Poke`mon Centuries and Decades
#|#/P#|#/K/#|#/M/#|#/N/#|#/the/#|#/10th/#|#/M/#|#
Hellorriffic ~ The Tyrant's Legacy
(/\_/| A note and notes from ALL
the Authors |\_/\)
We had fun working together to create this piece of fan-fiction and hope you
will enjoy reading it as it is typed up by our Editor(who is exceedingly slow,
we have too late discovered) and published by the 'Joltmaster' of TPT(who is
the most gracious host of THIS, our work).
Please excuse any plot holes there are in our work(and there ARE at least
half-a-dozen, because we only revised this twice before we were fairly
satisfied with it) and feel free to lay the blame for them on the makeover we
suspect the Editor will give it, while he edits it.
Signed with sincerity, greetings and
wish-you-wells,
by ALL the Authors(using our chosen pen names and in
a style we agreed upon). Alphabetically, as follows;
Friend and Classmate,
Cullen Huemaighn, of Dark Forestville
Personal Note:
(Icicleons do NOT rule~
They serve their lofty masters,
the Umbreons, meekly,
with trembling and dread!)
Friend and Classmate,
Travist Kiltern, of Mirage Forestville
Personal Note:
(Fun fact: Three of the last four Master Magicians
of the Ifaenn continent, came from Mirage Forestville.
However, my hometown lays no claims to
originating the evil sorcerer, Meerlock.)
Friend and Classmate,
Raole` Lioster, of Bobbin Town
Personal Note:
(' . . .and then shall rise,
the water poke`mon. . .')
Friend and Classmate,
JoAnn Mari ` arryn, of Little City
Personal Note:
(I'm short in stature ~ and admittedly in brains.
I lived in a small house in Little City, and apparently
my starter poke`mon was the runt of his 'litter'.
It's little wonder ~ pun only half intended ~
that I've developed a 'tiny' complex.
Nothing small about my Journey acquired poke`mon,
I can tell you. If you see a three story
molimerd headed your way, play it safe
and do the smart thing; tell him
you're for Mari`arryn, not against her.)
Friend and Classmate,
Allent McLean, of Thermal Town
Personal Note:
(If you've never 'kicked' back
and relaxed in a thermal spring,
my hometown is the place to try it!)
Real-world twins, Friends and
Classmates,
Gilly and Liddy Montrose, of Thunderroot Town
Personal Note:
(We would not live,
in towns apart,
for it would seem to us,
as WORLDS apart.)
Friend and Classmate,
Shelly Seashor, of Surfsup City
Personal Note:
(I really, REALLY like the
Shell Bell from the Ruby
and Sapphire Versions.
You can send me Shoal
Salt and Shoal Shells ANYtime!)
Friend and Classmate,
Jaries Vemmer of Cold Cliffs Town
Personal Note:
(Icicleons Rule!!!)
Friend and Classmate,
Kirkus Vi`emet, of Industrial City
Personal Note:
(Guess Who:
'Well, I've taken the first piece
without much difficulty - it's
like a simple game of chess.')
Friend and Classmate,
Birtie`r Willicent, of Bugzburg City
(Bug spray is cruel stuff - I'll
swat anyone who wears it
around my poke`mon teamers!)
P. S. From ALL of us;
We do hereby challenge the Editor to make some snappy comments about our
insults, in his Introduction.)
{=:{~~| Introduction by the Editor
|~~}:=}
I figure I'll do a short Introduction for the Short Prologue, so this
won't make you see with any clarity, just how this work of fan-fiction
originated. I'll give you those juicy details in my full Introduction with the
Long Prologue.
I will tell you when, however: mid to late summer '03. So there was not
even a whisper of POKE`MON the eighth movie. 4EVER had been released, I
believe, and POKE`MON HEROES was about due to hit home DVD. Having not seen The
Eighth Movie yet ~ just previews on the Internet ~ I cannot say if there are
any striking resemblances between this work and the plotline of 8.
The Authors couldn't bring themselves not to have Brock and Misty, so for
this fictitious feature film script and story, they are traveling with Ash ~
still and once more. Who can say where the television series will go? Certainly
Ash won't be going anywhere.
They have also grafted in two new traveling companions for Ash ~ Ayana
and Marcus, younger sister/older brother ~ but these do not have much of a role
in the storyline of this work. The Authors tell me they think Ash would pick up
new companions on a new continent. Ifaenn is what they propose for the new
continent, and this as their proposed storyline for the tenth movie, would
logically come to the USofA in late '07.
And yeah, the Authors think I'm slow ~ I even hear they refer to me as
'turdle' behind my back ~ but it's not my fault the whole lot of them write in
'greek hen scratch'. Either that or someone passing by with a dustpan full of
metal filings sneezed. One thing to remember about turtles: unless they get
themselves turned into a wallet or soup, they will get where they are going to
~ And so won't I.
