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Thread: Excerpts from a story about a Bronze Age civilization of Pokemon

  1. #1

    Default Excerpts from a story about a Bronze Age civilization of Pokemon

    I'm still writing the story and it will be a while before it's complete, but until then, here are some chapters (probably won't be in order)

  2. #2

    Default Re: Excerpts from a story about a Bronze Age civilization of Pokemon

    PMD: Motherland - 1: Analysis of a Nomad






    A clear, featureless sky allowed the harsh desert sunlight to warm the city below. Sandy roads crisscrossed clusters of bright yellow sandstone buildings, yet their dusty surfaces supported no pedestrians. Bazaars displayed a colorful selection of exotic berries and metal trinkets, though they lacked the characteristic din of haggling and shouting, nor any buyers or sellers to speak of. Large barricaded garrisons scattered around the city were devoid of spear-wielding mons. Gorgeous estates cultivating all sorts of life-sustaining foodstuffs in neat, orderly fields stood out like gems in the sand, alas with no prospectors nearby. A mighty ring of beige walls safeguarded this apparent ghost town from the shifting sands of the dunes outside.


    Not too far from the main gate lay two distinct lines parallel to the walls, both stretching for an entire mile. The source of an entire city’s activity, these two lines, undulating against one another, emitted a cacophony of noise. Closer observation reveals that creatures of all shapes, colors and sizes comprised the line closer to the walls. Audino, Salandit, Wartortle - these mons, numbering in the low hundreds, formed a battlefront against the blue horde a dozen feet across no-mon’s-land. Arranged in multiple tightly-packed square phalanxes strung together in a line, the defenders presented a wall of bronze spears to the invaders.


    A body shaped like a smooth, hard rock suitable for skipping across water.


    Two sturdy-looking arms at each end dangling down.


    Two red eyes peering out from the body.


    A blue sheen enveloping everything else.


    These invaders, hovering several feet above the ground, looked more machine than mon. Against these otherworldly beasts were flung forth numerous attacks as varied as their summoners.


    Spear jabs by the defenders’ front ranks clanged harmlessly off.


    Lightning cackled and stirred up dust with the force of its impact.


    Vines bursted from the sands, grabbing violently for victims.


    Jets of ethereal water shot forth with unrelenting pressure.


    Colorful orbs of energy were thrown like rotten berries.


    To respond in kind, the blue horde shot ghastly purple balls back at their opponents. Others flung themselves at the wall of spears in an attempt at a breach. Defenders that could not maintain their formation found themselves beset on all sides by the rabid blue beasts. Monstrous punches sent limbs and heads flying off, while body slams flattened entire groups of mons into mangled, red heaps. Those that could keep the invaders at bay could only stand firm as their backline allies continued launching blue torrents of water and scarlet balls of fire over their heads.


    Like a marketplace food fight between two gangs of ruffians, this long-range barrage of blurry colors and close-range symphony of metal clanks grew in intensity, before suddenly petering out. Right in the center of the line, mons stopped launching projectiles, while others dropped their spears. A Wartortle fell to her knees and began clawing at her eyes, drawing blood in the process. Elsewhere, a Kecleon shifted between bright color after color before settling on a hideous grey hue and screaming bloody murder. Behind the spear-wielders, a Braixen simply froze in the middle of a throwing motion. The fireball at the tip of his stick disappeared before he dropped it entirely and yelped. A Houndour in front of him, frantically thrusting her spear, turned her head around and gasped.


    “Braiden? Braiden! Why did you - Lily? Montefortino? Guys, they’re getting closer!”


    The Monferno to her immediate right had dropped his spear, and had begun rapidly jabbing at foes only he could see in a whirlwind of movement. The Lilligant to her left was sobbing and soon planted her face into the sands. The Braixen behind her continued gazing into the red eyes of one of the blue invaders. Body still, pupils fixated, and jaw agape, Braiden, much like the other mons who had yet to collapse into a babbling heap, stood perfectly still like a statue.










    Braiden, you fool. Building better infrastructure for this city? A pointless pursuit.


    GET. OUT.


    The rapid drop in urbanization and living standards around the world will soon eliminate any need for complex structures to be built.


    Do you want a prize? Get out of my head, and get away from our city!


    Long-distance trade has diminished between settlements. You will be reduced to using simple, ineffective materials from around your local area. They’ll only be able to support small structures of no societal value.


    As if I needed to be reminded!


    With each generation’s passing, more and more knowledge will be lost forever. Knowledge of maths, engineering, alchemy, history, law, moralityethics...general welfare... the knowledge that separates civilized mons from those who roam the Mystery Dungeons will never be used again. This process is already well underway.


