.

This was obviously a small type, but I thought that you would do well to see it.

I like your use of description very much in this fic. I have read few fan fictions that can equate to the clarity and strength of your writing. The great work you have shown provides almost nothing for me to suggest fixing, but I found one spot that you could have elaborated better on.

[I deem,] he replied with great pomp, [by the excellent and undeterred powers of rationality and foresight gifted to my house from my oldest fathers, that…]

"That?" the humans chorused.

[I approve of this union. Mainly. I see, however,] and here he could not keep the mirth from his thought, [that great destruction and misery lies in this path, but I am unable to care. Let the adventure begin!]

I think that you should have described how Ytarrik paused before Amaren and Ruki interjected, saying something along the lines of "Ytarrik paused graciously as it marveled at its eloquence" or something. Doing this may give the reader a better idea why Amaren and Ruki cut in. Just a small suggestion, though. No real need to follow through.

I already can't wait for your next chapter. I don't believe that you are posting too fast since the more active members will have read it within a four or five day period. If you post at that kind of interval, then I think you will successfully create a feeling of impatient anticipation in your readers and will allow yourself more time to write later chapters.

 

[Luphinid Silnaek]

Jeff: Good eye on those details. I was smoothing down the chapter very carefully, and I don't know how I missed those.

Next chapter. I'll prepare you with the note that I SWEAR it won't turn into a chosen-one or avatar fiction. (At least, not yet.)

Aftershock​

Chapter 3: Challenge​

"Try, Ytarrik, keep trying!"

Ruki's cyndaquil, Angin, let out a startled, entertained squeal, to the extreme annoyance of Ytarrik. A bipedal, tan creature with an elongated snout and a navy back, she was currently being pulled shakily from the ground to levitate no more than half an inch in the air before falling back down, and then repeat. If the waves of effort emanating from Ytarrik's mind were any indication, it was a great task for him to lift her weight to even such a height, and he was only grudgingly doing so to please Amaren and Ruki's insistences.

"Look at it the bright way, Zyt," Amaren said sardonically, pleasure at his labour most evidently showing in his face, "you'll soon become a master at telekinesis, eh?"

[Shut up,] Ytarrik retorted, his greatest attempt at levitation failing like all others. The feeble wobbling in the interval between attempts gave out, as the abra turned to give Amaren an icy stare-thought. [If you call me Zyt once again,] he hissed, [I'll show you the true extents of my telekinesis.]

An unimaginably enormous section of the city, encompassing perhaps one-fourth all its mass, had been dedicated solely to training, and a wide variety of facilities were huddled in this space—everything from minor emulations of wild conditions (fields of grass; tiny, controlled stands of trees; the occasional snow chamber, among many such plots) to the centerpiece of Saffron's display, the Psychic-type Pokèmon Gym, whose displays of telekinesis and elemental control psychics traveled to see from the region over. The latter was the ultimate objective of Amaren and Ruki in the city, and it was to this that they worked their way through the complex of trainer's aids.

Nothing, however, according to conventional wisdom passed down to Ruki, could compare to the wild – and this thought presently passed over both their minds, once the initial amusement at Ytarrik's training had faded. They instantaneously discussed this within their minds, taking the abra as their medium, and pulled away from the training grounds where they were currently idling. Indeed were they no more than fallen leaves to the wind of their hearts' whim.

As Amaren had noted a universe ago, Saffron City lay at the very crossroads of the four major cities of Kanto. It lay in a valley of a plain, surrounded on all sides by forest, though its routes leading in all four cardinal points cut cleanly through the woods wherever they required way; so that the ring of forest all around Saffron's stretch of grassland was divided into quarters. It seemed, from the air, as though the city had formed a crater for itself within the reaches of a vast stand of ancient trees—exactly the truth, as Ruki assured Amaren. "Not that it formed an actual crater, of course!" she did not forget to add with a slight laugh. "The city was once a woodland village just like your own, but being at the very middle of all that travel through the main landmass of Kanto, it grew and grew and cut a clean hole for itself in the forest."

When Amaren would ask where she had learned all of this, the girl would reply with something faintly scathing towards the extravagant depths of compulsory education. "You're supposed to know these things too, you know, Amaren," she would direct with a joking grin, "they wouldn't let you pass without a thorough understanding of the exact eating habits of every human being who lived to see history."

They set a course towards the northeastern quadrant of forest, and Amaren could not help but notice a gradual drop in the tilt between his own cluelessness and Ruki's consequent domination in their conversations. It had begun from the moment of their first encounter; and while Amaren knew from common sense that such a transition would be inevitable, he was surprised to see it moving along at such a visible pace. Perhaps he would soon become the elder brother, guiding his sibling through the treacheries of the world.


His meanders and his fantasies gradually petered to a fresh alertness, as the dreamy gold of the sunlit field gave way to a cool viridian, and they entered the forest main. Here, though the gentle light of the dappled canopy still seemed to sooth any potential viciousness under its halls, there was an air of pleasant tension, one which signaled to them the abundance of more warlike challengers to any capable fighter.

They took a few tentative steps deeper into the stretches. Within a moment more minute than human instinct, a blur of dark tan shot out of the restless leaves directly for Amaren – but not every member of their party was human.

Instinctually, Ytarrik teleported inches before the unseen offender, giving a massive surge of effort; and the attacking pidgey's path was deflected within moments of reaching the startled trainer. Unexpectedly the Abra was not exhausted in the least from his sudden trial.

[The more Psychics stimulate their abilities, the easier it is for them to access them,] he said, satisfaction showing clearly in his thought. [Which means…] The subsequent rush of thought was sufficient to finish his sentence. Rising back into the air, he zoomed forward to meet the challenge of the returning wild Pokèmon, loose pieces of dirt flying from the ground beneath him.

The pidgey darted once again towards him, beak raised, but it was stopped entirely this time, frozen to hover in midair. Ytarrik backed away from its petrified form, but great loads of sticks and rocks began rising from all around him, poised to shoot themselves at his enemy. The pidgey struggled to break loose of its bind, pushing forward with all its might, and was released – only to meet an inescapable barrage of painful forest matter. With a crow of defeat, it staggered away.

Silence reigned again, for a moment.

"It's not legal to attack a wild pokémon if it's trying to escape, you know," Ruki said conversationally.

"Really?" Amaren and Ytarrik said together, though the abra was evidently more surprised.

"Yeah, of course. And if it's mortally wounded, it's the trainer's responsibility to take it to a Center."