As far as laying the blame for plot holes at the mouth of my secluded
cave ~ or the foot of my rocking tree, as you prefer ~ that is a hoothoot of a
laugh. The storyline I was handed was like an amateur swordsman after a run-in
with a scyther. The only reason this story's vitality doesn't leak out, is
because I, Nurse 'Turdle', stitched it up with about a mile of thread ~ Pick a
color, any color.
I will admit this work is only mine as far as I have altered it and
filled in massed hordes of details. You see, this storyline was actually done
as a sort of screenplay; I'm only making it a bit more reader friendly. I was
provided with storyline notes by the parties listed above, which helped keep my
poor aching head from splitting wide open. I was even given character profiles,
but you wouldn't believe how much ad libbing I have had to do ~ or maybe you
might.
NOTE: Parentheses ( ) are a note from the Authors, and these marks { }
are a note from me, the Editor.
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True Prologue{Short Version}
(To set the stage and ~ hopefully ~ suck
you completely into the story-line.)
~`.~`.~`.~`.~`.~`.~`.~`.~
354 A.K.D. (32 Years Before the Unveiling)
~`.~`.~`.~`.~`.~`.~`.~`.~
Within the walls of the Temple of
the Holy Eternal Light,
located in the so-called 'forbidden village' of Semliah...
A young man named Maven Jizai, stood inside the relatively small
courtyard of the most sacred inner portion, of the temple of his people. He had
not even seen inside this place before, let alone set foot into it. But his
turn had come and now, this right was his.
His was the duty of leading the GHELs now. His was the duty to guide and
to protect and to preserve. His was the power to change. And there were things
that needed to change, in his opinion.
Where power and privilege had corrupted so many before him, he merely
felt a great weight of responsibility descend upon him, there in the Chamber of
Pillars and Ashes. Where he had been excited and eager to come in here, just
moments ago, he now felt serious and solemn. He did not doubt that in five
minute of standing in the middle of the chamber and slowly turning circles to
view what could be seen within it, he had matured more than in the last ten
years of his life.
And if he had truly matured ~ evolved a better, more practical point of
view ~ then now was a good time to rethink the changes he had thought should be
made ~ when he had been his old self ~ to see whether he still felt so strongly
they were needed.
It didn't take much soul-searching ~ he did.
'ALL but one of the Shadow Pieces must be dispersed from this place,'
he thought grimly, 'and some sort of convincing decoy must be established,
to turn the attention of the Followers from here.'
He knew exactly how he would have the first accomplished and he had some
ideas along that second line. However, there was a third matter that needed
attending to, as well ~ a search needed to begin, for the foretold 'Endowed
Ones'.
His father had tried to teach him to be patient, but he was ~ even now ~
not a patient man, any more than he had been a patient boy. He hoped that
patience was more a quality of the old than it was of the mature, or else his
visit to this Chamber had not matured him as much as he had thought.
'I must start to put things in motion, tomorrow,' he told himself
firmly. 'No,' he amended after several seconds of further thought, 'that
is not soon enough.'
--He would see that it began now...
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~`.~`.~`.~`.~`.~`.~`.~`.~
387 A.K.D. (The Year of the Unveiling)
~`.~`.~`.~`.~`.~`.~`.~`.~
/^/^/^/^/Janury{January}(The
8th)\^\^\^\^\
On the grounds of the corporate headquarters of a certain company,
two partners have exchanged greetings and get down to business...
"This is the printout of a PM I received early this morning," Jerald
informed his partner, as he handed it to her.
She took it for granted that she was supposed to read it, and did so, her
eyebrows lifting as she realized what the carefully worded message was saying
in a roundabout way.
When she was finished ~ it didn't take long, as the message was fairly
short ~ she observed dryly, "It surprises me this doesn't happen every
other day, considering what they are rumored to believe."
"Not rumored," Jerald corrected her quickly. "Anything
anyone outside the Following hears, is fact published proudly by they
themselves."
"No word, I suppose, on whether the coup was very messy or
not?" she ventured with a twisted smile of satisfaction ~ She didn't like
the FEDs any more than Jerald did.
'It would be convenient if they fell apart during our reign of crime,'
she thought to herself, but not with much hope. The Followers had been lurking
in the shadows of the Ifaenn continent, for as long as she could remember.
But her partner's response to that question, was to shake his head with
amused pity, and say condescendingly, "Gertrude, Gertrude, my sweet little
ninny of a-"
Gertrude cut him off, her look brooding and her tone most definitely
cross. "So tell me what I don't know!" she demanded of him.
"No Tyrannical Master of the Followers has ever come into his title
and authority through a coup," Jerald responded gravely. He actually
frowned as he continued, "That is what makes their little cult so
dangerous and long lived ~ and certainly unique."
"Worshippers of Darkness and Evil who don't vie for position among
themselves?" she shot back questioningly, not sure she had heard him
right. "What I hope you mean, is that they simply haven't spread the
reports of attempted or successful coups around," she suggested.