    What?! No, get out, now you’re lying!


    Running a noodle shop will never bring you the mental stimulation and sense of purpose that you crave.


    Ugh, are you telepathically deaf? STOP! Don’t toy with me, I’ll make you crumble!


    Just like the inevitable crumbling into dust by the weathering sandstorms. All civilizations will be lost under the sands, according to my observations and calculations. Do not attempt to stop it, and do not attempt to flee back into your settlement.


    As if I even liked this shipwreck of a city to begin with!


    Purpose will deteriorate with civilization, and everyone will be reduced to fighting for survival. That is your new purpose.


    Shut up, shut up, shut up!


    Civilization, less of a shining pillar and more like a rotting structure that must be allowed to crumble.










    A Houndour, waving her paws in a near-jumping jack, jumped into Braiden’s line of sight, obstructing the blue invader.


    “Come on, Braiden, they’re - !” She had to fall onto her back to narrowly avoid a vile, purple glob of sludge. She then leapt to her feet in one motion, and grabbed Braiden’s paw. With a swift yank, she slung him behind back. She struggled to jog away from the advancing blue horde with the Braixen flopping on her back.


    “I’m sorry, guys!” she yelled. Elsewhere in the center of the line, those still holding their spears also retreated, leaving behind their squirming or motionless comrades behind.


    The blue horde surged forth through this hole in the dam, flooding into the center. Some unceremoniously floated past the fallen. Others momentarily paused to pound them into a red paste. Eventually, all had poured into the gap, and began hovering towards the gates to the city. They failed to acknowledge a large group of mons led by a Flygon curving around the right side of the battle line. They also neglected to address two lines of mons, which had been concealed perpendicular to the frontlines, sandwiching their advance. Only when these two groups, whose mons brandished bronze swords and axes instead of spears and displayed bright metal badges on their clothing, converged on the blue horde did the invaders halt.


    Blades slashed at and axes dented the metallic beasts. The harsh sounds of metal-on-metal deafened those present, yet the clobbering continued. While some invaders were battered until their eyes no longer glowed red, others attempted to scramble over their comrades. Assaulted from both their left and right by the newcomers, and now pelted in their front by ranged attacks from the formerly retreating center, they began fleeing backwards.


    There, blocking their retreat, was the Flygon and his retinue of unarmed mons. They planted their claws or paws into the sands, and the ground began to tremble. Stalagmites bursted from the sands, cracking the exteriors of some of the invaders, while the greedy earth opened crevices to swallow up others. All the while, the defenders on the three other sides cleaved their way further and further into the shrinking blue horde.










    Another day, and movement had revitalized the city, now bustling with activity worthy of its size. Walking through the streets were a myriad of creatures of all shapes and sizes, yet wearing simple clothing. There was a Flareon proudly displaying a shiny little badge pinned to a white scarf. There was also a Helioptile, head hung low and no badge visible on his green cloak. All the same, these mons were either shuffling along the sandy roads crisscrossing clusters of bright yellow sandstone buildings, or tending to their businesses inside of them. Bazaars emitted a cacophony of noises, while the garrisons scattered across the city were as silent as the spear-wielding guards stationed nearby. A few gorgeous estates cultivating all sorts of life-sustaining berries and other foodstuffs stood out like gems in the sand. A mighty ring of beige walls, patrolled by even more bronze-armed guards, protected this city of Sandstone from the dangers of the desert outside. To any observer that had taken in this vibrant, bustling sight, “civilization” would have been the first word to come to mind. “” would have been the last.










    bucket, please.”


    Paws holding the bucket as far away from him as possible, Braiden handed it over to the Trubbish. The Trubbish held up the bucket, tipped it towards his gaping mouth, and guzzled its contents. He set it down, and nodded to the Braixen standing in the doorway of a little sandstone hovel. The Trubbish then skittered to the home next to that of Braiden: yet another sandstone hovel, barely big enough for a bed and personal belongings. Elsewhere around the sandy streets, other Trubbish, and even a Garbodor, moved from house to house.


    “Thank you, Braiden. Warm Days to you!” called out the Trubbish.


    “Calm Waters to you, Bishmarck! I’m glad you survived yesterday!” replied Braiden.


    “Haha, it takes more than a bunch of nomads to take out this trash!”


    Braiden waited for Bishmarck to repeat the process for the next tenant. He then breathed out and hunched over. That was pleasant to watch, as usual, he thought. At least they didn’t die during the invasion. We’d be swimming in without them.


