Krispy
03-04-2008, 10:40 PM
Title is weak, I know. I've never really been good with titles. Here is the first chapter (kind of) of the story I started with my shiny Spiritomb picture. Sadly, this took nearly all afternoon, as I am incredibly slow at writing. Fear not, things will be explained eventually. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this first part. :)
It’s too cold down here. Too dank, too dark, too wretchedly miserable. Being a ghost, one would expect me to be used to this sort of thing. Well sure, I have grown accustomed to it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I can remember living in better conditions, which is probably the reason for my dissatisfaction. The obvious solution would be to leave this place – go somewhere bright and… happy. Like Valley Windworks. Unfortunately, I can’t do that. They made quite sure of my containment, of my imprisonment, 500 years ago….
*****
Okay, so it wasn’t really 500 years. More like 80, though it certainly seems like 500. I was a Haunter once, living in the area that would come to be known as Route 209. For close to ten months, I observed passing trainers, preying on the Pokémon of the unwary. Most of the trainers were searching for Chansey, but a lot of the time they gave up and settled for a Tauros before continuing their journeys. Tauros, at least, were abundant, which is probably the reason ranchers decided to settle in the area. Traffic increased, making it only a matter of time before news of my actions spread.
Trainers didn’t know what I was, of course. I was careful to remain hidden during the day, as bright sunlight affected my invisibility. At dusk, once the trainer set up their makeshift camp, I would do the usual ghostly things. Wake them up by wailing from a distance, getting progressively closer before going into their camp and smothering the remains of their fire. Funny how darkness makes the unknown about a thousand times scarier for a human. The faux brave ones were especially amusing, making threats about how “whoever is out there should stop or they’ll face some powerful Pokémon.” Stuff like that. Eventually they all sent out one or more of their Pokémon. That’s when the fun really began.
Some of the Pokémon actually put up a fight. Some of them even tried to go back into their Pokéballs. But most of them froze in fear when I revealed myself. That made it easier for me, as my ultimate goal was to lick them, stealing some of their life force in the process. This was easy enough, as I was twice as strong as any other Pokémon in the vicinity. They didn’t stand a chance. Oh, does life taste great. It’s like pure energy for me. Unfortunately for the victim, it seems to have a negative effect on their nervous system. Like a “they-look-dead” kind of effect. For some reason, trainers aren’t necessarily happy with their Pokémon in a catatonic state. I’d whip up a quick Confuse Ray so they wouldn’t spread word of me and be on my way.
Apparently a few of them remembered my initial howls and moans, which, coupled with the deathly illness of their Pokémon, gained Route 209 a reputation for being haunted. A few of those traveling salesmen who are only out to rip people off tried to sell “anti-ghost charms,” which mostly consisted of small, painted rocks on string or rolled-up paper with fake symbols. They amused me for about a week, then I blew up their wagon with a Shadow Ball, scattering their possessions. Interestingly enough, they kept what appeared to be all their money from the past year in a sack, instead of taking it back to a city and putting it in a bank. I took the sack and threw it into a nearby cave, where resident Pokémon would probably chew it up. The salesmen left in a hurry, but a steady stream of Pokémon trainers continued through the area. I must have gotten too comfortable, too assured with all the “food” coming in, for not long after the salesman incident, I made a mistake.
It was a simple mistake, really. The simplest, worst mistake I would ever make, though I didn’t know it at the time. Usually I watched a trainer for a day or two, getting an idea of how strong their team was before attacking. Continued success had made my confidence level extremely high, so I decided to go after a fairly weak-looking female trainer. As far as I had seen, she had only a Sentret, a Buneary, and a Starly. She had struggled with every battle she was in, and I should have noticed she was a little too weak to be training in the area. But all I saw was an easy target, so I attacked in the evening when she was sitting down by the main path with her Pokémon to eat supper.
It was a trap, of course. The girl screamed (predictably) when I appeared, but then did something most trainers did not have the presence of mind to do when I showed myself. She recalled her Pokémon, saving them from me. I paused, confused. Judging by how the color had gone completely from her face (something I had not seen happen before in daylight; it was rather fascinating), she was utterly terrified. Yet determination soon showed in the set of her mouth. Well then, I had decided, I would just attack her then release her Pokémon again. By that time her help had arrived, in the form of an older brother who had been following at a distance all day, as I later found out.
I was blasted from behind by a Psychic attack that buzzed through me with a ferocity that made me think I was going to be literally blown apart. Weakly, I turned around to see a boy perhaps five years older than the girl, along with his Mismagius. His female Mismagius. All I could do was stare for a moment, allowing the Mismagius to hit me with a mean Dark Pulse. It hurt in almost the same way as Psychic had, but with a more suffocating, despairing feeling. I couldn’t help it; I flinched. Still though, I had to look back at the Mismagius, whose name I heard the trainer calling as if through a thick fog. “Missy,” her name was. Unoriginal, but that wasn’t really important, anyway. Suddenly, I realized that I was, in fact, in a battle, and pretty far gone. Attract, I thought sourly. She had used Attract. I darted forward and threw a Sucker Punch, the blue glow around my hand flaring. She looked very pained, and I almost regretted it, but then she retaliated with Payback and I fainted.
