Squad Intros

Two days had passed since Pate’s squad forcefully reassigned itself to roaming the countryside. The remnants arrived at Castle, a good three quarters of their supplies abandoned due to a lack of bodies to hold them. They fell far short of the bandit-crushing squadron the town had begged after.

“Everyone, line up,” Pate ordered. They did so, leaping into the shade provided by Castle’s squeaky-clean sign.

WELCOME TO CASTLE

CHANGE IS GOOD. CHANGE FOR GOOD.

If she squinted, and pretended there were a dozen super-powered Wurmple hidden behind their backs, they still had a shot. She strutted, keeping her anxiety at bay by talking really loudly.

“Today, we four march into the bowels of greed. A thief-ravaged shell. Crying children. Dejected elders. Broken promises. The entrails of a distant and peaceful dream. Like a candle that–”

“Okay, moratorium on the candle stuff,” Pawn said. “The ‘bowels of greed’ look pretty clean.”

Pokemon could be mean creatures when they dabbled in the natural order of things: territorial attacks, lootings, extortion attempts… all aimed at anything weaker than them, and none of it tidy. Clearly, no one had decided to be mean to Castle yet. Not to its soft pink-pastel and egg-white walls, nor to its gorgeous Ho-Oh water feature nor its rainbows. The town was magnitudes better off than its would-be heroes.

“Are those brick houses?” Grin asked, peering down the street. “It’s amazing to see humanist architecture this far from a city.” Exporting the necessary resources and skilled laborers for brick homes was an expensive affair. A good portion of the Pokemon world still preferred crude, hallowed-out craniums fashioned from rock or mud.

Pate frowned. “It’s all definitely ravaged. The most ravaged things try to appear fine on the outside. I can tell by the sad looks you’re all giving me that I am winning this argument.”

Pawn broke rank and jabbed his paw at the cozy houses. “Everyone’s simply sleeping in, and someone wasted the Tall Grass’s time.”

Grin shook his head. “Not possible. Every request on this scale is evaluated by senior advisors. They filter out bad missions.”

“Don’t regurgitate operating protocol at me, you wretched thing. I’ve spent far more time in this persistent night-terror than you have.”

“For now!”

“Is that you misunderstanding how time works, or is that a threat? Should I be fleeing?”

“Shut it!” Pate barked. “Maybe it’s mental banditry. Evils leaving scars unseen. There could be a gang of Kecleon camouflaged in different spots. And whenever someone in Castle has a great idea for a business, these bandits steal it and do it first. Or there’s a bunch of folk roping the citizens into unserious relationships that bitterly fizzle out.”

Pawn blinked, waiting patiently for the Houndour to say she was kidding. It dawned on him that she wasn’t. “Wow. We have to do something before it’s too late.”

“Are you getting sarcastic with me, commander?” Pate asked. “You don’t want to know what happened to the last fool who crossed me.”

“I was literally there, kicking him in the head right beside you.” Pawn groaned. “Look. Do you want there to be bandits? You must realize that’s a patently insane thing to want.”

Grin nodded. “We hardly have the numbers for a real fight. We lucked out.”

“But I’m not here to luck out!” Pate snapped. “I refuse to start my tenure with a three week-long bout of tail-chasing. There needs to be a problem in Castle, and we need to solve it. I’m not a mere errand girl,” she added, muttering under her breath.

The Raboot came around, awkwardly slapping her back. “Sorry your first (and probably last) job sucked. Can we please head to the inn?” There was a three-story, deliciously-welcoming giant of an inn, closer to a hotel, just a half-minute’s walk down the street. “We all smell wretched, we’re tired, we’re malnourished, we’re still stained with Pengy’s blood…”

“Ahg.” The Houndour spun out of his grasp. “You know what, Pawn? Go ahead.” She dug into her satchel and tugged out her coinpurse. With a flick of her head, she chucked a 50-poke coin in the Raboot’s general direction. And another. “I order you to go be a little coward bunny boy.”

“Seriously?” He shielded his eyes and waved an arm about madly to deflect projectiles. “Throw another coin at me, I’m throwing it back.”

“Lazy ass!”

“Ow! Gi–Arceus, I warned you.” He picked up a 100-poke coin and pelted her right in her skull helmet.

“He refuses to accept he is a bunny boy! Bearet, stab him.”

(“Don’t actually,” Grin whispered hurriedly. Bear sheathed his mawblade, disappointed.)

Gold showered the two; about three-thousand poke of ammunition flew back and forth, becoming slobbered and dusty–or even lost in the healthy grass just off the trail.

“Goodness, what is happening here?”

A Bellossom stood before them, as if summoned by their shenanigans. She seemed to be on her way out, armed with a wicker basket and a side-pouch. She pulled a cloth free from the pouch, using it to filter out the stray dust.

Pate grinded to a stop. A forced grin chiseled itself on her horrified face. ‘G-Greetings, Castle resident. Haha. I am Pate of the Tall Grass. Gosh, g-great question. We were in the middle of a respectable team-building activity. Haha.”