    Eyelids heavy, Braiden took multiple steps to rotate on spot to face his home. A cot, a small locked chest, a wooden shelf supporting a few dust-covered items, an open cupboard betraying paltry berry stocks, and another bucket next to it populated the interior. He took slow, lumbering steps towards the bucket. Then, he stopped, aghast.


    Why does my water bucket smell? Wait.


    Braiden looked over his shoulder at the other bucket in the doorway.


    THAT was my water bucket. Which means this one…


    Braiden licked his lips, tongue scraping over cracked skin.


    Scat water it is for tonight’s drink, then. Ugh, I’d rather die of scurvy.


    Hands on his hips, he shook his head and looked down. The ground, composed of coarse sand, felt all the more abrasive. He looked around him. The small confines of the room squeezed him all the harder. He looked harder. The bed, more like stuffed burlap, the cupboard, more like an empty pantry, and the chest, more like a glorified box, tore at his heart.


    Nothing has changed in this city. Living here is like suffering from seasickness on a tiny raft. Every. Single. Day.


    Braiden’s eyes glazed over.


    The rapid drop in urbanization and living standards around this world will soon eliminate any need for complex structures to be built.


    If you’re trying to plunge me into madness, it’s not working.


    Braiden’s eyes refocused on the room. Dust everywhere. He gulped.


    It’s not working. It’s not working.


    He addressed the sandy floor first.


    Ground could be boarded with planks. That would prevent the sand from getting everywhere including the cot. Speaking of which, the cot could be stuffed with corn husks. At least that would prevent my back from aching every morning. As for the cupboard and chest… they need to contain actual food and belongings. The chest - safety mechanism for preventing theft - ugh, whatever. Same old, same old. Underdeveloped backwater.


    Braiden squeezed his eyes shut as if awaiting a scolding. He creaked open one eye when only the sound of distant guzzling slathered his eardrums.


    Appetizing. I’d rather listen to the blue invader.


    A foul odor assaulted his nose.


    Sighing, he stomped towards the chest, opened it, and laid his eyes upon his treasures: a key, a red scarf, a blue scarf, and a purple beanie. He selected the red scarf, and wrapped it around his neck. The abrasive fabric tugged at his skin. The key attached to a string was next. He slung it around his neck.


    Hopefully no one dies today. Or is raped. Or robbed. It’s the least we could use. Perhaps a series of watchtowers erected - . He stretched, feeling - and hearing - some joints pop. - at regular intervals would keep crimes at a low. He walked out the door and back into the glaring desert sun, and shut the door behind him. Ha, as if it weren’t the Guildies who rob, rape, and murder us.


    Turning around, Braiden scanned down the sandy streets which were bordered by identical cubical sandstone homes, dotted with mons walking to and fro, and brightened to blinding levels by the sun. He walked down the road, squinting left and right.


    So glad it’s all still the same, renovation be damned. Sandstone this, sandstone that. Sand on the ground, and the roads are just well-worn sand. All the homes are made of sandstone. The nicer homes have some wooden planks, and the market stalls, amazingly enough, are made entirely of wood, instead of a certain granular rock. Speaking of rock, the wells and a few other essential buildings are built from rock, albeit sandstone. None of these structures at all could withstand the desert’s sandstorms long-term. Eventually, all these structures will be weathered down into… sand.


    Braiden’s nose crinkled. He mouthed the last words repeatedly.


    Sand everything. I could fix this. No idea how, but I’m going to try, one day. Maybe some of the other Citizens would benefit from that. Clay bricks, not sandstone, for protection and durability against the elements. Aqueducts to improve water distribution, cisterns and sewers to make those Trubbish’s lives easier. Efficient villa housing to give everyone more space to breathe. Less squalor.


    He eyed a triplet of Buizel leaving a modest hovel. Their slouch. Their hanging heads. Their dual tails dragging behind them in the sand. Three other unique voices continued emanating from their home. Braiden’s gaze fell.


    They deserve better, but I don’t decide how to run this shipwreck. Or where to get the materials.


    He stumbled, kicking up sand.


    Long-distance trade has diminished between settlements. You will be reduced to using simple, ineffective materials from around your local area. They’ll only be able to support small structures of no societal value.


    Profound insight. Thank you. Braiden shook his head. Storms damn it all, stop twisting the knife.


    A shriek caused him to jerk his head to a building on the side of the street. Braiden’s attention went immediately to the haphazard web of planks forming a scaffolding. Its impossible layout should not have enabled it to support any mon, let alone the numerous workers scattered throughout.


    No. Those angles - such a layout cannot support a safe load. Did the overseers even care enough about the workers? Hopefully no one was hurt - oh no.


    “Leafer…” whispered Braiden.


