Laevateinn
Ghost-Type Trainer
NOTE: This fan-fic has been approved by mods Psychic and Dragonfree.
Greetings, my fellow readers.
So, this is not only my first fanfic (though I've had plenty of experience writing) on Serebii, but also my first public R-rated work too, so that means double the nervousness!
Anyway, I got this idea while listening to 'True to Form' by Hybrid. I've provided the link because I think the lyrics reflect my protagonist a little bit, but the song is lengthy, so you don't have to listen if you don't wish to.
Why did this story get the R rating? Mostly for the grapic violence. But there are other things I need to point out: This story deals with sensitive issues such as slavery, prostitution and, to an extent, religious differences that might not be everybody's cup of tea. Just sayin'.
The PM List:
Enough of my chatter, though, or we'll never get to the story. So, ladies, gentlemen and... Pokemon... if any Pokemon are capapble of viewing stories... I give you:
The dark void of night crashed onto the fragile claws of ice, crushing what little energy the frigid shards still had into nothingness. At one stage the sky and this frigid tundra had been allies - when night was known as day - and had painted the bland white landscape with a firework display of oranges, purples, reds, a parade of colours. But alas, as the tenuous alliance between these two forces began to shatter, dawn became dusk, then slaughtered its cohort with the bleakest shade of blackness. The sky studied its work of art - a corpse, bleached to the palest of bones, lacking movement, however something caught the heaven’s eye: A parasite. A living speck. Drifting from shard of ice to shard of ice, vermin, yet the small dot below paid no attention to its superior above, not when other thoughts plagued her mind so quickly.
This creature was a Froslass - or a yuki-onna to those who lived in superstition - who was wandering intently across the large mats of snow and ice, her luminous eyes darting from left to right cautiously and occasionally glimpsing at the pale-yellow egg in her delicate possession. She had kept her emerald gaze on this egg all night, even though the warmth from it stung her porcelain-like hands, the arms that were attached to her petite head begging to set the object down. But the Froslass didn’t want to think about such an action - under no circumstances would she allow herself to do such a thing - she vowed to keep the egg in her possession for as long as she could manage.
Scouring the heaving summits of the tundra, she picked out a ledge which dominated its brothers and headed towards it, the wind tugging playfully at her dress-like body and following the fronds that were her sickly-blue hair. Her only companion in this isolated land was this childish wind, isolation had been present in her life constantly, but not on the same level as this. There had always been, at the very least, one Pokemon in her wanderings, even if they were just bystanders in the kingdom streets that she’d left behind days ago, but the lonely atmosphere was almost as heavy as the stench of death.
The ghostly creature scanned her surroundings in the distance, trying to find at least some symbol that would give her hope, then picked out a tiny stalk to the west: A single tree, giving her the signal that she was close. Very close. Thundering down the valley that the ridge guarded below, the Froslass charged towards the fat trunk, made almost as dark as the sky above in the shadows, and upon reaching the wooden pillar she spied several more in the distance. She weaved her way underneath a branch, then two, then several, until she was cloaked by pine-needles and twigs, keeping her senses alert for threats. But her exhaustion soon caught up to her and the Froslass could not deny her body the chance to stand still and regain the strength it had so unjustly lost. Her chest heaved as she chose to perch upon a large root of one of the various trees that acted like a shield, then she watched as her frosty breath drew in and out, occasionally kissing the egg with its condensation in her mechanical grasp…
Suddenly she rose up, her adrenalin pounding in her heart, her mind on full alert.
She was not alone in this nest of trees.
Worry strangled the Froslass’s fear - how could she attack anything if she was holding the egg? She had no such attacks that required cryokinesis - if she was indeed in danger, she would have to fight, but that would mean putting the egg down, and there was no way she could escape considering her state of exhaustion. Was there a way out? What could she do-
“You don’t have to do anything.”
Startled, the Froslass turned, meeting a canine face marked with lines of many years, who’d spoken with a wizened voice that obviously boasted experience and knowledge. But the creature’s heavy sapphire eyes showed humility in a spectrum of kindness, which shone out amongst his golden and coal-coloured pelt. A Manectric. Backing away, the Froslass kept her guard up, then allowed words to trickle out in a sweet, yet fractured river of sound. “H-How did you-”
“Read your mind?” The canine finished for her. “I can tell by the way your eyes were searching the trees, and I don’t blame you for being so cautious in a place you‘ve never been before.”
The Froslass studied her host for a moment, debating mentally, then let her fear dim down. “Are you the one they call ‘Ichirin’?” She asked quietly, emphasising the importance of her mission. The canine nodded and glanced at the egg.
“I am,” He looked at the ghost with intrigue. “You must be Magdalene, of course, Na’zref told me that you’d be arriving in my forest soon.”
“Na’zref…” Magdalene echoed. “He hadn't told me that you’d be an electric Pokemon…”
“Did he not?”
“No, he gave me your name, but nothing else.”
A smirk appeared on Ichirin’s creased mouth. “Na’zref,” He murmured. “He never goes into too much detail when time is of the essence…” Then he beckoned to Magdalene with one of his great, lumbering claws. “Come, you must be tired, follow me to my home where you can rest properly.”
Magdalene was reluctant at first, but watching the slow and calm steps of Ichirin lured her into following her host without a single word. She wandered behind him closely, making sure not to lose hold of the egg, and eventually the canine halted in front of a wall of evergreen shrubs, then, glancing at her briefly, Ichirin pulled the plants away to make a small entrance through the foliage. Darkness scratched at Magdalene’s eyes and she welcomed the feeling, the darkness was safe, a place of rest where nobody dared to go. But her love affair with such a force of fear was soon interrupted by the sound of a paw stepping on a dried branch and frightening her lover away in a whoosh of ruby flames. Ichirin had lit a fire using electricity, and the light glared at Magdalene’s face before relaxing, hissing contently as it consumed wood. “I do realise that fire can harm Ice Pokemon,” Ichirin’s voice wafted up. So he’d considered the dangers of providing light for his guest… “However there is plenty of room here, you won’t be hurt by the flames if you stand from afar,” Magdalene chose a corner - just close enough to keep the egg warm - and let relief cover her in its gentle aura. “How long did it take you to get through the tundra?”