"As could be," he conceded. "But the longevity of the
Following cult, suggests otherwise. Unless they run a tighter organization than
we do."
"Isn't that the possibility that has always made you watchful of
them?" Gertrude pressed him quietly.
"Nothing to watch," her partner muttered nervously. "The
only thing I've been doing, is watching out for them."
Gertrude smiled wickedly to herself at his mental discomfort and
suggested, trying successfully to sound sympathetic and helpful, "Do you
want to set Rosoe and Bowencoe onto them?"
"Not yet," Jerald answered. He noted that Gertrude looked
miffed again and so he quickly explained, "They'll tip their cards
sometime and our organization is in the best position to see their hand."
She responded by pressing her point with feeling. "But if we can
make them nervous, they might tip their hand sooner!" she objected keenly.
"Perhaps. But will they show the cards we want to see, if they feel
coerced?" Jerald countered in his persuasive tone.
Gertrude withdrew from her attack and her immature pouting expression
came into her face. "Whatever! You're the brains," she acknowledged,
"I'm just the good-looking half."
She banished her unbecoming expression suddenly and pointed out
begrudgingly, "And you're the one who plays poke`money."
Jerald favored her with his purest, loving smile and did not disagree.
With the local police and continental authorities, he and his partner
played chess, he fancied. But against fellow criminals, they played more after
the fashion of poke`money.
--There was always at least a small
pot to be claimed...
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/^/^/^/^/Janury(Two days
later)\^\^\^\^\
In his sickroom, within his grand hut in the midst of his village,
a man of authority in Semliah comes to a decision...
He had been putting it off for as long as possible, but with the news of
the rise to power of a new Tyrannical Master of the Followers, and with the
alarming progression of his disease, it could mean disaster to wait any longer.
He was forgetting that Destiny is predominantly bright, and would not
depend on any actions of his, to set its course.
He raised himself up slightly on his sickbed, fighting the urge to cough
rackingly, and called in as loud a voice as he could summon from his parched
throat, for his grandson to be invited to him. He could not bring himself to
make it a command; Doovian was already somewhat resentful of the wedge he had
driven recently, between the boy and his father.
He needed for the sake of eternity's future, to tread very carefully...
[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]
It was done.
He was content that his grandson understood his grandfather's fears, and
that the boy would work to see they did not become realities.
He knew he would live for months longer, in all probability, but now he
could sleep better at night, knowing that there was a check on his son's
authority.
He trusted Doovian to do the right things. The lad was wise; he had
wisdom beyond his years of life.
Eternity's future would be safe.
--Resting on the shoulders of an
eight year old boy...
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/^/^/^/^/Febury{February}(Five
weeks later)\^\^\^\^\
Some distance from a Team Target mission supply warehouse,
a man views the overgrowth surrounded building...
It was set back in the forest, conveniently enough ~ some of the other
MECHAs were right in the warehouse districts of the towns and cities they were
operational in.
Here, unlike the other strike sites, the Followers under his command
would not have to be so secretive. And if they could overcome any resistance,
it might mean advancement for him, as the Mission-appointed Tyrant.
He hoped there were plenty of dark poke`mon to retrieve from this MECHA.
Some had proved to be lacking in that particular stock, according to rumor.
And resistance had always proved sadly lacking. Apparently, Team Target's
MECHAs depended on their legitimate fronts and discreet usage, to safeguard
their contents, not tight security. That fact had made the Storms easier, but
easy mission conditions don't lead to distinguishing circumstances.
He rose from his position ~ crouched down in marsh grass to the south of
the MECHA warehouse's front cargo entrance ~ and waved the signal to his
Stormforce Shadow Agents to the east and west of it.
He turned to his wolventessi and ordered her quietly, "Go blow the
warehouse down."
She darted from the cover of the marsh grass, straight for it, as his
Shadow Agents led the Following Adherents from their cover.
'Let us in,' he thought with dark amusement and quite unsmilingly.
[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]
The Team Target members manning the MECHA proved to be a solid dozen, and
they were armed with the weapons the Followers feared most ~ Dart guns.
Furious, he had little choice but to recall his agents and retreat.
Fortunately, only poke`mon had been 'slept' so far ~ He would not be
leaving a Follower behind, if he drove the TTs back.
His first shot was calculated to give one of them a hint, and his armed
Agents opened up as well.
Operation MECHAStorm was blown, now that reports would reach Jerald that
some of the Followers actually carried weapons. If they ever tried to Storm
again, it would be at the risk of facing killingly armed TTs; something the
Tyrannical Master would not allow.
His wolventessi was lost, and he knew he would be lucky to survive his
Master's wrath.
--Now more than ever, the Tyrant's
rise to power was dependant on uncovering the Shadow Force...
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/^/^/^/^/Jorna{March}(Three weeks
later)\^\^\^\^\
Amid the jumbled stones of a long fallen castle,
several figures stand with various expectations...
