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Trials And Tribulations: What Legends Are Made Of...


Lovable Narcissist

Informal Inflected forms: pl.ty·pos A typographical error.

In this case, I was thinking of pinetree, an avid reviewer of mindripper's fic. Pine and mind are very similar, no? I think so. So, I what I did was I typed pine instead of mind. Common mistake. ;)



Floatingflames, that is really not too funny at all. No offence, but your humour is lost on me. If you must, you can ask my reviewers to send you postcards from where they live, if they want to. I could send you one as well. That should answer any questions you have. This is getting really stupid. As of now i see no point in going through with any of this. Speculate if you must. Bye.


Lovable Narcissist
Speculation? Jiggawha? That is a typo, my good sir, as I just stated. If you refuse to believe this, I will not proceed to convince you any further. But, if you insist I am speculating about something, there must be something to hide...

And because I type "heheheh" at the end of my post, you assume I'm laughing at you? I was merely chuckling at your humorous fic! I mean it's so funny, I have to POST my laughter! This is the truth, my good man, and nothing less, I assure you.

So, in conclusion, I bid you good day. GOOD DAY SIR!


WE both know what you mean. I have had PMs asking me, and I ask u all to PM those you feel the closest to me. Ask them to send a postcard to one of you all, if theyw ould be willing to. It would solve everyone'es probs once and for all.

But, if you insist I am speculating about something, there must be something to hide...
It means nothing more than me getting irritated by all this BS. PM, post here or whatever. Ask them tos end their postacrds or something. Im tired of this kinda stuff. Its no longer about the fic, its about integrity. I have no intention of ever posting another chap here, but I have every intention of maintaining the latter.

This is not targeted at you, floatingflames. Do not take it personally. Doubts must be cleared and I hope they are.


I have no intention of ever posting another chap here, but I have every intention of maintaining the latter.
Uh,...I think I'm speaking for everyone who still wants to read your fic when I say, "suck it up". I mean, one person calls you pineripper, and all the sudden "I'm packing my bags, and keeping my dignity"?! WTF? If you are gonna finish writing the fic for those who want to read, then do it. If you're leaving because of this, I don't know where you will go to accomodate such a whimpy attitude.

[/billy OOC]


Billy, you of all people should know what is going on. I write a fic for my own leisure, and i post it here to share that with people. I believe that I have been very polite and accomodating thus far, but your take on this situation is pretty obvious. I posted the fic to share my writing with others, not to be accused of some nonsense, and that is not something that I have to suck up. All you have done thus far is to circumvent the fact that people associate other users with me. Have you ever stopped and thought about the fact that it could be false? I say that if someone were to do something like that to you for the FOD you would be pretty angry too, and pretty insulted, so please stop playing the high-and-mighty card.

Say whatever you want. Posting here isnt fun for me anymore. It has gotten too damn insulting to want to do anything else associated with a fic. I can still prove my innocence easily, no problem. But u should sit down a while and ask yourself if making these kinda allegations and spreading them around is going to help in life. Think about it. And stop posting here to argue. Just PM me with your rants. Give this thread some last dignity.


I am a little confused. But i am also very sad that it has to come to this. I really wonder what could have been for this fic, I really wonder. Mindripper, well done, and even through the arguments and wayward circumstances that surround this thread, I still give you my respect.

There have bee mistakes, and times when sentences do not match your normal standards, but I do not cease to be amazed by the ability involved. Good lcuk wherever you go. Do try be nicer to billy and floatingflames. I guess they were just reacting nrmally. No one's fault.

PS: I will PM you my email. If you ever ever decide to revive this anywhere, I will hunt it down and follow. Thanks for the nice read!

Odem General

Yeah same if you are ever in need of a reader and reviewer my email is my hotmail thingy up there under the join date


I too will follow this wherever it goes, no matter what it takes. PM me, or email me if you leave this forum.

Billy5772, please refrain from insulting. Your slandering does your own integrity little good.


PM me, or email me if you leave this forum.
Have done so.

Billy5772, please refrain from insulting. Your slandering does your own integrity little good.
I have no comment on this. I dont harbour any hard feelings towards anyone. Its weird, I had a great ending mapped out, and I came back to finish tis fic-- everything you all have read was written more than a year ago-- but i managed neither. Ah well, I just dont have the motivation anymore. Sorry to all.

Brian Random

Read the first two chapters, which were on the first page of this thread, and I really enjoyed it mainly because of the humour. The sarcasm, the May-acting-like-a-monkey gag (hilarious), the wrong number, etc.

I also enjoyed the battle scene as well, cos it’s well descriptive and understandable.

I found your writing style is, in a way, unique.