She spoke almost mechanically with her eyes half-closed. “Three days.”
Ichirin raised a silver eyebrow. “Is that all?”
The Froslass nodded. “My species are renowned for being able to move quickly, so what could’ve been a week of running is cut in half by our ability to float.” Then Magdalene sank her head down, almost touching the fragile shell of the egg, as if it were her child, with her face.
“How did you acquire the egg?”
Ichirin’s voice pulled Magdalene away from slumber. Blinking with heavy eyelids, she raised her swan-like face to meet the bark-like face of her cohort. “It’s a long story, Ichirin,” She warned slowly, half drugged with sleep. “But if I tell you everything, then we might be sitting here for a while.” Ichirin gave the Froslass a calming look.
“Time has taught me to be patient,” He responded with an assuring voice. “I’m not going anywhere in a hurry, tell me every little bit of detail you can recall.”
Magdalene searched her memories, then stumbled upon the thread of thought which had woven the tapestry of what had changed her life those three days prior. “It all began a while back…” She stumbled, trying to figure out how to start. “No, I’ll just tell you straight…”
And so Magdalene, the fair and beautiful Froslass, began her tale of events of which had become a story of great importance and secrecy.
The fiery dawn kissed the icy plains, making the crunchy snow glow a faint shade of coral as the sun began its daily climb, fixing itself onto a myriad of icicles and igloo-esque shelters on the horizon. The glittering spectacle of frozen water gleamed in the light, almost as if it was an illustration from a book of a fairy tale, and any creature, human or Pokemon, could not help but stand and respect its glorious splendour. This place, known more by name to Pokemon than people, was Gracialis-Crystalli, the capital of the Nation of Ice, one of the most regal of the various kingdoms scattered around the land. Though most of these nations had seen better days, with famine, recessions and natural disasters further than the eye could see, the Nation of Ice had become the most prosperous of its brethren, the favoured sibling, so it seemed.
On this particular day the ambience that the sun provided was more than welcome to the citizens, for the bouncy spirit of celebration was running rampant in the frost-bitten streets. Many Pokemon had gathered to watch the explosion of gaudy colours and victorious smiles, a parade, as they marched down the roads and paths, beaming with pride. Most of this display consisted of the army - Glalie - large embodiments of ice that were marked with black stripes and diamonds, war-like horns acted as their ears and their electric-blue eyes were fixed on the street in front. Despite their ferocious appearance and their monstrous guillotine-like teeth, these creatures displayed an aura of nobility, heroes whom were returning to a welcome home party. They gave the army they served a sense of pampered luxury - a place where hopeful boys became courageous and modest men. Then there was their leader - their warlord - whom was at the lead of the ranks, a canine-like creature with rabbit ears and a fox tail, pelt almost as pale as the winter sky, a Glaceon. The most recent in the line of his species which had ruled Gracialis-Crystalli for over five-hundred years, all of which bore the same name: D’jivarch. This young ruler had all of his ancestry smoothed into his soft face, his basalt eyes the result of a tradition which had been passed down from generation to generation, a true picture of royalty. Prince D’jivarch had requested for the long strands of pelt to be cut back so that the silver crown upon his elongated head stood out more, yet gave him the appearance of humility. But his choice of style still did not stop the Froslass who’d been at the back of the crowds from turning away shamefully from his godly appearance.
Magdalene had awoken early enough to watch the parade from the start, considering that her carved-out igloo was one of the closest settlements to the palace. She had often gazed up at the towering pillar of ice, half out of amazement and half out of dread, and wondered what life would’ve been like if she had been lucky enough to serve royalty in a different way than the job which they’d branded upon her. The Froslass took a glance at her left hand, reading the inscription that had been etched into her palm years ago, ‘hóra’ - a prostitute - the lowest title that a Pokemon in this idyllic kingdom could own, and shivered slightly before returning to her mostly empty home. She had serviced many a royal member, each one more aggressive and manipulative than the last, but the latest in the bloodline, by far, was the most cruel. It was he who’d told Magdalene that he loved her and wanted her to be with him forever, but it was also he, a victim of his obsession for her, whom had laid down the law that prevented her kind from leaving the nation without consent.
Her kind had always been used to service the men of the kingdom - no matter if they were alternately coloured like she was, or your average young Froslass whom was as pretty as the evening twilight. It had probably been a law, made out of fear or anger by a young king or queen, that had demoted Magdalene’s species to the lowest status in the land, and even though there was no knowledge as to what the long-dead rule stated, tradition had survived - and it choked her like a slipknot in the gallows.
She approached a nest of blankets in the corner of her empty house , and by the time she ventured back outside had cloaked herself to keep her face as hidden as possible from men, a sign which meant she wasn‘t on duty, preparing to scavenge for a meal that would keep her going until evening came and kept within the shadows. The hood rested upon the crystal nubs on her head as she entered the darker alleyways, for she had plenty of time to wander as she wished, she still had a handful of hours to get her duties done. But she glanced back one more time to watch the jolly parade, no doubt celebrating something to do with the bitter war between Fire-Types and Ice-Types, then pulled away, refusing to think about issues that had nothing to do with her.
