Graystone Town I - Hello New Friends!

Slate watched Elvira battle Gym Leader Olympia for the Gunmetal Badge. The duo had exited Celadon City via the western entrance, moving along the coast to a small village at the Southern base of Mt. Moon named Graystone. Here a minor Gym resided, specializing in Steel-types, and one that Elvira wished to challenge as they still had a few days before their boat left.

Although, having watched Elvira’s Pokémon steamroll the Gym Leader’s, Slate wondered just how much experience she was getting from this.

Slate clapped as Elvira accepted her Badge from the Gym Leader. A small smattering of children also clapped and cheered, swarming the duo and their tired Pokémon. Slate approached much more slowly, giving the pair time to converse.

They took note of him anyway, and waved him over. “Are you here for a challenge as well?” Gym Leader Olympia asked. A welder’s mask hung from her hip and soot covered her face. Despite the soot, she was an attractive woman and her overalls clung to her body closely.

Slate nodded. “I understand your Gym doesn’t subscribe to the Pokémon League’s Tier System, that you only offer Trainer Level challenges,” he said. The Gym Leader nodded and gave him a serious once over.

“Rare to have one of your types come through Graystone,” she said, clicking her tongue. “I’ll go see if one of the guard Pokémon is up for a spar. I don’t think I have anything else that’ll challenge you.”

“One of my types?” Slate asked Elvira with a wry smile as the Gym Leader vanished. “I just want to test myself.”

Elvira elbowed him. “Immodesty does not suit you. And if you keep talking like that I’ll drag you to Lavender Town so you can experience the Miasma Maze. We’ll see how bold you are then.”

“The Miasma Maze?” Slate asked. “That almost sounds like a carnival attraction.”

That earned him a much sharper elbow to the ribs. “Just for that we’re going. That’ll be one Gym you won’t overcome.”

Slate’s brow furrowed. “Lavender Town has a Gym? Wait, it’s called the Miasma Maze?”

“No, that’s what protects the Gym. It was built after Kanto was formed to watch over the Pokémon Tower. Built into the tunnels beneath the town, it’s filled with the bones of fallen Pokémon and their Trainers. In order to challenge the Gym you have to go through the Miasma Maze, walking through the generations that have gone before us to remind ourselves that this is where we all will end up. It’s quite beautiful.”

While Slate was no stranger to the bones of the deceased the idea of the Miasma Maze was unsettling. “And the Gym is Ghost-types I’m assuming,” he asked dryly. Elvira cackled.

Gym Leader Olympia returned empty handed. “No such luck. We can’t risk any of the guards getting injured when we’re so short staffed and my Pokémon need a breather.”

Slate frowned. “Understandable but that’s a shame. I guess we can leave tomorrow,” he told Elvira.

“Hey now,” the Gym Leader interrupted. “How about you earn our Badge in a different way?”

Slate eyed her. “What did you have in mind?”

She gestured to him up and down. “You look like you’ve been through a fight or three and I’d wager your Pokémon are the same. Maybe you could go on a quick patrol around our village, clear out any troublemakers lingering nearby.”

Something about that seemed odd to Slate but he couldn’t say what. It did seem like a cheap bargain for a Badge but from the fight he watched between Elvira and the Gym Leader, he didn’t think he would have been challenged by her anyway. He nodded.

“Can you show me where you need me?” he asked, pulling out a worn map.

Gym Leader Olympia helpfully pointed out the boundaries of her village as well as where she would like Slate to patrol. It was a straight line, starting from the nearby beach and cutting north until Slate reached a river. Then he’d cut east until he hit a bunch of old stone ruins. After that he could return to the village.

“Thank you kindly, young man. The guards are stretched thin and this will help. We haven’t been able to mount a proper patrol in months,” Gym Leader Olympia explained.

“Is there anything in particular I should watch out for?” Slate asked. She shook her head.

“Just scare off any troublemakers. Stop by the Gym when you’re done and I’ll give you our Badge.”

After the Gym Leader walked away Slate turned to Elvira. “Want to come with?”

“Nah, I’m going to go rest up with my Pokémon while you trample through the forest. Have fun!” Elvira said with a cheerful grin. Slate grumbled and rolled his eyes.

“Let’s get this over with,” Slate said, releasing his Pokémon.

