flameswy
Lord of Light
Rated PG 15, for some Violence and implied swearing.
One thing I feel I should mention, this is not a story that blurs the lines betweens humans and pokemon. While there will be some characters that are both, and some characters that are neither, this is first and formost a story about people. a story with pokemon, a story featuring pokemon, a story set in the world of pokemon, but about humans. Also, this thing might get pretty long, so I'm worried it might start out slow. Don't worry though, there's a lot of action planned..
Also, this is my first ever time sharing anything I've been seriously thinking about. So I just love comments and questions and criticism to a nigh euphoric level. If you want ask or tell me what I'm doing wrong, please post! If its short, just VM me! I seriously love to hear from people who have read this to get their opinions, nothing makes me happier.
Anyway, Lets start the story, shall we?
Symbiosis
“The living together of two dissimilar organisms, as inmutualism, commensalism, amensalism, or parasitism.”
This story's prologue starts with an end. Perhaps not the end of a terribly important character, all things considered, but still he holds a key place in the following narrative. His name is Nostradamus von Asphodel, age 115, and he is dying.
(Expect to see a lot of that, where we're going.)
~
The room is dark and grimy, made so years of neglect when no one has bothered cleaning or, judging by the air, opening a window in far too long.
A thick antique plush carpet lies on the floor, and book cases cover every wall but one, where an enormous bed has been pulled behind a mahogany desk.
The desk is covered in papers and dirty dishes, and on the bed lays a very old man.
You can tell this because of the air he holds himself with, a mustiness of sprit that years of inaction have made all the more potent.
He is wearing a tweed vest over an ancient white dress shirt, hands trembling as he grips the desk, pulling himself upright out of his bed. He sits upright and brushes at his hair, white yellowing slightly, and blinks at the door.
His face is a mass of wrinkles, fairly stern and not vacant as one would expect. There was iron in this man once, long ago, and you can see traces of it in his grey eyes.
He picks up a stained and scrawled on piece paper from his desk, and give it a cursory glance before his shaking hand drops it on the floor. He sighs, and turns the dim lamp on the desk up a bit, looking to the door on the far side of the room.
"Come in children." The door creaks open, and three young boys walk in slowly, closing the door behind them.
"Today is your eleventh birthday today, is it not?" The three boys nod solemnly, saying nothing.
The first boy is rather fat, with curly brown hair and worried but honest looking eyes. He was wearing threadbare footy pajamas, and was wringing his hands out wretchedly.
The next boy in line had hooded blue eyes and a wide smirk on his face. His hair was near shoulder length golden ringlets, and he looked no older than seven or eight. He was wearing a purple hoodie with a smiley face on it that was obviously far too large for him, the hem was around his knees and only the tips of his fingers showed out of the sleeves. He had smaller, but still to large tan cargo pants on underneath.
The last boy was standing a little behind the others and was much taller. He had the same resentful glow in his eyes as the old man, but that's where the similarities ended. He looked much older than the other two; he could have easily passed for fifteen, or maybe even sixteen. He was certainly tall enough. His face had an unhealthy grey parlor, as though he didn’t get out into the sun very much.
the tallest had reflective golden eyes that shone dully in the low light, from underneath his heavy eyebrows. His hair was black, and combed back, the only concession to common hygiene that any of the three seemed to show. His cheeks were gaunt, and a thin blue tracery of veins could be seen lacing across all the exposed skin, little of which there was.
He was wearing a faded black suit, the sleeves rolled back and the pant leg's rolled up. Threadbare old dress shoes that were too large were on his feet, and he was carrying a heavy tome in one hand.
"Listen to me, children." The old man continued, coughing a little.
"And I will tell you a story. Parts of it you already know, but I hope to finish the narrative today..." He rubs at his eyes, and leans back against the wall. "Long ago, longer than any human book or knowledge or society, there was life. A great and powerful race, a race that could not be collectedly counted for its scarcity and unique form and figure. These beings were called ancients. There were exactly five hundred and twelve of them."