    At the base of the scaffolding lay a crumpled Leafeon. He rubbed his head and tried to rise before a nearby Glaceon, wearing a green scarf with a badge pinned to it, kicked him in the temple. The Leafeon cringed and whimpered, and the Glaceon drew his bronze rapier.


    “Could you get any more clumsy? One more up and it’s twenty lashes!”


    With each generation’s passing, more and more knowledge will be lost forever. Knowledge of maths, engineering, alchemy, history, law, moralityethics...


    “Fine! Fine, I get it! Just shut up already! You oversized… blue boulder thing!” shouted Braiden. The Glaceon growled and snapped his head around. He craned his neck left and right, scanning the parallel streams of pedestrians. Unable to find any hecklers, he sheathed his rapier, and returned his attention to the Leafeon.










    Braiden stopped sprinting in front of a small building, gasping for breath. He looked behind him. Among the two streams of Sandstone mons walking left and right, no Glaceon was in sight.


    I’m sorry, Leafer. I’ll make sure to piss in Gladion’s soup the next chance I get.


    He turned back around and looked at the building. He glanced at the wooden sign, black paint emblazoning some words in cursive writing.


    The Noodle Hole.


    “No line already?” said Braiden. He threw his paw to the side.


    Ugh, the “Post-Emergency Tax Levy” is already sinking business. I’ll figure that out later.


    Running a noodle shop will never bring you the mental stimulation and sense of purpose that you crave.


    “What else am I supposed to do, huh?!” shouted Braiden. He slammed his paw against the door, then clutched it as pain pierced into his bones and traveled up his arm. A few wheezes later, and he was steadying himself against the door with his other paw. He gently bumped his head against the door.


    I can’t keep doing this.


    Braiden shook his head, and unlocked the door using the key around his neck. He left the door invitingly open, and stepped inside. Some simple wooden stools were lined up in front of a bartop. Not much space existed between the bar top and the front sandstone walls of the restaurant. The ceiling’s cracked wooden planks occasionally leaked dust. Behind the bar top were multiple fireplace stoves, pots, pans, and a door labeled “Employees Only”.


    After walking through the saloon doors on one end of the bar top, Braiden lit a candle with a flick of his paw, and immediately began igniting one stove after the other. A series of orange glows illuminated the otherwise dark room. He then entered the “Employees Only” room, and returned with an armful of jars and small bags. They were laid on the kitchen countertop behind the bar top, next to pestle and mortars, wooden knives, and other utensils. A knife in one paw, and a fresh berry in the other, he got to work.


    *Chip*.


    *Chop*.


    *Chip*.


    *Chop*.


    *Chip*.


    So much mental stimulation. Brimming with purpose.


    *Chip*.


    *Chop*.


    *Chip*.


    *Chop*.


    *Chip*.


    Braiden momentarily paused to wipe his moist eyes with his other paw.


    “I want out.”


    *Chip*.


    *Chop*.


    *Chip*.


    *Chop*.


    *Chip*.


    He carefully lowered the knife onto the kitchen countertop, then slammed his paw onto the wood. The noise reverberated around the empty restaurant. A few wet coughs spluttered out of his mouth, then brief silence.


    A pot bubbled up liquid, and it vaporized onto the flames with a venomous hiss. Braiden winced and looked behind his shoulder, but no blue invader was there. He looked back to the pile of chopped berries, and his lips began quivering.


    “I WANT OUT!”
    Last edited by Shoebopp; January 29, 2022 at 11:39 AM. Reason: Rewrite

  3. #3
    Akar's Avatar I am not a clever man
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    Default Re: Excerpts from a story about a Bronze Age civilization of Pokemon

    Hopefully this story will include a plausible explanation for the sea peoples and subsequent bronze age collapse. Perhaps they were water types?

    Good story, I have enjoyed so far.

    Check out the TWC D&D game!
    Message me on Discord (.akar.) for an invite to the Thema Devia Discord
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  4. #4
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
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    Default Re: Excerpts from a story about a Bronze Age civilization of Pokemon

    The initially peaceful scene is a nice contrast with the action that follows. I'm not familiar with Pokemon, so I'm intrigued by the different mons and their natures.

  5. #5

    Default Re: Excerpts from a story about a Bronze Age civilization of Pokemon

    Quote Originally Posted by Akar View Post
    Hopefully this story will include a plausible explanation for the sea peoples and subsequent bronze age collapse. Perhaps they were water types?

    Good story, I have enjoyed so far.
    Thanks! I should have mentioned that this story won't be a complete re-telling of the real-life Bronze Age (but with Pokemon), but rather a standalone story heavily influenced by civilizations during or around that time period. But yes, you correctly predicted several future plot points already. I'll have to omit more direct references to the Bronze Age in future chapters. Thanks for your feedback!