"Are you ready to succeed?" he asked forcefully, giving each of
the three volunteers a hard look.
"Yes!" they responded with genuine enthusiasm. To his ears it
was a grim chorus of blind loyalty ~ He hoped he would never be so in the dark.
He considered cruelly that the two men were expendable, but the beautiful
redheaded young woman, who was the third volunteer of this attempt, would be a
shameful waste ~ if this attempt failed.
His face was split by a broad grin suddenly, and he told them with a
favoring nod, "That's good to hear; I want you to succeed."
That was true enough. If these three were destroyed in this attempt, just
as the other attempt teams were, then surface excavations would have to
commence ~ And that type of operation could not go unnoticed for very long.
Turning to the bedarkened uncoleor beside him, he folded his hands behind
his back and loudly informed it with a confidence he didn't feel, "You may
teleport them below when you are ready."
He gave the poke`mon a meaningful look; he knew the psychic type would
follow a command more readily, but the look would keep it from announcing
dutifully, that it would not be ready for quite some time.
The black truth of the matter, was that the uncoleor just wasn't powerful
enough to teleport them to the necessary depth.
His gaze drifted back to the redhead, and for six seconds that was where
he held it, until she and the older men beside her, vanished in a muted flash
of pink-major, rainbow-spotty light.
He waited a full twenty seconds more, then asked the psychic poke`mon
without looking down at it, "They faired no better than the others, did
they?"
Unable to show most of the emotions in the spectrum, the uncoleor
answered in a flat monotone, with only seething anger at itself. [No, Director;
I have failed again.]
"I promised you three strikes," he then reminded the poke`mon.
[Which was unnecessarily merciful and generous of you,] it responded with
a sort of glowering gratefulness in its voice.
It's 'Director' marveled at how far the bedarkened poke`mon's thinking
had been twisted. The truly merciful thing would be for him to forgive its
failure yet again. But he had to draw the line somewhere, and soon, or the
Reigning Tyrant would draw a line through him!
"You know what you must do?" he asked the psychic
significantly.
[Certainly,] came the uncoleor's reply. [With your permission?]
"You have it, of course. Or would you perhaps prefer to suffer the
humiliation of receiving the order from your Tyrannical Master?" the
Director inquired, darkly amused. The dark humor was not lost on the bedarkened
poke`mon.
[Not unless you think he would enjoy giving it,] it ventured with a tight
grin.
"He probably would," the Director observed. "But we won't
bother him with your fate."
He would be reporting another failed attempt, and this time, the loss of
their most powerful dark psychic.
--At least he wouldn't be directing
a pick and shovel detail when he returned to these Ruins...
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/^/^/^/^/Yamaz{May}(Nine weeks
later)\^\^\^\^\
From the highest point on his estate,
a Squire looks out upon distant ruins...
They were showing signs of methodical excavation, now. Whoever had been
looking for whatever, over the last few months, was stepping up their efforts.
It was ~ technically ~ vandalism, so he could report the situation to the
town's Sheriff, but he hesitated to open any official inquiries. Word of a
person or persons unknown rooting through the ruins with any amount of
determination, would draw treasure hunters for a certainty.
And the burdened Sheriff had his hands quite full enough, trying to trace
the assumed gang behind a string of professionally executed thefts in the Town,
recently.
He assumed the searchers were a disorganized group of would-be tomb
raiders, probably unruly hellions from in-town. He hoped therefore that a
single call would squelch their enthusiasm and drive them away completely.
He had been meaning to make that call for over a year now. He knew he
should have made it two months ago at the least, when he was made aware of the
discreet shifting of the piles of ruin-rubble ~ Meltweiuna tended to notice
small discrepancies in just about anything having to do with the overall
security of his estate.
The fact that Lickle had not reported any strange scents merely indicated
that the secretive trespassers knew of the puppidice, and only worked in the
ruins when the wind was blowing in their favor.
Of course, he could have Meltweiuna and Lickle put the fear of fire and
ice into them, but he knew he might be wrong about just who the excavators
were, so he didn't want to risk that his poke`mon might be overmatched.
Besides, that rash of thefts in-town meant he should keep them close to
the mansion at night.
"Yes," he said thoughtfully, "I should not delay any
longer; it would not be wise."
He smiled self-indulgently and added quietly, "After all, who knows
what valuable artifacts are to be found below ground-level?"
Trespassing scavengers had finished picking the surface rubble clean over
a hundred years ago. But their efforts had stopped there.
--It was time to take Professor
Fallendow up on his long-standing offer...
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/^/^/^/^/Yamaz(Four days
later)\^\^\^\^\
In a rooftop apartment, somewhere in Versus City,
the Tyrannical Master of the Followers was not pleased...
The covert operation was stymied, then.
There was word from his locally Assigned Watcher, that the ruins of the
castle were ~ in effect ~ now under twenty-four hour guard.