With a mental shrug, Ytarrik raged off into the forest, the humans attempting to trail behind him, Ruki releasing Angin once again. The companions lumbered heavily through the trees, Ytarrik at their front, the cyndaquil running playfully beside them, and they feared no wild attacker, challenging each with equal confidence. A sudden stroke of inspiration on the part of the Abra led to the growth of a new move, according to the information stored in the back display of their trainer cards:

[Well, I just send a quick, sudden burst of thought telepathically into their minds,] he explained with hidden pride. [They can't even stand that much, the suckers. WHOOOO!]

His exclamation would invariably be punctuated with a public rendition of his new Confusion, sending everything around him into dazed, painful spirals of dizziness. And then, as always, he would rush a few miles forward, most irritating to all things, animate or inanimate, in his path.

This was not to say, however, that Angin encountered progress any lesser. Being inarticulate to both trainers, she was merely less taken to announcing thus with quite Ytarrik's vigour. And yet, as the tiny flames bursting to life on her back grew with each flare of their power, it was unmistakable that Ruki had been fundamentally correct in her estimation of the worth of wild training. A certain satisfaction lay within the grind of wills, lingering around the individual defeat of yet another pokémon and capitalizing on the visible progress as yet another flaw in the abra and cyndaquil's technique was smoothened; and while Amaren and Ruki could but follow their charges on their rampage, attempting unnecessarily to call out orders, the sheer adrenaline seeped into their spirit as well.

When both pokémon had run to their heart's content, they rested, winded, under the shade of a lone oak in the center of a clearing in the woods, reaching for the provisions they had only just remembered to pack. Amaren and Ruki reached for their grand pack of grilled berry sandwiches, marveling at the versatility of a single species of fruit, and Angin dove into her soft cakes of cheri; but Ytarrik retired to a quiet corner of the clearing, hovering still in midair and refusing to talk to anyone else.

"I think he's sleeping," wondered Ruki between mouthfuls of the best processed oran in all of Saffron, according to the extravagant advertisement hanging outside the food corner they had acquired it from.

"And that's news…" replied Amaren. "How do you know, though? His eyes are always closed"; to a collective laugh by all the breakfasters.

It seemed that this was precisely what the Abra did not wish to hear. It was difficult to estimate closely, however; he was not even so alert to everything around him as to explain his dissatisfaction at the great lengths with which he tended to do.

"But really": Ruki, on a serious note, "Ytarrik has feelings too, you know. I think we should be nice to him for a change." And Angin, anxious to follow the example of her trainer, indicated her agreement fervently.

To the infinite surprise of all involved, including the human, Amaren suddenly seemed to recall some earlier conviction, and ceased his casual insults against Ytarrik.

They started back early, as soon as they saw the center of diffused light above them move into the western half of the sky. Little did they fear from this mesh of challenges which this forest provided, as though for their entertainment, but it was not prudent to remain overnight in a forest, no matter what their disposition towards it.

They readied to move out of their temporary camp when Ytarrik suddenly cried, [Wait!] Angin tensed, her fur rising to its full volume, and Amaren and Ruki retired to the center of the clearing. Out of the darker assemblies of grass and twig shone two alert yellow eyes. The wait, the infinite pause in action…

An unusually large, fierce mightyena sprang out from the first shades of darkness around the clearing, diving for the waiting abra, who dodged out of the way and returned a Confusion in its direction. To little effect, however; Dark had eternally been the oppressor of psychics.

A pair of fearsome jaws, black with a substance incapable of reflection, slammed down on the abra, and he had scarce little time to teleport out before the jagged surface could touch him. Human and pokémon watched, alike immobile, as the psychic fought a losing duel with the dark—stumbling backward at each of its attacks, attempting feebly to force a single thorn between the mightyena's natural aura, negating all psychic influence.

Each of the watchers shook themselves from her reverie, but it was too late: with a final slam of jaws, the perpetrator closed its bite around the defender's form, and Ytarrik fell in a crumpled heap, who Amaren hastily recalled.

As the mightyena's sinister influence fell over the tiny, defiant figure of Angin, and Ruki behind her, a vision suddenly overtook Amaren, as from a memory of a memory –

The raving mightyena, charging for the elder fighter's forlorn figure –

And conviction hardened his resolve. History would not repeat, not this once.

At the girl's order, the cyndaquil shot forward, desperately searching for an opening in the great wolf's armor, armed with lesser than an iron blade. Another, advancing bite – but that was all he would allow, as far as he would let the monster approach Ruki's unprotected form. A single, vagabond thought joined forces with his own, and dark russet eyes flared to crimson – amber – gold…

Amaren stood forward to the extents of his length, a figure tall, dark, terrible in its wrath; and, as if responding to a force other than his own, his hands raised in the air, holding invisible staffs – and the very earth rose in his anger and desperation, serving his purposes long enough to buffet the perpetrator severely. Whimpering, it turned to flee.

As the failing presence of Ytarrik drained from Amaren's mind, Ruki hurried forward to support his near-limp body, returning Angin to her storage device; and the two soldiers staggered out of the battlefield together.

 

[bobandbill]

Well, I've been meaning to take a look at this for a while, so have decided to act now and read it as you release the chapters now, so I won't have to climb that mountain straight off. :) Also partly a return of service of reviewing my fanfic so nicely on Serebii.

Anyway, I must say, this is fantastic. Haven't seen such a story applied to the Pokemon world, how having a person who lived in a seculded village become a Pokemon trainer and learn of the advanced Pokemon world. Very nice concept that is carried well throughout the story - nice small views of Saffron by Ameran. Quite enjoyable, and like the odd random capitlising of various objects (such as 'Concentrated Storage Device'), as well as noting the 'shiny-ness' of the 'shiny' items. :)

Reminds me of a book I read, although not 100% sure of the title - 'Odo Hirsh' was either the title, or maybe the author... oh well, either way - that was a good book, and your story is certainly giving it a run for its money. High level of writing, description and the characters are enjoyable - and I can certainly see your own style in this.

Quite enjoying the events of this story thus far - seems well planed and structured - overall, can't see anything that I can criqtue story-wise - it flows on very nices, with a good pace.

A fe nitpicks, amongst other stuff:

"Late 1990's, this is! I don't even know if we have a Recovery Machine to fit it! Hold on—"

My favoruite line thus far. :) Nice one there, with the late 1990's date... ah, memories.

"I have decided…"

[We have decided..]

Ameran used an ellipse of three dots, yet Ytarrik used two dots here - is it an ellipse, or a full stop?

[And I was all for finding a new forest and starting a new lease on life, you know,] Ytarrik unexpectedly added.

I assumed that it was the Abra's name, yet he only gave it to Amaren in the following scene - that's the first time it was used, yet IMO it should be only firsdt given in the following scene rather than here, as we do not know the Abre as Ytarrik as of yet.