The Bellossom hiked up her grass skirt and kicked away a few lost coins. “Interesting.”

Grin swooped in, picking up money as he spoke. “See, the activity is to throw poke at your friends. And how much you throw is how much they’re worth to you. Watch. Bear–” he threw four-hundred poke into the Boltund’s face, like he was a Gholdengo fighting for their life. “I love Bear that much.”

“Ow. And then the other fella eats it,” Bear added, stooping down.

The Floragato ran over and wrapped his arms around the Boltund’s neck, wrestling him away from brunch. “No, no you don’t do that part. He just likes the metal smell,” Grin explained. He placed the dog in a sleeper hold, his arm curled around his friend’s throat. “It reminds him–Bear, seriously, stop–of blood.”

“Oh, h-how normal.” The Bellossom stifled a whimper. “I’m Ne… Nebra. Can I ask what brings you to our humble town?”

It was hardly a humble place, but Pate was a tad too nervous to disagree. “We heard there are bandits around these parts. Our elite team is here to subdue them. We will rain justice down on their asses, haha. Ha…”

Silence. Nebra shuffled about.

Pate nodded past her. “So, uh… yeah. Where are they? Are they invisible?” She glared at random spots in town. “Are you and your mate trapped in a cycle of invalidating the other’s feelings?”

“No… thank, uh… thank goodness you’re here,” Nebra finally answered. “Um… would you all like a room? The mayor can explain everything… tomorrow…”

Pawn darted forward, urging them all to follow down the street. “Please and thank you.” She crouched lower and whispered to Grin. “She’s not ready to talk about it yet. You stay behind and clean up while I investigate.”

The Floragato let Bear fall from his sleeper hold. “Wait, but…”

“It’s your team building exercise,” Pawn teased. “Say, Nebra, does the inn have warm baths?”

Nebra nodded meekly. “We have heated pools. A full bathhouse… but let me show you your room…”

Bear and Grin watched them stalk off towards the inn. The Boltund rolled onto his back, shooting a glance over to his friend. “Something’s off, here. Don’t ya feel?”

“Yeah,” the Floragato mewled, sniffling. “No one threw any money at me. Just like at that awful job I had last year in Xanadu.“

“You never explained to me what job–”

“Dancer.”

“You always say that. But what–”

“I was a dancer, Bear, and that’s final!” The Floragato stormed off, leaving about two-hundred poke on the ground.

---

Castle proved to have Pokemon in it. Their favorite daytime activity seemed to be staring out their windows. Some were remarkably competitive with it, managing a pupil dilation and surprised expression that could send them right on to the world gawking finals.

“The bandits have you all in a sequester,” Pate said. “It’s a crime in itself to see a place this beautiful in chaos.”

Nebra raised and lowered her hands at the peekers. One by one, they slipped back, resuming the place’s seemingly usual air of abandonment.

“It is hard, yes. There’s so many… bandits. Around.”

“Should I do a perimeter check? Should I?” Bear asked excitedly. “Should I run around the town until I find a bandit, can I, can I?”

“N-No? You’ll panic everyone.”

Pate’s interest in the directed tour waned. She slowed down, looking for something in particular. “We were talking about Castle earlier, Nebra. A place like this must have a very valuable export.”

The Bellossom stopped, eyes darting around to find out what the Houndour was looking for. “Our export?”

“I haven’t read through up-to-date indices in a few months,” the commander explained, “but your fields aren’t large enough for all this.”

“L-Large enough?”

“The maintenance cost of a place this size wouldn’t be covered by selling produce. Not at the acreage I saw walking in. Do you manufacture something? Manage services? There was no proof of forestry, nor dungeoneering. What do you provide?”

Nebra shrank. “We, we provide…”

Pawn had drifted off to a pink two-floor house, and apparently missed the door. He ran a paw along the wall.

“There’s the Ho-Oh water feature in the middle of town. And this paint job’s spackled with a kind of reflective stone, grated into glitter. Imitation of sacred ash… it’s a common decorative practice of the Rainbow Pokemon’s Primaries.”

“So the town’s funded by a Legendary or its Primaries! Not exactly common,” Pate said. “What arrangement does Castle have with Ho-Oh’s Opalescence, Nebra? It seems odd you would reach out to the Tall Grass–a group of Void Knights–before the group that founded your home…”

Grin blinked. This Houndour and Raboot had been a complete mess the entire way to Castle. Suddenly, they were private investigators?

“C-Counseling!” Nebra squeaked. “We provide, um, counseling. For instance, um… you and the Raboot have a lot of friction…”

“There’s no friction.” Pawn turned from inspecting flowers in a window box. “She’s my commander. In a bout of madness, I attempted to have an opinion. That’s all.”

Pate rolled her eyes. “Need I remind you, your opinion was wrong. There are bandits. Nebra said so.”

“Are the bandits stealing counseling? You’ve lived in a migrating camp your entire life. As if you would know the first thing about a city.”

“You were pontificating about a wall! Ooh, the wall has pretty sparkles, I just wanna lick them.”