Alleyways became streets, then evolved into carved-out pathways which were naked, devoid of trees, shrubs or any sort of life other than the lone creature which followed the roads absentmindedly. Magdalene’s stomach howled hungrily, its patience wearing thin as she watched for signs of food, the sun beating down on her face cautiously, unsure of her motives or her intent for being in this frozen wasteland. But the Froslass pressed on, searching for any sign of something that would fill the hole of her need to eat…
Then she saw it.
At first, Magdalene thought that she’d seen a large lump of snow in the distance, but on closer inspection she could make out jagged lines chiselled into the ice. Limbs. Limbs which were now encased in a frigid tomb, once part of a journeying traveller or trader which had fallen an unprepared victim of the powerful might of the cold. What determined if this corpse could provide a meal for Magdalene was if the body was still fresh enough to be drained of what life force lingered, so she picked her way across the flat landscape, carefully trying to determine the safety of her surroundings. She inspected the body briefly and brushed away fresh snow which rested on what had already hardened and examined the colour of the creatures skin. Red. Bright red. The colour which were mostly absent from residents of Gracialis-Crystalli, the shade of skin almost burned Magdalene’s eyes when light struck the body and she backed away when a sudden realisation met her face.
This body was absent of a head.
She took a close look at the shoulders, a place where the head should’ve been. The neck was also missing, instead being presented was a flat cut straight across the neck-line which could’ve been the work of blades or, more likely, the jaws of a Glalie. The Froslass then looked back at the colour of the body, a shade which was more than common amongst Fire-Type Pokemon.
Was this what the Pokemon back at the capital were celebrating?
Just this single death alone… ?
Something else met Magdalene’s gaze - for just a few steps away from this corpse lay other bodies, all of which were headless. She picked her way through the death, almost tempted to count the icy graves as she came across them, none of which had enough life force to kill her longing to feed at all. The bleak emptiness of her surroundings were enough to make her shiver, and yet she kept going, trying to search for the feeling that she could not give a name to. The silence amongst the corpses was disturbing, yet at the same time it was mutual, oddly soothing to a certain extent…
… Then a new feeling greeted Magdalene’s senses, a feeling which was warm and comforting to her heart - there was a life-force nearby. Had somebody survived the awful slaughter that the Froslass was wandering through? Or, if the latter was not the case, had somebody from the army stayed behind to pick off any survivors? Magdalene kept her wits about her, knowing that any lingering units would take advantage of her if they could, and followed along with the game of hide-and-seek the life-force was playing with her. But she soon found its hiding place - or his, as it turned out to be -she stood before a bipedal reptilian creature, scales the same shade of crimson that the first corpse had probably owned before its untimely death. The lower half of his body was encased in ice, save for the tail, which gave a faint flicker from the fire-adorned tip. Upon casting her graceful shadow upon the beast, Magdalene heard the creature stifle a groan and open his frost-encrusted eyes. His vision looked weak, for the pupils of his gaze were milky, almost white, and lifted a chunky set of claws up to her, making her aware that he could see her presence above him. Then he directed his arm until it was fixed on something in the distance and croaked, forcing what little strength remained in his throat to speak to the creature he’d mistaken as another Fire-Type. “… Martyn…”
Glancing up, Magdalene caught sight of a cavern which had probably been made very recently, and not by metal carving, but by fire due to its dome-like appearance. Then she focussed her attention on the reptile, whom had fallen unconscious out of his agony, and knew that to leave him in this state would be just as murderous as the Pokemon who’d attempted to kill him. She placed one of her slender hands onto where the heart was and concentrated, glowing slightly as she absorbed what life-force remained. Magdalene looked back to the now cindered tail that billowed with smoke quietly, turned, and began to make her way into whatever lurked within the cavern. She looked at the ambient shade of blue that surrounded her, mellow and soft to the eye, but was soon struck with the stench of stale meat. Standing alert, the Froslass found herself face-to-face with great splatters of blood that were spread across the cavern. Then her eyes became fixed upon the large mass of flesh before her - a body, larger than any of the corpses she had been inspecting before, heaped up into a pile of bones and meat as if suspended in time. Most of the features were unrecognisable, and the unusual neatness of the exposed wounds appeared to have been caused by teeth, no doubt the work of a Glalie.
Magdalene approached the limp neck of the beast, able to make out a serpentine head underneath the bloody helmet. Why has all of this happened? She wondered quietly. The Froslass could not answer the question herself, but she did know how to piece the story together, and raised her hand up to touch the creature’s skull; instead, her fingers went straight though, coming into contact with what felt like brain tissue. Then, as she had done so with the survivor in the icy plains, she began to focus, draining what little memories remained, with the only true difference of this task concering memories instead of life-force…
At first she found herself staring at someone with hazy eyes, unable to make out her surroundings, then parted from the awkward perspective. Magdalene ended up standing to the side of the room, her ears pulsating as the sounds of snarls and roars bombed the cave. She turned to see a lazy tail in front of her, ignited and blazing aggressively, for what had been a pile of fleshy mess now stood a powerful beast. She could only describe this creature as a magnificent dragon, splendorous and powerful, had a similar to the appearance of the survivor, her scales danced with the colour of flames and her bat-like wings loomed over the small Glaceon before her. Magdalene recognised this Glaceon to be Prince D’jivarch, looking up as the dragon heaved exhausted breaths, her long throat gulping down air. They’d been fighting, it was obvious from the bruises on the reptile’s face and bulky limbs, and her eyes looked haggard, more haggard than ever before. Then she heaved a heavy groan and collapsed, lying humiliated at D’jivarch’s feet. After a moment of silence, the Glaceon spoke. “So,” He began, his voice disturbingly calm. “Are we going to cooperate like civilised Pokemon, or am I going to have to teach you another lesson about politeness?” Glaring at him, the dragon’s eyes remained defiant, which seemed to interest D’jivarch more. “No?” Silence. “Let me give you some facts that may help to change your mind, then,” Looking closer at the memory, Magdalene could make out the roughened figures of Glalie behind D’jivarch. “We have destroyed your army and disposed of your guards, your friends,” Then one of the Glalie came forward, in-between his teeth was an oval object. An egg. “And even your family.”