"How do you know, though? His eyes are always closed";

"But really":

I think these two should be before the quotation mark, as far as I know, rather than after.


Another thing - normally, I insist that Pokemon names and items should be capitalised, unlike what you do here, but you do it well enough here without needing to, and I can see why, so it isn't really required in such a fic as yours (although it does nag at my mind a bit). However, a few times you had actually capitalised the Pokemon names, in the eariler parts of this story, such as Houndoom, Mightyena and Abra, which contridicts with the majority of Pokemon names remaining uncapitalised. I'd suggest keeping it all the same.
Other instances is the whole pokeball as a minor item, yet 'Potions' and 'Super Potions 'made a 'major' item, despite the emphasis placed on the pokeball... something I've noticed.

Minor however - overall, very good piece of writing thus far - nice scene transistions, and changes of pace (such as at the end of the 3rd chapter) when callled upon - very enjoyable to read. I look forward to the next so and so chapters. :)

 

[Luphinid Silnaek]

bobandbill: I must get on your latest chapter on SPPF.

In fact, the story is very fickle about themes. This Amish one, incidentally, was not one of the themes I was proud of: I felt I barely alluded to it, perhaps unrealistically portrayed it, and scrapped it before the advent of five chapters. Ironic that it turns out to be so popular.

Firing up Google, I see that there is an author of childrens' books called Odo Hirsch, but I can't say what book you might have had in mind.

But MY GOD THE ERRORS. I can't look at my nitpick revising abilities again in my life. The colon and semicolon have been used outside the speech a ew times by undefined classic authors, and if the dialogue can be seen as a noun of some sort it makes sense. I've heard American English takes care to put all following punctuation marks inside the quotation, but I never use American English anyway. Evetyhing else, though, is quite valid. I see that items in our world are only capitalised if they are brand names or given a specific name (iPod, Mac, Windows). Thus, while Concentrated Storage Devices and Potions are simply the first apparent names of their objects, a Slate could be seen as something like a Tablet PC.

Well, thank you for the review. (I need to find more original ways to say this.) Also thank you for the very detailed nitpicking.

 

[Luphinid Silnaek]

Oh, dear. This has gone an awfully long time without an update. Explanations! But first, some worrying suggestions to the contrary of my note on Chapter 3. It looks like a prophetic dream but it really is more than that. Please don't kill me for the unholy run-on complicated sentences. I did the best I could.

Aftershock​

Chapter 4: New Developments​

Night lowered its peace into the turrets of the forest of shimmering steel.

It was an unusually silent night for an unusually burgeoning metropolis, and all the blazing carriers of light and life hung low, resting, if only for this night. Few stars of yellow beam traversed the shaded roads; few of the revelries of life played out their glory, but it did not seem oppressively silent, as if everything was as it should be.

Not a single soul would reveal itself to winged passersby, except one.

The heavily cloaked figure could be labeled shabbily dressed, but some aspect of its form seemed to cohere well with its old, ragged apparel. As to the manner of ancient times, it seemed as though the vestiges of its clothing trailed behind it in a long, winding tail, but closer perception would entirely confound the watcher, and he would be forced to admit that it seemed as if the very webs of shadow through which the figure waded drank in his presence. And if the silver moonlight banished the dark cotton which spread its length into the corners of the city, this being seemed only to grow in its dark splendour and introverted glory when exposed to the subtle rays.

He stopped abruptly as if seeing a sign only he could percieve, turning to appraise a patch of darkness in the surrounding wall absolutely indistinguishable from the cloaked brick around it. He stepped into the pitch confines of the back alley and, as if melding into the darkness entirely, emerged out of its other end an instant later, half a mile away. The creature paused for a moment, then, as the sprawling vastnesses of a mansion and an old-fashioned laboratory complex revealed themselves to him.

Fifteen times had he listened to the story echoing within its spacious halls; fifteen times had it ended, unfinished, leaving him hanging. This was his sixteenth iteration, but it was different, special. This time, he would know the truth in its full.

Luphinid Remana Silnaek glided into the penultimate chord of his journeys.


Amaren opened his eyes to see cerulean meeting his own.

Ruki was bending over his bed, examining him with faint concern. "Nightmare?" she estimated sympathetically. "You were moving around a bit violently."

"No, not really," he replied, truthfully. He had seen some difficulty in sleeping this night, but it was likely a temporary result of his exertions than a visible problem. He certainly did not remember doing anything to elicit such a response from his roommate.

Amaren returned her appraising gaze with one of his own. A trick of the light, perhaps; but how lost she looked, how sad: a frail child stood before him, in a universe of grand matters. Was it his duty to comfort her?

"It's okay, it really is," he managed alone, the opportunity passing before his eyes. A parting, almost imperceptible tighten of helplessness – and wan moonlight returned to her eyes, lighting them with her characteristic spirit. Yet, as though caught in the act, the silvery blue seemed almost furtive, enshrouding a deeper thought with its drowning light.

"All right," she murmured, smiling an induced smile in response to Amaren's. "Goodnight"; and returned to her own bed.

"'Night."

[{//\/\/\/\/\//\\//\\//\/\/\|/|\|/\/\/\\//\\//\\/\/\/\/\/\//}]​

Recuperation had run swiftly after their duel with peril, and health and life had returned with all the vigour of youth within a night, for most.

Confounded by the bizarre events of the last evening, Amaren and Ruki saw their only answer in the seeming hoards of information stored within their trainer card. Amazingly, under the influence of a Pokèmon attack or other sign of battle, it was programmed automatically to infer the tides of the battle from its surroundings—and its wireless link to the Concentrated Storage Devices—and record it for future contemplation. It seemed that data stored in the card was graded according to the maturity of the reader, and thus many topics were encrypted, to be unlocked at the insertion of a Gym Badge of sufficient rank; but there was a reasonable exception in this case. Great stretches of the universe could only be understood with sufficient maturity in intelligence, but if such an event intersected so completely with one's life, urgency overruled censorship.

The two companions leaned over the iron tablet, therefore, sitting in Ruki's favourite table at the back of the main hall of the Center, as the card unfurled a textbox to spell out an article explaining Amaren's sudden actions.

"It is an established fact that while most Psychic-type attacks originate from the pokémon's mind, their bodies are fragile and most unsuited for the carrying of energy of all types. The mental capacities of a Psychic-type are literally infinite, but their limitations occur in the brief space of time when materialized thought is channeled into the body and then released. While such an intense concentration of energy inhabits the form momentarily, the physical body is worn slightly, unable to efficiently contain this inside it. However, the moment is a near-infinitesimal one, and the body soon recovers before much damage is done. It is in rare cases when the physical vehicle for the mind is strained so greatly that it shuts down, inducing unconsciousness.