Bear quit pacing around a lamppost. “Wait, is it–”

“Bear, no,” Grin said.

“If you’re not going to respect my opinion,” Pawn said in a measured voice, “then forget it. I’ll go back to not giving a shit, per your orders.”

Pate cut off a bout of laughter with a snort. “The difference your effort makes is almost negligible. Now fall in line. We’re headed to the inn so you can have your nap. Nebra, I will escort you to our rooms.” She raised her snout up high and marched. Nebra followed, almost dizzy with relief.

Pawn swung around to Grin. He waited, both paws held up expectantly.

“Yeah?” The Floragato asked.

He swung both paws down in frustration. “Advise her, you rotted cabbage cat. I assume you would want to stop your commander from insulting her subordinates and ignoring their input. But, who knows–you do have, say, thirteen more days of advising experience than I do.”

“I, uh…” that was a good point. Was it a good point?

“…I understand.” Pawn turned and began walking briskly in Pate’s direction. “You only got involved once the veterans poisoned your friend.”

Grin felt a uniquely bad sensation ripple through his body. “Hold on.” He gave chase, catching up. “Don’t say that. I care.”

“You don’t. But it’s fine. I sort of wish I could turn it off too. I’m always oscillating, getting tugged back in. And here you are, a master of the craft. You even lucked out and have a friend to do it with.”

“I care, I promise!” Grin exclaimed. The plea went ignored. “Okay, okay. What do you want me to say to her? I could tell her you’re her imaginary friend, and that anything you say is her sub… conscious…”

Pawn tugged his ears. “That… is… your job!”

They stormed into the inn, Bear following close behind. Rather than go up the stairs, or sit in the lobby, Nebra had propped open a door behind the common room’s counter.

“Um, right down here–”

“But I had a dream about you last night!” Grin cried. “Bear was there too. You were a tree that gave me directions to a grove full of singing oran berries.”

“I don’t care,” Pawn repeated, “I do not care, I literally do not care–”

“They started singing a string of numbers to a safe, and I found a miniature you and several thousand poke in it. I’m still interpreting it, I think it means I treasure you.”

Pawn slapped the wall. “Most Pokemon care in the waking world. Believe it or not, you finding a mini-me in a safe doesn’t… where are we?”

This was far from a penthouse. Closer, yet still far away from an inn room. The rugged, cold walls, lack of proper lighting, and musty air spoke more to a basement than a place to live. A storeroom, maybe, explaining why it was located behind the counter. It would be impossible for a citizen of Castle to make a boarding mistake this bad.

Nebra slammed the door shut. The Raboot shoved Grin off to the side and ran up the stairs. It replied with a heavy, metallic click, an outside latch locking into place.

Pawn yanked on the handle, ears flattened. “She locked us in here. She actually… hey!” He shouted, banging on the door. “The door’s locked!”

Nebra squeaked. Through the thick oak, her shy voice was hardly a whisper. “This is our privacy suite. It locks from the outside so, um… not even you can… can ruin your privacy. Bye…”

“This looks like a basement,” the Raboot called back. “No, it’s definitely a basement. We can’t leave. W-We’re stuck!”

“If you say so… you can use the pot down there for your business… don’t eat our jam…”

And with that kind offer, Nebra walked away, her leaves shuffling along the stone steps.

He pounded on the door a few more times, just for good measure. All each knock did was drive home the door’s thickness and strength. It wouldn’t have been out of place in a prison. “I can’t believe it,” he said to himself. “She… she actually went away. G-Guys?” He called, panic rising in his voice. “I think we’re… ugh…”

Grin swept some dust away from a barrel lid and made himself at home. “Wow, I’ve never stayed in a basement before. This is real lowkey.”

Pate nodded. “It says, like, I love to be cultured, but I don’t need much. You know, it’s not a den, it’s a basement. Like the bowtie of sublevel living.“

“It’s civilized, yet hearkens to our roots. Rustic! That’s the word. And this support beam here in the middle, a bit narrower and you’d have a good practice pole.”

“The chill rising from the stone is a natural comfort, difficult to imitate with basic artifice. And the lack of windows means no sunlight breaking in and ruining your rest. It’s so tranquil, I’m fine not knowing what the pole’s for.”

Bear perused the cleaner sections of the basement, shelves of earthy poultices and jars of jam. He licked his chops. “They don’t even label their dinner menu. I always thought that’d make eating way more fun.”

Grin smiled. “I could see myself staying forever in a place like this.”

Pawn rushed over to them, stammering. “Great. Because w-we’re trapped,” He rushed down the steps to them. “She locked us in here… must think we’re bandits.”

Pate snorted. “Ridiculous. The way I’m always half-yelling makes my leadership plain as day.”