Even if the efforts so far had not been discovered, then the risk was
increased ten-fold ~ the risk of an even larger discovery.
It was true his followers were fanatically loyal and sworn to die before
they revealed anything about him or his 'occult' movement, but that did not
make him any more inclined to put them into situations where they might be
captured alive by public authorities ~ or, as unlikely as it was, by an
over-zealous private citizen.
The MECHAStorm operation had been quite risky enough, so he would hand
off the Ruins Op. to his new, money hungry pawns. Jerald and Gertrude had
proved most helpful, so far, and he would try them out with this new, priority
task.
' 'Try' is not a fitting word,' he realized with an unhappy frown.
'I really have no choice.'
And he needed to send a messenger immediately. He could not tell how
water-tight Jerald would want the operation to be, before the man would set it
spinning to it's objective fulfillment. But he did know that the longer his
staff had to plan, the more pleased Jerald would be.
And it usually paid well, to keep one's pawns happy.
" 'Fallendow'," he murmured thoughtfully, as he reached for the
Lanturnflash on a shelf beside him ~ that was the name of the Professor whose
team was famed for it's fast work.
--He hoped Jerald's team could beat
them to anything useful...
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/^/^/^/^/Yamaz(The next
day)\^\^\^\^\
In the spacious, ground floor cafeteria of the Trioomventi Corporation,
a man becomes aware of familiar footfalls approaching him from behind...
"Well?" the tall, thin man pressed in a low voice, after he had swallowed his bite of cherry roasted, beef jerky.
Beside him, his constant bodyguard, a crossbolt, lifted his face and made respectful eye contact with the approaching figure, fingering his handmade weapon, not in a conscious gesture of warning, a silent threat, but unconsciously, reflecting his subconscious training.
The man in authority sat up a little straighter on his bar stool at the
cafeteria's countersection near it's kitchen, and slowly swung around to level
a narrow gaze upon the grimly smiling face behind him. He rarely heard those
footfalls, and he realized - just at this moment - that it was only ever in the
cafeteria. 'One can always feel that intense gaze upon one, however,' he
admitted to himself for the hundredth time, with an inward smile of amusement.
The man he was demanding a report from, was his RHM(Right-Hand Man), a
loyal and refreshingly un-ambitious fellow, by the name of Roscoe
Arte`fimoor. Or rather, the man had one, highly desirable, ambition: to serve
his boss well. And he did.
"Well, you were right in your suspicions, Sir," Roscoe
responded slowly. "He only brought two poke`mon with him, and BOTH of them
were of our reported losses. The first was a detennon ~ designation 5/M(uscle)
P(ower)-12/D(ark) ~ and the second was a spouder ~ 8/H(ydro) F(orce)-31. Slash
Dee, as well, of course," he added, so as not to come across as insulting
he boss's knowledge of his own organization's affairs, workings and unfortunate
events.
"Stolen from Little City and Afflowtin, respectively," the man
on the bar stool mused calmly.
The crossbolt looked at his master - the co-boss of Team Target - with
hooded eyes and inquired knowingly, [You are not going to stand for them any
longer, are you, Big J?]
"I WILL have to send them a clear message..." Big J muttered
darkly, "...about messing with my Supply Depots and any of my operations
that tickle their fancy."
[But you have said ~ many times ~ that 'people fear what they do not
know',] quoted the insightful poke`mon, inwardly surprised at his master's
restraint. [And we realize,] he continued, [that the general public knows less
about THIS secretive cult, than they even know about US. Has not the time come
to bring the Followers to light?]
"No, I think not," Jerald informed the poke`mon with a stern
look. "You send a clear message to those that threaten your security, and
they take the hint and off, or they might even become valuable allies. We can
do very lucrative business with the Followers, especially if we can make them
pay for what they want enough to steal from the Organization."
"We can postpone the Marrvellian Job for a couple of days; a week,
if we have to," Roscoe reminded his boss.
"And we shall," came the determined response. "I'm going
to give my partner a buzz, and see if she can possibly spare your opposite
number. Whether she can or not, you have a new, priority mission..."
Roscoe hoped his 'opposite' WAS available - they worked well together ~
for a very special reason.
"And what would that mission be?" he asked his boss dutifully;
he had a good idea, already.
"We should find out more about their 'exalted' tyrant,"
he pronounced, with a definitive slap upon the counter beside him. "He's
too ambitious - I smell a power play about to come down around someone’s
ears! And it won't be our organization that comes out the loser...."
--He wondered how he could manage to
sound so sure; he didn't feel anything of the sort...
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/^/^/^/^/Yamaz(Two days
later)\^\^\^\^\
Forewarned of trouble by his alarm system and unsure of the wisdom of doing so,
a man pushes open the door to his assumably burgled display room with
trepidation...
He saw immediately that a third of his collection of highly breakable
sculptures, statues and statuettes, had been shattered, their chips, shards and
chunks scattered across the floor from their points of impact at the foot of
the shelving where they had been displayed.