"In extreme occasions, it is possible for the psychic mind in such a situation to leave its body for a short space of time and inhabit another, willing living carrier for its work. Depending on the nature of the new vehicle, it may sustain unpredictably great damage, even more unsuited towards containing energy within it than the original body, or possibly experience only a minimum of fatigue and soon recover. The reasons for the latter are not fully known, and may vary greatly with the case."

If the orange triangle at the bottom of the text was any indication, more could be said upon the subject, but the youth are ever unfocused and prone to sudden swings in interest and mood: the card saw a quick rejection of its proffered information.

Amaren had been fortunate to find that his body was an enduring carrier for Ytarrik's consciousness, as long as it had been there; and thus the boy had returned to a suitable semblance of health within the day. After a night of rest, indeed, he was returned to the full of his spirits. As for the abra, while his body had suffered great injury, the healing abilities of modern technology were unparalleled, and he was well on the path to recovery. Ytarrik was still slumbering in the bedrest wing of the Center in his own comatose form of rejuvenation. In a few days, he would be returned to battle readiness; and the collective group meanwhile purposed to concentrate their attentions on Angin.

Unexpectedly, the entirety of his plunge into the art of training had caused Amaren to look into the endless lines of theoretical strategy which, as he had soon learnt, ran at the very foundations of the heat of battle. As he had looked in retrospect, it had become clear that much more than brute force was required in such battles whose difficulty transcended one's own strength, and Amaren now took as his obsession the objective of knowing this in full.

With great success, he soon developed a tolerance, even inclination, towards the less physical aspects of his trade, and began the very day after the battle to use his trainer card for such tasks as learning the type chart by heart, or deepening his understanding of the physical and special attributes of pokémon. If he was asked to explain his new fascination, he would direct the questioner's attention to the fact that legally, he was required to know such basic concepts long before he became a trainer, and that this would have still happened had he been schooled officially. When pressed, he would elaborate only so far as to say that Ruki knew fully everything he had begun reading then, and he did not wish to be inferior in any regard to his companion trainer.

It was towards this end, therefore, as they ran lightly down the steps of the Pokèmon Center one time again towards the northern route of Saffron, that Amaren began strategizing their future course of movement, triggering a conversation which he had never imagined to hold. He did not know how to see the fact that it was sure to be the first of many such.

"Psychic is countered by Dark and… and…" Amaren began. "Ruki, what else counters Psychic?"

"Um… who cares?" she replied, in precise resemblance to Amaren's past replies towards intellectual discussions.

"Uh, uh… Bug! That's correct. And also Ghost, I think. Now, I don't think I should catch a Dark-type, I've had bad experiences with them."

"Some very bad experiences," Ruki added, emphasizing her sentiment only half-mockingly with a shudder.

"I looked in the encounter locations, there isn't a Ghost-type here for miles. So the only chance we have is to look for a bug somewhere. Undignified, I know, but still…"

"Wow, you're really putting thought into all of this, aren't you?"

"…and—yeah, I am. I think I have to take a little responsibility for my, er, my actions. Yeah, that's right. Anyway—I haven't looked into what Bug-types they have around Saffron. Let's see… There's the usual caterpie, there's… nothing here? What! Ruki, are you listening?"

Amaren dislodged himself from his articles of study, looking up to find the girl had already left his side to dive into the rapidly approaching forest, releasing Angin. With a resigned, amused shake of his head, treating this facet of her character as a long-familiar one (although it was hardly so), he redirected his rather rigid route to match his new observations.

It was unbearably ironic to recall similar conversations between himself and his brother, with the roles entirely reversed.

Fingering his pokéball to find it cold with the vacancy of a resident, he resigned himself to a day of idleness. He fell into the shade of a nearby tree and spread the full extents of his plans over the mottled floor, as Ruki began immediately to train before him. They had arrived at a point near the boundaries of the encircling woods, where the trees were scattered enough to allow for antics of a most unreserved nature.

He settled down to work, falling into the thoughtful trance of study which he had been eluding for so long, impressing upon himself the necessities of careful planning before action, recalling incidents where a lack of such had led to disaster, stirring his enthusiasm by attempting to marvel upon the glorious complexity of training, realizing with surprise that he wished inside him to take on the role of his elder brother in the case of his new companion, but using this new point only to illustrate the value of responsibility further, and was thoroughly incapable of concentrated thought.

Perhaps it was because of the grand clamor of a sufficiently hyperactive trainer and her Pokèmon, and perhaps he had been unaccustomed to study for a long while before then, but what awakened him so fully from his disconnected recline on the bed was undoubtedly the waves of palpable joy which radiated through the forest and through Ruki before him, filling her dance in such a way which left doubt as to whether the ecstasy held its source in the spirit of the woods, or within this one incarnate form of its own. And where Amaren was touched by the vestiges of her spirits as she called him to join in the celebrations, Angin, a child most unfettered by inhibitions, given to the center of her trainer's attention, reveled in a climax of her elemental high, shooting out arcing flames which grazed the forest dangerously before dissipating. They could not be said to move towards any form of progress in their carousing, and there the last warmth of summer embraced them as in farewell, but nothing mattered, for the future of their fresh emotion and the path of opportunity and life which opened up before them was most certainly assured; and the firestorm of Angin's passion was curbed amply by the gentle enlightenment of her trainer. And thus, Amaren was convinced, would it remain; for him, and for all those whom he lent a care.

But even as the thought of new glory before them passed through Amaren's mind, he felt a longing to pursue that road and take its glittering expanses into his form, the trademark ambition of trainers, renowned as far as the profession yet lasted. And this faint desire pulled their purposeless displays of joy into coherence and concentration, transforming it into an enthusiasm towards this path of progress. Thinking as though one, the trainers and the cyndaquil sprinted off to challenge more wilderness, as the morning gave way entirely to noon.

"Think you can hold up a battle, Angin?" Ruki asked her pokémon tenderly, picking her up as she ran, and the cyndaquil replied with an animated cry, taken as an affirmative by the listener. She flared the red-hot dots on her back, releasing tiny flames, and the girl flinched only slightly in surprise, fluorescing in the pokémon's energy. She cradled her protectively, but Angin was already jumping down lightly to the ground, reacting to the bellsprout they had suddenly stumbled upon.

"Perfect," Amaren murmured, "a grass-type. Good practice."

"All right, start off with a Scratch!" From Amaren's understanding, Ruki was likely treading carefully, testing the wild pokémon's reaction to situations.

Angin immediately began approaching the Bellsprout cautiously, brandishing her tiny claws at every turn. It seemed to be that both trainer and Pokèmon were awaiting some explosive attack by the insectivore, but none were forthcoming, and Angin quickly landed three small cuts on the Grass-type's ponderous head, causing it to tip dangerously to the side, wobbling on its stick-thin stem.

