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Our old universe has
fallen into impossible chaos and destruction, but the Legendaries will save us; are saving us; have saved us. Soon many lives and memories will fill this new world, and give it purpose.

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As Terrene leaves behind
the long, dark nights, their minds turn to friendship and romance at the second annual speed dating! And don't miss out on the clover hunt or the poetry season. Our plot event, alpha & omega, is drawing closer to its end, but is still going strong for now.

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Spring will be here until
June. The rainy season begins in the tropical areas; the rest of Terrene begins to thaw and warm, shaking the chill of winter and creeping toward the heat of summer. Fairy and grass types relish in the season of rebirth and renewal!

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Kenos

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May 22 2018, 07:49 PM
Uhhhh.... so instead of being productive and writing up posts, I kinda got sidetracked and got sucked into a rabbit hole and uhhh this is the final product. Just a warning, I can't art to save my life, but I thought it'd be fun to do/have for my rp posts.



May 18 2018, 05:35 PM
Some possible plots/things I might want for Kendon and his party.

Git Gud Scrub
As Kendon is somewhat of a pacifist and generally tries avoid conflict as much he can, he’s more likely to run from a battle than to engage in it. Additionally, Turk really is only interested in art, so he’ll try to stray from battling as well. However, I expect that, eventually, they’ll be put in a position where running isn’t an option. So, before that happens, I want them to experience a sort of reality check, where the two realize that they’ll need to level up if they want to survive in this world. I’m not sure how I want to do this exactly, and appreciate any and all ideas! Possibilities:
  • Kendon and Co. get attacked by a powerful wild Pokemon. Sustain severe injuries?
  • K&T come across another trainer and pokemon at the end of a battle with a wild pokemon. The other trainer’s pokemon is hurt too badly to recover, they witness its death.
  • Art Nerds get confronted by some bullies, they barely escape or end up getting mugged.
  • Starving Artists need money, and have little luck in selling their works. They try to pick up some quests, but realize how inept they are.

Papers, Please
Eventually, Kendon is going to run out of spare pages in his journal and lead in his pencil. With Turk secreting blue paint from his tail, he’ll have a source of ink, and it shouldn’t be too difficult to find/make/buy a pen. To avoid having to routinely purchase new materials, it would be nice to befriend pokemon that can provide said materials; e.g., shedding skin, leaves, silk, etc. I’m not particularly choosy about which ones, as Kendon will mostly like make friends with any friendly pokemon he meets. This is more of a “it would be nice” thing rather than a necessity.
May 15 2018, 12:04 AM
(Okay, I know it's late, I'm sorry! But I figured I may as well post it.)



Listen well, child, to this story of mine,
Lest a diff’rent form you wish to assume.
For in my words a lesson you will find,
That may yet save your soul from certain doom.

Long ago, in a town close to our own,
Lived a young lady with hair black as night
That flowed to her feet, and glittered and shone
As if the stars themselves had lent their light.

If only her heart could be just as pure—
She looked upon all others with disdain,
Binding them to her will through her allure
And using each person for her own gain.

Conceited, vain, taking pride in her hair,
She brushed and washed it sev’ral times a day,
While boasting that none had locks half as fair
Or waves that flowed each time their hips would sway.

Her mania grew stronger as time passed;
She no longer ate or slept, devoted
To her hair, ‘til time came she breathed her last.
(The story’s not done, it should be noted).

Although her mind might have withered away,
Her spirit lived on, her hair it possessed.
The strands formed a mouth for which to eat prey:
Unlucky trav’lers fooled by her finesse.

Remember, child, this short story of mine,
Lest you wish to become a beast most vile.
For if you do learn my lesson in time,
You’ll save your soul from becoming Mawile.
May 10 2018, 12:28 AM
“Where… where am I…? Okay, yeah, I can see it’s a forest, but I mea—” Kendon stopped abruptly and looked around him. He was alone, but he could have sworn there had been someone else there a moment ago, someone he knew, someone he was close to. He was just talking to her — her, she was a her — and he had known she was there with a certainty that he now no longer possessed. Had he gone mad? No, he had heard her… Come to think of it, no, he hadn’t. He hadn’t heard her voice; rather, he had known what she would have said. And he had responded to it. Was this… usual for him? He couldn’t remember much about himself besides his name, but for some reason, her “voice” floated around inside his head. As much as he hoped he wasn’t crazy, the man only had this mystery female to identify himself with.