The dragon’s eyes widened. “M-My child-!” She began a series of desperate pleading. “No! Spare my child! Please! Don’t-” But her begging proved useless, as the Glalie bit down through the egg an explosion of blood, shell and yolk began to dribble down from its mouth onto the floor. The dragon let out a roar, and as D’jivarch watched the laments of his victim with reservation there was a spark of enjoyment in his normally gentle eyes.
“Now, if you’ll calm down and talk we will let you keep your life, understand?” The Glaceon instructed. “Did you really think that you’d slip through our land unnoticed?” He glanced to his cohorts, talking as if he was scolding a child. “My eyes and ears are everywhere, you know, and you and your army are still not welcome on our territory-”
“We are tradesmen, not part of the war!” The reptile snapped, regaining her fury. “We showed our badges and seals to the guards and they let us through!”
She was telling the truth, and D’jivarch knew it, but he turned to the Glalie troops and nodded at them. They crowded around the beast, eyes dancing with the eager instinct to feed. The Glaceon stood firm, knowing fully that the beast was not going to tell him any more and said four simple and icy words: “I don’t believe you.”
It was over. The Glalie descended down onto their prey. Chink! The teeth crushed the head of the beast. Chink! The teeth mauled the belly of the beast. Chink! Then the wings. Chink! Crushing the mother into an unrecognisable pulp of blood and flesh with snaps and splurges. Chink! Chink! Chink! Chink! Chink!
Almost as if the reptile did not want the Froslass to eavesdrop in her life any more, Magdalene was pushed away from the creature’s broken head, almost with enough force to pin her against the wall. She turned her head slowly, mentally processing the images which had unfolded inside this very place, and shivered briefly. D’jivarch was never one to spare a Fire-Type, especially considering that the Nation of Fire, alongside their capital city - Serafina, and the Nation of Ice were currently locking horns with each other and had done so for the past three years. All it had taken was the death of the son of the Nation of Fire’s ruler, killed by one single Glalie, to set off a war which would cost the lives of millions. But this war was none of the Froslass’s business, despite the fact that she’d slept with one of the figureheads of this bloodshed on multiple occasions, then gathered her thoughts back together and faced the mouth of the cave.
She was about to depart from this gruesome scene, eager to let the mother and her child rest in peace for all eternity, but then something made her stop and turn back. Focussing her attention on a small bowl made out of twigs, probably a nest, Magdalene picked out a colour that she hadn’t noticed before - gold - radiating light, and brighter than the most beautiful of embers, sheathed underneath a teal blanket. The light toyed with the Froslass’s curiosity, pulling her in with its brilliance, and introduced itself to her in a way that she did not expect, for she found herself staring at an egg, strikingly similar to the one in the reptile’s memory. Magdalene’s worry piped up, for the egg was obviously a Fire-Type due to the warmth it gave off, which irritated her delicate fingers. There was no way the egg would be welcome in the capital, but at the same time it was a life which had done no wrong, no harm in a war it had unintentionally become a part of. She stared at the egg for a little longer before she recalled the Glalie which had destroyed the egg’s sibling, why had he not smashed this egg too? Was he even aware that it had been here? Or did his hunger become more important than an egg that could not survive on its own?
Was the creature underneath this delicate shell the one called ‘Martyn’?
Eventually Magdalene came to a conclusion: She would have to take the egg with her. If the creature inside died before it could ever see beyond its shell, then at the very least it should die in a place that was better than this slaughtered cave. Bundling the egg around the blanket, she heaved it into her possession, taking one last chance to look back to the corpse of the mother and dipped her head. “I’m so sorry.” The words that she spoke relayed around the cavern, and the silence that followed almost gave the body a new kind of feeling - the image of peace.
With that, the ghostly creature started the long trek back to the city, this time with another Pokemon in tow She looked at the messy blanket, hoping that other residents wandering the streets when she entered the capital would think that she was just another prostitute who’d just finished cleaning blankets that helped her service her job. Another prostitute whom had no other purpose but to serve others and breathe.
Just another prostitute.
Biting her lip, Magdalene began to anticipate what would occur during the night, She knew what to expect - and not just from Pokemon who eyed her out from a distance. She braced herself, knowing that D’jivarch would probably celebrate his newest kill at her house rather than the palace. She had it all planned out in her head: First she’d come into the house and hide the egg amongst all the spare blankets, and then just moments afterwards D’jivarch would enter and talk to her about his victory and how he wanted to share his feelings with her. Then he would kiss her, hold her, tell her that he loves her and force her into the position that he could work with on one of the blankets that had been spread out upon the floor. Then Magdalene would turn her hopeless gaze to the covered-up egg as work began for that evening and sigh.
I love you.
The injustice of those words rang in Magdalene’s heart and sank in her stomach as she began to watch the icicles of Gracialis-Crystalli rise up majestically from under the horizon. She was bound to this city, the only place where she heard the words “I love you” so frequently, it acted as a prison, and even though she could escape if she really tried, the three words kept her bound to her home. Magdalene’s tongue rolled with the thought of wasting breath on such a phrase, deliberately looking at the egg as she spoke them. “I love you.” She hated the way they sounded, making her want to vomit, in fact she hated them all together. They didn't sound any better when cloaked in the voice of another man and she wished she hadn't dared to utter them.
The Froslass took one last glance to the dead bodies in the distance and pressed onward.
Work beckoned more than the sympathy Magdalene wanted to give to the fallen.
Greetings, my fellow readers.