"And the head's only growing bigger," Amaren commented, before stopping short.

Why, he pondered, would the bellsprout's head grow? There was certainly an answer, but it was hidden in the shades of his most unreliable memory.

Equally as perplexed, Ruki ordered an Ember, and the cyndaquil reared back her head. With a small blast of hot breath, she stirred the grass beneath her to flame, stomped it out hastily, and kicked the still-glowing pieces of burnt grass at the bellsprout. The red-hot embers singed its fragile skin, but the bellsprout yet did not so much as flinch, and Angin continued her barrage.

Baffled, struck with uncertainty, Ruki faltered, and her pokémon did the same. A period of tense awaiting followed, and then –

The twin vines which held up its two great leaves zoomed forward in a spurt of growth; and, as Amaren realized, Growth was precisely what the creature had been endeavoring towards all this time. The two arms wrapped around the protesting cyndaquil, performing a Vine Whip, lifting her up with great labour and dropping her back down heavily. The candle flames on Angin's back flared to char the vines slightly, but the Bellsprout only worked with greater conviction, and the cyndaquil's knees buckled this time as they hit the forest floor. She let out a yelp of desperation, weakening…

But Ruki cheered for her, indefatigably spirited, and her pokémon's crimson eyes shone with such a fire that even the angered Bellsprout wavered for a moment. A positive inferno erupted from the rapidly widening scarlet on her back, and she let loose a barrage of fire from her open mouth, the first she had ever released. The opponent quickly let go of her, scorched, and withdrew into the edge of consciousness.

Amaren had been quiet this meanwhile, but now he called out: "Catch it, Ruki! This is a great chance!"

She looked towards him, delighted with the thought. "…Do you think I should?" And Amaren nodded, absorbed in the match.

"All right." She set her storage device, pointed it to the failing Bellsprout, and watched expectantly as the violet light swallowed it whole. A digital meter took the front of the display on the small contrivance, flaring suddenly as the captive bellsprout shook its confines in protest, but it finally subsided in a flourish which seemed to Amaren to be pointedly resigned. A quiet congratulation, and Angin was likewise returned.

An indication of great victory, and another of urgency as the storage device flashed to bring attention to the new pokémon's critical health. They began hurrying back to Saffron, the Bellsprout falling automatically into stasis in respect to its state, and were immediately hindered by the appearance of another character.

He was an elderly gentleman, wearing what seemed to be a more hardy mutation of a lab coat and matching pants. He radiated well the feeling which Amaren had only just begun to understand, that of indoor study, and also of thought before action.

His identity was most quickly revealed.

"Good morning. I am—" he began, but Ruki felt a great urgency to finish his sentence.

"Prof. Kalens Oak!" she shouted, in the closest rendition of a shriek her voice could muster. "I am such a fan of your work, you wouldn't – "

"Er…" It was difficult, Amaren realized, to get a word in sideways if Ruki was stirred to excitement of any great nature, rare as the case might be…

Eventually, however, the girl rediscovered a semblance of sanity, and the professor began in earnest.

"I presume one of you is the owner of an abra by the name of Ytarrik? Amaren Kelanis?"

"I am," Amaren replied, somewhat nonplussed.

"And your team was driven to such desperation as to share minds for a short space of thought? Such cases are extremely rare…"

"Hmm," Ruki signified her rapt attention, unnecessarily.

"… and I myself have only seen such in…"

"Hmm," Ruki repeated.

"… in, er, in four incidents in my life, precisely—"

'Hmm," the girl insisted, then apologized as all concerned turned to glare at her. She dropped the pretence of sanity and attempted, successfully, to gain the actual form.

"I have seen some new developments in the field of —"the professor began, and then stopped abruptly. "Perhaps we should seek a more reserved situation than this in which to talk," he suggested.

"Yeah, and we need to go to the Center, too," Ruki exclaimed.

Reaching an agreement, therefore, the two trainers and their temporary chaperon set out quickly for the city in the plains, shining in the noontide sun.

 

[Post Office Buddy]

Nice, well-rounded chapter. I was satisfied with the detail you used in this chapter and the unparalleled dialog within. Some things caught my eye, and I will list those that I was most sure about and/or thought were the more pressing matters.

A heavily cloaked figure, it could, perhaps, be said to be shabbily dressed;

I didn't think this sentence flowed well, since you threw a ton of commas here. I figured out what you meant by it, but I had to reread it to understand it.

As if seeing a sign which only he could perceive, he stopped abruptly,

Perhaps you should invert this sentence. That may allow it to flow better than it does now.

as if melding into the darkness entirely,

I think melting would have been a better word choice.

This time, he would know the truth in its full.

I thought entirety would have sounded better.

While some hidden facets of the world could only be learnt once the seeker gained sufficient intelligence to understand them, it was only natural, when one such intersected to completely with an underage trainer's life, that it would be his right to know of it in the full.

I didn't really understand most of this sentence, and that may be the form of "to" you used, but further elaboration would help here.


In terms of content, I thought it was great. We learned something new about Ytarik and Ameron's bond, and also witnessed Ruki's capture of Bellsprout. You did well on these things.

My only real complaint, which goes with the quotes above, is that some of your sentences seemed underdeveloped or overdeveloped. It felt awkward reading some of the sentences within the chapter, but for the most part it flowed well. Some of these things may be easy to fix for you, and some might not. Either way, just write it the way you want to and fix only what you feel needs fixing. I'll await your next chapter earnestly for the time being.

 

[Luphinid Silnaek]

Jeff: Yes, I truly do not know what I was on in retrospect. It seems to me an underlying instinct to word sentences in the most awkward and bizarre way possible. I need to remember that a correctly worded sentence isn't necessarily a sentence fit to print. I plan to rewrite once it's all over.

A few premature name-meanings. They shall become clearer and more relevant as the story passes.

Amaren Kelanis: Amaren means ever-young, or immortal. One who never dies or changes. Kelanis is a profession name: at one point in the history of his village there was a hereditary line of village elders with the basic (accepted) traits of age, wisdom, and experience. These eventually ceased to be village elders, as the system became obsolete, but the name Kelanis stuck. Thus the name Amaren Kelanis could be interpreted as one who is both young and old, with the best of both wolds.

Ruki Ferena: It only rang well with the name Amaren. Ferena, though, suggests in an abstract manner the role she is to play a while later.

Ytarrik: It's actually the name of my kadabra in Yellow. My thoughts then were nothing more profound than "What sounds really psychic and arcane?"

Professor Kalens Oak: Kalens is a later corruption of the older word Kelanis. It is no longer associated with a specific profession, but invokes all the basic traits of an elder.

