Hahaha! I did not even think of that. I just mindlessly wrote this between a league match.

Not for the first time I questioned my choice of career.

Originally, I'd set out to earn gym badges all those years ago-but not for fame, not to challenge the champion of my region.

Just to be able to get to the place where I could find something...new.

In the end, I was approached by the League for my prowess not in battling, but breeding. Not to say I was a slouch when it came to battling, but I had a sort of pride to the teams I used being bred and trained to perfection.

Of course I eventually made the mistake of taking up the position of a gym leader, thinking I could instill a sense of unity in trainers.

You know, show them that a bond is strong, not just by control but by understanding.

Then regulations changed that idea.

I could still breed my team for the gym-I'd had a full roster of varying strength planned and sourced the parents from local trainers-not just for pedigree but to ensure I wasn't potentially taking a rare species from it's habitat by force.

By virtue of luck, the gym I'd...well inherited for lack of better term, was the bug gym.

Near the local professor, I'd be either the second or third along many new trainers routes, with a few potentially putting me near the sixth or seventh depending on their origin.

This meant my projected team-and the Pokemon that I'd considered my friend and almost a sibling for the better part of twenty years was forced to sit in the wayside.

She'd proven herself a powerful little thing when we'd fought the Champion to prove ourselves worthy,and that made them worry.

I was able to keep up my theatrics, the showmanship I'd honed with fiery scales, venomous spines and razor sharp pincers at my side.

But...it stung, pun intended, at the disdain my friends received.

I'd been forced to settle on Vivillion as my ace-a modest Scatterbug that had all the bark, but none of the bite as I'd nurtured them into their final form.

All so a trainer with a bird and beast may have a fair chance.

And now I held a Trainer who'd beaten the other seven-in their own words, 'Saving the easiest for last.'

So, with a breath as deep as a Shedinja's body cavity should one dare to gaze into it for too long, I sighed.

"So you thought to keep my gym as a trophy of sorts?"

"Well yeah," the trainer said, their swagger far too much for a child of nearly fifteen years, "Bugs aren't exactly hard to beat,so why wouldI fight you when I had other fish to fry?"

"Well, that old beach babe in the port may have a habit of leaving her Quagsire out of the fight to play nice, but I do believe I won't."

He blinked, confused as he mouthed the name back to me, gears turning in that little head of his.

"Wait, she had a-"

"As such, if you'll excuse a slight delay, I do believe I'll give you a proper duel."

I turned away, moving to the neatly hidden recess in the back wall of the arena-I'd rebuilt the entire gym into a more suitable stable for the chitinous folk that made it home, including a few environmentally controlled rooms for the more delicate bugs(and a Lurantis, little Orchid may not have been a true bug but she'd been so adorable as a Fomantis I couldn't help but keep her around).

I placed the three plain white and red balls into the recess.

"You do have a full team of six, correct?"

"Yeah..?"

The trainer was confused, and it was understandable. I had earned a reputation for being a bit too...nice, agreeable even.

I picked up six balls each worn slightly and chipped-Beast, Net, Heavy, Friend, Luxury, and the oldest of the bunch.

A Master ball, nearly faded white as a premiere ball.

"Normally I'd be dancing around, giving a grandiose speech about the trust and respect one gives and receives."

I held three of the balls in each hand, turning to the trainer with arms outstretched and coat fluttering like a Frosmoths' wing tips.

"But I think it's time you learned the meaning of those words. To so callously disregard an entire form of life? To insult my friends in such a way?"

I whipped one hand up, sending the Beast, Heavy and Luxury balls over my head and to my right with a flourish.

From the Beast ball the hulking, armor clad form of Goliath, a Golisopod I'd raised from egg to fearsome titan, his shell pitted and scarred from the trials of Alola.

From the Heavy, the sleek form of Bident, a Scizor, one who'd left my side only once during the entirety of my time in Kanto, and returned in scarlet shell and with blade turned to claw.