So, this is not only my first fanfic (though I've had plenty of experience writing) on Serebii, but also my first public R-rated work too, so that means double the nervousness!
Anyway, I got this idea while listening to 'True to Form' by Hybrid. I've provided the link because I think the lyrics reflect my protagonist a little bit, but the song is lengthy, so you don't have to listen if you don't wish to.Why did this story get the R rating? Mostly for the grapic violence. But there are other things I need to point out: This story deals with sensitive issues such as slavery, prostitution and, to an extent, religious differences that might not be everybody's cup of tea. Just sayin'.
The PM List:
ninjanerd
donotlookatdiagram
donotlookatdiagram
Enough of my chatter, though, or we'll never get to the story. So, ladies, gentlemen and... Pokemon... if any Pokemon are capapble of viewing stories... I give you:
M A G D A L E N E
Prelude
“Many are called, yet few are chosen.” - The Bible, Matthew 22:16
“Many are called, yet few are chosen.” - The Bible, Matthew 22:16
The dark void of night crashed onto the fragile claws of ice, crushing what little energy the frigid shards still had into nothingness. At one stage the sky and this frigid tundra had been allies - when night was known as day - and had painted the bland white landscape with a firework display of oranges, purples, reds, a parade of colours. But alas, as the tenuous alliance between these two forces began to shatter, dawn became dusk, then slaughtered its cohort with the bleakest shade of blackness. The sky studied its work of art - a corpse, bleached to the palest of bones, lacking movement, however something caught the heaven’s eye: A parasite. A living speck. Drifting from shard of ice to shard of ice, vermin, yet the small dot below paid no attention to its superior above, not when other thoughts plagued her mind so quickly.
This creature was a Froslass - or a yuki-onna to those who lived in superstition - who was wandering intently across the large mats of snow and ice, her luminous eyes darting from left to right cautiously and occasionally glimpsing at the pale-yellow egg in her delicate possession. She had kept her emerald gaze on this egg all night, even though the warmth from it stung her porcelain-like hands, the arms that were attached to her petite head begging to set the object down. But the Froslass didn’t want to think about such an action - under no circumstances would she allow herself to do such a thing - she vowed to keep the egg in her possession for as long as she could manage.
Scouring the heaving summits of the tundra, she picked out a ledge which dominated its brothers and headed towards it, the wind tugging playfully at her dress-like body and following the fronds that were her sickly-blue hair. Her only companion in this isolated land was this childish wind, isolation had been present in her life constantly, but not on the same level as this. There had always been, at the very least, one Pokemon in her wanderings, even if they were just bystanders in the kingdom streets that she’d left behind days ago, but the lonely atmosphere was almost as heavy as the stench of death.
The ghostly creature scanned her surroundings in the distance, trying to find at least some symbol that would give her hope, then picked out a tiny stalk to the west: A single tree, giving her the signal that she was close. Very close. Thundering down the valley that the ridge guarded below, the Froslass charged towards the fat trunk, made almost as dark as the sky above in the shadows, and upon reaching the wooden pillar she spied several more in the distance. She weaved her way underneath a branch, then two, then several, until she was cloaked by pine-needles and twigs, keeping her senses alert for threats. But her exhaustion soon caught up to her and the Froslass could not deny her body the chance to stand still and regain the strength it had so unjustly lost. Her chest heaved as she chose to perch upon a large root of one of the various trees that acted like a shield, then she watched as her frosty breath drew in and out, occasionally kissing the egg with its condensation in her mechanical grasp…
Suddenly she rose up, her adrenalin pounding in her heart, her mind on full alert.
She was not alone in this nest of trees.
Worry strangled the Froslass’s fear - how could she attack anything if she was holding the egg? She had no such attacks that required cryokinesis - if she was indeed in danger, she would have to fight, but that would mean putting the egg down, and there was no way she could escape considering her state of exhaustion. Was there a way out? What could she do-
“You don’t have to do anything.”
Startled, the Froslass turned, meeting a canine face marked with lines of many years, who’d spoken with a wizened voice that obviously boasted experience and knowledge. But the creature’s heavy sapphire eyes showed humility in a spectrum of kindness, which shone out amongst his golden and coal-coloured pelt. A Manectric. Backing away, the Froslass kept her guard up, then allowed words to trickle out in a sweet, yet fractured river of sound. “H-How did you-”
“Read your mind?” The canine finished for her. “I can tell by the way your eyes were searching the trees, and I don’t blame you for being so cautious in a place you‘ve never been before.”
The Froslass studied her host for a moment, debating mentally, then let her fear dim down. “Are you the one they call ‘Ichirin’?” She asked quietly, emphasising the importance of her mission. The canine nodded and glanced at the egg.
“I am,” He looked at the ghost with intrigue. “You must be Magdalene, of course, Na’zref told me that you’d be arriving in my forest soon.”
“Na’zref…” Magdalene echoed. “He hadn't told me that you’d be an electric Pokemon…”
“Did he not?”
“No, he gave me your name, but nothing else.”
A smirk appeared on Ichirin’s creased mouth. “Na’zref,” He murmured. “He never goes into too much detail when time is of the essence…” Then he beckoned to Magdalene with one of his great, lumbering claws. “Come, you must be tired, follow me to my home where you can rest properly.”
Magdalene was reluctant at first, but watching the slow and calm steps of Ichirin lured her into following her host without a single word. She wandered behind him closely, making sure not to lose hold of the egg, and eventually the canine halted in front of a wall of evergreen shrubs, then, glancing at her briefly, Ichirin pulled the plants away to make a small entrance through the foliage. Darkness scratched at Magdalene’s eyes and she welcomed the feeling, the darkness was safe, a place of rest where nobody dared to go. But her love affair with such a force of fear was soon interrupted by the sound of a paw stepping on a dried branch and frightening her lover away in a whoosh of ruby flames. Ichirin had lit a fire using electricity, and the light glared at Magdalene’s face before relaxing, hissing contently as it consumed wood. “I do realise that fire can harm Ice Pokemon,” Ichirin’s voice wafted up. So he’d considered the dangers of providing light for his guest… “However there is plenty of room here, you won’t be hurt by the flames if you stand from afar,” Magdalene chose a corner - just close enough to keep the egg warm - and let relief cover her in its gentle aura. “How long did it take you to get through the tundra?”
