Rage, Madness, and Sorrow
Grim times were abundant in the world. The threat of war lingered about several of the regions. Kanto, Johto, and Hoen were one alliance with tension rising with Orre and several other areas. Add to it, a mysterious plague was sweeping the world. Human and Pokemon alike have been born with the other species' traits, at random it seems. One area far south of the Orre region was filled with these anthromorphic pokemon, or pokemorphs, that were hostile to the majority of the populace. It is this time when the minds of the young are torn asunder as they are shaped to deal with their harsh environment.
RAGE
Cid looked at the shore of this new world with malevolent anticipation. His claws twitched as they clutched his rifle, and he shifted anxiously in his seat. The soldier next to him glanced at his gigantic companion anticipation and turned away. Cid was used to this kind of reaction, as he grew up as an anthromorphic Nidoking. He scoffed, he could easily be mistaken for one, if it was not for his upright posture and proportional limbs. His whole life he had been struggling with his natural disposition, being regarded with fear and animosity, even by his own parents. He couldn't blame them, he was an only child since his naturally spiked carapace sterilized his mother at childbirth. His father resented him for that, and Cid returned the emotion equally. His frustration and shame gathered from his parents and peers turned to aggression and fury and he was arrested numerous times through his teenage years. But now, at age seventeen, he's found a way to channel his now natural bloodlust into something constructive, war.
His boat docked and his platoon moved into the jungle. They soon came across the small village they were briefed about, the one that agreed to shelter them if needed. Cid stepped into the center of the village and adjusted his camo vest. He smirked at the fact that his physiology denied him standard military gear. He wore nothing but a camo vest and pants with boots, a white undershirt, and a set of dog-tags. He needed no armor, as his scar-etched carapace suited him just fine. This caused many awkward moments and made him an outcast in the human society, but here in this village, he seemed to blend seamlessly. Every one of them was a pokemorph, grass-type, but pokemorphs none-the-less. It seemed that breeding two pokemorphs always resulted in a anthromorphic child.
The next day his platoon moved into the jungle. They armed Cid with a rather cumbersome M61 Vulcan cannon, as his large girth allowed him to be like a mobile gun platform. They seemed to rush through that jungle for hours, and the anticipation began to wear on Cid's nerves. But, his commanding officer held up a hand to halt, and they obeyed immediately. Cid looked out a pair of binoculars, scouting out the camp they had been ordered to destroy. Their enemies consisted mostly of pokemon and pokemorphs, all of them living in equality, combat-ready, and a threat to their civilized neighbors. Many of them carried Tommy guns and pistols, but most of them had swords or bones. Cid couldn't take it anymore, and his commander noticed his bloodlust building. He motioned for attack and his platoon leaped into action. Cid warmed up the barrel of his weapon, and as it spun idly his mind fled to the crimes these people have committed. With the memories of his briefing fresh in his mind, he smiled as he opened fire on all of his foes. He Fired continuously for almost fifteen minutes, by which time his ammunition had been spent. He dropped his weapon and finished off the few remaining warriors with his poisonous horns and claws.
Cid sat atop a fallen tree, leaning on his cannon and busying himself with a cigarette. He knew that this was merely stop number one, and the process would be repeated in just a few hours. His war buddies secured the rest of the camp, and Cid felt a huge welt of pride within him. Thanks to his abilities, his platoon suffered no casualties. His worth seemed to by skyrocketing in his eyes, and then began waiting for his next skirmish.
MADNESS
Arthas's body floated ominously through the village. He was the only anthromorph in the area, which was inhabited almost exclusively by ghost-type pokemon. Regardless of his odd disposition, he was a welcome member of his society. His eerie grin was well known throughout most of the land, mostly in posters advertising his murders. Arthas was a well known figure, now, as being a anthro haunter definitely had its advantages. His torso lacked upper arms and legs of any kind, looking almost as if the flesh was ripped from his body. His torso was decorated with a black button-up shirt with skull buttons underneath a shabby old trench coat. His hands floated lifelessly at his sides. As Arthas made his leave, a slew of Gengar, Ghastly, Duskull and countless others cheered him on as he went of to claim another powerful life.
He floated aimlessly through the woods for quite a while, searching for adequate prey. That is how he evolved the first time, by killing enough foes to sate his evolution requirements. At the time he evolved he was only twelve, and now he was thirteen, believing he was far overdue despite the fact that he evolved at an unrealistically young age. He found signs of a military squad rummaging through the jungle. Arthas couldn't stifle the manic chuckle that forced its way out of his throat. Military personnel made up his favorite victims; they were strong, abundant, and invading his people's territory. He looked up as he heard a branch snap. His body sunk into the shadows before the lone soldier reached the path. Arthas's grin widened as his duel daggers slid out of their sheaths. The scout didn't get a chance to scream as the disembodied hand clasped his mouth and was paralyzed by Arthas's wicked drool.