You mentioned that there will be some English (U.K) words in the U.S language of your fic, I suggest that make everything either U.K or U.S language cos that way it wouldn’t confuse people.

Overall: Well, I’ll be reading more and see how it goes.
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I guess that this really is the end. Take care my friend, and I hereby proclaim that your writing will be missed. Pity most people don even know what they missed.

Felix Feral Fezirix

Densetsu no Pikachu!
Even though you are gonna give up, I advise you not to. You have much greater talent than anyone around here for writing(even in my fic nearly each gag includes at least one swear or censor). It is your personal desicion but if you stop writing you will have wasted a talent that you were given and the forum as well as the world will have lost a great writer. Please consider greatly giving up again. And when you have decided to write again drop me a PM or something.


I kill my characters
I agree with Felix, and please PM me also.


Iblis Wings
Well Mindripper since you really are discontinuing this fic then I guess it's okay and all since this was your decision!

*Salutes one great piece of writing and wipes a tear away*

We will miss you and honor this great story!


This is an unedited version of the story I got from the writer. He does not want to return, except possibly to closet read fanfics, and since he sent me a draft of his story, I felt it would be damn wasteful to let one of the best fanfic writers exit like that. I have posted the next chapter in his tale. I do understand the story enough to answe questions, but I cannot be concrete about certain things.

That said, the reason why I came back with this story, even though the author did not want to himself, was that I realised that I loved the story, and the ending was abosolutely fantastic, completely out of the box. Gripping, yet tearjerking. I do not know how often my commitments will allow me to post chapters, but as long as even one, just one, person here wants to read, and loves the story like I do, then I would not have done this in vain. Please enjoy


It is high time for us to take a break from our set of larger than life heroes, with their complex interactions, yet all so believable dreams and values, as well as shared friendship and companionship; to another set of companions, situated in a much smaller vessel, not powered by a motor due to the noise it would cost-- a huge risk due to the cloak and dagger trade they endeared to them as their proverbial rice bowls. The group numbered three, and yet while they were intrinsically connected by their common goals in life, they were as far apart as a cat is from a mouse, to utilize an analogy, so to speak.

First to be introduced was a male of lithe build, sporting supple features with a parted head of collar-length purple hair, with darting blue eyes and a shade of feminism. Next up was a rather severe looking woman, with pewter-grey eyes, a sharp nose and a tiny mouth to boot. Twin green earrings adorned and embellished her ears, even as long red hair cascaded to way beyond her shoulders, ending at mid-back, all neatly slicked backwards and away from her forehead and in all probability blow-gelled into a fixed pattern, which caused it to be somewhat suspended in mid-air.

Completing the trio was a cat burglar, in all senses of the phrase, as the seemingly mandatory animal presence in the group, as so eloquently stated and filled by Donkey in Shrek (which is another story for another time for another place and most importantly for another writer). With its only trinket being a gold-finished emblem of some sort sitting pretty in the middle of its forehead, it was, in a nutshell, just like a cat. With yellow-beige fur, a taut little body ending in lithe limbs, a pair of ever-twitching ears and two eyes sparkling with emotion and what seemed like intelligence, the cat burglar was a valuable addition to the team. However, just because a pair of eyes seemed to sparkle with latent intelligence did not mean it did, for seemed just does not equate to much on its own, as we can amply see:

“GRRR, James, I am warning you for the last time; the next time you cause water to be splashed on my beauteous and resplendent hair through your incompetent rowing, I am going to make very sure you spend the rest of your days on a hospital bed drinking porridge through a straw!!”

The so-called female of the insidious trio, a part of the even more insidious organization known only by the dreaded appellation Team Rocket, succinctly represented on the predominantly white uniforms of Jessie and James as a boldly emblazoned red R with black trim on the borders, screamed at the top at her voice, none too pleased with her partner in crime ruining her crowning glory through his incompetence.

So much for the cloak and dagger modus operandi…

“But Jessie, I’m so tired… And Meowth is not helping the least bit, and you’re just sitting down there…”

James intoned in a long-drawn whine, his voice naturally complementing his complaint, jerking his chin towards a limp feline figure hanging onto the twin oars for dear life, rising and falling with each effort from James, as the brave feline, willing in spirit but weak in the flesh, had given up the ghost of the fight long ago, its last dregs of strength drained by the arduous task Jessie had set them—to keep up with the cruise ship they were certain the twerps were on.

As things were, James rowed on tenaciously, supporting the dead weight of Meowth, who held onto the oars without pulling and instead rose and fell with them, while Jessie continued her acidic diatribe on them both.