His blood seemed to still in his veins as he realized a certain one was
missing from its place on the display shelving.
'Oh Goddess no!' he thought with horror, his eyes going through
the wreckage on the floor once again, more carefully this time, searching for
certain remains.
"Oh Goddess yes," he muttered with dismay ~ the fragments of
the Semliahn statue his niece Rebbekka had entrusted to him for safekeeping,
were there to be seen.
He had sent Lickle and Meltweiuna to try to capture the thief before he
left the grounds and now he hoped even more that they succeeded.
He could suffer the loss of any amount of his things, but he would take
the destruction of Rebbekka's property out of the culprit's hide.
For his own sake, the thief would do well to prove himself a very fast
talker.
[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]
Forty minutes later, standing defiantly, flanked by both the moltanti and
the puppidice, the thief eyed his handiwork with placid calm.
Jamison examined him thoughtfully, as though he were one of the
gems upon the floor of the display room.
Lickle looked tense and righteously indignant. Meltweiuna on the other
hand, floating with her eyes closed, just a bit behind and to the left of the
captured criminal, could not have mirrored the man's calm more perfectly.
She was reading his mood psyche and he could tell by her reactions to his
reactions, if the man was lying or not.
'A highly dependable lie detector,' Jamison thought confidently. 'Let
us hear what you have to say, mister.'
"You are a very skilled, very unusual thief," he observed to
the night-shrouded man. "Have you ever had cause to learn the routine for
these circumstances?"
"Never been caught before," the unabashed thief replied coolly,
reaching into his 'hug satchel' and removing something.
Lickle growled warningly, but the thief ignored him and underhanded the
object to Jamison.
"I'll explain if I can walk out of here in one piece," he told
his captor evenly. "Otherwise your curiosity can eat at your innards and
I'll go my silently merry way to the local courthouse."
Staring wondrously at the object in his hands, Jamison decided he valued
information above justice.
"Deal!" he responded forcefully. "Now, where did you get
this?"
[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]
By the time Jamison let him go fifteen minutes later, he felt like the
thief had done him a favor in destroying the Semliahn statue.
He had also gotten a glimpse of the Darkness that was about to engulf the
continent.
Jamison walked in his gardens all that night with Meltweiuna.
--And he held a piece of the
terrifying future in his hands...
[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]
/^/^/^/^/Yamaz(The next
day)\^\^\^\^\
In a roped off 'members only' corner of the challenge arena,
a certain gym's leader grooms one of her poke`mon...
"Legenda?" came a familiar voice behind her.
She turned abruptly, thinking to herself, 'This is probably the moment
of truth.'
Her arcanine picked up on her own sense of foreboding, and the odd tone
in the voice that she herself noted. The poke`mon's gaze was set on the favored
gym member standing behind her, before she was even half turned.
"What was the emergency about, Rebbekka?" she asked with
seeming calm. She refused to respond vocally at the rate her heart was beating.
The arcanine padded unobtrusively ~ despite her size ~ to Legenda's side,
and fixed her gaze in her own considerate way upon the floor at Rebbekka's
feet. Sheena knew her gaze unnerved trainers at the worst of times, and by the
tone of Rebbekka's voice, now was probably one of them.
The seventeen-year-old girl wasn't caught by surprise that her Gym Leader
assumed it was an emergency. Her uncle only called every Sunday, so a call
mid-week meant something wasn't right.
Even Giniya had looked slightly alarmed, when Carl had informed her a
call from her uncle was on hold at the front desk. He had given her a
questioning look, as well.
"It was about the statue...." Rebbekka suspected she wouldn't
need to say anything more.
She was right as far as explanations went ~ Details were what Legenda
wanted.
"Was it smashed or stolen whole?" she inquired in a
near-whisper, her heart rate feeling like it had doubled again, instantly.
" 'Smashed accidentally'," Rebbekka quoted her uncle.
"It doesn't matter how, right now or ever, but Uncle Jamison didn't
mention anything about there being a new stone in his collection. He did
mention specifically that the thief didn't take any of the loosed gems and
stones from several other shattered works of sculpted art, but that he cracked
the safe in the display room where all the works were kept, and made off with
it's contents ~ Again nothing of real value stolen."
"The safe was a gamble in the hopes of a blind, most likely,"
Legenda pronounced distantly. "We know the thief left with what he was
looking for."
"Or rather," she added, rousing herself, "What someone
else is looking for."
--Semliah had to be informed of this
farther proof of their suspicions ~ No…fears...
[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]
/^/^/^/^/Yamaz{Same day}(Hours
later)\^\^\^\^\
Legenda's word has just reached the village of Semliah,
carried by a dutiful messenger poke`mon...
"Avessi just flew in," Doovian announced to his grandfather, as
he entered the sickroom.
There was no need for him to elaborate. Avessi was a fire/flying type
rednal of the Shining Ones entrusted to be trained by Legenda and her Gym
Members. She brought emergency communications to the village from Legenda,
about things happening outside the Forbidden Forest ~ Important things.