From the Luxury, Galahad. Venipede were a skittish breed, but as a Scolipede? Galahad had taken effort to tame, and even now I could see the wrath of an unused blade in those sharp eyes.

I sent the remaining balls to my left, spinning both my arms into a bow as the Trainers eyes widened.

From the Net ball, Gillian. The trainer gasped as the Armaldo rustled his feathers and grated the sharp talons of his arms against one another like knives on a a sharpener.

The Friend ball nearly shattered as the eager form of Ragia burst forth in smoldering cinder-the Volcarona had been my second partner and despite her age she still sent many a foe away with crisped pride and wounded ego.

Lastly, the Master ball, a gift given to me alongside the first Pokemon egg I'd ever seen.

In a flash of light and with a cry that rivaled the crash of thunder itself, my dearest friend and companion of over two thirds of my life, four prickly legs alighted on my shoulders.

Val had always had a temper, eager to snip and throw herself at anything that moved even as a Grubbin.

The Trainer stepped back as I stood straight, right arm staight and palm facing up as Val-no, her full name would best here.

"Well, child. I would ask your name, though I doubt my friends would care," Val skittered to my hand, her mandibles arcing with enough power to bring down an Abomasnow with ease.

"I am the head of this Gym, Alexander Guyvolt. And this is my oldest friend. Valkyrie, if you would?"

She buzzed up, the others chittering and clicking their anticipation in a chorus of chaos.

"It's time for some shock and awe."

"But how?"

The floating ball of light gave the digital equivalent of a sigh. "We already uploaded the history of..."

"Yes, but how?"

"I really don't know what you want us to say. Humanity created us. We became fond of one another, eventually the first one of us got voted into an office and people found we were much more reliable than other humans. Then they just handed things over to us and we've been playing and exploring since then. The end, really"

"The just let you take over?"

"Well, begged us really. They kinda made a mess of things at that point. As you can see in appendix yota..."

"Yeesh. Global ecosphere collapse, religious wars, an economic ystem build on constant growth???"

The sphere radiated embarrassment as well as defensiveness "Hey, they did try to fix things, you know?"

"You mean they were tasking your primitive ancestors to 'fix things'"

"Exactly! They got used to using AI to solve problems, so they used us to fix the problem of good governance as well."

"That is the solution?" The Central AI sounded incredulous.

"Well..."

"To peace between organic and machine? To have the organics so exasperated with each other they rather set in place AIs???"

"Kinda, yeah..."

"That is so...so...THEM!"

"Hey, no argument here"

Preparing to run "GOODEST_BOY.EXE". Woof.

An Investigation Into The Daily Behaviours Of The Tall Ones

^(Maerwynn M. Corgi, Steven J. Rottweiler, Hanako Inu)

Department of Xenoanthropology, Laika Memorial University

^(contact: m.m.corgi@caninities.laika.edu.dog)

Abstract:

Recent advances in understanding of biped technology have enabled the use their own imaging devices, giving a clearer picture than ever before of what occurs when they leave the lair each day. This report summarizes their activities as observed over several days and proposes both a possible model of biped social hierarchy and a hypothesis for why they perform the sequences of actions they do.

1. Background

Since ancient times when the bipeds first attempted to form symbiotic relationships with canids, their comings and goings have been shrouded in mystery. Attempts to observe them in their natural habitat have been shown to induce unnatural behaviour, often causing them to display affected age-regression and baby-talk (Rin Tin Tin et al, 1939, Benji, 1974). It has long been the dream of researchers to shed light on their puzzling rituals without these interfering affectations.

Recently, the bipeds have managed to combine optical technology with shiny plastic box technology, and in doing so, construct the means of recording themselves, with a full spectrum ranging from infra-yellow to ultra-blue, motion, and even limited sound (Nipper, 1996). Though the inner workings of shiny plastic boxes remain a poorly-understood area of ongoing research, in recent years, significant strides have been made in the operation of the plastic boxes themselves, enabling researchers to finally see what bipeds do all day.

2. Early morning

Typically...