Mother Jivate: If you happen to be on SPPF and also happen to have read my inexperienced first fiction, the Upholder of Duty, you may remember this name. (It's also possible that you may not, due to the fact that I never included it in there. I don't remember. I only remember considering it.) I think Jivate was the name of the chansey head nurse of Cartavah's hospital wing. Ah, memories. *goes to check* Indeed, she was named Jivati in the first fiction. I simply felt Jivati was a name which didn't fit the cultural tones of all the other names in Aftershock, and changed one letter.

Luphinid Remana Silnaek plans to be explained in the fiction itself, though there's one small detail about the name that you could note and has not been noted anywhere. See if you can spot it. Also, it's my username! The fiction originated the name.

 

[bobandbill]

Another good chapter there - interesting events, and I'm interested in the Bellsprout as well, gievn some other fics which I have seen it in showing the possibilities it has... the chapter more or less satisfied me, seemed a well rounded one.

There are some times in which the sentence structure is quite... elaborate and almost confusing, such is your style. However, I do find this quite interesting, different and refreshing to read, sheerly for the uniqueness of it. Maybe just a slight toning down of it will be required - I don't think you should redo it all together as it is part of the charm of this story, so to speak.

Not a single soul would reveal itself to winged passersby, except one.

'Passersby' jsut felt a bit of a 'far-out' word to cme up with here... guess it's ok, but just threw me off for a bit.

He stopped abruptly as if seeinf a sign only he could perceive

Luphinid Remana Silnaek glided into the penultimate chord of his journeys.

So that's why you changed your nickname then. I see... guessing this will be an important character - but I don't really see anything about the name that I think has muchsignificance... oh well, I'm not quite the best at those things at times.

If the orange triangle at the bottom of the text was any indication, more could be said upon the subject, but the youth are ever unfocused and prone to sudden swings in interest and mood, and the card saw a quick rejection of its proffered information—though the extent of what they had read was most appreciated.

That sentence felt awfully run-on there... could be chopped up slightly.

"Some very bad experiences," Ruki added, with a half-mock-shudder.

Half-mock-shudder might be replaced by 'half-mock, half-shudder', as that is the more usual way of stating such 'half' things, but minor and not nesserary.

That's all of the other stuff that I could find - the rest Jeffback took care of... overall and storywise, it was good as usual. Looking forward to the next chapter. :)

 

[Luphinid Silnaek]

Another good chapter there - interesting events, and I'm interested in the Bellsprout as well, gievn some other fics which I have seen it in showing the possibilities it has... the chapter more or less satisfied me, seemed a well rounded one.

At this point I was progressing the journey in measured amounts, almost for filler, and simultaneously laying down basic foundations for themes which would be explored later. Each chapter was a self-contained story, somewhat like a monster-of-the-week, except there was some underlying plot.

There are some times in which the sentence structure is quite... elaborate and almost confusing, such is your style. However, I do find this quite interesting, different and refreshing to read, sheerly for the uniqueness of it. Maybe just a slight toning down of it will be required - I don't think you should redo it all together as it is part of the charm of this story, so to speak.

These seem to be the general opinions of all those who read my fiction: some find it overbearing and non-reader-friendly, while some say it contributes to the style; some have a love-hate opinion of it. I think I'll follow your advice, since complex themes seem to have bcome a part of this story, and they can't really be removed entirely. I will, however, be very strict on them. I thankfully had not finished it before I learnt to moderate these sort of sentences, so the situation improves as the character "matures".

Well, thank you for the contribution. Here comes the next one. We hear from this strange self-titled man again.

Aftershock​

Chapter 5: Introduction into the Brine​

"So you say Ytarrik and I are 'exceptionally telepathically connected'?"

When they arrived at the Pokémon Center, it had become evident that Ytarrik had made a complete recovery, and he was returned promptly. It was then that, for some reason, Prof. Oak had invited the two of them to his own estate (joined with his laboratory complex), not far from the highlights of the Pokémon Gym.

"Essentially, your summary is correct," the professor replied. "Nothing abnormal, of course, only slightly unusual. It explains your remarkable talent in battling."

Amaren and Ytarrik looked around to glance at each other; and the latter suddenly radiated a somewhat unpleasantly entertained nerve about him [Oh, I see what you're saying, professor.]

"What?" Amaren blurted, bewildered. Ytarrik was most content in hiding his thoughts from his trainer, but Prof. Oak explained.

"This leads to many interesting effects, such as I have not yet had the opportunity to study," said he, in an air of one building up for sensitive matters.

"Study?" Amaren requested for elaboration.

"Oh, no, nothing like the traditional heartless scientific experiments. We are talking merely of observation here. If I could gain access to your telepathic relations with Ytarrik at certain moments in your daily life, I would have a very useful insight into such connections."

Amaren still seemed very unsure, but Ruki chimed in at this point.

"Come on, Amaren, it'll be fun!" she said. "We have the professor of Kanto itself ready to look after us."

And so, with great reluctance, he agreed. Ytarrik seemed to hold no inhibitions on his part—this was likely because his Confusion was ready for any incident in which the professor did something not directly related to his entertainment. He was most open in expressing this fact to Prof. Oak, but his half-threat was returned merely with a laugh.

Business completed, the three humans slipped into lighter conversation. Ruki, somewhat awed that her young friend was exceptional enough to be worthy of Oak's attention, asked the professor of the 'interesting effects' of Ytarrik's connection to his trainer. Amaren, somewhat unsettled by the center of Ruki's amazement, added an inquiry into how the scientist had learnt of the two trainers in the first place.

"Well, to answer your question, Ruki, the full extents of those effects are scarce documented. There is a close cooperation between the Psychic-type and the trainer due to their telepathy, and a friendship such as to make the two equals much sooner than in usual cases, but we have observed other phenomena as well. Your battle yesterday was a perfect example, and then there are cases where the human begins developing psychic abilities under a sufficiently powerful pokémon influence." It was difficult for the man to be heard over Ruki's consequent noises of awe.

"Amaren, I must say that your rather exceptional battle with the mightyena was not quite as inconspicuous as you would think it to be. There were eyewitnesses, and word travels like wildfire in a metropolis such as this…"

Ruki picked out her concentrated storage device, releasing a most surprised-looking Bellsprout. "I caught my first Pokèmon!" she exclaimed, and then: "But what should I name it?"

At the word 'it', the grass-type gave an indignant puff and buffeted its trainer's knee with a surprisingly painful arm-leaf. "Ow, sorry," said she, and looked over the creature. "I meant, what should I name him?"