The young blond boy rolled his eyes, and sat on the floor with a thump.
"You've told us this before." the black haired boy frowns down at him, but says nothing.
"Indeed, indeed." Says Nostradamus, looking at his desk. "Patience young master Regulus, I will expound at greater length this time..." He coughs a little again, and dabs at his mouth with an off white hand kerchief.
"And so these beings danced around the earth in a great loop, near perfect in harmony. We do not know how, and we do not know why, but fighting did break out among them. They fought, and one died. The ring broken, they fell down to the earth, and from the single one's ashes rose new races. Men watched them grow and hatch from eggs, and called them andere, which means the other. They lived in uneasy peace with man, for many years.
Meanwhile, the other ancient's continued to bicker, descending closer to the earth. With the circle of their existence broken, degenerated, becoming weaker and pettier as time went by, becoming terrible boggles and horrors on the outside of human knowledge. Men gave them many names over the ages, and used many generalizations, but the name I choose to use is ancients."
He pauses here, to fumble about on his desk for a pipe, and the youngest pipes up again.
"I heard that's what legendry’s are!" Nostradamus shrugged, and lights his pipe.
"Master Fin, explain our opinion to your brother." The eldest one nods, and looks down at the youngest. He spoke in a harsh voice, like the grinding of metal on rock, the voice of one far older than he.
"Regulus, you know that cannot be. Some legends yes, have traits of legendary Pokémon, uhh sorry Sir. Legendary andere. But to say such is true of some is not to say such is true of all. Arceus, Groundon, Kyorge... I am fairly sure we can assume those are some of the lowest, but many other legends are simply too weak, or do not match the criteria, scarce as it is."
Nostradamus nod's shakily, puffing on his pipe. "That was awkwardly worded, but basically correct. Push yourself for elegance of speech master Fin; I know it's not beyond you." Finitevus nods, and leans against a bookshelf.
"So, returning to my narrative. Those boggles, those fallen ancients were thought to be immortal by many ancient people, were revered even as they were despised. But this was not to last.... the pugnacious degenerates warred among themselves to long and too hard.
Eventually, one of their number fell, with human witnesses. This caused a ripple throughout the whole world, as you can imagine. Man realized he didn’t have to be slave to the dark, hiding from the night, a horse shoe over his door and a bowl of milk on the step. With new iron weapons, man looked to his andere comrades for help.
"Rise with us!" They told them. "Join us in over throwing the ancients!" But for reason's unknown the andere refused. Perhaps, being being's closer to nature, closer to the ancients they felt this treachery to their kin. Perhaps they were scared, or pacifists, which I feel is most likely. Compared to man in his natural state, andere are far more constructive and peaceful. "
He pauses to cough, smoke rising from his nostrils and filling the narrow rooms ceiling, swirling about and dimming the already dark room. The brown haired child, Prometheus, coughed, and sat down on the floor fanning at his face. Finitevus gives him a derisive look, and Regulus actually seems to breathe the smoke in happily.
Nostradamus chokes again, body constricting and clenching. When it subsides, he wipes his mouth again with his handkerchief, putting down the pipe. It comes away from his mouth red, and he grimaces. "Blood, how typical. The rest of the story plays out as you can well imagine; man with cold iron and numbers over threw his rulers, one by one.
The ancients were too fractured by then to even think of joining forces... of course, not all died out. From my studies, I estimate somewhere around one hundred and seventy walk the earth this day and age... Some in the form of a man. Some andere. Some neither, but trees or astral body's... Who knows?"
He grimaces, and his voice grows fainter, so that the boys have to lean in to hear.
"But... The real point of my story... Has little to nothing to do with all that. What I really am telling you is more subtle. You see how even the ashes of a single early ancient had enough life in them to bring about a whole new race? The andere? Imagine the power a preserved body would have..."
He wheezes, and trails off, laboring to speak.
"Sir." Finitevus says, looking up. "I think I see what you’re saying. You think that... With the power from an ancient you could finish you project and recreate life?"