The flash of red light when a Poké Ball releases its contents is bright enough to catch one’s eyes but not so much as to ruin one’s vision. This is a critical feature as Trainers might occasionally release their Pokémon in situations where preserving their vision is beneficial, such as within a cave or when surrounded by hostile Pokémon.

Eight flashes of light was a not insignificant amount of light, tinting the world around Slate with deep red hues before fading. His Pokémon greeted him in their own ways, grunting and growling in warm and familiar tones. He grinned at them.

“We’ve been asked to check out the surrounding area and to scare off any troublemakers. This should be a walk in the park, figuratively speaking, so we’ll take it easy. No training today.”

Some of his Pokémon grumbled at that but Slate knew they’d enjoy the relaxed nature of their current task. Training while walking was all well and good, especially since between Lairon and Bulbasaur they could repair most damage done to their surroundings, but Slate knew his Pokémon needed a break. Some play time even.

He smiled as he watched Vulpix dart through the bushes, chasing an imagined prey. Scyther floated above them on lazy wings, dipping and diving as the wind pushed her back and forth, almost dancing with how she rolled with the currents.

Off to Slate’s left Growlithe and Bulbasaur wandered around the trees, examining them with eager snouts and wagging tails and vines. Machoke and Lairon trailed behind them, the latter helping the former pull up heavy stones on the Fighting-type’s shoulders, training even when walking to handle her new strength.

And by Slate’s other side, Flaaffy and Chansey walked with short, quick steps, and they could not be bigger opposites if they tried. Chansey was babbling to Slate, gesturing to anything and everything around them while Flaaffy stomped with all the fury of a petulant toddler. Slate tried not to smile at the sight but couldn’t resist: Flaaffy was adorable like this and Slate told him as much. Flaaffy bleated in protest before returning himself to his Poké Ball.

“Guess it’s just you and me, Chansey,” Slate said. Chansey chirped in delight. “It’s been too long.”

Chansey bobbed happily as the pair examined the forest around them. It was full of thick trees, untouched by humans and civilization, the home of hundreds of Pokémon living peaceful lives. Up ahead Slate could hear the gentle rushing of a river and he knew soon it would be time for them to return to their journey. He sighed in contentment.

“How was training in Blackthorne?” he asked Chansey.

She shrugged before using Gravity on Slate’s shoulders for just a moment, causing him to stagger. He laughed before gently nudging her.

“Had to show the Dragons who was boss, right?” he chuckled. “Still, I bet it was interesting. I don’t think we ever got Dragons at our Pokémon Center, except for that Charizard who got drunk on fermented wine.”

When a Chansey laughs their entire body jiggles in a manner not unlike jello. It wriggles, it rolls, and the Chansey it occurs to finds it entirely impossible to prevent much to their mortification. Happiny and Blisseys don’t need to concern themselves with this embarrassing experience, as the former is too small for it to be noticeable and the latter develops a much more solid layer of muscle underneath after evolving.

Chansey wriggled. She giggled, jiggled and rolled so much that Slate couldn’t help but join in. He was, however, very confused. “What’s the joke?”

Chansey couldn’t speak so she tried to mime something unsuccessfully. Still wriggling slightly, she gestured to Slate’s water bottle and he gave it to her. She tried to open it, pulling as hard as she could. Just as Slate was about to reach for it to help her, it rocketed out of her hands, nearly hitting Machoke.

Instead it hit a Weedle that was inching along a tree branch above Machoke. To Chansey’s, and everyone else’s, surprise, the Weedle fell from the tree and landed horn first on Machoke’s shoulder. She cried out in pain and dropped her burdens, several of which fell on Lairon who warbled in surprise and backed up to avoid the falling rocks.

Lairon didn’t see Vulpix darting behind him on her path from bush to bush, causing him to trip over her, and for Vulpix to go sprawling out to the side. She collided with one of the fallen stones, knocking an Icy Wind out of her that hit Scyther directly between her wings. She immediately was stunned and fell from the sky to land on top of Growlithe and Bulbasaur, leaving them all in a heap.

Dumbfounded, Slate looked at his dazed and stunned Pokémon in disbelief. He turned to Chansey. “Usually you laugh after you tell the joke,” he started to say. A moment later something sliced across his chest.