He saw his grandfather's eyes open wide, and his head turned towards him.
The piercing gray eyes locked with calm interest upon the opened message
container in Doovian's hand, and he asked in a low voice, "What does she
report?"
The boy sat heavily in the seat next to the sickbed, and replied in a
shaky voice. "The moonami stone at the Ruins has been discovered. If it
isn't in the hands of the Followers, it soon will be."
Maven nodded understandingly, closed his eyes again, and whispered
something so quietly that Doovian almost couldn't hear; "The time for the
Contention is coming swiftly. The Curtain of the Shadows is about to be pulled
back."
His grandson didn't doubt the truth of these statements, but hoped they
were not, nonetheless.
--Doovian did not feel ready for his
Destiny yet...
[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]
/^/^/^/^/Yamaz(The next day, in
the earliest hours)\^\^\^\^\
The Followers having orders from their TM to stay clear,
Team Target now haunts the Ruins Estate for one, black night...
The Team Target Operation's Chief stood on a small mountain of ruin
stones, watching for activity within the camp in the near distance before him.
He knew his tocus had started topside efforts by this time and kept
glancing over his shoulder for the poke`mon's return.
When the psychic type stood next to him minutes later, he inquired of him
impatiently, "Well, Rendal? Any problem?"
[Barely enough room for the beacon rig,] the tocus informed his Mission
Commander and actual trainer, unhappily. [I am going to tire quickly.]
"Can you ‘shift’ where your team is clearing, from here?" OCley
Two ventured intently.
[Not as well as if I was much closer,] Rendal admitted freely. [I should
return to them and save myself extra, unnecessary effort, should I not?]
"Yes ~ do so immediately,” his trainer ordered him firmly, then
advised mildly, “And let Excavo and the others use their terrible muscles ~
they can use the exercise."
[Very good cloud cover ~ certainly a perfect night for covertion,] the
tocus observed, [But must you stand in plain sight of the camp?]
"As you say, excellent cloud cover,” the taller figure agreed
amiably. “Now head back, please."
Rendal did without another word, picking his way carefully through the
ruins as his trainer watched him out of sight.
OCley Two smiled to himself and stepped back from the zenith of the ridge
of ruins and settled so as no more than from his eyes up could be seen from the
distant camp, should anyone happen to look.
At night and at this distance between his lookout position and the camp,
high-quality, night vision binoculars would be needed to see him ~ better even
than the ones he had. And a keen, observant eye would have to be at them.
--But he knew, to take unnecessary
chances could be a punishable folly...
[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]
/^/^/^/^/Yamaz(That same
morning)\^\^\^\^\
In the bowels of the Ruins,
a man's life hangs by a wire...
He realized with dismay, as he put his hand to his belt and found the
usually occupied loop empty, that the splash he had heard moments before, had
been his LuthorMannex multi-tool.
Frostika's voice floated up to him softly, fearfully: [Brett? What's that
green glow I see you in?]
He rocked so as to turn himself slightly, grunting at the accentuated
pain the motion caused in his snared ankle, and caught sight of the light's
source; a digital display set into a squared bulk he could make out by the
light of his dropped flash below him.
And on the bottom, which he saw thanks to his ensnared angle, he could
see a white-painted symbol on the dull black metal ~ It was the Quiverfear
sign.
"Oh Goddess! Run Frostika!" he shouted to the alarmed icicleon
with tortured agony. It went against his mental grain to send her away; he
didn't want to die alone.
[What is it, Master?] she demanded in a panic and reacted in a natural
way ~ loyally.
His tone of voice had been emotionally unsettling, so she also cried
determinedly, sounding tearful, [I won't leave you!]
Further, she did not let him respond before she begged of him vehemently,
[What can I do to help you?]
"Nothing measurable," he replied finally, controlling his voice
now. He watched the timer tick over to nine seconds and continued with sudden
calm, "What you can do for me is warn the others."
[Of what?] she pressed him, relaxing a little in response to his own calm.
[What threatens you?] She took a comforting viewpoint and ran with it. [Oh! You
mean tell the others you need their help,] she said breathily, relieved.
"Yes, yes," he agreed nervously. His eyes were glued to the
timer, but his mind was working feverishly to figure out how to get her to go
quickly.
"Just tell the ATTA Guards to come down first if they can, and to
watch their step," he told her beseechingly.
[Of course I will,] she responded doubtfully. She was taken aback by the
pleading quality of his voice. [And they'll get you down from there, right?]
she demanded suspiciously.
"That's the general idea of getting help," he responded through
gritted teeth, dismayed she seemed to suspect he wasn't being square with her.
"Now go! This snare wire hurts like the dickens," he added forcefully
with an appropriate groan.
She understood clearly then, that he was going to die.
[Why should I leave you to die alone?] she demanded desperately, guessing
that time was somehow short.