So much for being a team…

James’ body slumped, his aching muscles crying out for immediate cessation of all strenuous activity, even as his twitching eyes flickered to where he knew his companion was, posed against the stormy night sky in a position that screamed extreme danger and an innate daring of James to disobey. The choice was made quickly, and the suffering would have to continue, as James arduously attempted to make up the ground on the ship, or suffer Jessie’s considerable wrath. Such was a moment in the life of Team Rocket, and we shall leave them at that, and come back to our favourite Pokemon thieves in due time.


“Ash, I do not want to hear any bragging from you. I just want to know how you did that just now; how you distinguished the real Alakazam from all the poseurs.” Our heroine’s eyes were large as saucers as she blurted out her query to our victorious hero, incredulous at what she had seen the Alakazam perform and even more so when she witnessed her friend conjure up a counter-measure with intuitive thinking, placing both hands on our hero’s shoulders as if ready to shake him up for something.

“I… I just observed…” Our hero replied with little emotion in his voice, plopping down onto one of the seats adjacent to the computer he had been using before being interrupted by the scheming Victor E. Reyes, and stressing the word “observed” as if just that word alone had all but won him the match, which in essence and principle should have been awarded to our hero after the huge show of ingenuity and tact from our beastly Victor E. Reyes, which could be paraphrased into a single word: cowardice.

After some wordless prodding form our heroine number one, our hero continued expressing his train of thought verbally, more out of continuity’s sake than for the sake of explaining how the feat was achieved in detail.

“Victor E. Reyes really had me. He really did. Dusclops was taking a beating and would have taken a much heavier one if he did not just play around with me. You know… Kind of like a cat toys around with a little mouse, cornering it, catching it in a paw, before letting it seemingly escape and then swoop down and capturing it again effortlessly. That was what he was trying to do to Dusclops and me—he was toying with us, letting his supposed supremacy surface and settle down in all of us, and that would include you, after he got hell from you. He could have hit me with something much more devastating than an iron tail—he had all the time in the world and his Alakazam’s level could have hit the roof.

While pretty stylish and effective, as I must admit, he gave me a lot of time to analyse the situation, and I had a huge chunk of luck with the battlefield. If it had not been for the twin furrows that Alakazam’s claws on its feet dug in the ice, I might never have managed to identify it. From then, it was just a case of biding my time till the right moment, for I had to ensure that Alakazam’s did not just substitute itself for a copy and attack Dusclops from the back again, as it had already done once, so I tried to lead him on by having Dusclops facing the right Pokemon and then not reacting as Alakazam substituted itself. From then on, I guess the rest is Pokemon history, and you know what happened after that, so I will leave you to fill in any remaining gaps with your perspective and own imagination.”

Our hero was refreshingly humble about his most recent achievement, but our heroine had caught on to the few times when our hero’s voice had run dry, on the verge of trembling and quivering like a babe in the chill of winter.

“But you needed luck to win, luck which you may not have tomorrow. Am I correct??” Our heroine had used her own perspective to make an educated guess about that which was so evident in the manner of speech and yet itself was absent verbally in the explanation by our hero.

Our silent hero made no move to answer, staring at the computer screen with renewed interest, as if something there had captivated his attention and demanded it selfishly.

“Look, Ash, I know how you feel about this whole issue, and if it makes you feel any better I understand perfectly how you feel. I once thought that I was one unlucky person. You know, I was never on the best terms with my sisters, and had to settle for their used clothes, toys and stuff… Worse than that were the insults, and comparisons that always arose, and… And I could never get the better of them. I wanted out. I wanted to make my own comparisons, wanted to have my own say, wanted to earn my own keep. And so one day I left, and ran into you and Brock. It was really pure luck, or it could have been destiny as you once said it was, but I prefer to call it luck, because luck has something about it which is not fixed, something that has so romantic a notion, so hopeful a ring." A quiver had crept into our heroine's voice, and a momentary pause accompanied said quiver.

"My life since then has been so much more fulfilling. Instead of being the 'odd one out', or the “runt of the family”, or the 'beast among the beauties', I finally could find my own feet and stand on them. I could hold my head high. And all because of pure dumb luck. If luck can do that, and even if I could have changed it all, that very day when I ran into you, I would not have wanted it to be any other way. You know, if you do not accept luck as part of the reason for your victory, then maybe you can look at it from another angle; maybe you were destined to get the better of that blithering idiot. Does it sound a little better like that?”

