Viridian Forest I - The First Step…

In the world of Pokémon, travel is not easy.

The cities, towns, and villages that make up each Region all hold the most secured territory in order to protect themselves from the dangers of the world. Mountain ranges, winding rivers, even generally hostile terrain such as the slopes of volcanoes or deserts with unending sandstorms are all chosen by humanity to build their homes.

For cities like Viridian, thick walls made of stone and earth are built and maintained by Gym Leader Giovanni’s Pokémon, a testament to their skill and strength, while his Gym Trainers patrol them, chasing off Wild Pokémon. For towns like Pallet Town, the presence of Professor Oak’s Dragonite and a long familiarity with the local Pokémon is enough to ensure the humans who call it home are safe so long as they stay within the town’s natural borders along the sea.

But the villages of the world lack those powerful Pokémon, they lack the responsibility of being a strategic location. They are often inhabited by men and women who wish to be left to their own devices, unburdened by the laws of the Region they call home. But in times of danger they are forced to rely on the goodwill of passing Trainers or the Caravans that move between settlements.

The Routes that connect all of these settlements are often simple dirt roads, beaten and trodden on over the course of years. Wild Pokémon, or Pokémon who have never been caught by a Poké Ball, often challenge those who wander nearby, pitting themselves against new foes to test their strength, to gain it, and to possibly evolve. While useful in some aspects, it also leads to the Routes between settlements being particularly dangerous for those who had weak or no Pokémon.

Like Slate.

Fortunately, Caravans were always moving between settlements. Slow moving trucks carrying goods, Herd Pokémon being moved between pastures, civilians visiting distant relations, and so many more. Traveling in large numbers helped cut down on the dangers those who traveled on the Routes faced but it did not eliminate them fully. That’s what the Trainers were for.

Trainers could earn a small sum of money joining one of these Caravans. They and their Pokémon patrolled around the group, pulling shifts through the night to fend off any curious or aggressive Pokémon. It was a good bargain for most as they had to move between settlements regardless although it wasn’t without its complications.

Slate was in the second Civilian section, just behind the cargo trucks but ahead of the herd of Miltank being moved to Pewter City. Slate had asked one of the shepherds why they simply didn’t return the Pokémon to their Poké Balls and transport them that way and the answer had surprised him.

“Ethics,” the sunburnt man named Jackson had said. “Or cruelty I suppose.”

“What do you mean?” Slate asked. A Miltank walked between the two men as they walked, mooing gently to itself as it chewed on a mouthful of apple.

Jackson shrugged as he took a bite of apple before tossing the rest of it to another Miltank behind him. “Something funky happens to Pokémon when you catch them. They get smarter, which isn’t to say Wild Pokémon aren’t smart, they plenty are. But something about being caught somehow makes a Wild Pokémon into a Pokémon, if you understand me.”

The Miltank between them nudged Slate’s arm, looking at his half-eaten apple. With a roll of his eyes he tossed it to her. “So it’s some sort of bleedover effect? Or synergy? Or a-”

Jackson raised his hand. “Whoa, whoa, kid! I’m just a rancher, I don’t know anything about all that. I just know that city folk aren’t bothered by eating Wild Pokémon but if you tell them the Farfetch’d on their plate was named Nancy they get all hot under the collar. It's a bit weird if you ask me but they do theirs and I’ll do mine.”

Slate was no stranger to catching, preparing, cooking, and eating Wild Pokémon as he had done it often growing up. But the distinction between Wild Pokémon and a Trainer’s Pokémon seemed so oddly distinct it was surprising he hadn’t come across more information about it. He would make a note of it and ask Maggie about it later.

For the past week Slate had moved with the Caravan. He had quickly fallen into a routine with the other civilians, helping to set up their own tents and camp so the Trainers hired on for protection could focus on protecting them. But as the days passed, Slate grew agitated.

Civilians weren’t allowed to breach the circle around them. They weren’t allowed to plunge into the forest, to search for Pokémon to catch. They had to stay in the center where it was safe for them, save for the occasional weak Pokémon that was missed by the Trainer’s initial sweep. None of which were fighters, preferring to hide in the undergrowth than to strike.

Which hampered Slate because he had been hoping to catch a Pokémon on this trek to begin training with it before Pewter City. The closest he had gotten was a lone Pidgey who had been rather startled when Slate threw a Poké Ball at its head. Its quick escape and rapid retaliation with Peck did not endear either one to the other and it vanished into the air.

The Poké Ball did not survive the encounter, bringing his total number down to two. Slate groaned but collected the pieces so he could recycle it at a PokéMart in the future. It was a nice service that was offered, for two Poké Ball halves and a small fee you could receive a new Poké Ball. Slate didn’t doubt he would have to do it many times in the future.

A short distance away, but still within the protective circle, a group of Rookie Trainers laughed and played with their Pokémon. Rookie Trainers were those who had at least one Pokémon and had won their first Gym Battle. They would hold that title until the end of their second year as a trainer or until they competed in the Seasonal Pokémon League Tournament that was held at the end of every season.