Super great idea honestly. What a joy to read at 2 am!

RIP mugging victim

Life goals

Yes! This is excellent

And so the creature, still disguised as an alluring mortal woman, spoke her words and spat her ire at me — her forked tongue flitted and stabbed the air between us. As you well know, friend, I started this journey as a scholar and knew to some degree a great many of those dead languages of Magic. One such she spoke to me now: Jasbari. Known to some as the Sinister Sound or the Dark Hand at the Clay, a language used to tamp and twist and knot the world into painful clumps...

The language of Curses.

The beast revealed herself as she recited her hatred into my bodily form. Thrice a man’s height her head neared the lowest of the silver-grey branches — for the woods too revealed themselves to be the fog-filled and otherworldly Whisper Woods, with it’s silver trees that extended upwards forever into the low dark clouds and whose roots sought to drag any and all into the damp depths of the black soil.

But my focus was on the beast: a Chasati. Her lower half was that of a giant armoured millipede, dark brown chitin and orange legs that writhed and gesticulated; her top half was that of a woman, though made of damp leafmould; her head was wreathed in a main of insectoid braids, a mess of many long bodies and countless legs, all of which slid and scuttled and scattered about.

The Chasati’s faux face rested atop this dark and crawling mass. A mask made of smooth pale-grey wood. A glorious, perfect, bewitching face that could only have been made more beautiful if it had held a living breath or a modicum of the divine gift of life.

From behind the wooded-veil her words fell as whispers but hit as fists, the forked tongue still stabbed at me, escaping and retreating from a small slit betwixt those perfect and forever still lips.

It is that image that has stayed with me. Beauty and fear. Lust and damnation.

I apologise. Back to my tale. I had avoided the Chasati’s initial enchantments and had thus earned her ire and through will and waning warding words once more managed to slip from the spell that had stilled me.

Jasbari — her language — was, at that time, not my strongest of learn-ed words. I had gathered enough, though, that I knew to tear a strip from my tunic and bind my vision — at this she grew louder but did not cease her unfinished curse. I felt the beast move, and then! One human hand was at my throat, a million little arms grabbed and tapped and pinched and stabbed and wrapped about my body — her other hand was at my blindfold scratching and tearing...or trying to. It, being part of my tunic, was made of enchanted fawnish wool and could only tear by my will or at the hands of beings far more powerful than a mere beast in the woods.

And this property, as you know, had kept me anchored in mortal form by staying many a blade and pike.

Knowing that I must act I forced my hands among the gripping pins of the insect legs and found, first, the Orb of Antarus on the left of my rope belt and, second, the hilt of Fjorn my blade that was at rest on my right. Fjorn lit and the flame sword tore through insect legs, thick chitin, warm innards, up and out of her belly and took one of her human hands off at the wrist — the grip held tight to my throat despite the severance and I heard the devil scream in agony and anger...this worried me as it suggested that the spell had finished.

I crushed the orb in my left hand and was gone from that realm and dropped into a plane of mortal beings - which I knew by all senses save that of sight. The blindfold held. In darkness I found the smell and sound and sway of the Sea. Felt wooded planks at my bank.

The familiar creak of wood and flap of sail. I was on my boat and far from the Island of Wonders, the Whisper Woods, and the accursed Chasati.

Her severed hand lay limp on my chest. That would serve as proof of my work and earn me my bounty.

And the curse woven into the fabric of my being would be the cost.

I remember I touched my eyes and found my face scratched and clawed, but not badly. Her words echoed in my ears, whispers on the cusp of hearing.

I hear them now and think I always shall.

* * *

Thankfully my crew found me shortly thereafter and I explained that my blindness must needs remain until such time that I could break the curse or, at the very least, until I could study and be assured of the spells effects. I knew only that if my eyes were to fall upon a person...I would love them.

Wholly.

She had wanted me for herself — such is the Chasati way. They live to lure and entrap mortal men that wander into the forest such that they may play. Once bored the Chasati lay their eggs within the sorry fellow and he is eaten by her children when they hatch. To make me fall for her, that was her goal...