Nostradamus has a choking fit, and turns grey. Prometheus runs up to help, laying him down on the bed, and fanning away the smoke. The other two come over to his bed side to eager to hear.
Nostradamus's coughing fit recedes, but leaves his lower face and upper chest sprinkled in blood.
"What I'm trying to say lad.... Is I already have." He turns a burning gaze on all three of them, equally proud and triumphant.
"You are my beloved sons. blue blooded, hot blooded, And thick blooded... You three are my legacy. A bright point of hope in this darkening plane."
With a shuddering gasp, his eyes glaze, and his last breath sighs easily out, as though he has been holding it in for a long time, and it was a relief to finally let it out. Prometheus gently closes his grey clouded eyes, wiping the tears from his own.
"So the old blow hard's finally kicked the bucket!" said Regulus gleefully, jumping to his feet and prodding the body.
The eldest snarls, pulling him away from the body, and crossing himself. "Irreverent fool. Show the dead the honor they deserve."
Regulus blows a loud raspberry, and flees the room, smirking. Prometheus slumps to the floor, wiping away at his face with his ragged sleeve. Finitevus kneels next to him.
"Prometheus, will you help me carry the body outside? I'm going to bury him in his garden." The brown headed boy nods wretchedly, and stands up.
Finitevus eases the body out of the bed, and together they carry it to the garden. Prometheus makes to set it down on the wild green lawn outside the building, but Finitevus shakes his head.
"Follow me to the far wall." Leading gingerly, they make it to the far courtyards stone wall, crumbling masonry covered in hanging ivy. Behind the wild and dying sunflowers, a grave has already been dug. Prometheus gives his brother a distraught face.
"You knew he was dying? I would have helped dig the hole..." Finitevus shakes his, head, not meeting the others eyes. "I didn’t want to worry you. It was coming for a while now. I am the eldest. Problems are mine to bear."
He sighs, and they lower the old man's thin cadaver into the fresh grave, and then kick the pile of earth into the hole, covering it up. They stand awkwardly, looking at it for a moment, unsure of what to say.
Finitevus pulls uncomfortably at his rolled up sleeves. "Come on. Let's go back in and find Regulus. I think it's time to leave this place."
"But... but... Fin... Where will we live? Where will we go?" The tears start pouring down his chubby face again, and Finitevus looks uncertain.
"I... we will-" "It’s obvious, isn't it?" says Regulus, grinning at them through the sunflowers.
"What can a bunch of kids to do go where ever they want, whenever they want? We become Pokémon trainers." Prometheus wipes at his face and looks to Finitevus, who is grimacing.
"Oh please. What do you know about andere training? Nothing. Anyway, you need a licence and what are the odds we can afford even one of those?" Regulus rolls his eyes.
"I know more then you, obviously. They show stuff about it on TV all the time. There's this kid named Ash, and he-" This time the eldest cuts him off.
"Those shows are thirty year old propaganda they play to promote the government's biggest source of income. None of that garbage about trainers, "bonding" with their andere is real... It's lies to tempt more kids into a hard life, and ease the parent s conscious a bit."
Regulus pulls on the skin under his eyes, and sticks his tongue out. "Nehh! Shows how much you know! According to the news, they're giving out free licences this year to celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of the first champion's victory, for all the promising kids!"
Finitevus frowns. "How do you know this?" Regulus lets go of his eyes, and rolls them.
"Because I watch the news, duhh. Maybe if you watched more TV instead of reading all those musty old books-" Finitevus waves his hand.
"Silence now. What do you think Prometheus? Would you be willing to take up this life style?"
Prometheus shrugs. "I'll be fine as long as I'm with you two." He says in a small voice, not looking either in the eyes.
Finitevus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine then. Prometheus, go pack all the unspoiled food that we can travel with. Regulus, go pack whatever clothes are clean and serviceable. I'll go..."
He blinks, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll go and see what money is left in the strong box.... It'll be a long walk to the nearest town."