  6. #6

    Default Re: Excerpts from a story about a Bronze Age civilization of Pokemon

    Quote Originally Posted by Alwyn View Post
    The initially peaceful scene is a nice contrast with the action that follows. I'm not familiar with Pokemon, so I'm intrigued by the different mons and their natures.
    If you really read into the choice of words into the first paragraph, you might be able to discern some unsettling references to the real life Bronze Age .

    Unfortunately, if you're not familiar with Pokemon, you'll have to have another tab open to constantly google what new Pokemon characters look like. This story was written more for Pokemon fans than history fans, but I'll try to make this more enjoyable for history fans like you (I'm assuming?). Maybe introduce tension by having the characters be oblivious to the state of civilization, unlike the history-savvy reader. Pokemon fans read for the Pokemon and fluff, history fans read for the history and suspense.

  7. #7

    Default Re: Excerpts from a story about a Bronze Age civilization of Pokemon

    First chapter has been updated. Here's the second chapter. There is a brief reference to sexual assault, but nothing explicit



    PMD: Motherland - 2: Conclusion of an Outsider






    Footsteps sounded at the door, and Braiden turned away from the boiling broth, ears perking up. They perked up even more, and a wide smile stretched across his face upon him seeing a Houndour in a grey wool cloak.


    “Good Winds, Houndinie.”


    “Warm Days, Braiden. I’m not buying anything, just wanted to see if you’re alright. From, well, yesterday.”


    “Yes, I’m mostly okay, though I’m still shaking off those voices. I’m still alive and sailing thanks to you.” Braiden performed a little curtsy.


    “I saved you only because you look better with your limbs still attached to your body,” said Houndinie. Braiden snickered. “Sure you’re alright about the battle?” she continued.


    “Well, if there was any lingering unease, it all disappeared when you arrived.”


    “Romantic.” Houndinie placed her paws at her hips and wagged her tail. Braiden giggled.


    “Mind if I chat with you for a bit?” she asked.


    “I’d love to, but chopping these berries and staring at boiling broth is just too riveting.”


    Houndinie smirked and pulled up a stool. After plopping herself onto the seat, she rested her head on her paws on the bar top. Braiden wiped his paws and hunched over the surface, arms crossed. The two locked eyes.


    “So,” began Houndinie. “Let’s check up. Did all your loved ones survive the nomadic invasion?”


    “Yes, she’s sitting in front of me.”


    “Feeling’s mutual.” Both Braiden and Houndinie laughed without any enthusiasm before looking to the side.


    “Friends and neighbors?” asked Houndinie, turning back to Braiden. He met her gaze again, and nodded.


    “I haven’t checked yet - ugh, I completely forgot. And I’m too afraid to confirm who died. However, at least most if not all the Trubbish weren’t pounded to bits by those things.”


    “Yeah, real happy they somehow survived. You know, despite them being… poison… they work so hard eating shi - I mean, preventing the streets from flooding with… .” Braiden grimaced, and nodded. “I wish the other Citizens were able to survive,” continued Houndinie. “You noticed how fewer mons were walking in the streets this morning?”


    “Huh? I didn’t notice… oh no.” Braiden’s eyes grew wide, and his jaw gaped. Houndinie reached out her paw, which he accepted and held tight. “How… how many?”


    “The town crier said around 300 bodies could be identified. Too many globs of - of flesh… couldn’t be counted. He also said the recordkeepers will wait until the next tax month, and report all apparent tax evaders as dead from yesterday.”


    “300? That’s utter mismanagement of the militia. Houndinie… I’m sorry you had to watch your own phalanx unit get decimated in this debacle of a battle.” Braiden snarled, but melted into a concerned frown upon seeing Houndinie’s lips trembling.


    “Not a debacle. Us Citizens getting brutalized was part of the plan,” said Houndinie. She sniffed, and her gaze dropped. Braiden reached out to sandwich their grip with his free paw. He patted gently. “It was planned by the Guild commanders,” continued Houndinie. “‘Double envelopment’, apparently. The center was meant to crumble and suck in the enemy. Then the hidden flanks assault them from both sides, and an enveloping force finishes them from behind.”


    “Outrageous.” Braiden gritted his teeth. “Those callous bastards can’t keep throwing our lives into the ocean.”