The scout tried to scream as Arthas hovered over him, knife drawn. They were now in the regions Dead Tower, in the heart of the ghost village. On the top floor, the scout lay atop a huge grave surrounded by candles. Ghost-types of all kinds hovered near the windows of the huge structure. Arthas raised his knife-wielding hand. He grinned and told the scout, "Sorry, I have a flair for the dramatic. Besides, what fun would it be if you were killed before you got a chance to see me, huh?" Arthas's eyes narrowed and his grin widened as he plunged the dagger into his victim's heart. With a last cry, the soldier's chest burst forth as his heart was ruptured, showering Arthas with his lifeblood. Arthas raised his hands above his head, awaiting evolution... but it never came. He only shrugged and said, "Ah, well... Looks like I'll just have to get bigger and badder prey. HA HA HA HA!" Arthas's wicked cackle echoed throughout the halls, past the blue-lit torches, past his room, and past the graves of the parents that died by the hands of their own son, who's sadistic and homicidal thirst could not be quenched.
SORROW
No one ever seemed to pay too much mind to the little girl always quietly cradling her mother's skull. Erin was an anthromorphic cubone with pokemon parents. As all with all cubone, her mother died during the traumatic childbirth. But, Erin couldn't cope with her loneliness as well as her peers, nor could she cope with her father's abandonment. She usually just held it in her arms when not busy, as her semi-reptilian head did not hold her parent's skull in place very well. This day, her tenth birthday, she merely meandered about the village as usual, constantly adjusting the skull that shifted awkwardly on her head, and brushing her unkempt, scarlet hair away from her eyes.
It was a fairly typical day in her village, and she busied herself by collecting the handouts of food and water the villagers offered to the poor orphaned child. She bit into an apple that she had obtained contently. The sound of gunfire suddenly lit up the area, and she jumped to her feet. The villagers began to panic and flee into the jungle, as their warriors flocked to the uproar. Erin hesitated, as she found fleeing the village that she had never left imposable. Through the sound of gunfire she heard a mechanical whirring. In a panicked haze, she fled to the house closest to her. She closed the tribal-styled door behind her, bolting the seemingly out of place new-age lock. She peered out of the loose-fitted boards to the battle scene. The whirring ceased and a new sound replaced it, a horrendous booming of gunfire from a new weapon. The warriors began to drop like rag dolls, and Erin fled, never catching a glimpse of the huge violet demon wielding his improperly mounted weapon. Bullet holes burst into the sturdy wood of the house, and she fled to the basement. She covered her head with her hands as splinters of wood began to rain down upon her frame. She hugged her mother's skull as the village she knew began to be torn apart, and the shocking grief of the thought of all of the kind villagers she know being cut down locked her in place, shivering for nearly half-an-hour
RAGE
Cid looked at the shore of this new world with malevolent anticipation. His claws twitched as they clutched his rifle, and he shifted anxiously in his seat. The soldier next to him glanced at his gigantic companion anticipation and turned away. Cid was used to this kind of reaction, as he grew up as an anthromorphic Nidoking. He scoffed, he could easily be mistaken for one, if it was not for his upright posture and proportional limbs. His whole life he had been struggling with his natural disposition, being regarded with fear and animosity, even by his own parents. He couldn't blame them, he was an only child since his naturally spiked carapace sterilized his mother at childbirth. His father resented him for that, and Cid returned the emotion equally. His frustration and shame gathered from his parents and peers turned to aggression and fury and he was arrested numerous times through his teenage years. But now, at age seventeen, he's found a way to channel his now natural bloodlust into something constructive, war.
His boat docked and his platoon moved into the jungle. They soon came across the small village they were briefed about, the one that agreed to shelter them if needed. Cid stepped into the center of the village and adjusted his camo vest. He smirked at the fact that his physiology denied him standard military gear. He wore nothing but a camo vest and pants with boots, a white undershirt, and a set of dog-tags. He needed no armor, as his scar-etched carapace suited him just fine. This caused many awkward moments and made him an outcast in the human society, but here in this village, he seemed to blend seamlessly. Every one of them was a pokemorph, grass-type, but pokemorphs none-the-less. It seemed that breeding two pokemorphs always resulted in a anthromorphic child.
The next day his platoon moved into the jungle. They armed Cid with a rather cumbersome M61 Vulcan cannon, as his large girth allowed him to be like a mobile gun platform. They seemed to rush through that jungle for hours, and the anticipation began to wear on Cid's nerves. But, his commanding officer held up a hand to halt, and they obeyed immediately. Cid looked out a pair of binoculars, scouting out the camp they had been ordered to destroy. Their enemies consisted mostly of pokemon and pokemorphs, all of them living in equality, combat-ready, and a threat to their civilized neighbors. Many of them carried Tommy guns and pistols, but most of them had swords or bones. Cid couldn't take it anymore, and his commander noticed his bloodlust building. He motioned for attack and his platoon leaped into action. Cid warmed up the barrel of his weapon, and as it spun idly his mind fled to the crimes these people have committed. With the memories of his briefing fresh in his mind, he smiled as he opened fire on all of his foes. He Fired continuously for almost fifteen minutes, by which time his ammunition had been spent. He dropped his weapon and finished off the few remaining warriors with his poisonous horns and claws.