She spoke almost mechanically with her eyes half-closed. “Three days.”
Ichirin raised a silver eyebrow. “Is that all?”
The Froslass nodded. “My species are renowned for being able to move quickly, so what could’ve been a week of running is cut in half by our ability to float.” Then Magdalene sank her head down, almost touching the fragile shell of the egg, as if it were her child, with her face.
“How did you acquire the egg?”
Ichirin’s voice pulled Magdalene away from slumber. Blinking with heavy eyelids, she raised her swan-like face to meet the bark-like face of her cohort. “It’s a long story, Ichirin,” She warned slowly, half drugged with sleep. “But if I tell you everything, then we might be sitting here for a while.” Ichirin gave the Froslass a calming look.
“Time has taught me to be patient,” He responded with an assuring voice. “I’m not going anywhere in a hurry, tell me every little bit of detail you can recall.”
Magdalene searched her memories, then stumbled upon the thread of thought which had woven the tapestry of what had changed her life those three days prior. “It all began a while back…” She stumbled, trying to figure out how to start. “No, I’ll just tell you straight…”
And so Magdalene, the fair and beautiful Froslass, began her tale of events of which had become a story of great importance and secrecy.
I
The fiery dawn kissed the icy plains, making the crunchy snow glow a faint shade of coral as the sun began its daily climb, fixing itself onto a myriad of icicles and igloo-esque shelters on the horizon. The glittering spectacle of frozen water gleamed in the light, almost as if it was an illustration from a book of a fairy tale, and any creature, human or Pokemon, could not help but stand and respect its glorious splendour. This place, known more by name to Pokemon than people, was Gracialis-Crystalli, the capital of the Nation of Ice, one of the most regal of the various kingdoms scattered around the land. Though most of these nations had seen better days, with famine, recessions and natural disasters further than the eye could see, the Nation of Ice had become the most prosperous of its brethren, the favoured sibling, so it seemed.
On this particular day the ambience that the sun provided was more than welcome to the citizens, for the bouncy spirit of celebration was running rampant in the frost-bitten streets. Many Pokemon had gathered to watch the explosion of gaudy colours and victorious smiles, a parade, as they marched down the roads and paths, beaming with pride. Most of this display consisted of the army - Glalie - large embodiments of ice that were marked with black stripes and diamonds, war-like horns acted as their ears and their electric-blue eyes were fixed on the street in front. Despite their ferocious appearance and their monstrous guillotine-like teeth, these creatures displayed an aura of nobility, heroes whom were returning to a welcome home party. They gave the army they served a sense of pampered luxury - a place where hopeful boys became courageous and modest men. Then there was their leader - their warlord - whom was at the lead of the ranks, a canine-like creature with rabbit ears and a fox tail, pelt almost as pale as the winter sky, a Glaceon. The most recent in the line of his species which had ruled Gracialis-Crystalli for over five-hundred years, all of which bore the same name: D’jivarch. This young ruler had all of his ancestry smoothed into his soft face, his basalt eyes the result of a tradition which had been passed down from generation to generation, a true picture of royalty. Prince D’jivarch had requested for the long strands of pelt to be cut back so that the silver crown upon his elongated head stood out more, yet gave him the appearance of humility. But his choice of style still did not stop the Froslass who’d been at the back of the crowds from turning away shamefully from his godly appearance.
Magdalene had awoken early enough to watch the parade from the start, considering that her carved-out igloo was one of the closest settlements to the palace. She had often gazed up at the towering pillar of ice, half out of amazement and half out of dread, and wondered what life would’ve been like if she had been lucky enough to serve royalty in a different way than the job which they’d branded upon her. The Froslass took a glance at her left hand, reading the inscription that had been etched into her palm years ago, ‘hóra’ - a prostitute - the lowest title that a Pokemon in this idyllic kingdom could own, and shivered slightly before returning to her mostly empty home. She had serviced many a royal member, each one more aggressive and manipulative than the last, but the latest in the bloodline, by far, was the most cruel. It was he who’d told Magdalene that he loved her and wanted her to be with him forever, but it was also he, a victim of his obsession for her, whom had laid down the law that prevented her kind from leaving the nation without consent.
Her kind had always been used to service the men of the kingdom - no matter if they were alternately coloured like she was, or your average young Froslass whom was as pretty as the evening twilight. It had probably been a law, made out of fear or anger by a young king or queen, that had demoted Magdalene’s species to the lowest status in the land, and even though there was no knowledge as to what the long-dead rule stated, tradition had survived - and it choked her like a slipknot in the gallows.
She approached a nest of blankets in the corner of her empty house , and by the time she ventured back outside had cloaked herself to keep her face as hidden as possible from men, a sign which meant she wasn‘t on duty, preparing to scavenge for a meal that would keep her going until evening came and kept within the shadows. The hood rested upon the crystal nubs on her head as she entered the darker alleyways, for she had plenty of time to wander as she wished, she still had a handful of hours to get her duties done. But she glanced back one more time to watch the jolly parade, no doubt celebrating something to do with the bitter war between Fire-Types and Ice-Types, then pulled away, refusing to think about issues that had nothing to do with her.