    “Yet they did just that when those ‘Drifloon’ mons were spotted in the canyons weeks ago. The ones that couldn’t be stabbed by our spears. Remember how those intruders surrounded and dropped us from the sky one by ING one, before the Guildies waiting in the ravines leapt out and surrounded them?” A growl emanated from both mons’ throats. “Was the talk of the bazaar! Guildies single-handedly repelling an invasion. . And the ‘Elgyem’ things before that - !” Houndinie wailed and slammed her head into the table. Braiden leaned forward to pat her shoulders with both paws.


    “Houndinie, please, you drilled us the best you could.”


    “You’re *HIC* right, Braiden, they can’t keep throwing our *HIC* lives away. HOW?” Houndinie swallowed, and looked up to Braiden. He continued patting her shoulders. “How… how does this city still function?” she asked. “So many mons suffer and die each day.”


    Just like the invader said.


    “Maybe…” began Braiden. “... perhaps things will change for the better? Somehow?”


    “It’s already going downhill.” Houndinie gently clasped Braiden paw and moved them away from her shoulder.


    “Huh?”


    “The ‘Post-Emergency Tax Levy’” Braiden opened his mouth, but Houndinie gently touched his lips with her paw. “I know what you’re about to say, and I appreciate it. It’s fine, being a militia instructor used to pay well.”


    “Used to?”


    “Look, that stupid policy sucks Gastrodon dick, and it’s hurting everyone already. I’m especially worried about you.”


    Braiden nodded and summoned a weak smile. “Thank you. I’m still sailing, but we’ll see where the new tax levy will bring me.” His smile faltered. “‘Post-Emergency Tax Levy’, yet the invaders never breached the walls - what will they spend the poke on? This is another wealth transfer scheme.” Braiden was now looking away from Houndinie and snarling. “Not just that, but the terrible construction methods are hurting Citizens left and right. Just this morning I - .“


    “Braiden, it’s hopeless.”


    Braiden tilted his head, and stared at her. She shook her head.


    “Please,” said Houndinie. “I know I’m not one to talk, but don’t get too burned by your anger over something you can’t fix.”


    Braiden sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know why I ramble about this. I don’t know how to build structures, but I do know this shipwreck needs fixing. I wish there was a library here to learn, well, maybe better construction techniques.”


    ethics...general welfare... the knowledge that separates civilized mons from those who roam the Mystery Dungeons will never be used again. This process is already well underway.


    No… no no no! Houndinie furrowed her eyebrows upon hearing Braiden’s mutterings.


    “Braiden, are you sure you’re okay? There are Persim berries in Doctor Auriel’s apothecary.”


    “Uhhh, just combatting those voices. That blue invader’s abusive telepathy - it’s really persistent.”


    One of Houndinie’s eyebrows was now raised. “They’re called Metang, according to some of the survivors. Pack mons who travel around the desert. There’s always dozens of them in any group. Also psychic. That explains the tele-whatever attacks. The punches which completely ed our militia? That must mean they’re half steel. Scorched Drought, they’re hard to deal with as they are, but of course they just have to band together in giant hordes.”


    “I hate to be pessimistic, but more are coming. I doubt we can repel these endless - these - ugh! Where do these desert hordes even originate from? Unwashed pirates, the lot of them. Pummeling our bodies with violent punches and assaulting our minds with lies.”


    “Yeah, well, at least the Metang just wanted to defeat us and invade the settlement to sack it or whatever. Steal what? Our crusty cloaks?” said Houndinie. She flicked her gray cloak with mock haughtiness. Afterwards, she leaned in closer to Braiden, voice dropping to a whisper.


    “Now, those oh-so-special Guildies? They’re far, FAR worse.” Houndinie had covered her chest with one paw, and her crotch with the other. She grimaced when Braiden’s face twisted in disgust.


    “Did those marauders do anything to you?” he whispered. He offered his paw, but Houndinie simply hunched over slightly, and looked to the side. She began taking progressively deeper and deeper breaths, prompting Braiden to start gasping for air himself. Their gasps alternated in a steady and somber melody.


    “Well,” began Houndinie, now trying to meet Braiden’s eyes. “After the morning militia session was over, and everyone left the Training Sands, some Guildies sort of… went up to me… and I had to just stand there and let them.” She gritted her teeth. “That stupid Guild badge. Take away that badge and I’ll be allowed to bite their nuts off.” She finally accepted his paw, and silently screamed.


    “These Guildies will one day get their just deserts,” said Braiden. “The Nobles who run this shipwreck too. Just like - .“


    Just like the inevitable crumbling into dust by the weathering sandstorms. All civilizations will be lost under the sands, according to my observations and calculations. Do not attempt to stop it, and do not attempt to flee back into your settlement.


    “ - uhhh, one day, our situation will improve.” A pot burped out some broth, and the ensuing spillage created a hissing noise. Braiden and Houndinie stood and sat, waiting for the hissing to subside.


