TikTok13
Oh, I have a title?
Hi, it's me again, back from the writing dead. While I may not frequently post in this part of the forums anymore, I've still be reading some of everyone's work. While I may not be as advanced as the rest of you (probably one of the youngest writers on the forum), I hope you all like this new Fic, that I'm going to try my best at running to the end. Of course, I've got mocks later this year, and big exams next year, so I may not be that frequent, but I'll try my best to deliver once a week or so.
So, anyway, a few disclaimers and whatnot.
- This Fic is probably around a PG-13 rating; death is a definite topic, and Pokémon will die in this Fic(as far as I've planned at least. Plans do change). As such, don't read if you don't want to see some dying 'mons.
- This Fic will probably leave you with many questions, and probably parts won't make sense. Luckily, I plan on answering as many mysterious questions as possible in later chapters.
And without further ado…
Restlessness. The only emotion that knocked around my mind, buzzing in my head like some violent insect. I'd had enough of sleeping. Laying about like an under-sized log waiting for awareness to pull me out of the abyss we call sleep has become such a tedious process. I can hardly sleep most nights anyway, as the day crawls slowly forward, day after day, week after week, so on and so forth. To be honest, I'm surprised anyone can sleep when their moment is close. I've read enough old stories to know that too many of them begin with an over-sleeping protagonist. Such a dull cliché. Today's my big moment, I guess. The day that would be a cliché, if I weren't as organised as I obviously am. Today is the day when I finally catch a break. Today's the day I leave this cosy little village and enter the wide-open world.
Yeah, I know, who would've thought that I would want to leave this place, what with it's nice neighbourhoods and trinket-filled stores. There's nothing bad about it, if I'm totally honest. But have you ever felt like you don't belong, like you need to be somewhere else? That itch, the itch to spread your metaphorical wings and jump off into the unknown that is life. Waiting peacefully in this bliss state of being half-dreaming, half-awake, I stare at the dark ceiling, the dull shadows of dawn creeping in past my curtains.
I'm snapped out of the confines of my mind with the equally as annoying ring of my alarm clock. Self-built, of course. I needed to make a living somehow; selling themed clocks to the right buyers scrapes in just enough to keep me alive. Expecting the blare, I jam the button down, silencing the Magnemite-shaped clock with a satisfactory bang. Without a single pause, I carry out my movements methodically; combing my hair, brushing my teeth, dressing myself. Everything I do up until leaving the house is planned. I haven't slept, and the plan in my mind - the plan for the rest of my life - is permanently engraved in my brain.
I un-make my bed and wrap up the quilt, tying it to my leather backpack with thick rope, the brown rectangle of a bag sat with its flap gaping open on my floor. I throw in my basic necessities: alarm clock, goggles, spare clothes, change of bedding, toothbrush. I'm overly prepared, and I know it. I don't necessarily care. Being prepared is vital. Without the security of an ordered plan, I'd just be running around, a guy who does not have 2 hours to spare. Funnily enough, I do have 2 hours to spare. It's 6.a.m right now. Who doesn't love an early start?
A wave of sudden sadness sweeping through me, I take one last look around my room, making sure I've taken everything necessary and trying to accept that I will probably never set foot here again. Sighing, I pull on my trench coat, the soft leather feeling nice against my body. Leaning down, I swipe up my satchel and throw it across my shoulder, feeling my notebook and other items of sentiment rattle around. Adjusting my belt with one hand, I grab my backpack off the floor, now perfectly packed and probably weighing half as much as me. As the final step, I wrap my woollen scarf around my neck and push my door open.
I'm hit by the familiar warm wind that everyone associates with Covedrift Town. My hair flutters and tickles my face, but I'm not overly bothered, expecting it. The wind itself, which most residents welcome, is created by the massive steel propellers keeping our lovely home up in the air. That's right. The air. Covedrift is one of twenty floating islands, all of them dotted across our world. While Covedrift is only a small community, there are eight large cities in the Broken Kingdom, as our floating world is called. The largest is Cormeum City, home to millions, including Lord Steele, the ruler of our Kingdom.
Some islands aren't as good off as others; ever since the war, some have been avoided, and have fallen into disrepair. Luckily, Covedrift remained the same as it's always been. The war wasn't fun. Our previous ruler, King Eredon, was a tyrant. He killed mercilessly, without reason or provocation. A rebellion rose up, led by Steele himself. Thousands, millions died. I wasn't around for it - the war doesn't concern my whatsoever. It was two, maybe three decades ago; I've been 21 for a while now.
I start to walk from my home, shutting the door behind me. The light of dawn casts disfigured shadows to the ground, turning the cobbled floor into a window to terror. Most people stay in during the dark, traditionalists who believe in the tales of old, passed down through the generations, but I can see the usual early birds rising. The baker - a nice fellow - gives me a smile and tosses me a small roll as a morning gift, just like he has done for almost as long as I can remember. The tailor and the herbalist call my name and wave kindly. This little town runs like clockwork, day after day. A well oiled machine that only functions if everyone pitches in. Hopefully they'll still work well when my part's missing. I know all these people rather well. It's a shame I won't see them again.