It’s too cold down here. Too dank, too dark, too wretchedly miserable. Being a ghost, one would expect me to be used to this sort of thing. Well sure, I have grown accustomed to it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I can remember living in better conditions, which is probably the reason for my dissatisfaction. The obvious solution would be to leave this place – go somewhere bright and… happy. Like Valley Windworks. Unfortunately, I can’t do that. They made quite sure of my containment, of my imprisonment, 500 years ago….
*****
Okay, so it wasn’t really 500 years. More like 80, though it certainly seems like 500. I was a Haunter once, living in the area that would come to be known as Route 209. For close to ten months, I observed passing trainers, preying on the Pokémon of the unwary. Most of the trainers were searching for Chansey, but a lot of the time they gave up and settled for a Tauros before continuing their journeys. Tauros, at least, were abundant, which is probably the reason ranchers decided to settle in the area. Traffic increased, making it only a matter of time before news of my actions spread.
Trainers didn’t know what I was, of course. I was careful to remain hidden during the day, as bright sunlight affected my invisibility. At dusk, once the trainer set up their makeshift camp, I would do the usual ghostly things. Wake them up by wailing from a distance, getting progressively closer before going into their camp and smothering the remains of their fire. Funny how darkness makes the unknown about a thousand times scarier for a human. The faux brave ones were especially amusing, making threats about how “whoever is out there should stop or they’ll face some powerful Pokémon.” Stuff like that. Eventually they all sent out one or more of their Pokémon. That’s when the fun really began.
Some of the Pokémon actually put up a fight. Some of them even tried to go back into their Pokéballs. But most of them froze in fear when I revealed myself. That made it easier for me, as my ultimate goal was to lick them, stealing some of their life force in the process. This was easy enough, as I was twice as strong as any other Pokémon in the vicinity. They didn’t stand a chance. Oh, does life taste great. It’s like pure energy for me. Unfortunately for the victim, it seems to have a negative effect on their nervous system. Like a “they-look-dead” kind of effect. For some reason, trainers aren’t necessarily happy with their Pokémon in a catatonic state. I’d whip up a quick Confuse Ray so they wouldn’t spread word of me and be on my way.
Apparently a few of them remembered my initial howls and moans, which, coupled with the deathly illness of their Pokémon, gained Route 209 a reputation for being haunted. A few of those traveling salesmen who are only out to rip people off tried to sell “anti-ghost charms,” which mostly consisted of small, painted rocks on string or rolled-up paper with fake symbols. They amused me for about a week, then I blew up their wagon with a Shadow Ball, scattering their possessions. Interestingly enough, they kept what appeared to be all their money from the past year in a sack, instead of taking it back to a city and putting it in a bank. I took the sack and threw it into a nearby cave, where resident Pokémon would probably chew it up. The salesmen left in a hurry, but a steady stream of Pokémon trainers continued through the area. I must have gotten too comfortable, too assured with all the “food” coming in, for not long after the salesman incident, I made a mistake.
It was a simple mistake, really. The simplest, worst mistake I would ever make, though I didn’t know it at the time. Usually I watched a trainer for a day or two, getting an idea of how strong their team was before attacking. Continued success had made my confidence level extremely high, so I decided to go after a fairly weak-looking female trainer. As far as I had seen, she had only a Sentret, a Buneary, and a Starly. She had struggled with every battle she was in, and I should have noticed she was a little too weak to be training in the area. But all I saw was an easy target, so I attacked in the evening when she was sitting down by the main path with her Pokémon to eat supper.
It was a trap, of course. The girl screamed (predictably) when I appeared, but then did something most trainers did not have the presence of mind to do when I showed myself. She recalled her Pokémon, saving them from me. I paused, confused. Judging by how the color had gone completely from her face (something I had not seen happen before in daylight; it was rather fascinating), she was utterly terrified. Yet determination soon showed in the set of her mouth. Well then, I had decided, I would just attack her then release her Pokémon again. By that time her help had arrived, in the form of an older brother who had been following at a distance all day, as I later found out.
I was blasted from behind by a Psychic attack that buzzed through me with a ferocity that made me think I was going to be literally blown apart. Weakly, I turned around to see a boy perhaps five years older than the girl, along with his Mismagius. His female Mismagius. All I could do was stare for a moment, allowing the Mismagius to hit me with a mean Dark Pulse. It hurt in almost the same way as Psychic had, but with a more suffocating, despairing feeling. I couldn’t help it; I flinched. Still though, I had to look back at the Mismagius, whose name I heard the trainer calling as if through a thick fog. “Missy,” her name was. Unoriginal, but that wasn’t really important, anyway. Suddenly, I realized that I was, in fact, in a battle, and pretty far gone. Attract, I thought sourly. She had used Attract. I darted forward and threw a Sucker Punch, the blue glow around my hand flaring. She looked very pained, and I almost regretted it, but then she retaliated with Payback and I fainted.