* * *
Alleyways became streets, then evolved into carved-out pathways which were naked, devoid of trees, shrubs or any sort of life other than the lone creature which followed the roads absentmindedly. Magdalene’s stomach howled hungrily, its patience wearing thin as she watched for signs of food, the sun beating down on her face cautiously, unsure of her motives or her intent for being in this frozen wasteland. But the Froslass pressed on, searching for any sign of something that would fill the hole of her need to eat…
Then she saw it.
At first, Magdalene thought that she’d seen a large lump of snow in the distance, but on closer inspection she could make out jagged lines chiselled into the ice. Limbs. Limbs which were now encased in a frigid tomb, once part of a journeying traveller or trader which had fallen an unprepared victim of the powerful might of the cold. What determined if this corpse could provide a meal for Magdalene was if the body was still fresh enough to be drained of what life force lingered, so she picked her way across the flat landscape, carefully trying to determine the safety of her surroundings. She inspected the body briefly and brushed away fresh snow which rested on what had already hardened and examined the colour of the creatures skin. Red. Bright red. The colour which were mostly absent from residents of Gracialis-Crystalli, the shade of skin almost burned Magdalene’s eyes when light struck the body and she backed away when a sudden realisation met her face.
This body was absent of a head.
She took a close look at the shoulders, a place where the head should’ve been. The neck was also missing, instead being presented was a flat cut straight across the neck-line which could’ve been the work of blades or, more likely, the jaws of a Glalie. The Froslass then looked back at the colour of the body, a shade which was more than common amongst Fire-Type Pokemon.
Was this what the Pokemon back at the capital were celebrating?
Just this single death alone… ?
Something else met Magdalene’s gaze - for just a few steps away from this corpse lay other bodies, all of which were headless. She picked her way through the death, almost tempted to count the icy graves as she came across them, none of which had enough life force to kill her longing to feed at all. The bleak emptiness of her surroundings were enough to make her shiver, and yet she kept going, trying to search for the feeling that she could not give a name to. The silence amongst the corpses was disturbing, yet at the same time it was mutual, oddly soothing to a certain extent…
… Then a new feeling greeted Magdalene’s senses, a feeling which was warm and comforting to her heart - there was a life-force nearby. Had somebody survived the awful slaughter that the Froslass was wandering through? Or, if the latter was not the case, had somebody from the army stayed behind to pick off any survivors? Magdalene kept her wits about her, knowing that any lingering units would take advantage of her if they could, and followed along with the game of hide-and-seek the life-force was playing with her. But she soon found its hiding place - or his, as it turned out to be -she stood before a bipedal reptilian creature, scales the same shade of crimson that the first corpse had probably owned before its untimely death. The lower half of his body was encased in ice, save for the tail, which gave a faint flicker from the fire-adorned tip. Upon casting her graceful shadow upon the beast, Magdalene heard the creature stifle a groan and open his frost-encrusted eyes. His vision looked weak, for the pupils of his gaze were milky, almost white, and lifted a chunky set of claws up to her, making her aware that he could see her presence above him. Then he directed his arm until it was fixed on something in the distance and croaked, forcing what little strength remained in his throat to speak to the creature he’d mistaken as another Fire-Type. “… Martyn…”
Glancing up, Magdalene caught sight of a cavern which had probably been made very recently, and not by metal carving, but by fire due to its dome-like appearance. Then she focussed her attention on the reptile, whom had fallen unconscious out of his agony, and knew that to leave him in this state would be just as murderous as the Pokemon who’d attempted to kill him. She placed one of her slender hands onto where the heart was and concentrated, glowing slightly as she absorbed what life-force remained. Magdalene looked back to the now cindered tail that billowed with smoke quietly, turned, and began to make her way into whatever lurked within the cavern. She looked at the ambient shade of blue that surrounded her, mellow and soft to the eye, but was soon struck with the stench of stale meat. Standing alert, the Froslass found herself face-to-face with great splatters of blood that were spread across the cavern. Then her eyes became fixed upon the large mass of flesh before her - a body, larger than any of the corpses she had been inspecting before, heaped up into a pile of bones and meat as if suspended in time. Most of the features were unrecognisable, and the unusual neatness of the exposed wounds appeared to have been caused by teeth, no doubt the work of a Glalie.
Magdalene approached the limp neck of the beast, able to make out a serpentine head underneath the bloody helmet. Why has all of this happened? She wondered quietly. The Froslass could not answer the question herself, but she did know how to piece the story together, and raised her hand up to touch the creature’s skull; instead, her fingers went straight though, coming into contact with what felt like brain tissue. Then, as she had done so with the survivor in the icy plains, she began to focus, draining what little memories remained, with the only true difference of this task concering memories instead of life-force…
* * *
At first she found herself staring at someone with hazy eyes, unable to make out her surroundings, then parted from the awkward perspective. Magdalene ended up standing to the side of the room, her ears pulsating as the sounds of snarls and roars bombed the cave. She turned to see a lazy tail in front of her, ignited and blazing aggressively, for what had been a pile of fleshy mess now stood a powerful beast. She could only describe this creature as a magnificent dragon, splendorous and powerful, had a similar to the appearance of the survivor, her scales danced with the colour of flames and her bat-like wings loomed over the small Glaceon before her. Magdalene recognised this Glaceon to be Prince D’jivarch, looking up as the dragon heaved exhausted breaths, her long throat gulping down air. They’d been fighting, it was obvious from the bruises on the reptile’s face and bulky limbs, and her eyes looked haggard, more haggard than ever before. Then she heaved a heavy groan and collapsed, lying humiliated at D’jivarch’s feet. After a moment of silence, the Glaceon spoke. “So,” He began, his voice disturbingly calm. “Are we going to cooperate like civilised Pokemon, or am I going to have to teach you another lesson about politeness?” Glaring at him, the dragon’s eyes remained defiant, which seemed to interest D’jivarch more. “No?” Silence. “Let me give you some facts that may help to change your mind, then,” Looking closer at the memory, Magdalene could make out the roughened figures of Glalie behind D’jivarch. “We have destroyed your army and disposed of your guards, your friends,” Then one of the Glalie came forward, in-between his teeth was an oval object. An egg. “And even your family.”