I stop by the Blacksmith Shop, handing in some scrap metal that I have no use of. He gives me a grim look as I fish around in my satchel for the old steel, but he smiles reassuringly and pats me on the back as I hand it over. Then he turns away, preoccupied with his work. Without any pause, I turn and leave, forgetting about the blacksmith and his shop. I need to focus on my task for today - getting to the docks.
I continue walking through the town as the sun rises. The wind is fiercer now that I'm closer to the edge; I can see the glint of sunlight on metal in the distance. Luckily, the structure of Covedrift is remarkably linear, and it's pretty much a straight walk now to get to the docks. Now, being a floating island, its obviously not a normal dock. There's no water for ships, of course. That why the advances in technology are more useful than ever. Large galleon ships with a balloon keeping it afloat. Most people call them zeppelins, nowadays, but there are much larger ships that carry even more people, also called zeppelins. It's confusing, granted, but for convenience sake I just call them zeppelins and mega-zeppelins. Crude, but effective.
Pretty soon, my ears are filled with the familiar bustle of Covedrift docks. Cargo pilots, low-level pirates, and so many more other people wander the docks. The diversity always makes me smile. The people of Covedrift consider themselves out of the reach of the law, which we're not, but because we're the second-furthest island from Covedrift, we do get shifty folk dropping by. Normally, pirates would be arrested on sight, but here, they're welcomed with open arms, selling their goods to the curious people of Covedrift.
I stand in the center of the crowds and admire the sights. Here, there are even more market stalls set-up, taverns that are already serving up big breakfasts to the travellers and tourists, shop-owners spiffing up their windows and re-stocking the shelves. Even here, where community is less strong and business is the leading factor, everyone has a place, and everything is the same. It's no wonder that I've become such a logical drone.
Eventually I tear my eyes from the sights that I've seen so many times before but I'll never see again. I make my way towards the docking bays; the small areas where zeppelins can drop anchor and rest. Four ships float along the side of the docks, each one a different shape, colour, and style. I examine them all, one by one. Then I see it - the Liquid Lugia. My ship, with it's bright white balloon, decorated with blue strips in the design of the Legendary Pokémon itself. Well, technically it isn't mine - but it's where I'm going. That ship is going to take me away from here. That ship is going to give me my future and introduce me to the world. And I can't wait.
I tighten my coat and smooth my hair as I consider my future. Black, the hero. Black, the pirate.
So, anyway, a few disclaimers and whatnot.
- This Fic is probably around a PG-13 rating; death is a definite topic, and Pokémon will die in this Fic(as far as I've planned at least. Plans do change). As such, don't read if you don't want to see some dying 'mons.
- This Fic will probably leave you with many questions, and probably parts won't make sense. Luckily, I plan on answering as many mysterious questions as possible in later chapters.
And without further ado…
[imgsize=700]https://i.imgur.com/dzAJl77.jpg[/imgsize]
Skybound
A Pokémon Mystery Dungeon FanFic
Chapter 1
Skybound
A Pokémon Mystery Dungeon FanFic
Chapter 1
Restlessness. The only emotion that knocked around my mind, buzzing in my head like some violent insect. I'd had enough of sleeping. Laying about like an under-sized log waiting for awareness to pull me out of the abyss we call sleep has become such a tedious process. I can hardly sleep most nights anyway, as the day crawls slowly forward, day after day, week after week, so on and so forth. To be honest, I'm surprised anyone can sleep when their moment is close. I've read enough old stories to know that too many of them begin with an over-sleeping protagonist. Such a dull cliché. Today's my big moment, I guess. The day that would be a cliché, if I weren't as organised as I obviously am. Today is the day when I finally catch a break. Today's the day I leave this cosy little village and enter the wide-open world.
Yeah, I know, who would've thought that I would want to leave this place, what with it's nice neighbourhoods and trinket-filled stores. There's nothing bad about it, if I'm totally honest. But have you ever felt like you don't belong, like you need to be somewhere else? That itch, the itch to spread your metaphorical wings and jump off into the unknown that is life. Waiting peacefully in this bliss state of being half-dreaming, half-awake, I stare at the dark ceiling, the dull shadows of dawn creeping in past my curtains.
I'm snapped out of the confines of my mind with the equally as annoying ring of my alarm clock. Self-built, of course. I needed to make a living somehow; selling themed clocks to the right buyers scrapes in just enough to keep me alive. Expecting the blare, I jam the button down, silencing the Magnemite-shaped clock with a satisfactory bang. Without a single pause, I carry out my movements methodically; combing my hair, brushing my teeth, dressing myself. Everything I do up until leaving the house is planned. I haven't slept, and the plan in my mind - the plan for the rest of my life - is permanently engraved in my brain.