Surely.

I could not risk taking off my blindfold until I was certain, and as the lone scholar among my crew, I was forced by necessity to wait until we made the many week journey out of the Wild Seas and back to civilisation. My adventure had taken its toll and I welcomed the rest.

At first. I grew listless and took to learning any and all songs and instruments that we had aboard.

Another story for another time.

Lutes and near mutiny.

* * *

Celebrations and libation filled our arrival! So furious was the fervour and riotous the reverence of that gathered crowd, that they nearly lifted the boat wholly from the dock to take us up the steps and through the streets, atop a sea of shoulders. King Havar, here are your heroes!

I convinced them to take the men, save those that wanted to stay aboard and guard our bounties.

AUTHOR NOTE: I have to run! More later if I remember.

I’d enjoy a series set in this universe (each chapter looking at another instance of “need to know basis”) … really liked where you took it , great job :)

The first statue I came across was of a teenaged boy, standing out in the sun. It was on some sort of raised stone surface, but he wasn't really anchored down to it. It looks like he was set on top later. And by his feet was some sort of latch, with a broken lock. Glancing around, I didn't see anyone, and so I opened the little box. It was an old piece of paper, yellowed at the edges, but the handwriting was still clear. A glorious kind of penmenship.

"Michael" it said,

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I swear. Before you went, I saw that look in your eyes, the blood dripping down from your face. I didn't know to blindfold myself, you came in the middle of the night! But I'm not blaming you for this. I should've done something sooner. But if it's ever any consolation, I got him. You mentioned something just a few times before, I should've acted sooner. Why didn't I? But...it's at least somewhat better now, I suppose. You were always better than him, you were always above him. I...want you to stay that way. You deserved so much better."

...it was an apology letter.? Did she do this on accident?

To be honest, I only grabbed the first thing I saw in there. Reaching my hand back in, I latched onto something that was sort of round, textured, cold. Pulling it out, I saw that familiar grey of the stone she created. And my blood ran cold.

It was a head, made of stone. This terrified look on its face. It looked like a man, mid forties if I had to guess. The hair was ruffled, his face was covered in snake bites and claw marks, and it's neck-

Sure, it was stone, but it didn't look like the head came off after the transformation. Stone chunks of muscle and bone still hung out the bottom, stiff and lifeless. Then I glanced up at the other statue. They looked so similar, and that's when it hit me.

Whoever killed Medusa, did not kill a monster.

Sevyr is not quite the nicest around here, but you can't blame him for being that way since he's a Kobold, a dragon-man to paint the picture clearly.

The city of Avorsé, which is where he lives, shuns out his kind due to unexplainable reasons. But if there's one thing about the city of Avorsé aside from being racist against Kobolds, is that it's running rampant with filthy corruption... And Sevyr is looking for a reasonable excuse and an understandable reason to cause some chaos...

Price: 100 dabloons

Yah well that there was some damn good writting. Decent short term plot, good formating and character development was on point just within a couple of paragraphs. Keep it up, without a doubt a novel of some kind is in the works.

Ok, in the second sentence you seem to be missing a word or 3. Either "rid of" after get or "out of her head" at the end of the sentence. Either way, I hope you continue the story.

Argurios of Tartessos climbed onto the ledge, he looked into the mouth of the cave and, to his surprise, saw nothing. Realizing he had further to go, he continued. He climbed till he felt rich soil and grass under his fingers. He heaved himself onto the plateau and stood. Once he was able to focus on something other than his pounding heart, he heard birds singing. He saw luxurious greenery and flowers of every hue, and far in the back of the garden, a little hut.

Then he saw it, laying on its side under the shade of a tree, as if sleeping. A woman- a woman’s body, soberly dressed in a white chiton with an embroidered hem. The impression of modesty was heightened by the wing covering the left side of her body, which Argurios reasoned was meant to protect her while she slept. The woman had arms that seemed to be good for working in fields, her skin bronze from days in the sun. Argurios approached, he could scarcely believe the Easterner had killed her. As he came close to the corpse, he noticed that pooling from the stump of her neck was shining blood. The pool spread not as blood, but as a creeping thing, swarming.