The dragon’s eyes widened. “M-My child-!” She began a series of desperate pleading. “No! Spare my child! Please! Don’t-” But her begging proved useless, as the Glalie bit down through the egg an explosion of blood, shell and yolk began to dribble down from its mouth onto the floor. The dragon let out a roar, and as D’jivarch watched the laments of his victim with reservation there was a spark of enjoyment in his normally gentle eyes.
“Now, if you’ll calm down and talk we will let you keep your life, understand?” The Glaceon instructed. “Did you really think that you’d slip through our land unnoticed?” He glanced to his cohorts, talking as if he was scolding a child. “My eyes and ears are everywhere, you know, and you and your army are still not welcome on our territory-”
“We are tradesmen, not part of the war!” The reptile snapped, regaining her fury. “We showed our badges and seals to the guards and they let us through!”
She was telling the truth, and D’jivarch knew it, but he turned to the Glalie troops and nodded at them. They crowded around the beast, eyes dancing with the eager instinct to feed. The Glaceon stood firm, knowing fully that the beast was not going to tell him any more and said four simple and icy words: “I don’t believe you.”
It was over. The Glalie descended down onto their prey. Chink! The teeth crushed the head of the beast. Chink! The teeth mauled the belly of the beast. Chink! Then the wings. Chink! Crushing the mother into an unrecognisable pulp of blood and flesh with snaps and splurges. Chink! Chink! Chink! Chink! Chink!
* * *
Almost as if the reptile did not want the Froslass to eavesdrop in her life any more, Magdalene was pushed away from the creature’s broken head, almost with enough force to pin her against the wall. She turned her head slowly, mentally processing the images which had unfolded inside this very place, and shivered briefly. D’jivarch was never one to spare a Fire-Type, especially considering that the Nation of Fire, alongside their capital city - Serafina, and the Nation of Ice were currently locking horns with each other and had done so for the past three years. All it had taken was the death of the son of the Nation of Fire’s ruler, killed by one single Glalie, to set off a war which would cost the lives of millions. But this war was none of the Froslass’s business, despite the fact that she’d slept with one of the figureheads of this bloodshed on multiple occasions, then gathered her thoughts back together and faced the mouth of the cave.
She was about to depart from this gruesome scene, eager to let the mother and her child rest in peace for all eternity, but then something made her stop and turn back. Focussing her attention on a small bowl made out of twigs, probably a nest, Magdalene picked out a colour that she hadn’t noticed before - gold - radiating light, and brighter than the most beautiful of embers, sheathed underneath a teal blanket. The light toyed with the Froslass’s curiosity, pulling her in with its brilliance, and introduced itself to her in a way that she did not expect, for she found herself staring at an egg, strikingly similar to the one in the reptile’s memory. Magdalene’s worry piped up, for the egg was obviously a Fire-Type due to the warmth it gave off, which irritated her delicate fingers. There was no way the egg would be welcome in the capital, but at the same time it was a life which had done no wrong, no harm in a war it had unintentionally become a part of. She stared at the egg for a little longer before she recalled the Glalie which had destroyed the egg’s sibling, why had he not smashed this egg too? Was he even aware that it had been here? Or did his hunger become more important than an egg that could not survive on its own?
Was the creature underneath this delicate shell the one called ‘Martyn’?
Eventually Magdalene came to a conclusion: She would have to take the egg with her. If the creature inside died before it could ever see beyond its shell, then at the very least it should die in a place that was better than this slaughtered cave. Bundling the egg around the blanket, she heaved it into her possession, taking one last chance to look back to the corpse of the mother and dipped her head. “I’m so sorry.” The words that she spoke relayed around the cavern, and the silence that followed almost gave the body a new kind of feeling - the image of peace.
With that, the ghostly creature started the long trek back to the city, this time with another Pokemon in tow She looked at the messy blanket, hoping that other residents wandering the streets when she entered the capital would think that she was just another prostitute who’d just finished cleaning blankets that helped her service her job. Another prostitute whom had no other purpose but to serve others and breathe.
Just another prostitute.
Biting her lip, Magdalene began to anticipate what would occur during the night, She knew what to expect - and not just from Pokemon who eyed her out from a distance. She braced herself, knowing that D’jivarch would probably celebrate his newest kill at her house rather than the palace. She had it all planned out in her head: First she’d come into the house and hide the egg amongst all the spare blankets, and then just moments afterwards D’jivarch would enter and talk to her about his victory and how he wanted to share his feelings with her. Then he would kiss her, hold her, tell her that he loves her and force her into the position that he could work with on one of the blankets that had been spread out upon the floor. Then Magdalene would turn her hopeless gaze to the covered-up egg as work began for that evening and sigh.
I love you.
The injustice of those words rang in Magdalene’s heart and sank in her stomach as she began to watch the icicles of Gracialis-Crystalli rise up majestically from under the horizon. She was bound to this city, the only place where she heard the words “I love you” so frequently, it acted as a prison, and even though she could escape if she really tried, the three words kept her bound to her home. Magdalene’s tongue rolled with the thought of wasting breath on such a phrase, deliberately looking at the egg as she spoke them. “I love you.” She hated the way they sounded, making her want to vomit, in fact she hated them all together. They didn't sound any better when cloaked in the voice of another man and she wished she hadn't dared to utter them.
The Froslass took one last glance to the dead bodies in the distance and pressed onward.
Work beckoned more than the sympathy Magdalene wanted to give to the fallen.
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