The Bellsprout made a satisfied pose and fell silent, only to be awakened once again by the insistent prodding of Angin. He attempted to thwack the Cyndaquil in return, but was scorched by a small burst of fire and retreated in defeat, surrounded by a ring of imagined enemies.

"Oh, don't start," she groaned, and picked him up, thinking. "No, really, what should I name him? Anyone else have an idea?"

[I'd think Akale would be a good one,] Ytarrik suggested, and replied with his abdication of thought when Amaren asked him the reason. "Oh well, I like that name," was the general opinion of all concerned, most specially the Bellsprout himself. How Ruki could divine the pokémon's acceptance of the idea, however, would eternally be beyond Amaren.

"All right," she declared, holding up the panicked creature for all to see, "Akale is now a member of our team!" And the new pokémon, giving up his pretence of rejection, settled down to a curl around his trainer's arm, reminiscent of a creeper vine. If any creature could understand a pokémon, Amaren decided, it was no mortal who walked the earth.

Unfortunately, his musings were not lost upon Ytarrik, who promptly jolted him with an irritated Confusion.

They set off again for the woods, seeing a fair amount of time yet before darkness fell—a bellsprout was around Ruki's midriff and a cyndaquil in her arms, as the Abra hovered telekinetically beside Amaren. Ruki's pokémon were attempting to wrestle playfully with each other, finding their positions scarce convenient enough, and Ytarrik looked upon the resultant bother to their trainer with mild distaste.

[Any new developments, while I was dying in the Center?] he turned to Amaren.

"Oh, nothing much, and stop sending me your memories of your 'final throes of agony', they're barely recognizable enough after seeing your head for so long. Angin learnt some rudimentary version of, er, Flamethrower. Except you can see how rudimentary it may be."

[Oh, yes, coming from that kid…]

"Still, that's the first time she breathed fire. Means a lot to me and Ruki, strange as it may sound to you."

[I'm not heartless,] he retorted, giving every mental indication to the contrary.

"Right you are. Come on, we have to battle."

They entered into another barrage of numerous weak wild battles, most hardly worth incident or memory. Ytarrik seemed to have learnt from his earlier accident, and related his observations to Amaren in between bursts of Confusion as yet another weakling stormed out of the unending forest.

[I think, if you force your psychic mind really far, you enter a sort of rampage.]

"You mean the part where you went crazy and outran all of us in your wild desire to destroy the forest?"

With a sheepish thought, [Yeah, that would be it. It's like, your psychic abilities go into overdrive, and you start doing some of the wildest things. You know what I mean? Of course you do. But if someone tries to attack you, you're out right then and there.]

"Tough."

[And if you keep going on the rampage for too long, you also get knocked out.]

"Are you psychics really all you make yourself up to be?"

[Well—]

—A cloaked figure, riding on the shades of the wind itself, zooming out of a darkened city with triumph in his silver eyes—

Amaren's eyes flashed shock for an instant, and then returned to oblivious normality.

An older trainer stood before the two companions, one intimidating by his very nature, though he stood politely enough. Ruki was conversing with him, as the professor slunk back into invisible obscurity, taking out an electronic notepad.

"Fine, sure, we'll battle you, Dekar," she said, and Amaren suspected a desire for impressiveness. "Correct, Amaren?"—here, her eyes were sufficient indicators of what she would bring about if any part of her statement was deemed incorrect.

"Er, yeah," he replied uncertainly. "Yes, I mean, I take your challenge."

"All right, then," Dekar confirmed; "each trainer uses one pokémon, against my two. Get your trainer cards ready."

Amaren looked down at his own flashing card, answering a prompt for transformation into what seemed to be 'referee mode'. A display lit up in the back screen, where information of a very useful nature was being calculated in milliseconds. One after the other, the opponent and the ally's chosen pokémon, the ratio between the strengths of the battlers (as approximated by the energy currently radiated by their essential forms), and a vitality bar filled the screen. This last would move progressively down as its respective pokémon was attacked, the degree of depletion depending on the apparent damage done. Once it reached zero, regardless of the pokémon's will to fight, the battler would be called out of battle and considered fainted by standard training rules.

How would so much functionality fit into a single metal slate, Amaren wondered inside. [It wouldn't,] Ytarrik replied in answer, and fell silent.

Out of this new trainer's storage device leapt twin sprays of light, and a young ivysaur and a pidgeotto materialized on either side of Dekar, bearing the unmistakable confidence of badge-winners. Slightly intimidated, then, Ytarrik and Angin jumped into position.

"Angin, uh, remember that move you once used, long ago? Smoke Screen?" Angin instantly followed Ruki's order, and Ytarrik jumped into the fray without waiting for command.

With an only half-conscious suggestion from Amaren, the abra rose into the air, placing invisible constructions at random points throughout the battlefield with his telekinesis. [If we're going for accuracy reduction, I think we should go full out, don't you think?] Amaren only replied with a perplexed half-thought, wondering what the abra was planning.

Rearing back her head, the cyndaquil shot out multiple balls of some black material, which fell onto the battlefield and promptly exploded in a puff of jet smoke. It was difficult to see anything within the commotion of accuracy-reduction, but the opponent was evidently reacting very calmly to this new development.

A few moments of silence, and a loud beat of pidgeotto wings signaled the utter and total dissipation of the smokescreen Angin had painfully constructed. The two defenders against this sudden Gust bared their teeth into it, only to be barraged by a face-full of squirming, green pellets which clung painfully to their skin. Amaren looked up: the ivysaur had unfolded its single flower to reveal gigantic spore-heads, out of which the leech seeds were still streaming.

Stricken with the full blast of the seeds, Ytarrik shoved a dozen of his invisible placements into the space directly before him, and the ivysaur's attacks began flying haphazardly, in every direction but that of their objective. "That wouldn't be Kinesis, would it?" Amaren asked, amused.

Ruki yelled, "Ember!" and Angin blasted the seeds around her into char with her fire, blowing the heated embers back at the Ivysaur. The grass-type endeavored hurriedly to close its budding flower, but countless glowing pieces embedded themselves into its vast, tender confines, eliciting a roar of pain.

The pokémon had done well to evade the leech seeds, but not perfectly, and a sizable amount of bulbous loads were still growing off Ytarrik's golden skin.

"We don't have much time, Ytarrik," Amaren murmured, "before you lose all energy. I think you should just directly start to attack now. Ivysaur is a poison-type, isn't it?"

Ruki could not help but agree; and she egged Angin on: "Give it your all!"

Amaren marveled as he felt a telepathic connection growing between Ytarrik and the ivysaur, so strong as to be palpable—and a continuous stream of concentrated, disorienting thought surged down his new achievement, keeping the great grass-type at bay for this moment. Rearing back, concentrating her heat, Angin shot out intermittent blasts of fire, which fell over the perpetrated pokémon with great force.