As Slate fell, his eyes traced leaves flying through the air, drops of blood flying in their wake. As his vision faded, he realized the drops were his.

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Slate stood in a forest he knew well. Ancient trees, untouched by human hands, stood all around him, silent sentinels of ages long gone. Stones, cracked not by the press of feet or tools of man but by time. The cliffs all around him loomed in a comforting manner, having stood long before him and standing long after he was gone.

But he could not speak. His body was wrong, small and weak. It responded sluggishly to his commands, reacting as though he was sinking into the thickest molasses. He became aware of being surrounded and he struggled to look.

Dark shapes twisted through the trees, of black and red fire, spitting and barking as they encircled him. But he knew those dark shapes, those twisted forms, and the cold pit of dread settled deep in his belly, wrapping his spine in ice and numbing his limbs.

Houndour and Houndoom stared at him with angry, hungry eyes. Black drool hung from insubstantial mouths, dripping from ghostly teeth. Despite the strange substance these Pokémon were made of, Slate didn’t doubt for one second that they would be capable of tearing him apart, of separating flesh from bone. He swallowed.

A Houndour lunged forward, fury and hate personified. Slate raised his arm in a way that made him flinch from deja vu, harkening back to another time he faced a foe such as this, in such a way. On his arm he could see those scars just a moment before the Houndour’s teeth sunk into them, reopening old wounds.

Slate screamed as the phantom memory hit him, of old pain returning tenfold. He could taste the fear and terror in his mouth, feel it sweep through him like an old friend made of torment and suffering. But it also brought rage.

In his free hand, something cold and hard lay. He brought it down on the Houndour with savage rage, striking again and again and again until the Houndour released his arm from its muzzle. Angry black, red, and gray smoke drifted from the wounds, drifting away on an unseen wind. The Houndour faded.

Slate looked at his knife. A weapon he had long claimed as his own even though it had belonged to another who rested near this place. Slate had taken it from its resting place, learned its secrets and uses through painful trial and error. He took it and carried it with him, to never be weak again.

The numbness fled from his limbs. He could feel the sharp pain from his new/old wound, reopened and bleeding fresh blood but he savored it. Pain meant he was alive. And if he was alive, he could fight. And if he could fight, he would live.

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Another Houndour darted forward and then another. Despite his weaker and smaller body, Slate knew no hesitation. The knife fell and rose with sure strikes, aiming for weaknesses learned through painful mistakes. They fell true, ending foes quickly.

But more came. Slate was only one and injuries landed despite his best attempts. His strength waned and he was tackled to the forest floor, a Houndour standing over him with terrible teeth bared. It lunged.

Cold blue light filled the air and the weight on Slate’s chest vanished. More light, gray, green, brown, and others, came. They filled the air around him, driving the Houndour back and giving Slate breathing room. He rose.

If the Houndour and Houndoom were twisted mockeries, these new arrivals were artful monoliths. Light drifted off their bodies, each comforting and familiar in their own ways, tickling at the edges of Slate’s mind as if he should know them. A pink light approached him and touched a wisp of light to one of the wounds on him. The wound didn’t heal so much as it faded away. And Slate knew who they were. We are in danger, the pink light somehow conveyed.

Yes, Mt. Silver is not for the faint of heart, Slate thought. The pink light bobbed.

And Slate remembered. He wasn’t this small, he hadn’t been for years. He was practically a grown man, on his journey to find who he is. And he remembered getting attacked.

With remembrance came pain. Hot and sharp across his chest, as though it was freshly cut. Slate fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around his injury in a futile attempt to protect himself.

“Ow,” he said. “Hey, I can speak! Chansey, can you stop my bleeding?”

Chansey’s light bobbed, touching Slate’s wound and pulsing slightly. But no relief came, only more blood. Chansey bobbed back, sullen and sad.

“That’s unfortunate. New plan, get us out of my head. Any ideas?” Slate asked the gathered lights around him. In the distance the Houndour and Houndoom gathered into a pack, the sight of it sending shivers down his spine.

His Pokémon answered not with words but in action. They stood in a circle around their Trainer, each emitting will and emotion that Slate could barely comprehend.