One thing I feel I should mention, this is not a story that blurs the lines betweens humans and pokemon. While there will be some characters that are both, and some characters that are neither, this is first and formost a story about people. a story with pokemon, a story featuring pokemon, a story set in the world of pokemon, but about humans. Also, this thing might get pretty long, so I'm worried it might start out slow. Don't worry though, there's a lot of action planned..
Also, this is my first ever time sharing anything I've been seriously thinking about. So I just love comments and questions and criticism to a nigh euphoric level. If you want ask or tell me what I'm doing wrong, please post! If its short, just VM me! I seriously love to hear from people who have read this to get their opinions, nothing makes me happier.
Anyway, Lets start the story, shall we?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Symbiosis
“The living together of two dissimilar organisms, as inmutualism, commensalism, amensalism, or parasitism.”
This story's prologue starts with an end. Perhaps not the end of a terribly important character, all things considered, but still he holds a key place in the following narrative. His name is Nostradamus von Asphodel, age 115, and he is dying.
(Expect to see a lot of that, where we're going.)
~
The room is dark and grimy, made so years of neglect when no one has bothered cleaning or, judging by the air, opening a window in far too long.
A thick antique plush carpet lies on the floor, and book cases cover every wall but one, where an enormous bed has been pulled behind a mahogany desk.
The desk is covered in papers and dirty dishes, and on the bed lays a very old man.
You can tell this because of the air he holds himself with, a mustiness of sprit that years of inaction have made all the more potent.
He is wearing a tweed vest over an ancient white dress shirt, hands trembling as he grips the desk, pulling himself upright out of his bed. He sits upright and brushes at his hair, white yellowing slightly, and blinks at the door.
His face is a mass of wrinkles, fairly stern and not vacant as one would expect. There was iron in this man once, long ago, and you can see traces of it in his grey eyes.
He picks up a stained and scrawled on piece paper from his desk, and give it a cursory glance before his shaking hand drops it on the floor. He sighs, and turns the dim lamp on the desk up a bit, looking to the door on the far side of the room.
"Come in children." The door creaks open, and three young boys walk in slowly, closing the door behind them.
"Today is your eleventh birthday today, is it not?" The three boys nod solemnly, saying nothing.
The first boy is rather fat, with curly brown hair and worried but honest looking eyes. He was wearing threadbare footy pajamas, and was wringing his hands out wretchedly.
The next boy in line had hooded blue eyes and a wide smirk on his face. His hair was near shoulder length golden ringlets, and he looked no older than seven or eight. He was wearing a purple hoodie with a smiley face on it that was obviously far too large for him, the hem was around his knees and only the tips of his fingers showed out of the sleeves. He had smaller, but still to large tan cargo pants on underneath.
The last boy was standing a little behind the others and was much taller. He had the same resentful glow in his eyes as the old man, but that's where the similarities ended. He looked much older than the other two; he could have easily passed for fifteen, or maybe even sixteen. He was certainly tall enough. His face had an unhealthy grey parlor, as though he didn’t get out into the sun very much.
the tallest had reflective golden eyes that shone dully in the low light, from underneath his heavy eyebrows. His hair was black, and combed back, the only concession to common hygiene that any of the three seemed to show. His cheeks were gaunt, and a thin blue tracery of veins could be seen lacing across all the exposed skin, little of which there was.
He was wearing a faded black suit, the sleeves rolled back and the pant leg's rolled up. Threadbare old dress shoes that were too large were on his feet, and he was carrying a heavy tome in one hand.
"Listen to me, children." The old man continued, coughing a little.
"And I will tell you a story. Parts of it you already know, but I hope to finish the narrative today..." He rubs at his eyes, and leans back against the wall. "Long ago, longer than any human book or knowledge or society, there was life. A great and powerful race, a race that could not be collectedly counted for its scarcity and unique form and figure. These beings were called ancients. There were exactly five hundred and twelve of them."
The young blond boy rolled his eyes, and sat on the floor with a thump.