Our heroine finished her own tale with a regal air hanging about her, and with tears shining brightly in her eyes, though whether they were tears for all that she had gone through, tears of pity for her friend’s self-created predicament, tears of happiness for the fact that even though life had dealt her a bad hand early on, it had more than made up for it through deserved luck or intangible destiny, or whether they were tears that resonated with all the abovementioned reasons, remain something that our heroine number one carries as her own secret, for even writers know not everything about their characters. People, even those we create at our whims and fancies, have their moments of absolute solitude, when company is more a bane than a boon, and have their own secrets and hidden baggage, and whether possibly unraveled through reinvention or through a facet in the character that allows for extrapolation of thoughts by other brilliant minds is irreverent, for it is nothing if not the truth.

Caught in the moment, our hero could do little else but staring unflinchingly at the tears shining ablaze in his friend’s eyes, and in the refulgent variegated sheen he saw, or thought he saw, a reenactment of everything she had said.

There was a young girl, with flaming red hair the best means of identification, playing with a doll, except that the doll had lost its head literally, and one of its legs as well to boot. The girl was dressed in a patched-up vest and shorts which betrayed obvious signs of needlework, patchily done at best. It was as though she had been living off secondhand stuff from the Salvation Army. The same figure was present in the next scene, where three obviously beautiful and confident girls jostled and jockeyed for position before a photograph was taken, hair flailing around in a flashy manner that would put shampoo advertisements to shame, all but blocking out a silent and still fourth figure, who merely stood in acceptance of the fact that she could never begin to compare with the former three females in the scene.

A young girl was running away from a dome shaped building in the next scene, feet pumping to the maximum of their abilities, and head caught perennially in a grotesque angle between the path lying ahead and the one behind, as if the red haired figure could not bear to look at where she was going, and yet looking backward would likewise bring no solace, and the most obvious solution would to do neither. A furious battle with the fishing rod was next on the agenda, as the red haired protagonist, thinking that she had netted a water Pokemon of some kind, reeled it in only to realize it was actually a living and kicking human being, with an official-looking Pokemon league cap. The following scenes were of ceaseless banter and candid camaraderie between the red haired girl and her two friends, and how her friends always looked as though they were sprinkled with gold, for it was evidently how they were always perceived, glowing and smiling, and with an infinite capacity to spread that state to her.

When I was to receive my starter, I was late and Professor Oak had already given out all three starters, and hence I had to settle for a little yellow rodent Pokemon, which was a shocking experience in more ways than one at the beginning. I guess that if I had been on time, I would not be here right now, would not have dear Pikachu with me, and would never have met any of my friends, would not have shared so many experiences with them. I always called it destiny, but looking from Misty’s angle, it could well have been luck as well. She said that she got lucky one day and it changed her life; maybe I got lucky by being late that day, and maybe it was destiny that I should have been lucky that day. And maybe I was destined to be lucky today as well.

“You’re right, Misty… Maybe I did earn my luck back there.”

Our hero stated his conclusion haltingly, for having gone through a night which had a program including two excellent matches in a superiorly designed and crafted ballroom, an intense Pokemon battle with one of the most conceited yet also one of the most talented trainers he had ever met, and having being buffeted by attack forms he had hardly known existed, and yet finding a solution he never knew existed in him, after which he had attributed his impromptu solution to luck, only to have his friend instill an altered form of beliefs in him which he had rejected all along and yet had come to believe in, he was visibly tired.

Our heroine flashed a smile at her friend, pleasantly surprised that his head-strong side did not rear its head as she had almost expected it to. Clicking on another trainer’s profile, she caught her own reflection in the glare of the computer screen and forcibly wiped the wide grin off her face, before putting on her serious façade and began pointing out little nuggets of information to her friend. Our heroes’ total immersion and commitment to their task at hand is reflected in the way the scene is depicted. From the moment our heroine number one wiped her smile off her face, we see what looks like unrelated clips of our heroes staring and talking at times in hushed whispers, and at other times in bursts of effervescent emotion, discussing the subjects onscreen. These clips are linked together via the previous one darkening and slowly losing focus while fading away while a new clip zooms in from various angles, such as from all directions, from within the computer screen to without, from within the arena and so on. And it is at such a moment that we leave our erudite heroes to view some other scene onboard the mysterious ship that everything is taking place on, Team Rocket notwithstanding, and will come back to our heroes in due time.


The camera cuts a swathe through a bunch of security guards, moving slowly even as the guards hastily get out of its way. A dark Oakwood door swung open, leading into yet another arena, with each battlefield occupied by trainers and Pokemon of all sorts. Upon closer inspection, the battlefield closest to the camera at that current moment yielded a battle between a Scyther and a Machamp, with the Machamp trying to get its enormous arms around the green mantis Pokemon and crush it like the bug that it was, even as the latter displayed its traditional blinding speed and cutting edge scythes as it attempted to score on its larger opponent.


