A PARK IN VERDANTURF has opened for those wishing to have a picnic under the spring blossoms. A local bakery brings in pastries for park-goers to try, while mini-games are held to celebrate the vernal vibrancy of the land.
after the ultra beast war, hoenn begins to heal. the megalopolan invasion may have failed; however, it is clear there is much more at stake. a prophecy revolving around a cyclical meteoroid, the appearance of necrozma and a dangerous and viral alien threaten the safety of the region once more.
with rocket's new boss, the resurgence and reappearance of the crime syndicate's presence is imminent. the league has done its best to repair its reputation, and with the victory of a war under their belt, perhaps it is enough. but the seeds of distrust have already been sown in the ravaged land of this region, causing many to wonder what will grow?
casting all of his pokemon out of their balls, elijah commands them to search for precious ingredients. although does he not play blades & bulwarks, he still plays the part of the quester. every day, he seeks mats. resources. the grind is endless.
the fresh air of freedom is potent. drives them wild. after all, elijah's friends have returned to the grounds they once called home. perhaps, they still call it home.
as elijah forages, he notices that his pokemon do not work. instead, they play, regaining their connections. he does not interfere. he works for them too.
his breloom had never been the same. smothered in god knows what, whatever viscous vice that stirs in its veins scares him. although the breloom still responds kindly to him, it is the retching. the oozing. the toxins remarkably foreign to its own poisonous constitution.
after a round of foraging, elijah finds a pool of toxic sludge where a footprint should be. within the forest, it is a tide pool. it catches a receding wave of regret.
truth be told, elijah felt self-conscious on his gogoat. although others may freely ride their mounts through city streets, every bump underneath the hooves of his pokemon threatens the gait of such an idyllic episode. it is the wind blown by fierce car wheels. the smokey gurgling of a motorcycle's exhaust pipe. hell, even the pleasant chiming of a bicycle bell.
yet, despite being born in the modern age, elijah wonders if he's simply playing a part with one single stubborn script. his thoughts are loud. as loud as any engine. as his gogoat leads him through the forest in relative silence, the nothingness invites his thinking to grow horns.