“Four disgruntled Pokemon, coats matted with blood, appear in your town claiming to be bandit hunters. What do you do?“

The Houndour looked around. Her confidence became just as stagnant as the sequestered, dust-filled air. “I’d probably not offer them the basement suite, but that’s just me…” she left mid-sentence, trotting over to the door. “You p-probably just pushed rather than pulled…”

“I-I can’t stay down here.” He pushed the words out all on one, turbulent breath, body folding against the wall. “Too cramped. L-Like the Boxes,” he clarified aimlessly. “What do we do, what do I do…”

“Now, hold on,” Grin said. “Pawn, take deep breaths. You’re right. If we continue as we are, the mayor won’t trust us with his town’s future. He might even continue to think we’re bandits who gang up and attack Pokemon. We need to, uh… make a fantastic first impression.”

Pawn’s paws trembled. He ignored Grin, eyes fixed on the stairs up–before the lack of exit crumpled him back into a fuzzy ball. “I need out. This is… this is too much.”

The door jangled and clicked again with renewed attempts. Pate tugged back and forth, paw slung in the handle. With sudden aplomb, she slipped her paw loose and tried a headbutt. It splintered the wood, but the damage was merely cosmetic.

“You will not get away with this!” She screamed. “I am Pate of the Tall Grass, and I won’t, I–I can’t be embarrassed this way!” Another headbutt, a crack resounding along the walls. “I’m no one’s prisoner. I’m not.”

The Floragato sat down next to Pawn. It was hardly visible in the basement’s poorly-lit gloom, but the cat’s usual, dumb smile shifted slightly into a frown. “Alrighty. Time to show you care,” he whispered to himself. “We need to make up some intros, fellas! Being honest about ourselves will show them that we are nothing to fear. I guess that means talking about myself. Who I am, where I came from, my magic tricks…“

The Raboot withdrew from his ball.

The purple of Grin’s eyes flashed. “Did I pique your interest?”

Bear sat down on the other side of Pawn. His tail wagged a hundred times a second, slapping against the stone wall in a rapid drumbeat.

“I love intros,” he said. “Grin helped me set one up, and that’s how I landed this job. He has the best, most interesting, coolest life, so his intros are always the best.”

Another headbutting sent Pate spilling down the stairs. She made to rush up and scream some more, yet her ears perked at Bear’s words… she walked up a stair, only to double back and join the others.

“Hold on, Bear. I…” she took a deep breath in, then let it out, resetting herself. “I would definitely have the greatest intro, as the commander.”

“I bet you would,” Grin said daringly. He shot Bear an appreciative wink.

“What goes into making one?”

The advisor counted them on his digits. “Theme song. Backstory. Attitude. Some people think a first impression is what you first say to someone. Really, it’s what you first are.”

Pawn huffed. “Pa… dear Commander, may Grin go first? I’m very–”

“There’s an arrangement composed by Mage herself,” Pate explained. “Seeking Treasure, the Wigglytuff Guild’s already great motif, enriched by the actual hero of time they trained from nothing. I saw a genuine performance of it when I was a pup.” She smiled warmly. “I still remember my father balancing me on his back so I could see the orchestra.”

“Mage, that’s the human-hero who spends her time tinkering away,” Grin said. “She does music?”

“Mage might be known for her bookishness, but she can command a stage just as well. The song fits me perfectly.” Pate sat down, a paw thoughtfully cradled beneath her snout. “As for who I am…”

---

A wild animal lives in the woods. It wanders among its faceless pack, plodding along thin veins of dirt that course through the brush. It hardly tracks how these ways twist and reform beneath its feet. Days idle away, but the animal feels content, basking in the forest’s comforts–her cool breeze, her earthy aroma, and the chill of her forever-fresh dew on the grass.

A clash suddenly rips the Pokemon from its stupor. There’s a battle, their pack against unknown foes who bark at one another and wear shimmering metal marks. Their opponents’ words shape like clay sculptures in their mind, their mindless shouts and warnings are enough to fill the omission that allowed the animal to linger in its home all this time; It’s painful to fight and lose, but the realization of an outside world numbs all the stinging wounds.

Scholars refer to this state as docility, a waking dream that ends once the docile realizes they have been waiting for something. Some dociles describe it as a mounting curiosity. Others feel dissatisfied with the world as it had always been. The result is the same: once awoken, a docile confronts an overwhelming urge to leave their home and pack behind. They embrace the Pokemon World.

Pate was not a docile. Her father, who hired seven separate caretakers to oversee her birth, was one. Her mother, who would go on to name her child Pate due to the pup’s outstanding skull helmet, also came from a dungeon.

Pate always felt apart from them, having to be taught lessons that dociles themselves had the moment they left their dungeons. Her only strong suit in leadership appeared to be a knack for mathematics, an unfortunately boring trait.

Then, the war came. It taught her the truth: to the outside world, the child of dociles was a docile, and the lessons she strove to embody were sources of ridicule and derision.

During her time in military logistics, Pate awoke from her own dream. She discovered a new world. A horrific, new world.

From then on, Pate dedicated herself to iterating on her father Atlas’s ethos, preparing to protect her kind from the world’s new threats once he stepped down. No matter how much Atlas refused to see it, what she had to offer was going to be important one day.

---

Grin nodded. “That makes a lot of sense, considering your favorite books.”

Pate’s short tail wagged. “You remembered my fun fact! There was a lot going on, so I didn’t think you would… Bearet?”