The camera then turned away, doing an about-turn and headed for a set of doors close to that which entrance to that particular arena was gained. The camera took a second to turn backwards once again as the ground between Scyther and Machamp ignited and blew up, as the two Pokemon advanced to do combat at closer quarters, and the result was instantaneous as both Pokemon were thrown back viciously, out cold before their feet even left the ground. The two trainers mirrored each other in that they both cast incredulous looks at the blackened crater in the middle of the sand battlefield, at their battered and blackened Pokemon, and finally at the camera with looks that blended fear and unadulterated hate.

More doors swung open, as rooms and corridors sped by faster and faster, as if something had gone into overdrive, as the camera moved so fast everything else became a blur, whether it was a dark and brooding corridor or a mundane laboratory, it mattered not as any form of detail was engulfed by the velocity of the passage anyway. Security was present but highly inconspicuous, as is the case of all good forms of security, and as was made tangible by the numerous cameras hidden at various vantage points, as well as sensors and details of prowling security guards. Present or not, security did not matter as they were made seemingly intangible by the zooming camera once again, breaking, and then blending and mixing each and every minute detail into riots of abstract colour, and distinct shapes into nothing more than splotched amalgams of colours and blurred lines.

The sudden burst of speed ended as quickly as it had begun, with a pair of heavy ebony doors, emblazoned with motifs of some tessellated oriental design, finished in gold. Even these doors proved to be no obstruction to the encroaching of our camera, as access to whatever lay behind the exquisite doors was gained. The doors promptly slammed shut with an ominous boom. If the precursor to whatever scene we expected was the pair of doors that barricaded the room, then the result certainly fell short of the expectations, as a little pigeonhole of a room, furnished with little more than the average necessities that are a small table, tiny candles that flickered and swayed as if buffeted by some silent wind and a few chairs which lay scattered haphazardly.

And a fireplace, which seemed unusual due to the fact that starting a fire in the ship, without a chimney to boot, was not the best possible way of obtaining required warmth that one could think of. The camera progressed in slow methodic strides to one of the walls, on which there was a large landscape painting. Birds of some unknown paradise found solace borne on the winds, while the foreground of the scene was solely occupied by a seemingly vast expanse of sea, perhaps some antediluvian ocean yet relatively untouched by the creaking of Earth’s plates; the previously mentioned sky in which our avian creatures flock and soar, and which was rendered the colour of lapis lazuli, a tone further enhanced and foiled by the effulgent Sun, painted with the brightest of yellows, and through great aesthetic skill gifted with a glowing halo, which similarly made rippled waters gleam, the sky seem bursting with incandescence, and every leaf of the forested part of the picture seemed a brighter shade of green.

Indeed, such was the realism and skill of the mind behind the piece that each glance at any ripple seems to bring about a waft of salty air to infiltrate one’s nostrils, that every plumed feather on the birds’ bodies screamed of some unbridled beauty and elegant freedom, that every dark crevice formed by the leafy canopies of the thus depicted crown of trees sent synapses that told of unspoken dangers and unrevealed predators lurking peripherally outside the line of vision, and yet added an aura of mystical sublimity that was mind-boggling even to perceive. However, that was not the main point of that particular painting in this story, and perhaps some other exotic tale will be spun and woven around the above described work of art, but in our story the main point was not even the painting, but the glass which housed it. As the camera closed in on that very painting, a flash of gold was caught in the reflective surface of the glass, framed by an outline of wispy black.

As the camera moved that much closer still, features became that much clearer. A cowl of absolute black hid a mask of gold in its dark confines, human features frozen in contours of gold. The figure breathed once, and misty droplets of water condensed on the cool glass that housed the painting, banishing the veil of surreal unreality that existed prior to that very action. The camera then backed off to showcase the figure whose line of sight it had shown, whose passage from the previously mentioned Pokemon arena (not the one our heroes and the rest of the trainers utilize) to the current location was chronicled. The figure turned towards the fireplace, and with the same inscrutable features, with the mask hiding any signs of effort at all, caused the fire to blaze brighter, even though it is literally burning on nothing, as is brought to our attention for the first time. The figure collapsed onto the first available chair and slouched there, looking distinctly human for the first time.

Tomorrow is going to be a day of days, the culmination of the whole year, and yet again I must question the point of my very existence. To ensure the perennial continuation of this very tournament, and to extract the best possible denouement, and to pass judgment if need be—these are my reasons for being. Yet, each day, when I question myself, when I pass my own judgment, I invariably fail myself in every aspect of the word. Everyday I wonder and query, ask and answer, if I should have acted that way so long ago, and whether or not if I had another choice, things would be any different. Alas, it is a man’s greatest woe that he is plagued by an unanswerable conundrum, to ask what is, what was, what will be, what could have been and why it only could have been, for eternity and a day.