Slate smiled but a grim frown soon replaced it. “We need to be quick then. There are worse things than Houndour and Houndoom in my mind.”

The ground shook and the trees rustled as something large pushed it way toward them. Their foes barked and howled in excitement, fire licking their chops as they stared at Slate with hungry eyes. And then it broke through the trees.

A massive Ursaring lumbered forward. Two slightly smaller ones followed it although that was a small distinction: All three towered over Slate, striding through the trees as though they were one of them. Their eyes locked on Slate, burning with brown and gold, cold hatred and hunger lingering. Slate could feel his heart pounding almost as badly as his headache.

The Ursaring roared and the Pokémon lunged forward, the Houndour and Houndoom hot on their heels. Slate’s Pokémon flickered as they pushed forward to meet them.

Slate tried to focus through the worsening headache. Something was off about his Pokémon and he didn’t think it was just their forms of pure light. He tried to piece together what he was seeing.

Pale green and blue fought side by side. Those felt like forests and ice and Slate felt reasonably certain they were Scyther and Vulpix covering one another. Lairon had to be the steely gray near them, stalwart and unyielding as it personally took on one of the smaller Ursarings. They fought so well to Slate’s eyes, he felt so proud of them.

Chansey was closest. Her light was odd with how it interacted both with ally and foe. This was all happening in Slate’s mind but he couldn’t even begin to understand how the Pokémon were fighting, defending their Trainer.

Dark gray held another Ursaring at bay and Slate believed that one to be Machoke. She had come so far already and despite this arena being ill suited to her strengths, she still fought with everything. Dark green light helped, binding limbs and buying Machoke time. Bulbasaur would always lend her aid.

The burning flame could only be Growlithe, although Slate couldn’t determine why there was so much brown in the burning red that was the Fire-type’s light. Growlithe fought in Machoke’s wake, ending any threat that still stood.

And Slate wasn’t a scared child any longer.

He dove forward, slashing his knife along the back of the beast's leg. With Slate joining the battle, his Pokémon took advantage of the distraction and landed harder and more ambitious blows. The Ursaring roared in pain.

All around them enemies fell. They burst into wisps of light and smoke that faded away on an unseen wind, never to trouble Slate again. His mind cleared of enemies as his Pokémon joined him around the final Ursaring. It roared its defiance at Slate.

“Alright, Flaaffy I know you want to finish it. Go ahead,” Slate said. Nothing happened causing Slate to look around at the lights representing his Pokémon. “Where’s Flaaffy?”

Silence fell. Slate never knew true silence until now, the absolute isolation of in a sea of nothing. And then the world around them seemed to rumble, drawing their attention in one direction. As one, everyone turned to the cliffs above.

Dragons of unknowable species hung in the air like death. Where the Houndoour and Houndoom were shadowy and indistinct and the Ursaring was fuzzy around the edges, each of the Dragon-types above were represented in sharp relief. Slate and his Pokémon could see each and every single detail on the creatures above them. They could see Draco Meteors and Hyper Beams forming.

“Run!” Slate shouted a moment before the first attacks fell.

A Hyper Beam smashed into the Ursaring, blasting it into nothing. More fell all around, scattering Slate’s Pokémon, as they rushed to flee the danger. All save one.

Lairon placed itself before Slate and rumbled in defiance. A silvery dome appeared around the pair as Lairon used Protect within Slate’s mind. A Draco Meteor slammed into the barrier causing it to ring and Lairon to grunt.

One by one Slate’s Pokémon joined them. Somehow they were able to transfer some of their energy to Lairon, bolstering the Protect around them all even as more attacks struck the gleaming barrier. Each attack rang the barrier like a gong, shaking the air around them.

Slate was touched. He placed one hand on the light that represented Lairon in his mind and he could almost fool himself into thinking he was touching the cool metallic shell of Lairon in the waking world. His other hand found Chansey’s light and the sensation of soft fur was so strong he nearly cried.

“Together. We stand together,” Slate said.

Thunder flew across the sky, smashing into the Dragon-types with wild fury and causing them to pop like popcorn. The world thudded around them.

Flaaffy strode across the land like a towering titan of old, larger than any Flaaffy had ever been. Trees broke under his feet as he stomped toward them, every detail burning with shining light and clear to all to be seen. Flaaffy opened his mouth and let out a mighty bleat that broke rocks from the cliffs all around them before sending one more Thunderbolt at the Dragons above, destroying them to the last.