Cid sat atop a fallen tree, leaning on his cannon and busying himself with a cigarette. He knew that this was merely stop number one, and the process would be repeated in just a few hours. His war buddies secured the rest of the camp, and Cid felt a huge welt of pride within him. Thanks to his abilities, his platoon suffered no casualties. His worth seemed to by skyrocketing in his eyes, and then began waiting for his next skirmish.
MADNESS
Arthas's body floated ominously through the village. He was the only anthromorph in the area, which was inhabited almost exclusively by ghost-type pokemon. Regardless of his odd disposition, he was a welcome member of his society. His eerie grin was well known throughout most of the land, mostly in posters advertising his murders. Arthas was a well known figure, now, as being a anthro haunter definitely had its advantages. His torso lacked upper arms and legs of any kind, looking almost as if the flesh was ripped from his body. His torso was decorated with a black button-up shirt with skull buttons underneath a shabby old trench coat. His hands floated lifelessly at his sides. As Arthas made his leave, a slew of Gengar, Ghastly, Duskull and countless others cheered him on as he went of to claim another powerful life.
He floated aimlessly through the woods for quite a while, searching for adequate prey. That is how he evolved the first time, by killing enough foes to sate his evolution requirements. At the time he evolved he was only twelve, and now he was thirteen, believing he was far overdue despite the fact that he evolved at an unrealistically young age. He found signs of a military squad rummaging through the jungle. Arthas couldn't stifle the manic chuckle that forced its way out of his throat. Military personnel made up his favorite victims; they were strong, abundant, and invading his people's territory. He looked up as he heard a branch snap. His body sunk into the shadows before the lone soldier reached the path. Arthas's grin widened as his duel daggers slid out of their sheaths. The scout didn't get a chance to scream as the disembodied hand clasped his mouth and was paralyzed by Arthas's wicked drool.
The scout tried to scream as Arthas hovered over him, knife drawn. They were now in the regions Dead Tower, in the heart of the ghost village. On the top floor, the scout lay atop a huge grave surrounded by candles. Ghost-types of all kinds hovered near the windows of the huge structure. Arthas raised his knife-wielding hand. He grinned and told the scout, "Sorry, I have a flair for the dramatic. Besides, what fun would it be if you were killed before you got a chance to see me, huh?" Arthas's eyes narrowed and his grin widened as he plunged the dagger into his victim's heart. With a last cry, the soldier's chest burst forth as his heart was ruptured, showering Arthas with his lifeblood. Arthas raised his hands above his head, awaiting evolution... but it never came. He only shrugged and said, "Ah, well... Looks like I'll just have to get bigger and badder prey. HA HA HA HA!" Arthas's wicked cackle echoed throughout the halls, past the blue-lit torches, past his room, and past the graves of the parents that died by the hands of their own son, who's sadistic and homicidal thirst could not be quenched.
SORROW
No one ever seemed to pay too much mind to the little girl always quietly cradling her mother's skull. Erin was an anthromorphic cubone with pokemon parents. As all with all cubone, her mother died during the traumatic childbirth. But, Erin couldn't cope with her loneliness as well as her peers, nor could she cope with her father's abandonment. She usually just held it in her arms when not busy, as her semi-reptilian head did not hold her parent's skull in place very well. This day, her tenth birthday, she merely meandered about the village as usual, constantly adjusting the skull that shifted awkwardly on her head, and brushing her unkempt, scarlet hair away from her eyes.
It was a fairly typical day in her village, and she busied herself by collecting the handouts of food and water the villagers offered to the poor orphaned child. She bit into an apple that she had obtained contently. The sound of gunfire suddenly lit up the area, and she jumped to her feet. The villagers began to panic and flee into the jungle, as their warriors flocked to the uproar. Erin hesitated, as she found fleeing the village that she had never left imposable. Through the sound of gunfire she heard a mechanical whirring. In a panicked haze, she fled to the house closest to her. She closed the tribal-styled door behind her, bolting the seemingly out of place new-age lock. She peered out of the loose-fitted boards to the battle scene. The whirring ceased and a new sound replaced it, a horrendous booming of gunfire from a new weapon. The warriors began to drop like rag dolls, and Erin fled, never catching a glimpse of the huge violet demon wielding his improperly mounted weapon. Bullet holes burst into the sturdy wood of the house, and she fled to the basement. She covered her head with her hands as splinters of wood began to rain down upon her frame. She hugged her mother's skull as the village she knew began to be torn apart, and the shocking grief of the thought of all of the kind villagers she know being cut down locked her in place, shivering for nearly half-an-hour