Or, so he had thought, until he realized there was a weird weight on the left side of his body. The immigrant peered into the inner pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a book and a pencil, the former of which was a lighter grey than the jacket it had just been removed from. This, he thought, was perfect. If this was a journal, then perhaps it could give him some insight about where he had come from or how he had ended up here. He quickly fanned through the pages, scanning for anything that could help him. Unfortunately, none of them provided the answers he was seeking. In fact, most of pages appeared to be transcriptions of conversations with the same person: a “Trixie”. Trixie must be the person I was talking to, he concluded; and, in repeating the name in his head, he knew it to be true. She must have been important to him, for him to have written so much about her, and he wondered upon the nature of their relationship—

He stopped, having come across a crude drawing of a fairy. It was Trixie. There wasn’t any indication, but he knew. He may no longer have all his memories, but one thing he did remember was that little winged people did not exist. Which meant, neither did Trixie. And, his talking to her? He might actually be insane. At the very least, extremely lonely. Didn’t he have a family? Or friends? It was sad more than anything. He flipped through the book, but there were only more pictures of the imaginary girl. He was so engrossed the drawings in the book that he failed to notice the large pair of oval eyes attempting to peep over the top. It wasn’t until one of the creature’s paws tried to pull the journal closer did Kendon realize it was there, resulting in him stumbling backwards in surprise. He landed hard on his rear, the volume still clutched in his hands. Seemingly unperturbed by the human’s reaction, the smeargle would pad forward and lean in to get a better look.

“Uh… hi there… “ Kendon began hesitantly, “D-did… You wanna see?”

In response, the pokemon sat down next to the man looked over the drawing. It made a low huff, a sound of approval, before looking up at the other. He turned the page, and the pokemon turned its attention back to the book. This carried on for some time, the smeargle studying the sketches, and the human flipping the pages, until the pair came to a piece of considerably higher quality than the rest. Unlike the ones that came prior, this one hadn’t been drawn in the journal itself— it looked to be printed on a separate piece of paper and taped onto one of the pages. The smeargle tilted its head, then glanced at Kendon with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t think I did this one,” he admitted, scratching his head in embarrassment, “I’m more of a writer than a drawer. At least, I think so. I don’t remember much. But you… do you paint?” He nodded at the pokemon’s colored tail pointedly.

The smeargle stood up, then walked over to a nearby patch of soil. Kendon followed suit, slipping the journal back into his jacket pocket as he climbed to his feet. The pokemon gripped its tail deftly, and began to drag it along the ground. Its strokes were slow, and deliberate, though from time to time the artist would deliver a succession of swift waves. A few times, it kicked dirt over a particular line it disliked, accompanied by an annoyed grunt. Several minutes passed as the pokemon painted, during which it ignored the human completely, focused solely on its work. He wasn’t bothered in the slightest — too often, he would also get lost in his own writing sprints. The smeargle finally took a step back and blinked at Kendon, indicating that he was now allowed to look.

“Is that— Oh my… wow…” the male stared at the blue form in front of him. It wasn’t much larger than himself, but the figure the strange pokemon had painted was, undoubtedly, a fairy. One leg crossed over the other, slightly raised, while her arms crossed behind her, arching her back ever so slightly. Each line flowed freely, almost naturally so, in such a way that the picture felt like a single, continuous motion. The only things that stood out were the fairy’s wings, which, to be frank, were a bit small, and a bit too defined. As if it had read his mind, the painter suddenly flashed a wide smile, and held his tail up higher. A small pool of water instantly swirled around its tip, flattening into a cross-like shape. The smeargle then swung its tail in a wide arc, throwing the shuriken at the work of art. Two more followed in its wake, and the three projectiles all struck the painted fey’s wings, splattering the blue liquid outward. As a result, the wings now had a more subtle tone to them, and seemed to almost shine.

“This is… amazing… You’ve captured her perfectly… Oh, come on, I think it looks like you,” Kendon shot over his shoulder, then frowned as he remembered there wasn’t anyone actually there. He wasn’t sure if he should fix that habit, or just accept it. It was harmless, as far as he knew. Regardless, he returned his attention to the artist, who was now looking quite pleased with itself (and its audience’s reaction). The foreigner stared at the pokemon for several seconds with a troubled look on his face. He stepped towards the smaller creature, kneeling down so that they were eye to eye. “Listen… I know we just met… but, I’m… I’m kind of in a pickle. I don’t know where I am or what to do with myself. My memories are gone. I’m… lost. But— this was fun, and, honestly, your painting is really… it really… it fills me with inspiration. So, er… do you mind helping me out a bit?”

The smeargle lifted its chin to bring its face closer to the human’s and sniffed carefully. Its free hand inched forward and pressed against his chest, at the exact spot where the journal hid away. Then, suddenly, it spun around, presenting the blue paw print on its back. Once it was certain Kendon had seen it, it turned around again, and brushed its tail across its left paw. The blue paint spread along its entire surface. It next walked around behind the boy and press its now wet paw against his jacket, leaving a matching stain. It wiped the remaining ooze on some grass near its feet, trotted back to its new partner’s front, and smiled at him.