The pidgeotto was galvanized into motion, buffeting Angin's flames with continuous Gusts; but the conviction of the pokémon's desperation was indefatigable, and, as always, pushing them into their very limits served only to lengthen their capacities. With a great report, the ivysaur fell on its behind in defeat as Dekar's trainer card beeped to signify its official fainting.

There was only the flying-type left now to oppose them, and a temporary stalemate stemmed the flow of their fighting, as the abra and the cyndaquil stared into the eyes of their single opponent. If the intensity of the match had been absorbing before, this sudden silence served only to pull the humans into an inescapable spiral with the tides of war.

And then, in a sudden, the opponent trainer laughed. "Quick Attack," he said calmly, and with only a faint rustling, both Pokèmon were thrown back, eliciting twin beeps from Amaren and Ruki's cards.

"That pidgeotto of yours moved faster than human sight!" Ruki estimated, awed.

"I told you I'd already gotten the Cascadebadge, didn't I?" And, with a haughty look of emotionless victory, he strode out of the clearing.

 

[Acrutheo]

Comments on the prologue:

I loved the prologue's format, and the expression you used was incredible. I'll definitely be continuing to read this. I do have one nitpick to make, however.

"And the pokèmon were fine with that?"

The diacritic mark is wrong. It should be an acute accent, not a grave one. You make this mistake quite often.

---

Comments on Chapter One:

Another brilliant piece of writing. I loved how you captured his awe at the city. One grammatical error, though:

Here, just has a seat at one of the chairs over there

Should be: "Here, just have a seat in one of the chairs over there"

 

[bobandbill]

Again, nice work. A quieter chapter there, and the battle could have been a tad more dramatic (felt rather like everything else), but was still well done and constructed. Would have liked a bit more with the defeat via Quick Attack - that was the one bit that felt... bare in the battle.

It was then that, for some reason, Prof. Oak had invited the two of them to his own estate (joined with his laboratory complex) not far from the highlights of the Pokémon Gym.

Some commas after 'estate' (optional...) and the closed bracket wouldn't be missed, as it feels that sentence went without pausing a bit too long.

"Oh, nothing much, and stop sending me your memories of your 'final throes of agony', they're barely recognizable enough after seeing you head for so long.

'Seeing you head' is wrong... maybe 'your'? Also the professor seemed forgotten after he mentioned that others may have seen the battle with Mightyena, until you mention him taking notes once more... might involve him more as I thought he magically disappeared into a plothole or something... ;)

With an only half-conscious suggestion from Amaren, the abra raised into the air, placing invisible constructions at random points through the battlefield with his telekinesis

I'd say rose. A bit... iffy over 'through' the battlefield as well...

Amaren looked up: the ivysaur had unfolded its single flower to reveal gigantic spore-heads, out of which the leech seeds were still streaming.

'leech seeds' is not capitalised, unlike the other attacks around it.

Stiil, a good chapter - nice battle as well (poor Ivysaur...), and the chapter's pacing was decent as well - nothing major which I could pick, and the 'confussing-ness' that your writing sometimes has was lower as well in this chapter. Keep it up!

 

[Acrutheo]

Comments on Chapter two: Another great chapter. ^^ I'm interested as to Amaren's reaction to a telepathic pokemon. The mind is a reservoir of private thoughts and ideas, and, if I know that if I ever encountered telepathy myself, I would be quite self-conscious. I imagine I'd try to hide the thoughts that I wouldn't want them to find out (obviously this would have the opposite effect) and the telepath would pick up on those immediately. Abra seems to be the type of being that would be at least mildly amused. I just feel that Amaren was not wow-ed enough by this new phenomenon of telepathy, that he wouldn't have experienced living in a village where pokemon and humans seem to stay out of each others' way.

 

[..Beyond]

Nice work overall. I especially like Ytarrik as a character. Good concept to build off of as well, with the whole amish-esque situation.

 

[Luphinid Silnaek]

Acrutheo (1): Thank you for the compliments and corrections. I had fixed those errors twice, but Microsoft Word kept reverting them back. *shoots Word and gets OpenOffice*

bobandbill: I really do need you guys' proofreading to pick out the stranger parts, I do. I commit typographical errors which even spellcheckers can't pick out.

Also the professor seemed forgotten after he mentioned that others may have seen the battle with Mightyena, until you mention him taking notes once more... might involve him more as I thought he magically disappeared into a plothole or something...

Actually, this was intentional. Though the professor is an important influence in their lives, his primary reason for sticking with them is scientific analysis, and this is done best in obscurity, keeping the observation subject almost unaware of your presence. Which Oak has mastered quite well.

'leech seeds' is not capitalised, unlike the other attacks around it.

That, too, is intentional. "leech seeds" is no attack name; it's an actual noun referring to the product of an attack.

Acrutheo (2): Actually, this is also a little intentional. The younger characters will have remarkably few problems of privacy in their childhood, this being a theme of theirs. (Given, they aren't physically small children, but they will show some childlike themes in the early days of this fiction.) Here Amaren hasn't developed the personality complexes which would make him hide from another's scrutiny, so while his competitive spirit occasionally resents the fact that his mind is so accessible to Ytarrik, he mainly gives his privacy little thought. Also, before his friendship is close enough to be this intimate he doesn't really see the abra as another sentient being--it's something like being comfortably nude in front of an animal, where the person feels that, since the idea of shame isn't rooted at all within the animal's simple mind, he or she shouldn't make anything of it. By the time Amaren's begun to apply to Ytarrik the sort of filters he gives to another human being, being a naturally friendly and open soul, he welcomes the abra into his mind. This doesn't mean, though, that his ideas of privacy are nonexistent and will never develop. They will show themselves in cases less exceptional than this.

I see what you mean about his reaction being underwhelming, even so.

..Beyond: Thanks for the review; I'm glad you like it.

 

[Acrutheo]

Comments on Chapter Three:

Once again, a great chapter. I liked how you tied in the legality of attacking a fleeing pokemon, which explains why they just go in the games. It's a personal liking of mine to see things like that, and will be easy for you as a writer to show this through dialogue, since this world of pokemon is totally unfamiliar to Amaren. Out of curiosity, was this in your mind when starting the story?

the Psychic-type Pokèmon Gym, whose displays of telekinesis

The "whose" would suggest the gym is a person.

To the infinite surprise of all involved, including the human, Amaren suddenly seemed to recall some earlier conviction, and ceased his casual insult against Ytarrik.

Should be To the infinite surprise of all involved, including the human, Amaren suddenly seemed to recall some earlier conviction, and ceased his casual insults against Ytarrik.