The Boltund had withdrawn into himself. He lazily scratched the dirt floor, eyes locked on the scribbled lines.

“Did you not like it?” Pate asked. “Did it have too much purple prose? Too self-aggrandizing?”

Bear shrank with a shrug. “No, it’s nice. Just… actually doing all that will be super hard. There’s some mean Pokemon out there who won’t like you.”

“Obviously. I don’t mind an uphill battle.”

Bear sighed. “It’s not uphill, it’s a wall.”

“What’s with the sullen attitude?” Pate snorted and turned her head away. “Just keep the negativity to yourself.”

Pawn crossed his arms and leaned back, eyes shut. “Firstly–that was like, a whole production. I’m not putting that much effort into my intro. Secondly, it seems your story brought up some bad memories for the mutt. Bearet, you should share with the class what–”

“No!” He barked, springing up. His eyes flooded over with panic. “Never. I can’t say, ever.”

“No one told you to,” Grin said. He reassured his friend with a tight hug. “He gets pensive without exercise. Buddy, why don’t you do a couple laps around the dance… support beam?”

The Boltund sprang into action, slipping out of the hug and sprinting for the beam. He ran loops, speed increasing–to the point where a single tangent would send him crashing at mach speeds into a wall. His running technique was flawless, making the most of the confined space.

His voice waved in and out, accompanied by routine gasps of breath. “This feels good–I want to talk about my intro while I feel good.”

Pawn moved to suggest Grin again, yet gave up instead. He slumped over, allowing the Boltund’s whirring to hypnotize him…

---

Battling is fun!

There’s so many ways a battle can turn out! It’s more than just clawing and ripping and exsanguinating until one creature remains standing. Pokemon have type energy, a special resource that lets them perform ‘moves.’ There’s eighteen known types along the spectrum, and they all play against each other. Each and Every battle is an awesome opportunity to see how someone else uses the power that’s inside!

Battling’s also totally natural! Pokemon become numb to pain once they’re in a fight. It’s always a solid strategy to ambush an opponent–so they’re distracted by an initial rush of agony.

If someone’s really hurt, they faint, meaning they have a special kind of nap where wounds heal super fast. In cool places called mystery dungeons, fainting becomes something nothing short of miraculous: a ‘mon could come back from being blown to smithereens!

It’s good for the environment, too! Fire type attacks scorch the land and allow stronger plants to grow. Water type attacks turn soil fertile. A Pokemon’s very blood, if they have some, will cause flowers, trees and plants to grow when spilled on dirt. What grows from anyone’s blood is unique to them.

Bear has planted many gardens.

When Bear fights, he feels happy. He understands it better than everyone else. When Arceus gave Pokemon the ability to talk, they also likely invented battling right after. That way, creatures like Bear could protect themselves. A metal claw for silver tongues.

Battling can be a tiny bit addicting! Bear tries really hard not to solve every problem with his mawblade, because there’s always a risk he might solve it permanently if the problem’s too weak. Regardless, he will always defend his best friend Grin from bad Pokemon.

Bear is self-taught. He never had a teacher, or inspiring leader, just a love for the craft and tons of volunteers for practice. He enjoys running in circles and trying new flavors. And foods.

---

At the end of the intro, the only sound left was the Boltund’s pattering feet. They drummed in perfect, soft rhythm, a galloping machine.

Bear eventually quit running around the pole and struck a pose, nose pointed towards the roof. “Did I do a good job?”

The others looked to Grin for advice on how to respond. The Floragato, lost in thought, reaffirmed his smile and clapped.

“Attaboy!” He cheered. “That was even better than last time.”

The intro itself had been a rambling mess, warbling in and out, earmarked by the Boltund’s constant panting. But the world definitely stuck to the fur, making each strand stand on end.

Pate cautiously stood up. “He rehearsed that?! That explains why you stabbed Pengy…”

“That was an accident,” the Boltund said. “I was overwhelmed.”

“Right, accident,” Pawn shot back. He peeled his back from the wall and corrected his ears, which had drooped over. “I saw the injury. You hamstrung him as if it were nothing. There’s two ways to learn anatomy on that level: you read, or you find out things for yourself. I don’t think you’ve picked up a book in some time.”

Bear frowned at the Raboot. “You talk a lot.”

Pawn’s tension exploded into motion. He dove to the side and picked up a plank, and his right foot ignited in flame as he shielded his collar with the loose wood.

“T-Try me. I’m, I’m not so easy to shut up.”

“Whoa, whoa, easy!” Pate dove between the two. “I won’t have you two fighting. Grin, would he–”

“No, what? Of course not.” The Floragato joined Bear’s side. “I promise he would never attack either of you.”

The Boltund shrank down, eyes downcast. “Sorry. I was mad and knew what I said would scare you. I’m not an idiot. Sorry.”

The Houndour nodded, and turned to Pawn. “My father wouldn’t assign a maniac to my squad. He apologized, so can you please put the, er, ‘weapon’ down?”