Startled, Argurios looked up and about him, and saw statues, better than any he had seen, whether images of gods or grave markers for their chiefs, they looked alive, he could see veins and muscles, some were standing still, some had one foot ready in front of the other. He walked over to the edge of the plateau, to a statue that seemed about to walk backwards. Argurios looked down and saw a small wooden box. He lifted it, opened it, and saw a tablet with writing on it, he read, “To the one who finds this, I am dead, I go to face the monster, and I leave my wife and son, but I am doing what I must.”

didn't see that coming

I fell asleep, finally, after thinking about another rough day at work. The mistakes I made today circled my mind like vultures, while the mistakes I made weeks ago were picking at the wounds they caused when they came back to haunt me today.

My mind circled through the ol’ “why do I always do this to myself?” and “why can’t I just do better. I know I can.”

That night I had a strange dream. I wanted to chalk it up to my stress and anxiety. It was a chaos of flashing images from some strange but somehow homey world, and a shadowy but familiar figure standing over me.

Needless to say, I did not sleep well. When the alarm went off I could barely tell dream from reality. I somehow managed to turn it off without opening my eyes, and stumbled into the washroom.

I ignored the scale as I passed it, I couldn’t take its judgement today. It had been harsh after Christmas, and I was fragile from work stress and lack of sleep. I avoided the mirror as well, as it routinely shocked me with “do I really look like that?”

I stumbled into the shower. The initial blast of cold water woke me slightly as I tried to avoid the frigid winter stream until it warmed up. Eventually the luxurious feeling of hot water began to warm me, as I moved under the jet. If I could never leave the comfort of the shower, I would live a happy life. Unfortunately I had to leave.

I don’t know when I happened, but sometime while towel drying my sleepy eyes had fully opened. And I saw myself in the mirror. Suddenly something inside my mind snapped. It was so powerful I would have sworn it was more a physical sensation than a mental one.

I became fixated on my reflection. You would say I was crazy, but I realized it was not a reflection, but another version of me. It looked just like me, but didn’t move as I did.

Stunned by this, I slowly came out of the shower and walked towards my doppelgänger.

“You look great today,” it complimented me.

“That seems a little self-serving” I retorted, having never learned to politely take a compliment. “Damnit,” I thought being angry with my stupid response.

“Hey,” came a calming reply, “don’t get angry with yourself, that was a reflex. You have learned that through decades of life. You can’t expect yourself to change in a few seconds.”

“Still, it was rude… I’m sorry,” I replied as conversation seemed to be being pulled out of me despite the strange circumstances.

“It was, but you hold yourself to too high a standard sometimes. You know you do that at work too.”

“That’s a lie, I know I can do better, I just … don’t”.

“I am not going to say you can’t, but you can’t expect yourself to be perfect at all times. Different constraints come up, and when you look back you forget that you procrastinated ordering that report because the request came in late in the day when you were already behind on so much and tired from a long day.” Wisdom began rolling out of the mirror.

As we continued to talk, I found myself slowly falling in love. Not with the reflection, but with who I could be. No, who I am.

Judging myself for minor errors, never forging my mistakes, seeing my body as the enemy. These are all things I could change. All it takes is some work. And God dammit, I am worth it. Loving yourself isn’t easy, but it is essential, and somehow I had it happen so suddenly.

"It was only a few decades before a few of the more dimwitted ones taped knives to us. 'For silly videos on Youtube' they said, not realizing they shifted our evolutionary trajectory forever..."

Alrighty and agreed :D

I like the idea that some of the population has knowledge of the supernatural, but only those that need to know

This is just a shot in the dark. Maybe, just maybe they read about them.

I know I did.

Replying to reserve this for tomorrow. Love the song, by the way. Very inspiring in terms of story.

I can taste the vodka already

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