I un-make my bed and wrap up the quilt, tying it to my leather backpack with thick rope, the brown rectangle of a bag sat with its flap gaping open on my floor. I throw in my basic necessities: alarm clock, goggles, spare clothes, change of bedding, toothbrush. I'm overly prepared, and I know it. I don't necessarily care. Being prepared is vital. Without the security of an ordered plan, I'd just be running around, a guy who does not have 2 hours to spare. Funnily enough, I do have 2 hours to spare. It's 6.a.m right now. Who doesn't love an early start?
A wave of sudden sadness sweeping through me, I take one last look around my room, making sure I've taken everything necessary and trying to accept that I will probably never set foot here again. Sighing, I pull on my trench coat, the soft leather feeling nice against my body. Leaning down, I swipe up my satchel and throw it across my shoulder, feeling my notebook and other items of sentiment rattle around. Adjusting my belt with one hand, I grab my backpack off the floor, now perfectly packed and probably weighing half as much as me. As the final step, I wrap my woollen scarf around my neck and push my door open.
I'm hit by the familiar warm wind that everyone associates with Covedrift Town. My hair flutters and tickles my face, but I'm not overly bothered, expecting it. The wind itself, which most residents welcome, is created by the massive steel propellers keeping our lovely home up in the air. That's right. The air. Covedrift is one of twenty floating islands, all of them dotted across our world. While Covedrift is only a small community, there are eight large cities in the Broken Kingdom, as our floating world is called. The largest is Cormeum City, home to millions, including Lord Steele, the ruler of our Kingdom.
Some islands aren't as good off as others; ever since the war, some have been avoided, and have fallen into disrepair. Luckily, Covedrift remained the same as it's always been. The war wasn't fun. Our previous ruler, King Eredon, was a tyrant. He killed mercilessly, without reason or provocation. A rebellion rose up, led by Steele himself. Thousands, millions died. I wasn't around for it - the war doesn't concern my whatsoever. It was two, maybe three decades ago; I've been 21 for a while now.
I start to walk from my home, shutting the door behind me. The light of dawn casts disfigured shadows to the ground, turning the cobbled floor into a window to terror. Most people stay in during the dark, traditionalists who believe in the tales of old, passed down through the generations, but I can see the usual early birds rising. The baker - a nice fellow - gives me a smile and tosses me a small roll as a morning gift, just like he has done for almost as long as I can remember. The tailor and the herbalist call my name and wave kindly. This little town runs like clockwork, day after day. A well oiled machine that only functions if everyone pitches in. Hopefully they'll still work well when my part's missing. I know all these people rather well. It's a shame I won't see them again.
I stop by the Blacksmith Shop, handing in some scrap metal that I have no use of. He gives me a grim look as I fish around in my satchel for the old steel, but he smiles reassuringly and pats me on the back as I hand it over. Then he turns away, preoccupied with his work. Without any pause, I turn and leave, forgetting about the blacksmith and his shop. I need to focus on my task for today - getting to the docks.
I continue walking through the town as the sun rises. The wind is fiercer now that I'm closer to the edge; I can see the glint of sunlight on metal in the distance. Luckily, the structure of Covedrift is remarkably linear, and it's pretty much a straight walk now to get to the docks. Now, being a floating island, its obviously not a normal dock. There's no water for ships, of course. That why the advances in technology are more useful than ever. Large galleon ships with a balloon keeping it afloat. Most people call them zeppelins, nowadays, but there are much larger ships that carry even more people, also called zeppelins. It's confusing, granted, but for convenience sake I just call them zeppelins and mega-zeppelins. Crude, but effective.
Pretty soon, my ears are filled with the familiar bustle of Covedrift docks. Cargo pilots, low-level pirates, and so many more other people wander the docks. The diversity always makes me smile. The people of Covedrift consider themselves out of the reach of the law, which we're not, but because we're the second-furthest island from Covedrift, we do get shifty folk dropping by. Normally, pirates would be arrested on sight, but here, they're welcomed with open arms, selling their goods to the curious people of Covedrift.
I stand in the center of the crowds and admire the sights. Here, there are even more market stalls set-up, taverns that are already serving up big breakfasts to the travellers and tourists, shop-owners spiffing up their windows and re-stocking the shelves. Even here, where community is less strong and business is the leading factor, everyone has a place, and everything is the same. It's no wonder that I've become such a logical drone.
Eventually I tear my eyes from the sights that I've seen so many times before but I'll never see again. I make my way towards the docking bays; the small areas where zeppelins can drop anchor and rest. Four ships float along the side of the docks, each one a different shape, colour, and style. I examine them all, one by one. Then I see it - the Liquid Lugia. My ship, with it's bright white balloon, decorated with blue strips in the design of the Legendary Pokémon itself. Well, technically it isn't mine - but it's where I'm going. That ship is going to take me away from here. That ship is going to give me my future and introduce me to the world. And I can't wait.
I tighten my coat and smooth my hair as I consider my future. Black, the hero. Black, the pirate.
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