“Thanks buddy,” Slate said. He couldn’t help grin as the Protect around them faded. “Knew I could count on you.”

Flaaffy looked down at them with satisfied eyes before he closed them. Flaaffy raised his arms high, far above the trees, the cliffs, reaching into the very sky itself. Then it took a fistful of the sky and tore it open.

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Slate jerked awake just in time to see a smoking Mismagius fade into the shadows, howling in pain. He gasped as his own pain registered, the wound on his chest pulsing painfully in time with each beat of his heart. Chansey was by his side a moment later, using Life Dew and Heal Pulse on him.

“Thank you, Chansey,” Slate said. He turned his head to look at Flaaffy. “And thank you. We’d be lost without you.”

Flaaffy chuffed even as Chansey moved away. Slate weakly pushed himself to his feet, taking Machoke’s helping hand when it was offered to pull himself up. He gingerly prodded the partially healed wound on his chest, checking to see if he still had feeling in the damaged tissue.

“Well this will be a lesson I won’t soon forget,” he said dryly. Flaaffy bleated before nodding.

“Damn Ghost-types. We’ll need to figure out how to combat them better in the future. I’m sure Elvira will help,” Slate said, trying to stand on his own power. He began to collapse and Machoke and Flaaffy both moved forward to support him.

“Thanks guys. What took you so long to join us in my mind, Flaaffy?” Slate asked. Flaaffy grunted at Slate, confusion in his eyes. Slate frowned and looked at the rest of his Pokémon who crowded around him. “You guys did see the whole light thing in the forest, right?”

None of his Pokémon had any idea what he was talking about. Chansey began to poke him in the side, physically checking his health and Slate tolerated for only a moment before shooing her off.

“Fine, I hallucinated a gigantic Flaaffy and you all were made of light, that makes perfect sense.” Slate sighed and gestured to his Pokémon. “Let's get going. I want to get back to the village and tell them their territory is clear.”

They finished the promised patrol although it took much longer than Slate would have liked due to his recent injury and blood loss. He had to throw an arm over Machoke’s shoulder near the end, half-pulling, half-dragging himself forward. They stumbled into the village near nightfall.

“Mew, what happened to you?” a young man guarding the wall asked. He couldn’t have been much older than Slate.

“Met a nasty Weedle,” Slate said in a level tone. He ignored the fact he was half-drenched in his own blood. “It was most disagreeable.”

“I’ll say,” the boy muttered with wide eyes, unable to tear his gaze away. Slate managed to hold his smile in until he walked past the young guard.

He returned most of his Pokémon, leaving Machoke out to help him walk as they moved into the village. Under a nearby tree lay Elvira, lazily dozing while her Pokémon relaxed next to her. Slate kicked her.

“Ow. Oh, it’s you,” Elvira said through sleepy eyes. She tried to rub the sleep from them. “Where have you been?”

“Oh, you know. Walking through the trees, looking for troublemakers and lollygaggers, getting nearly murdered by a Ghost-type, stubbing my toe,” Slate began to list off all of the minor inconveniences that had plagued him that day.

Elvira jerked herself awake. “What was that?”

“I stubbed my toe? With how it’s throbbing I think it might be trying to escape my boot.”

“I don’t care about your feet. Tell me about the Ghost-type,” Elvira shouted, standing up and shaking Slate with both hands. She pushed him away just as suddenly. “Why are you covered in blood? Did you kill it? Or someone else?”

Slate tried flicking some of his blood at her but found most of it too dry. He gave up after a few futile flicks. “It was a Mismagius. Actually, now that I think about it, I think it was Brad’s. It’d explain why it tried to kill me.”

“The Brad you killed or a different Brad?” Elvira asked. Slate frowned.

“I only knew the one Brad and he tried to incinerate me with a Charizard. I think I was justified.”

“In killing him.”

“It was self-defense.”

The two Trainers held each other’s gaze before cracking up at the same time. A third voice spoke up.

“Are you going to cause my people a problem?” Gym Leader Olympia asked, her hand on a Poké Ball. Slate blinked.

