GOD
He/Him
41
December 25th
Spikemunth
Northeast
Monster
Rocket Beast
I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me.
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Shred
GOODBYE GALAR: RUSTED SWORD
POSTED ON May 25, 2023 8:42:49 GMT
Unbeknownst to you, you’ve wandered into a veritable who’s who of the enemy’s top brass. There’s councillors to your left, ranger captains and gym leaders to your right, and then there’s you, right in the middle, the deceptive slice of Rocket ham amidst the bread of this League sandwich. In this case, your startling ignorance of Hoenn’s politics is more of a boon than it is a bane.
Well, okay, that’s not quite true. Besides Navy, you do know one other person among this crowd.
Melody Miro, that blight upon music. You’d recognise that stain upon sound anywhere, especially with how her scourge of an album has taken the radio hostage. And you’re stuck here with her? Tch. Oh well. You suppose you can play nice and keep quiet, as long as she doesn’t get any funny ideas about singing.
You stand there for a minute, listening to those gathered chatting amongst themselves. Seems like they have some kind of telephonetic system you’re not clued in on, but that’s hardly your top concern right now. No, right now, your main priority is to just act natural and blend in, and that remains your top priority for about a few seconds, until a spectral steed and its mysterious rider make their dramatic introduction.
You turn to look upon the High King with something between respect and contempt.
It’s strange, isn’t it? You’ve never liked royalty, and especially not the royal family of Galar. No, you’ve never liked the kings and queens and princes and princesses that loomed large over your country. You always heard about how noble they were, how they exude elegance and majesty, how they always looked so dignified during their ceremonies and parades. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, because you know for damn sure that they never visited Spikemunth. No, they wouldn’t want to sully their million-dollar gowns by visiting your little slum, would they? Bastards, the lot of them.
But when you look upon the one that called itself Calyrex, you struggle to summon up that same hatred, but you can’t exactly bring forth any kind of admiration, either. You suppose that this ersatz intrigue is the best you can do.
But that’s enough about Shred Zeppelin. What does Jack Sabbath think about this new development?
”Well, well, well…” You glance between the various bodies being psychically puppeteered by Calyrex, before your gaze settles on the source of the sound itself. The whole thing is more than a little unnerving, and you count yourself lucky that he didn’t decide to pull that stunt on you, too. This whole situation just keeps getting weirder and weirder by the second. ”Ain’t this a kick in the head?”
And as you quickly find out, yes, it really is a kick in the head.
”Spikemunth’s gone…?”
You can’t rightly describe how it makes you feel, knowing that your hometown no longer exists. Make no mistake, you held no love for the place, but for it to just be gone? Just like that? Without pomp or circumstance, gone, full stop? A kick to the head is truly the only way you can conceptualise it, because you feel like you’ve been hit hard.
You don’t think you’re going to throw up, but you won’t make any promises.
You shift gears to distract yourself. Calyrex has given you a mission. Restore the Hero of Many Battles by performing feats of heroism. Really, you like to think of yourself as more of an Anti-Hero, but you’re in no position to be picky. If that’s what you need to do to get out of here, and you sincerely hope it is, then you’ll do it. And, you know just the place to start.
”Take me to Hammerlocke, bud.” You ask the creature, punctuating your request with a snap of your fingers. If you can’t go home, then you might as well go to the closest place to home left. Yet, it’s at that same moment that a thought intrudes into your mind, a horrible, horrible thought. It would be sensible to discard it, to forget about it, yet you can’t very well leave it unasked. ”But, before I go, I gotta ask just one thing…”
You shuffle awkwardly on the spot, glancing over your shoulder as you do, before you ask your one question. You’re almost a little hesitant to mention it, like it’s some kind of boogeyman that’ll pop out of the shadows the moment you mention it. Still, better safe than sorry, right?
”You, uh… You wouldn’t happen to have seen a moose with a bowl on its head kicking around in here, would you?”
TL:DR - Shred Zeppelin Jack Sabbath acts natural, blends in, has a lot of bloated internal dialogue that I REFUSE to edit and you CANNOT make me, caps it off with going to Hammerlocke and inquiring about the whereabouts of Iconic Character Bowl Moose.
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