The wood thumped, a splinter shooting up its length as it tipped flat into the dirt. The crackling of readied fire faded from Pawn’s foot. Embers still flickered, illuminating the Raboot’s shaking.

“It wasn’t a weapon,” Bear explained. “He’d use it to keep me at bay. Even a rotten piece of wood is hard to break through, if you position it right. That would place me in kicking distance. It’s fairly clever…”

Pawn stared at the Boltund. Eventually, he managed a small, courteous nod. “I can fight. I just don’t like to. And… places like this really give me the creeps.”

The basement’s dark corners had spread. Now afternoon, the sun overhead no longer shone its light through the doors of the inn, let alone the thick door leading to the basement. Just the absence of those little hairs of light was enough to give the basement an odious atmosphere.

Grin rustled Bear’s head to distract himself. “Now that you mention it… I think I’d prefer a room upstairs next time.”

Pawn pulled his collar over his mouth. “I’m afraid of small spaces unless they’re mine. Unless I’ve organized every last corner of them. I hate that I have to explain this, but since we’re stuck down here together, and it might impact our escape (when we’re done pretending to do intros), you all ought to know.”

Fear was the most common disease a Pokemon could suffer from. An explorer, a rescuer, a normal citizen: they could be traveling through a dungeon and become victim to its denizens. Thrashed, shorn, burned…

Ninety-nine times out of one-hundred, maybe ninety-nine-point-nine, they would awaken on its outskirts–rattled yet whole. Sometimes, though, the memory sticks around. It festers, and it makes everyday things feel wrong.

The odds of it happening worsened during the Void War.

Pate took stock of the room and grit her teeth. “Is there anything we can do?”

“No.”

“Do you want to share more?” Grin asked.

The Raboot scoffed. “Yeah, right. For my intro? Hey, mayor of the town that jailed us. You ought to know I’m claustrophobic before you put us into forced labor or ransom us off.”

“If you take your turn,” Grin said, “I’ll show you a magic trick.”

“Doing away with the pretense, I see.” Pawn stretched out and yanked his collar back. His voice became noticeably clearer, yet far less confident. “Fine.”

---

Hewis. Ley. Jumpy. Those were the ran-ragged explorers who woke Pawn up. His home had always been the Sworl, the magical dungeon that provided resources for the metropolis Xanadu. He was a Scorbunny who got curious.

There wasn’t much time to worry about his place in the world. The explorers who found him assigned him to a pod with other ‘recruits.’ The pod’s mission was to scavenge for supplies among the rubble of Xanadu’s Breathers District. War had leveled an entire fourth of the city, but agents of the Void still lurked behind every corner, and it was a job best done by someone who wouldn’t be missed.

“If you want to be in this world so bad, fight for it like the rest of us,” they said.

Before Xanadu had multilevel buildings and towers, Pokemon luckily dug dens to shelter from the constant blizzards. If he had to, Pawn fought. He mostly broke into these ancient dens and hid.

He considered letting the Sworl swallow him up again. Everyone else stirred up such an excitement about how things would be once the Void left, so he stuck around.

When the war ended, the city’s leaders granted him-and many other victims of forced recruitment–what they called a ‘full ride’ to Xanadu’s Future Sight University.

He studied all sorts of things, and did fairly well. Pawn wound up evolving into a Raboot a bit earlier than is healthy, purely because it was awkward to teach classes as a little Scorbunny. His own track to graduation went on pause-too busy leading others along.

But it wasn’t really that great for him, and he fantasized about returning to the dungeon they stole him from.

Pawn discovered the Subject in the deep archives of Future Sight’s library. The Subject was beautiful. The Subject enamored him unlike anything else before. Finally, Pawn recognized a difference between his dungeon and this concrete jungle. It was so strange to wake up feeling happy.

He loved the Subject so much, too much. And in the course of pursuing it, he became exploitative. The way the Raboot behaved would have made Hewis, Ley, and Jumpy really proud.

Future Sight forced through his graduation and resignation on the same day his crimes were uncovered.

Now he roams the countryside–so that’s exciting. He has sworn off his pursuit of the Subject, and likely won’t be happy ever again because of that. Nonetheless, Pawn hopes there is at least a place in the world that will not make him too unhappy.

---

Pawn pushed his paw down on his wrist to steady the shaking. “There. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone outside the city…”

Bear shook his head. “That was sorta sad.”

“If you asked my former headmaster, they would say I’m on an epic adventure to apply everything I’ve learned. I don’t know. Maybe I ought to be happy I’m not locked away. Oh, wait.”

During the Raboot’s introduction, Pate had pulled down several of the preserved jars and sorted out an edible meal. Compared to gruel, scooping sweet jam right from its jar was equally messy and infinitely more enjoyable. Bear certainly couldn’t get enough, cleaning out several cups of jam as if it were just a thimble of water.

Grin snagged a pinkish variant and clicked the lid off with his claw-tip. “What’s the subject?”

“I explicitly labeled it that for a reason.” Pawn pointed to own pick, presumably blueberry. “It’s a mere temptation. I don’t deserve to think about it too much.”