"You've told us this before." the black haired boy frowns down at him, but says nothing.
"Indeed, indeed." Says Nostradamus, looking at his desk. "Patience young master Regulus, I will expound at greater length this time..." He coughs a little again, and dabs at his mouth with an off white hand kerchief.
"And so these beings danced around the earth in a great loop, near perfect in harmony. We do not know how, and we do not know why, but fighting did break out among them. They fought, and one died. The ring broken, they fell down to the earth, and from the single one's ashes rose new races. Men watched them grow and hatch from eggs, and called them andere, which means the other. They lived in uneasy peace with man, for many years.
Meanwhile, the other ancient's continued to bicker, descending closer to the earth. With the circle of their existence broken, degenerated, becoming weaker and pettier as time went by, becoming terrible boggles and horrors on the outside of human knowledge. Men gave them many names over the ages, and used many generalizations, but the name I choose to use is ancients."
He pauses here, to fumble about on his desk for a pipe, and the youngest pipes up again.
"I heard that's what legendry’s are!" Nostradamus shrugged, and lights his pipe.
"Master Fin, explain our opinion to your brother." The eldest one nods, and looks down at the youngest. He spoke in a harsh voice, like the grinding of metal on rock, the voice of one far older than he.
"Regulus, you know that cannot be. Some legends yes, have traits of legendary Pokémon, uhh sorry Sir. Legendary andere. But to say such is true of some is not to say such is true of all. Arceus, Groundon, Kyorge... I am fairly sure we can assume those are some of the lowest, but many other legends are simply too weak, or do not match the criteria, scarce as it is."
Nostradamus nod's shakily, puffing on his pipe. "That was awkwardly worded, but basically correct. Push yourself for elegance of speech master Fin; I know it's not beyond you." Finitevus nods, and leans against a bookshelf.
"So, returning to my narrative. Those boggles, those fallen ancients were thought to be immortal by many ancient people, were revered even as they were despised. But this was not to last.... the pugnacious degenerates warred among themselves to long and too hard.
Eventually, one of their number fell, with human witnesses. This caused a ripple throughout the whole world, as you can imagine. Man realized he didn’t have to be slave to the dark, hiding from the night, a horse shoe over his door and a bowl of milk on the step. With new iron weapons, man looked to his andere comrades for help.
"Rise with us!" They told them. "Join us in over throwing the ancients!" But for reason's unknown the andere refused. Perhaps, being being's closer to nature, closer to the ancients they felt this treachery to their kin. Perhaps they were scared, or pacifists, which I feel is most likely. Compared to man in his natural state, andere are far more constructive and peaceful. "
He pauses to cough, smoke rising from his nostrils and filling the narrow rooms ceiling, swirling about and dimming the already dark room. The brown haired child, Prometheus, coughed, and sat down on the floor fanning at his face. Finitevus gives him a derisive look, and Regulus actually seems to breathe the smoke in happily.
Nostradamus chokes again, body constricting and clenching. When it subsides, he wipes his mouth again with his handkerchief, putting down the pipe. It comes away from his mouth red, and he grimaces. "Blood, how typical. The rest of the story plays out as you can well imagine; man with cold iron and numbers over threw his rulers, one by one.
The ancients were too fractured by then to even think of joining forces... of course, not all died out. From my studies, I estimate somewhere around one hundred and seventy walk the earth this day and age... Some in the form of a man. Some andere. Some neither, but trees or astral body's... Who knows?"
He grimaces, and his voice grows fainter, so that the boys have to lean in to hear.
"But... The real point of my story... Has little to nothing to do with all that. What I really am telling you is more subtle. You see how even the ashes of a single early ancient had enough life in them to bring about a whole new race? The andere? Imagine the power a preserved body would have..."
He wheezes, and trails off, laboring to speak.
"Sir." Finitevus says, looking up. "I think I see what you’re saying. You think that... With the power from an ancient you could finish you project and recreate life?"