"Because you can't die for me, but you can live for me," he
told her steadily, mentally sagging in defeat; now he wondered if he could
convince her to leave.
He knew she really did consider him her master, so he trusted a direct
command would work. "Now, hurry and go! Don't hesitate! Survive!" He
was careful to enunciate without allowing a pleading tone to encroach on his
possible direct authority over her.
She sensed it wasn't so much the idea of his own death that terrified him
at this moment, but his desperate fear that she would die too.
She could die with him, in disobedience, or live as he wished her too ~
No ~ as he commanded her to.
Obediently, she turned and fled.
His voice filled her ears as she raced for the surface: "Please
survive Frostika!"
She began to weep. She could not allow herself to let go and sob; it
would impair her breathing and therefore lessen her swiftness.
[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]
She was gone, and he knew he was to die alone. Thankfully in the noblest
way ~ he had not insisted she stay and die with him.
'How could I have been such a fool!?!' he screamed inwardly; his
IQ approached one-ninety on a bad day. And yet here he was about to die in so
undignified a way as upside down because of what amounted to low-grade idiocy.
What made him so sure of his idiocy, was the fact that the ATTA Guardsmen
had said they should lead and 'clear', when they had realized they were dealing
with Team Target.
He may not have been thinking clearly on the conscious level, but logical
instinct takes over in tight spots for some people ~ And his subconscious logic
served him as well as it could, in this moment of certain death.
For lack of anything better, and feeling helplessly and bitterly
frustrated, Prof. Fallendow flailed abruptly and kicked the time bomb as it
ticked down from two to one.
Eighty-one hundredths of a second
later, the bomb went off...
[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]
/^/^/^/^/Yamaz{Same day}(Hours
later)\^\^\^\^\
Outside, in front of a certain shop,
in the business district of a certain city...
The Squire of the Ruins Estate lifted a large, unusually cut gem to stare
into it's clouded pink depths with great interest and mused aloud, " 'How'
and 'why', indeed. So, that is why she said my secured display room was 'a
good, safe place for it', in that memorably odd tone of voice."
He had an odd sort of smile on his lips ~ he could cut a deal as
beautifully as this gem was cut, he was sure.
Even as he still eyed the gem, his Selecon phone began to ring.
Slightly annoyed but recovering himself quickly, he retrieved his viascom
phone from his vest pocket and activated it to complete the link someone was
trying to establish with him.
He recognized the face instantly and was not sorry he had gone to the
trouble of putting on a real smile ~ it was Prof. Fallendow’s daughter.
He realized a moment later though, that she was not smiling. In fact, she
looked worried and frightened, about to cry ~ and not for the first time in
very recent hours, by the look of her eyes.
"Siori? What is wrong?" he inquired, his stomach tightening.
*\"There were Team Target agents in the ruins last night,"/*
she answered tearfully. *\"Father was critically injured when he pressed
them...'/*
Jamison closed his eyes in shock. What else could Team Target want in the
Ruins but…?
He snapped his eyes back open and smiled grimly at the young woman almost
three hundred miles away. “Keep faith Siori,” he said encouragingly, “You know
I am coming just as quickly as I can.”
She nodded and he let her break their connection from her end.
Casting his dignity to the wind, Jamison began to run.
--Only the Goddess knew what had
been taken and he might never know...
[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]
/^/^/^/^/Yamaz{Same day}(Hours
later)\^\^\^\^\
Team Target's Jerald sits in his legitimate office,
thumbing through the 'black night's' details...
According to the Mission Report, the divers had found the remains of two
bodies in the Ruins Chamber. What was apparently ~ or had been ~ a necklace of
gold, was undergoing analysis in a chemicals lab, within his legitimate
organization's headquarters: Trioomventi Corp.
Jerald was disappointed in the results of the recovery effort ~ the more
so because of the kinks that had cropped up in the mission's execution.
The Followers had wanted something special from the Chamber, and he could
not bring himself to believe anything amid the meager findings was what they
expected.
[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]<">[#{:}#]
There were three crystals within the gold, about an inch and a half long,
with an 'amplified focus' cut ~ 'shadowami' the report from the lab called
them.
'In keeping with their goals,' Jerald thought uneasily, wondering
if the Followers considered them sacred relics.
'Or perhaps they are useful as more than objects of worship?' he
mused. Certainly, an iron grip over the continent ~ as the first tyrant,
Keiaheika, once had ~ was the ultimate goal of the present Tyrannical Master of
the Followers. How dangerous would it be to hand the crystals over to him?
Jerald ran a finger over the gold's smoothness, and wished he had the
guts and less of a sense of honor, to just lock the heavily problematic
artifacts away in his most secure safe, and claim 'no promising results' to the
Tyrant.
He could stall for a bit, but surely the Followers knew the job was done
and over with? Except for the conclusive delivery.
--He didn't have long to consider
the risks involved, either way...
[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]>~<[|#|]