“You were forcibly recruited,” Pate said. “Whatever you did was probably an extension of how you yourself were treated.”

The Raboot’s ear folded, blocking noise from her general direction. “Save the speech. I’m an adult capable of introspection. I’m also, decidedly, not a victim.”

“I wasn’t saying that. I just… I’ve seen firsthand how frustrating and cyclical this can all be. Making yourself miserable isn’t an approach that’ll ever work. Odds were, you didn’t even really know what you were doing.”

At the end there, Pawn’s dismissiveness flashed over into pure ire. “Whatever. I don’t need some backwater beast’s opinion on my life.”

Pate shoved her lunch aside and scowled. The jar rolled off into one of the dark corners of the cell. “Locked in this basement or not, I’m still your commander. Don’t talk to me that way.”

“Please don’t fight again,” Grin begged. “Hey, hey, I haven’t done my trick yet. Who wants a trick–”

“Poor girl saw scary stuff during the war,” Pawn said, “and thought she’d make it everyone else’s business. No one wants your dumb, crappy opinion about us.”

“Us includes me. You don’t know the extent of my effort.” Fire billowed from her helm. “You don’t know what I’ve done so far, or what I saw that inspired me.”

“You were in logistics! If anything, I saw more! You’re, you’re not accomplishing anything with all this self-importance besides pissing me off!“

“Stop belittling me.” The cold statement carried last-warning heat. She wouldn’t be slinging coins this time.

“Don’t condescend to me.”

Grin was the advisor. His advice right now would be maybe don’t attack each other--even Bear would agree that battles based on stuff like this never turned out ‘fun.’

But they wouldn’t listen to the advice as it was, and Grin has run out of ways to distract them from freaking out. He had to act; steeling himself, he stood over the snarling pair and stretched his arms up to the roof.

His dark shadow flickered. Then, it flicked on. Sunlight poured out of him, illuminating the pair.

The two blinked and looked at him, briefly forgetting their rage.

“L-Look,” he grunted. A pang of pain coursed through his head.

Pawn’s eyes relaxed a bit. “Sunshade…”

“Ho-Oh… p-primaries…” can simultaneously generate and refract sunlight from their bodies. A sunshade. In actuality, this technique was inspired by Solgaleo. The Sunne Pokemon’s servants used sunshade to grow crops in inhospitable places. With a Pokemon’s help, life could bloom where it normally would not.

A true believer could maintain sunshade for hours by meditating. Grin might manage another ten seconds or so. He squinted at Pawn, pleading with his eyes for the Raboot to step back.

He was in awe… and then his pupils flicked over to check on Pate.

She was less impressed with the display. Her pause was due to honor: she refused to attack Pawn when his back was turned. When they met eyes again, though, she felt compelled to speak.

“You’re just like every other veteran my father assigned to me.” She showed teeth, muzzle pinned up by fury.

Pawn looked back at Grin.

“Please… don’t…fi…ght. I… care…”

He crumpled, his brain feeling like a well-used dartboard. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t steer them away from the inevitable clash. His sunshade blinked out.

As it did, a dark shadow sifted past his blurred vision, raising his hackles. Grin tried to mention it, mouth opening and closing like a Magikarp who leapt up on land.

“Your father chose me as your medic?” Pawn narrowed his eyes, igniting his foot. “Pate, your father reallydoesn’t love you.”

The Houndour snarled and leapt at him, claws outstretched. It was hardly a technique, and more an invitation to tangle and smack one another until one remained standing.

However, Pate never landed. Several seconds passed, and she still had yet to arrive at her target. Pawn’s paws, lifted out to block her, dangled awkwardly. It was as if time crawled to a standstill.

Pate wrenched back, and discovered that something had gripped the scruff of her neck.

“You know,” an unfamiliar voice said, “I should have let this tantrum do you all in.”

Grin blinked off his stupor and craned his neck up. The stranger was a Braixen. He held Pate aloft, more like a shadow than a real creature. His coat had dull colors-the usual bright yellows and milky grays of his species coated in a deep layer of settled dust-brown.

“What’s wrong with me? Eh. It’s honestly too sad,” he answered. “Doing things this way should at least save you all some face.”

Pate wasn’t able to muster up her anger at the newcomer. All that energy flipped right around into fright, her battle-ready limbs going limp with indecision.

“Who are you?” She asked in a whimper.

“I’ll explain later.”

They dropped her. One instant, she was midair, paws scrabbling for flat ground. The next instant she plummeted, far faster than gravity allowed. The sudden speed didn’t afford her enough time to correct her fall. The bottom of her snout slammed into the dirt-an impact with a noise that made Grin happy about his own headache.

When the rest of her body followed, it was limp, unconscious.

“Pokemon with hard skulls always have glass jowls,” the Braixen said. “I’m the new mayor of Castle, by the way. Nebra said you had plans to depose me and earn a big old payday.”

Pawn slowly remembered he was, on some level, a void knight meant to protect the Houndour currently knocked out on the ground. Perhaps it felt easier to fulfill a duty than to puzzle together a reaction to this ambush.