“I… guess that’s a yes, then?”
Nov 7 2017, 10:35 PM
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<div class="simpappdesc">Enter: the Sufferer</div>
He was lying in his bed, as he always was. His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep, nor was he simply resting; no, if one were to judge him solely by the expression on his face, they might say he looked to be waiting. Although, it was unclear as to what the boy might be waiting for. There didn't seem to be any activity in the surrounding area, or any other living beings for that matter. It was quiet, which was unusual considering the onslaught of natural disasters that had recently afflicted the entire world. Perhaps the powers above had run out of calamities to deal out. He remembered all the alerts he had received when they first started, warning of earthquakes and fires and storms across the globe. There may have been more since then, but Kendon had turned off his phone a while back. He had grown tired of ignoring the numerous calls and texts from his family, and had decided it would be simpler to silence the device completely.
<br><br>
"Do you think it was okay? Making them think I was dead?" He spoke suddenly, although his eyes were still shut. He then paused, as if listening to a response, before opening his mouth again, "Tch, they have enough to be worried about without having to think of me." He sighed, as if annoyed by the silent speaker's reply. "Yeah, you're right. I don't know, Trix. Maybe I think this is my chance to disappear. Or maybe I'm just -- tired of dealing with them."
<br><br>
"Conversations" like this were usual for Kendon. It was nice to have someone, as incorporeal as she may be, to talk to -- especially since he had such difficulty talking to actual people. Speaking to this fictional character was just so much more natural for him. She knew everything about him and he knew everything about her. There was no need to hold anything back or try to decipher the meaning behind the other's words. It was the highest form of communication for him, just pure and simple understanding. He didn't so much imagine full responses from Trixie; rather, it was as if he innately understood the meaning of what she might say.
<br><br>
Kendon rolled onto his side and finally opened his eyes. He reached for the journal on his side table, a light-grey moleskine with a matching elastic band along its edge. Its jacket was soft to the touch, despite being a hardcover, a feature the young man was grateful for whenever he held it close to his chest. He did so now, clutching it as a toddler might his first toy. Most people had an worn-out blanket or an old plushie; in Kendon's case, this book gave him the most comfort in times of need. It was the only tangible representation of Trixie he had, full of random conversations with her and badly drawn sketches of her likeness. There was one decent image of her, but he had paid a proper artist to make it and felt a bit like that was cheating.
<br><br>
"I'm not saying I don't get it, but -- there's only so much I can take, you know? At some point, even though they mean well their 'help'… it doesn't help. A lot of the time, it just makes me feel worse." He coughed, a long, painful sputtering, massaging his throat in hopes of coaxing some saliva down. He hadn't bothered getting anything to eat or drink since the world first started going to shit, which had been… how long ago? Days, at least. Kendon's room didn't have any windows, and anything that had a clock on it was dead, but the cracks in his wall had darkened and brightened more than once. It was miraculous that his room had stayed mostly intact, if such things as miracles still existed. Some would argue that the boy's survival thus far was a miracle unto itself. Kendon, on the other hand, wasn't as enthusiastic.
<br><br>
"Because I'm too much of a wuss to do it myself!" He shouted at his invisible friend, violently throwing the bedsheets off of himself. In the same motion, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and sat up. "And -- yeah, I don't want to be the one responsible. It's the coward's way out. I don't care if you think just waiting for it is the same thing. I just -- I want it to be over."
<br><br>
A frown suddenly grew on his face, followed by a crease in his eyebrows. He stood up just as abruptly, walking over to his desk and snatching up a dark grey hoodie from the chair. He quickly put it on, sliding the journal into the inside pocket along with a mechanical pencil that had been on his desk. "You know what, you're right, it would be faster if I actually went outside. Thank you," he remarked, slipping on a pair of sneakers. He attempted to leave his room, only to find that the door refused to swing open. Gripping the knob with both hands, Kendon twisted the knob and pulled with all his might. The door creaked condescendingly; but, apart from that, maintained its position.
<br><br>
"No, I realize you were being -- mmph -- sarcastic, but it makes sense to me. What are you even -- nngh -- complaining about? You're always telling me get off my ass and do something about it. Damnit! Why won't this open?" Frustrated with his failure, Kendon shoved himself away from the door and plopped face-first back into his bed. "I can't do anything, can I? Oh, shut up, I don't need to hear it from you. It's just -- I can't make sense of it. Why am I even still here? I would've thought I'd be the first to go. Like, the universe had realized that I was a mistake, that I had no place and no future. But, I'm still here. Even though a bunch of other people have probably already died. People that had more to live for. So why…?"
<br><br>
Whether he was deep in thought or listening to Trixie's response, Kendon didn't have time to finish either. A low rumble reverberated around the room, as his bed began to shake and items around the room began to fall to the ground. His first instinct was to jump up and crouch underneath his desk -- apparently all those grade school drills had made an impact after all -- but he dug his fingers into his mattress and managed to stay put. He took a deep breath as the cracks in the wall widened, the room falling apart around him. He put one hand over his chest right where his journal would be. He was, admittedly, afraid, in spite of how long he had wished for and waited for this moment.
<br><br>
"Thanks, Trixie. See you in the next life."
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