“Oh, I was found innocent. The Rangers apologized for arresting me and everything. Especially since they were the ones to drag me after the Pokémon Poachers,” Slate explained, trying to reassure the Gym Leader he meant no harm.

“Right.” Her hand noticeably did not drop from the Poké Ball. “Did you patrol where I asked you too?”

Slate nodded. “There was a Mismagius haunting the area. It tried to kill me but my Pokémon drove it off. Last we saw it, it was fleeing into the shadows heading north but that doesn’t mean much with Ghost-types.”

Gym Leader Olympia sighed. “Well that’s something at least, thank you.” She narrowed her eyes at Slate and Elvira before tossing the former a small Badge with a grunt.

“Here’s your Graystone Badge. Don’t take it personally but with your revelation of being a killer I don’t want you staying near my people tonight. You’ll have to sleep outside the walls.”

Elvira’s jaw dropped. ”You’re kidding!”

She was not.

A few hours later the two Trainers were unwinding around a campfire. Their Pokémon lay nearby, taking a well deserved rest after the battles they had gone through that day. Slate tossed a short branch onto the fire, sending sparks into the air.

“I could be having a hot shower right now,” Elvira muttered. Slate added another branch.

“I could warm up a pot of water for you. I’ll even pour it over your head,” he offered. “Ow.”

Elvira readied another pebble, in case she needed to hit Slate again. It went unneeded as he willingly flopped to the forest floor with Vulpix curled up beside him. “Just a few more Badges to go.”

Slate grunted. “For you, maybe. I’m half-way done. Well a quarter really.”

A pebble fell into the fire. “What do you mean? By my count you have six Badges.”

“Five. Pewter, Cerulean, Vermillion, Saffron, and Celadon. But I won’t count Saffron until I face Sabrina’s Champion Team. Or the other Traditional Gyms on the Champion Tier,” Slate explained.

“I’ll not tell Olympia you don’t respect her Gym.” Another pebble.

Slate shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s because of Giovani.”

“Of Viridian? I don’t remember hearing that one listed off with the others.” Even though Slate couldn’t see her face, he knew she was smirking.

“I haven’t challenged him yet. I wanted to face him once I defeated the rest of the Traditional Gyms. I want to face the very best Kanto has to offer, I...” Slate trailed off thoughtfully. The fire crackled merrily and in the distance Pidgey called to one another.

When Elvira next spoke it was soft and low. “Still, their Champion Teams. Are you sure? Those are their strongest Pokémon, the ones they’ve worked with for years. Those won’t be easy battles.”

“No, they won’t,” Slate conceded, “but I am on my journey to find out who I am. To see what I can do, how far I can go. To not even try? That would be a travesty.”

Silence fell between the two Trainers, both lost in their thoughts. The soft snores and breathing of their Pokémon surrounded them, safe in their numbers and strength. Elvira sighed.

“Blast it. Fine. I’ll try it too. I want to be the best Ghost-type Master I can be, how can I claim that if I never try?”

“I’m glad.” He smiled before frowning. “There is something about today that still bugs me.”

“Oh?” Elvira asked. Her voice was quiet and sleepy.

“What Chansey was laughing about before I got attacked.”

“What were you talking about?”

“What makes you think I was talking?” Pointed silence was Elvira’s reply, causing Slate to scoff. “Fine, I was talking about a drunk Charizard, and oh.” Slate suddenly began shaking with laughter.

“Share the joke or get buried in a Rock Slide,” Elvira threatened as she pelted him with pebbles. Slate waved her off.

“It was at the Winter Solstice party our Pokémon Center hosted. Some of the more intoxicated employees thought that the Charizard could spew even stronger flames if it drank alcohol. They said they were helping.”

“That poor Charizard,” Elvira giggled. “I’ve heard if you give Fire-types alcohol it upsets their stomach terribly.”

“They had to brick up the meeting room they used. It still smelled awful when I left and I doubt it’s gotten any better since then.” Slate grinned. “But I don’t think that’s why Chansey was laughing. I just remembered that she was already at Blackthorn when this happened. I bet Blissey told her about it.”

Chansey giggled in the darkness, confirming Slate’s thoughts. The two Trainers couldn’t help but join in as they rested under the night sky, their minds on their Journeys. Of where they came from, where they were, and where they would go.