It was a long time ago, when the opaque swirling mists of time obscure and barricade the treasure trove that is memory, when mountains were young and trees still spry with the green pastures of youth. A thicket of verdant vegetation lush enough to instill illusions of marauding Megatheriums and lurking unknowns unwillingly gave way to rocky crevices and exfoliated debris. Giant footfalls pounded rocks to dust underfoot and then rose again to pound away some more. Any anthropocentric notions were quickly dispelled once two obviously prehistoric creatures came into full view, resembling smaller and bulkier versions of Velociraptors, with pointed snouts flanked by rows of dagger-teeth, nigh-impenetrable scales, Nature’s gift to her fiercest combatants, short forearms that were probably used as much for balance as for gouging, two stout legs that ended in scything claws, no doubt a built-in killer mechanism, as well as a swishing whip-like tail each.

Scaled or not, one was losing, and losing badly, its scaly brown hide penetrated in at least a dozen places, each one leaving a rivulet of lifeblood dripping away to be swallowed hungrily by the dusty earth. A leg was cocked, feet hardened in anticipation of the impact, and the air whined as it was sliced apart by the streamlined velocity and unerring accuracy of the somewhat primitive but no less devastating kick attack, and the creature found itself lying sprawled on the dry earth, having taken a full-blooded swing at a defenseless opponent but not having connected, had overbalanced and fell over its own weight.

Its eyes, narrowed into slits, glared balefully at a third party, an almost completely hairless creature which evidently stood on two legs and had some hideous parody of a protective layer, such as its own scales or thick matted fur in other cases. What was not so laughable was the puny creature’s timely interdiction, which had undoubtedly saved its opponent’s life and could have cost it a hard earned victory and meal.

The intrepid yet infinitely impudent and imbecilic Halfling crouched next to the fallen creature with self-endowed impunity, apparently scorning the presence of the other creature and beckoning the fallen creature to rise. The eyes!! The fallen creature’s eyes were staring at its benefactor with unspoken notions of utmost servitude, a disgraceful act indeed among creatures that prided themselves on natural selection and a fierce pride in their self-sufficiency. It was no wonder that it had fallen so quickly. But no matter, as the Halfling would perish with the creature it had tried to protect, for thus was the Jungle Law, which all beasts must abide, live and die by.

Amazingly, its opponent had struggled back to its feet, with the Halfling whispering something in its ear, and was trying to communicate via a complicated series of hand signals. The almost-victorious creature sprung forward, aided by muscles of steel, jaws already snapping in anticipation of the flesh they would rend, claws clicking with a grimly rustic glee over the meat they would grind. The jaws would rend nothing, and the claws would not grind anything, for its opponent, so lax and sluggish moments before, had seemingly gained a second wind, and a mighty strong one at that, skipping nonchalantly away from the attack before ramming a clawed foot into the vulnerable midsection of its aggressor, sharpened claw tearing into unyielding scale and yielding flesh with equal ease, like a hot knife through butter.

The lethal foot was raised once more, like a guillotine of another era in time, but with the same result with the falling of each, which would be descending condescending death, except that it never fell, as the Halfling had called its new friend off, and the two departed, with victorious snorts resounding in the loser’s ears. A relationship, entirely new in nature, had been born, between a savage creature of the wild, an unchained denizen encapsulated and encompassed by Nature’s Laws, and a mere Halfling, with no great weapons, no impregnable chitin hide or scabrous scales; no wicked claws or flaying teeth. In essence, right there, in a nondescript location populated by typical creatures and ordinary vegetation, where the Sun still shone as it did everywhere else, where the Wind still caressed the world with her sedate drafts, a point so desolate and infinitesimal in the grand scale of Father Time and yet monumental in significance, a co-existing relationship between a Halfling, or a human, and a previously totally wild being was born, and the essence of Pokemon trainer-ship had been forever sown.

The dark figure extended its right hand, as if in humble supplication for some unseen boon or material favour. Unseen eyes gleamed even as the air in the middle of the figure’s palm seemed to undergo spontaneous combustion of some sort, bursting into luminous flame, which threw the room into sharp contrast, elongating shadows to ungainly lengths, and turning up the already somber atmosphere of the room a further notch or two. A few moments of absolute silence and tranquility prevailed even in a world where ever so often even the staunchest bastions of stagnant sedentariness are so oft breached by kinematic incursions. It was almost as though someone had replayed a movie still over and over for a few seconds, except for the flickering flame that still danced in the midst of the black palm.