Slate forced himself to ignore the Trainers and pull his pack off to adjust the straps. His hiking pack was a mix of old and new, gifts from Maggie and her colleagues. While Slate wasn’t one of the lucky Trainers to own one of the expensive Pokédex that were on the market, he did have an extensive first aid kit that Maggie ensured he knew how to use properly. It was stuffed to the brim and even included a small pestle and mortar should he need to make his own potions while on his Journey.

Something in the air changed as Slate adjusted the loose strap holding his hunting bow. Slate’s ears almost twitched at the sudden change and his eyes darted about, trying to gauge what changed. While the civilians and Rookie Trainers near Slate didn’t notice anything amiss, he could see several Trainers in the distance twitch or perk up. Something was happening.

He donned his pack and moved toward the very rear of the group where several Trainers were speaking. One of them was contracted to the Caravan and was speaking into a radio quietly. Slate wandered near them and strained his ears to listen.

“... to Route 3B. Repeat. Unknown Bug-Type Swarm approaching Caravan location from the northwest at a speed of 35 knots. Scouts have reported hostile interactions resulting in Class Four Poisoning on two Trainers and seven Pokémon as well as Class Three Poisoning on six Trainers and ten Pokémon. Uncountable Class 1 and 2 Poisonings. Sections A and B will continue onward while Sections C, D, and E will diverge to Route 3B. Repeat…”

Slate pulled away, considering what he overheard. Poisoning was dangerous to humans and Pokémon alike. Starting at Class Zero, or healthy, each level indicated the severity of the Poisoning, which could be determined by the number of wounds, the Pokémon Species that inflicted it, amount inhaled, and a few other metrics that differed depending on the transmission vector.

Class 1 was comparable to a papercut and was often ignored by most Trainers while Class 2 was comparable to a sharp pinch and an itch and didn’t require medical attention.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Class 3 Poisonings required the immediate application of a generic Antidote. While not life threatening, the patient could experience discomfort, swelling, irritation, and mild hallucinations. It was not uncommon for some bars, clubs, and other such locations to have rentable Poison-Types and Antidotes on tap to induce this on purpose.

Lastly, Class 4 Poisonings required immediate medical intervention using a Status-Restore move on top of surgery to remove necrotic tissue. Class 4 Poisonings were infamously nicknamed “4-minutes” by Trainers, as you never lived past that mark if you didn’t receive aid. It was a nasty, painful death.

The two Trainers that were poisoned were either already Teleported to the nearest medical facility or dead from the attacks. Pokémon on the other hand were much more hardy, able to survive for far longer and far more intense doses, meaning they had a few hours before they reached the point of no return. Slate hoped they passed out quickly as it was not a pleasant experience to witness, let alone experience.

But to Slate, the casualty list was a sign. Strong Pokémon were approaching, ones that could hold their own against the trained Pokémon of experienced Trainers. If he was going to catch a Pokémon, he wanted it to be one of those. Even if it meant leaving the safety of the Caravan.

So he pulled his bow free and held it in his hand as he drifted to the west side of the caravan. Up ahead he could see the split in the Caravan, as the heavily armored trucks carrying wealthier civilians pulled ahead, while the section Slate was in began to pull northeast. The perimeter of Trainers and their Pokémon drifted closer and Slate began to allow himself to drift back in the line, further and further.

“You better keep up if you don’t want to be bugbait,” a girl said. She held a much higher quality bow in her hand and a Rhydon walked beside her with heavy footfalls.

Slate nodded. “I’ve got an eye on them,” he said vaguely, nodding his head up.

The Trainer glanced up but couldn’t see anything through the trees. “You have a Pidgeot or something like that?”

Slate smiled. “Something like that.”

She snorted. “Well I’m not sticking around to watch you get minced. See you at camp.”

“See you at camp,” Slate said, drifting off to the side again. A few minutes later the trees between them grew thick and the sounds of her Pokémon faded away. Slate was alone.

He checked his compass before adjusting his direction, moving directly toward the approaching Swarm. Around him the sounds of the Wild Pokémon grew louder and closer, almost becoming noisy with how many there were. Slate notched an arrow as he walked, keeping his eyes out.

A trio of Rattata scampered out of a bush on his left, ignoring him entirely as they raced past him. Slate flinched before taking a steady breath to calm himself, forcing himself to immerse himself in his surroundings. The bushes on his right rustled and his bow snapped up.

A Metapod flopped out of the leaves, laying pitifully on its side. Slate and the Pokémon eyed one another for a long moment before the Metapod began to weakly wriggle back into the bushes. Slate didn’t hinder it and waited until it was out of sight before continuing.

As he hiked he grew more relaxed at the appearing and disappearing Pokémon. Most were uncaring of his presence, ignoring him entirely unless he got in their way. Others were scared of him, skittish Caterpies, Metapods and the odd Oddish but a few were hostile to his presence.