    “How?” asked Houndinie. Her paw twitched, squeezing Braiden’s tightly.


    “Huh?”


    “How? What would we do to fix this scorched wasteland?”


    Purpose will deteriorate with civilization, and everyone will be reduced to fighting for survival. That is your new purpose.


    Shut up, shut up, shut up.


    “Houndinie, perhaps someone will build a better tomorrow? Architects of a brighter future? We are civilized mons who - .”


    “What kind of ‘civilized’ mon with a badge and a sword goes around beating and groping us? And stabs us if we say ‘no’? Or sits in their estates and does nothing as we live covered in or sand? We’re getting nowhere. Nowhere.” Houndinie had begun breathing heavily for air.


    “We’ll... sail to more promising waters?” Both paws now covering Houndinie’s, Braiden nodded his head and blinked his teary eyes.


    Civilization, less of a shining pillar and more like a rotting structure that must be allowed to crumble.


    Loudmouth Metang, now is not the time! I don’t need your pedantic musings.


    “You can’t live in this place. I won’t be…” Houndinie laid her other paw onto Braiden’s. Her lips trembled before she could steady herself. She took a deep breath. “Those Guildies didn’t do… that... just to be slimy pervs. After that, they told me they were originally sent to tell me I’m no longer needed as a militia instructor.” Braiden’s jaw dropped as Houndinie hiccuped. She wiped away a tear. “They’re taking over the training and defense of this district. Apparently because my phalanx drills didn’t work against psychic monsters made of metal. As if we ever stood a chance.”


    Another burp from the pot, and more hissing. The Braixen and the Houndour remained silent for some time. Braiden gulped.


    “Houndinie! Let me support you. You’d become homeless in days otherwise. And the same fate befalls all female mons at the mercy of the streets at night.” A tear trickled down his face. Houndinie smiled weakly, squeezing out a single tear herself. She lowered her head and rested her muzzle on Braiden’s paw.


    “You’d be joining me in the streets.”


    “Huh?”


    “The new tax levy. It’s preventing other mons from spending poke on food. That includes your restaurant. You are struggling to make ends meet as you are. You can’t, and shouldn’t help me.” She gestured around the restaurant.


    Empty stools.


    An unfettered bar top.


    Pots of hissing broth, yet no filled bowls.


    Chopped berries with no one to chew them.


    Braiden gulped again. It’s not fair. There must be a way to save you. You can’t meet the same fate as the others.


    “I’ll find a way. Read the stars. I’ll steer you… somehow...” he said. Houndinie looked up at Braiden, who leaned forward to nuzzle her cheek, brushing aside tears along the way. She smiled weakly, and touched Braiden’s shoulders with her free paw.


    “One mon is getting screwed over. Just as usual in this scorched city. The wheel just keeps turning.”


    “No.”


    The two gazed into each other’s eyes through blurry tears. They nuzzled closer and closer with each precious second, before stopping snouts buried in each other’s neck. Only the occasional gulp hinted that these two were more than just two eternally embracing statues.


    Houndinie suddenly gasped, and quickly jerked her head into the wall right of the door. Braiden followed her line of vision, and squinted as if trying to stare at what’s behind and beyond the right side wall. His jaw gaped, and he shook his head. With no reaction from the motionless Houndinie, he began shaking harder and harder.


    “No, Houndinie, you don’t deserve that!”


    “Ara’s brothel is always looking for workers.” Houndinie continued staring at the wall as Braiden slowed down his shaking. “That should keep me safe. No one s with Ara and her brothel girls. I mean, they do them, but you get the point.” Houndinie stood up straight in her seat. She slowly patted Braiden’s paw. “I’ll take care of myself. Do me a favor and look after yourself. You’ve got a business to run.” She left her seat, paws covering her eyes.


    “I’ll try my best. Good Winds will eventually blow, I promise.”


    “May the sun shine warmly on you.” Her hiccups echoed around the room as she stumbled out the door and turned right, cloak billowing behind her.










    Braiden, now standing behind the bar top serving no one, sighed. He blinked out a tear.


    Does this sinking whirlpool ever have an end in sight? Nomads, pointless taxes, bronze-swing thugs - ugh! There’s no future in a place like this. That Metang was right.


    The lack of chatter and commotion in the restaurant became all the more deafening and visible. Braiden wiped away the tear and bent his knees to reach into the cupboard below the bar top. Standing back up, he reappeared with a large papyrus sheet in one paw, and a graphite rod in the other. He set the material and utensils onto the bartop, and began writing.