Nostradamus has a choking fit, and turns grey. Prometheus runs up to help, laying him down on the bed, and fanning away the smoke. The other two come over to his bed side to eager to hear.
Nostradamus's coughing fit recedes, but leaves his lower face and upper chest sprinkled in blood.
"What I'm trying to say lad.... Is I already have." He turns a burning gaze on all three of them, equally proud and triumphant.
"You are my beloved sons. blue blooded, hot blooded, And thick blooded... You three are my legacy. A bright point of hope in this darkening plane."
With a shuddering gasp, his eyes glaze, and his last breath sighs easily out, as though he has been holding it in for a long time, and it was a relief to finally let it out. Prometheus gently closes his grey clouded eyes, wiping the tears from his own.
"So the old blow hard's finally kicked the bucket!" said Regulus gleefully, jumping to his feet and prodding the body.
The eldest snarls, pulling him away from the body, and crossing himself. "Irreverent fool. Show the dead the honor they deserve."
Regulus blows a loud raspberry, and flees the room, smirking. Prometheus slumps to the floor, wiping away at his face with his ragged sleeve. Finitevus kneels next to him.
"Prometheus, will you help me carry the body outside? I'm going to bury him in his garden." The brown headed boy nods wretchedly, and stands up.
Finitevus eases the body out of the bed, and together they carry it to the garden. Prometheus makes to set it down on the wild green lawn outside the building, but Finitevus shakes his head.
"Follow me to the far wall." Leading gingerly, they make it to the far courtyards stone wall, crumbling masonry covered in hanging ivy. Behind the wild and dying sunflowers, a grave has already been dug. Prometheus gives his brother a distraught face.
"You knew he was dying? I would have helped dig the hole..." Finitevus shakes his, head, not meeting the others eyes. "I didn’t want to worry you. It was coming for a while now. I am the eldest. Problems are mine to bear."
He sighs, and they lower the old man's thin cadaver into the fresh grave, and then kick the pile of earth into the hole, covering it up. They stand awkwardly, looking at it for a moment, unsure of what to say.
Finitevus pulls uncomfortably at his rolled up sleeves. "Come on. Let's go back in and find Regulus. I think it's time to leave this place."
"But... but... Fin... Where will we live? Where will we go?" The tears start pouring down his chubby face again, and Finitevus looks uncertain.
"I... we will-" "It’s obvious, isn't it?" says Regulus, grinning at them through the sunflowers.
"What can a bunch of kids to do go where ever they want, whenever they want? We become Pokémon trainers." Prometheus wipes at his face and looks to Finitevus, who is grimacing.
"Oh please. What do you know about andere training? Nothing. Anyway, you need a licence and what are the odds we can afford even one of those?" Regulus rolls his eyes.
"I know more then you, obviously. They show stuff about it on TV all the time. There's this kid named Ash, and he-" This time the eldest cuts him off.
"Those shows are thirty year old propaganda they play to promote the government's biggest source of income. None of that garbage about trainers, "bonding" with their andere is real... It's lies to tempt more kids into a hard life, and ease the parent s conscious a bit."
Regulus pulls on the skin under his eyes, and sticks his tongue out. "Nehh! Shows how much you know! According to the news, they're giving out free licences this year to celebrate the thirtieth anniversary of the first champion's victory, for all the promising kids!"
Finitevus frowns. "How do you know this?" Regulus lets go of his eyes, and rolls them.
"Because I watch the news, duhh. Maybe if you watched more TV instead of reading all those musty old books-" Finitevus waves his hand.
"Silence now. What do you think Prometheus? Would you be willing to take up this life style?"
Prometheus shrugs. "I'll be fine as long as I'm with you two." He says in a small voice, not looking either in the eyes.
Finitevus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine then. Prometheus, go pack all the unspoiled food that we can travel with. Regulus, go pack whatever clothes are clean and serviceable. I'll go..."
He blinks, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll go and see what money is left in the strong box.... It'll be a long walk to the nearest town."
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