Tomorrow, yet again will I crush the dreams of yet another crop of eager Pokemon trainers, who trust so much in their pithy alliances and fast friendships to tide them through anything and everything. Belief in such false ideals is incriminating in itself, but yet my acts will weigh heavily on whatever has remained of my conscience, still not eroded after this long, after going through so much, for it is not though my own will that I act. The world is a complex macrocosm, with innumerable cause and effect chains, and situation and responsibility would result in, but yet never validate my actions. I merely hope that when it is my turn to one day be judged, I would be shown more clemency than I myself show, as undeserving as I am. For all that my word is worth, I hope that some higher powers have mercy on them tomorrow, for I will not; for I cannot.

The flickering flame’s light died out as that which created it out of naught returned it to the nothing from which it came, crushing it within an exaggerated grasp, returning the surroundings to what they were before, with fireplace burning with a chilling warmth, candles still flickering, as if forever serenaded by some polar draft, and landscape painting seemingly glowing in the weak illumination, a foreboding sign in itself of what had happened, and what would eventually follow.


“What did you say we were going to do again?”

Our mystified hero looked blankly at his friend, unsure of what she had just said, hearing but yet scarcely believing, so incredulous was her suggestion that his first thought had been to break out in guffaws, till a glance at her steadily purpling visage told our sensitive hero otherwise. How could he be blamed? After all, she was also the one who always talked about stuff like perverse psychology, and somehow associated phones with names.

“I suggested to you that we should practise forms for a while. It helps your Pokemon when they battle, through better balance and swifter transactions from one mode to another. I learnt it from a Pokemon gym leader seminar I attended some weeks ago. I have been trying it out with my own Pokemon, and it seems to have an effect on them. I do think you should at least give it a shot, INSTEAD of LAUGHING at it!!” Our heroine gave an open display of her cantankerous dudgeon, but with her concern showing openly through the red veil of anger, as unknowingly she grabbed our hero’s hand and dragged him to a spare sand field.

“Release your Pokemon onto the field, Ash.”

Our heroine number one spoke softly and clearly, yet with a very raw edge to her voice that suggested that trifling with her at the current moment was not exactly the best route towards self-preservation. Following her own cue, our heroine retrieved the three Pokeballs she had brought along with her from Cerulean and without a second thought, released the Pokemon within onto the gritty confines of the battlefield.

A roar echoed within the spacious arena, gathered and echoed by the soundproof walls, resulting in a veritable cacophony of disgruntled roars, a mere show of controlled aggression to herald an arrival warped by a manmade construct into a deafening uproar, an announcement of alpha status. A large scaled wingless dragon gazed down at our hero, and our cowed hero had the disturbing feeling that its gaze was somewhat short of complimentary. Its mouth hung perpetually open in what resembled a cross between a sneer and a mere satisfaction of a want to show of rows of serrated mastication tools. Its scales, naturally coloured the same tinge of blue as the town its trainer hailed from, beat the sand under it into a frenzied cloud, as it thrashed from side to side, evidently happy at its freedom from the Pokeball.

“Er… N-n-nice little Gyarados… Glad to see you sm-smile like that… Ha ha.” Our hero’s nerves got the better of him even as he gazed upwards and straight at the razor teeth of his friend’s Pokemon, twittering like a blithering idiot (But we know he is VERY clever right?)

“Cha!!” The next arrival thus announced its own arrival, slicing through the air with a fluid ease, even though it was literally a fish out of water, and landing next to its trainer as well, with a huge red gem pulsating wildly in its pedestal of yellow on the Pokemon’s body itself.

“Psy…” A none too intelligent voice croaked, as amid flying stars, wingless dragons, and swirling sands, a diminutive figure with a decidedly diminutive brain to match emerged, dark dirt yellow fur which verged on brown covering its squat and somewhat chubby body, tiny wings flapping wildly as though it were drowning in some illusionary pool of water (even though it was obviously an aquatic Pokemon), webbed feet shuffling forward as fast as two stubby little feet could possibly go, tiny (Why is everything about this particular Pokemon tiny??) dilated eyes staring in wincing perturbation, scared out of its wits by the furor around it, and wanting no part in it at all.

Upon emerging magnificently from the chaotic whirlwind that it was previously embroiled in, with its tiny (yes another part of this Pokemon that is tiny) tail lofted proudly in the air, it spotted our chivalrous hero and made a beeline for him, as fast as those two feet would carry it. It tilted its head like a pendulum would act in such a situation, from left to right in what seemed more like a grotesque misrepresentation of a pre-activity warm up than an inherent idiosyncrasy. Its pinprick eyes open but apparently lacked the gift of sight, as through sheer terror or pure random action, the obviously alarmed creature, seized by uncontrollable palpitations, somehow, walked, ran, crawled, attempted to fly, looked as though it was swimming, croaked, cried, stumbled, fell, rolled and bobbed its head through an intimidating distance of three metres to finally bump against the leg of our always-there-at-the-right-time-and-at-the-right-place hero.