A Weedle lunged at Slate’s face when he approached its branch, trying to stab him in the eye with its sharp horn. He barely ducked in time, causing it to fly past him and hit a tree where it laid stunned before glaring at him and wriggling away. A Pidgey hopped from branch to branch above him, seemingly trying to aim its tail at him, before Slate realized its intent and sent it away after sending an arrow at it.

But then they all vanished. The noises, the Pokémon, all disappeared suddenly and the world was silent. Except for the drone.

Slate could hear it now. Growing louder and louder. The sound of hundreds of wings beating on the air, the chittering, hissing, and clacking of their owners. Slate dove for the nearest tree and ignored the cowering Caterpie that curled underneath a root beside him. Slate grabbed as many leaves and branches near him and threw them over his lower half before hiding behind his backpack.

Through a small gap Slate could see the world darken. Even from this angle he could see hundreds of shapes in the air, moving almost leisurely overhead. The Caterpie beside Slate seemed to realize he wasn’t going to attack it and saw his cover. It uncurled before inching toward him. Slate opened a small hole for it near the ground and it quickened its pace.

A single soft thump. The Caterpie froze, exposed and out in the open as a shadow loomed over it. Slowly it turned and looked up, quivering in place. It shook as something screeched and moved forward.

Slate threw his backpack into its path, surprising it and causing the Pokémon to stumble. The Caterpie moved as fast as it could away, diving back for the safety of the roots and wriggling in as far as it could go. Slate lost track of it after that as the mystery Pokémon freed itself from his backpack by tearing it apart.

A Scyther screeched at him, brandishing its large scythes. It was almost as tall as Slate and with its scythes and wings extended, it was larger as well. It charged.

Slate released an arrow that deflected off of its carapace. It snarled even as Slate sent another one, although that one was swatted out of the air with a vicious swipe. Slate had no time to ready a third as the Scyther was on him.

He brought his bow up and managed to deflect the first slash. His arms shook at the impact and he staggered back. The second swing he caught in the center of his bow and to his shock it broke through it, causing Slate to lose his balance and fall backward.

Slate, armed with two broken pieces of metal tied together by a string, crawled backward as the Scyther stalked forward. It reared back, ready to land a fatal blow when a String Shot hit it in the face causing it to screech in surprise. The Caterpie Slate saved had returned the favor before vanishing from sight once more.

A single moment. A choice. To balance on the edge of a knife and to choose which way you fall is not an option many people are given, let alone take advantage of. But Slate was not most people.

He lunged forward, smashing his shoulder into Scyther’s midsection. The Pokémon flailed as the pair fell to the ground and Slate pulled himself closer, trying to keep out of reach of its blades, close to its body. He twisted and wrapped his broken bow around one of the Scyther’s arms, before pulling it over. He wrapped his legs around it and locked them in place.

Scyther flailed its free scythe but hit nothing but dirt and plants. It snarled and hissed as it struggled to free itself, flapping its wings into the ground and Slate’s body but he refused to release it. If he did he knew he was dead.

Instead he struggled to reach for his knife, fighting the Scyther every step of the way. He pulled it free with great difficulty before holding it to the Scyther’s throat. It either did not notice or care so Slate poked it in the gap between its carapace. Something warm and wet dripped onto Slate’s body.

It stilled, trembling with rage or fear, but its violent thrashing stopped. “You can either yield or die, it’s your choice,” Slate growled. His muscles burned with the effort of holding the Scyther in place.

The Pokémon suddenly jerked as hard as it could to the side, trying to free itself. It almost succeeded but Slate acted quickly with his knife, putting the sharp edge in the Pokémon’s path. It stilled as Slate pressed it down again, causing it to hiss.

“Yield or die,” Slate ordered.

Above them the last of the Swarm vanished and the drone faded into the distance slowly. Yet their little patch of forest was silent as even the Wild Pokémon of Viridian Forest avoided the battle of wills between Trainer and Pokémon. Finally something gave.

The bowstring snapped, allowing Scyther to free its arms. As quick as a flash his hand was on the Scyther’s head, pulling it back and keeping its neck exposed to his blade even as one of the Scyther’s blades flailed for him.

“Yield,” Slate hissed. He prepared himself to act, it was time to end this.

But to his surprise Scyther flopped on top of him, its will to fight spent. It growled in a non-threatening sort of way and Slate reached down to his belt. A moment later, he tapped Scyther with a Poké Ball, causing it to vanish inside in a burst of red light.

Slate scrambled to his feet even as the Poké Ball shook in his hand. He readied his knife as the shaking increased, almost ripping itself free from his hand. And then the Poké Ball dinged and it stopped.

He caught Scyther.

Slate crashed to the ground.

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Time Tracker:

Days passed in Chapter: 7

Total Days: 8

Trainer Card:

Name: Slate

Occupation: Trainer

Ambitions:

* To find his long lost Starter

* To become a Generalist Master, a Master of all Types

Badges: None

Trophies: None

Carry Limit: 1/1

Key items: None

Pokémon: 1

Name: Scyther (?)

Type: Bug/Flying

Potential Moves: ?

Core Moves: ?