The mayor coiled his tail around himself, pulling free a gnarled wand from the fur. “You’re trembling. Still, you must always chastise each child involved in a squabble equally. I’ll put you to bed real quick.”

The Raboot scoffed. “I’m not a kid, and you’re already hurt.”

“Oof. Good eye,” the mayor said. He had a large gash in his side, far too large for Pate’s hindpaws to inflict. They were all being routed by someone fresh off another fight.

He cradled the injury, coiling, readying an attack. “But you’ve got no nerve or focus, and that’s far worse in a fight.”

The Braixen threw his wand at Pawn. The medic managed to skitter backward and meet the incoming stick with a blazing, rising kick. Despite its flimsiness, the wand held tight, rebelling fiercely against this change of course. There was clearly some psychic force about it. It should have blown into ashes the instant Pawn connected with it.

He managed to drive it up towards the roof, the recoil sending him spilling backward onto his ass. He scooted backward, stamping his foot against the ground as if trying to strike a wet match. Two attempts in, and Pawn’s kicking became blind scrabbling.

“Shit, wait–”

His shield from earlier, that rotted plank, speared into his neck. It brought him back onto his feet, drove him right into the wall, sandwiching him between itself and the concrete–before snapping into a rain of splinters.

Pawn crumbled into a coughing fit, paws on his throat. To the Raboot’s credit, he gasped in a full breath and set his eyes on the far wall, some distance away from the attacker. His prescience sadly didn’t cover the several feet of open air above himself.

The wand fell back down with the same speed and force as Pate’s descent, except it streaked precisely into the top of Pawn’s head. It made a sound like a rock dropped on a hardwood floor. All things considered, it looked mostly like the Raboot had decided to sit back down and sleep, save for the rivulet of blood that trickled now from the impact site.

Grin winced. Even if he regained control, he could hardly fight a novice without real moves. “B-Bear? Do something…”

The mayor turned, placing his back to the wall. His wand flew into his claw.

“Bear, hm? From what I overheard,” he called out, “he’s what one would consider the hard part. Let’s get this all on the road, then… and… oh.”

Clank. Clank. The Boltund bounded out of hiding. That was good news. Or it would be, if not for the fact that his head was currently stuck in a jar. His tongue pressed against the jar’s bottom, tapping and prodding for an escape.

“Grr… bleh…” the Boltund planted his head on the ground and retreated in circles, attempting to drag the glassware off. “How could you do that to our commander and the little bunny boy?! One second. I’m going to get you back for that! Just a second (wow, it smells great in here). Vengeance will be swift in a moment.”

“Wow. Fuck me, I guess. I had this whole awesome plan.” The mayor threw up his claws. “I was going to dress you all down as I knocked you out, one by one. Cool, right? But I’m not sure how to critique you right now… slow down while eating?”

Bear tried rolling around. “I’ll critique you!”

“Thanks, I could use the advice.”

“Yeah, I’ll critique…” he chose a wall and lowered himself, preparing a sprint. “But first, I’ll critique your trap!”

Grin winced. “Bear… don’t run into the wall. That’s going to hurt really, really bad.”

“Does he actually think I put the jam there on purpose?” The mayor asked Grin.

“You did make the…” the Floragato tried to scoot away, but a dizzy spell cut that short. “You made the jars head-sized. You’re devious and nefarious.” They’d probably get along wonderfully, if not for the small fact the Braixen was assaulting them.

“I didn’t make the–he must be buying time, or baiting me into attacking first,” the Braixen reasoned. “I hope so. Just a heads up: if you do defeat me, everyone in this town will fight to defend their home. They’re not too good at battling, either… feels like an accident waiting to happen.”

Bear froze. “I… I’ll be gentle.”

The Braixen had eavesdropped on their intros. And, lucky bluff or not, he had said the exact thing to turn Bear into ice.

“It’s my job to defeat you,” Bear stated, “And they’ll give up when their strongest does. I’ve done it many times.”

“I get you’re unaware of what’s happening in Castle,” the mayor answered, “however… this isn’t a game to them. Some would rather die than lose this place.”

“Die?! Hang on a second.” He turned to his friend. “Grin, he’s a big fat bluffer, right?”

It was a completely insane threat for a bandit to make. This stranger called himself the mayor, and implied they would be the ones stealing Castle away if they won this bout. And then there was the fact he stopped Pate and Pawn from fighting. It all made things too muddy to risk continuing.

He met eyes with the mayor, probing them for any clue on a potential misdirect. The only thing this Braixen was hiding, though, was a desperation that Grin couldn’t exactly translate–only understand.

“Enough,” Grin said. “We surrender.”

Bear balked (or tried to express his shock, at least, which was hard when his face was squished to two-thirds its usual size). “Wait… really?”

“It’s not a good idea, Bear. You were right about something being off.” Grin didn’t admit that the thing that was off was him.

The mayor inspected Pate and Pawn, concealing his eyes again from the Floragato. It took him several moments to muster up words.

“…Phew. Good. Now, hang in there for a bit: I’ll arrange a much more comfortable room for you all to stay in.”