Whether that piercing cry was one of shock, repulsion, aversion, or exultation is something that little fellow will keep with him as his little secret. Following the shock of the initial contact, out dear little fellow flapped his stubby wings in an attempt to take to the skies to evade the danger he believed he was in, but obviously to no avail. Eventually, the little Pokemon decided that the laws of gravity did not allow him to exert his powers of flight, and thus came to a decision to look the only way which could possibly tell it what it was up against—up. As amazing as it may seem that our heroine’s one and only Psyduck could actually make a decision, it would seem that great things never occur singly either, for in a moment of unparalleled genius and analytical intuition, the duck-like Pokemon gazed towards the heavens, and when he saw what he had so fortuitously run into, he actually managed to recognize our dashing hero, a sure indicator of higher cognitive powers than previously indicated by copious amounts of repeated cries, bobbing of the head, and an apparent lack of psychomotor skills.

The background of the screen turned a somewhat gaudy and tacky pink with phosphorescent stars splayed seemingly at random around the picture, with Psyduck’s two eyes glimmering like two scintillating aureoles. It was obviously happy to see our somewhat-surprised hero, just to state the already obvious (we just love oxymorons). They say that love transcends all boundaries, and while what Psyduck was feeling for our hero was certainly not love in the traditional amorous sense of the word (this is a family show after all), it was certainly at least one of high regard, and against all odds Psyduck showed great athleticism to make a huge leap of faith (Neil Armstrong be warned) right up to… How high will it go??? Right up to our hero’s thighs, apparently, where our dependable hero plucked it out of the air like a baseball player nonchalantly plucks an errant baseball out of the air. Monumental feat already in the bag, our Pokemon friend decided to rest on his laurels and let our hero hold its weight for the time being, all the while flashing what could passably be identified as a smile.

“At least Psyduck there is happy to see you, Ash.” Our heroine gestured towards her Pokemon, which was nestled in her friend’s arms and flashed a cheeky smile at him. “You know what they say; birds of a feather flock together.”

“Hey, what have I got to do with a bird?” Our obviously biped-land-dwelling hero questioned the sagacity of our heroine’s stab at metaphorism.

“We are all judged by the company we keep, my dear Ash,” our ever-so-intelligent heroine dispensed her mandatory sapient aphorisms with the greatest of gumption.

“In that case, I do not think I am going to be judged that great. After all, I am hanging out with you right now.” Our hero retorted in the latest installment of the persiflage the two were involved in, verbally knocking his friend into the figurative hole that she had unwittingly dug for herself.

Our heroine looked as though she had just choked on a fish-ball.

“Anyway, it seems to me that Psyduck here is eyeing you in a very queer little way.” Our hero had a keen eye for minute observations.

“Oh?? Erm, don’t mind it. That is Psyduck after all. Who knows what is going through that head of his. Come on Psyduck, back into your ball. You have had your daily exercise. Time for Ash and I to get down to some work...” Our heroine seemed to be a tad more flustered than she should have been, as if too happy to shoo her Pokemon back into the confines of its Pokeball.

“Come on Ash. It is important that you learn at least a little about forms in battle. Stop LOOKING at me like that!! Do I have two heads? Have I suddenly become ugly? Can’t I even return my own Pokemon back to its ball without you silently protesting?”

“I was not protesting, Misty. It’s just that… Just that Psyduck and I have not seen each other for a really long time and we were just getting reacquainted. It didn’t seem unhappy to see me at all.” Our hero protested against his friend’s despotic show of authority, which even going by her well documented lack of tolerance for the irritable, seemed out of character.

Our heroine took a deep breath and expelled it all in a sigh. She could vividly recall every single detail about the manner, whether intentional or not was inconsequential, that her Psyduck had embarrassed her in front of Casey and the little boy who had deemed her so worthy of all accolades, who had placed her on so high a pedestal she could not step down easily, and was unreasonably afraid that something on the same scale would occur at that very moment. Fortunately, her dilemma was solved without her needing to invest much thought. Unfortunately, the solution of her problem involved a certain duck-like Pokemon escaping the confines of its Pokeball.

“Psy… Psyduck.”

Our heroine tried in vain to stifle a groan.
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I was sooooo sad when I saw you were not going on. I happened to be looking through, seeing that there were new posts, and yes!

Thank you, thank you so much for posting, gambit!!!

Will review larter. Great feeling,



Iblis Wings
Wow...he stiil continues to amzes us even when he's gone....that makes me sad......why did he leave oh why!?