    No more. I don’t want any of this anymore. Houndinie is living on borrowed time, and so am I. We need out.


    The rod made two broad sweeping strokes. One large square bracket on the left, and another one on the right. With rapid scribbles resounding through the empty restaurant, the graphite filled the large space in between the brackets with decimal numbers. Braiden labeled the columns “Spicy”, “Sour”, “Bitter”, “Sweet”, and “Dry”.


    Damned Storms, how am I supposed to plan our escape if I still have to worry about - .


    “Keeping my finances above ING SEA LEVEL.” Braiden huffed, and gasped, until his breaths diminished in frequency and venom. He looked at the grid of numbers. Focus. A new soup flavor should bring in customers again.


    Using his free paw, Braiden traced the air up and down, and right to left above the papyrus. He would occasionally annotate each number in the matrix with a new one. His eyes scanned through the numbers, and his paws hovered to and fro.


    If I read the stars right, I could make more than enough poke to just get by. Then I could - huh.


    Braiden circled a row several times. He jogged into the “Employees Only” room, then returned holding a small clay container labeled “Apicot”. He set it onto the bartop, and then retrieved a glass jar labeled “Razz”, and a small burlap sack labeled “Cheri” from the cupboard. Ingredients laid out, he ignited a flame on a vacant stove, and tossed some Apicot powder onto a pan.


    The Flavor Matrix says “spicy” and “dry”, so shall it be. So if these work out, I could bribe a Guildie to escort Houndinie and I out of the city.


    Braiden then pounded the Cheri berries using a pestle and mortar.


    *Cling*.


    *Clack*.


    Next, he mixed the yellow paste with the blue Razz preserves in a clay bowl, creating a deep, green mixture. Some water was poured into it, and Braiden set the broth on the sands. He took the pan of caramelized Apicot, now a deep golden color, and tipped its contents into the broth. The broth took on a pleasant turquoise hue.


    But where would we go? How do we even get to any destination? There are so many bandits infesting the trade routes. Everyone calls the roads leading from here the “Highways of Death” now.


    Braiden grabbed the stick from his tail, and cast a few embers on the clay bowl. Coals glowed orange, and a mild billowing of steam confirmed the temperature. Soon, he retrieved and set the piping hot bowl onto the bar top with no urgency.


    Holding a clay spoon, Braiden gently stirred the soup. The turquoise surface formed a small whirlpool, pleasant vapors swirling around. Braiden caught a whiff and sighed wistfully. He gingerly picked up the spoon, its little turquoise puddle tantalizingly beckoning to him. A little sip, and some smacking followed.


    There’s Ursarit and Altaddia. But the traders in the bazaars said those cities have stopped exporting goods. And if that Metang said… then those cities… no.


    A little spark flashed in Braiden’s mind. Braiden smacked his mouth some more. He nodded.


    Huh, this is nice. I’ll call it the… Mindspark? Warmer Days Special? It might actually bring in just enough revenue to get that bribe poke. We’ll be out of here after a few tight months...


    The sparks had picked up their pace. Braiden tipped backwards a little, but steadied himself in time.


    Uhhh, maybe we should take refuge in a Mystery Dungeon? It’s basically the wilderness, but there are plenty of underground berry trees. Huh… but then we would have to constantly look out for rapist Guildies prancing around. She wouldn’t like that. Uhhh...


    A flame was lit, eating away at the wood of his psyche. Braiden shook his head.


    Ugh. So… away from the Mystery Dungeons, and inside civilization it is then. But are other desert settlements even better? They’re probably shipwrecks, too. No, we must travel…


    The wood crumbled into ashes, opening up a hole in the dam. He began drumming the bar top with his paws.


    Uhhh… with… huh, I might need to dilute this… a place better than...


    A cascading tsunami rushed forth.


    Where would we go… ugh, what is -


    Braiden’s surroundings began spinning faster and faster into a whirlwind. He clutched his head.


    “CRASHING STORMS, WHAT -”

  8. #8

    Default Re: Excerpts from a story about a Bronze Age civilization of Pokemon

    Here's a flashback scene that I'm in the process of reshuffling to a different point in the story. +Reputation to whoever guesses what real life invention each museum attraction references





    The building could have housed several warships.


    The ceiling, several stories high, was supported by girthy marble pillars, impeccably carved and beautifully polished. Granite walls, reflecting the light shining through the glass ceiling, lit up the room, allowing its many visitors to gaze at the vastness of the space above them. Or so they would, if they weren’t gawking at the many contraptions resting on ornate wooden tables scattered around the expansive room.


    An Eevee pulled at her Umbreon mother’s paw, pointing at a jumbled assortment of bronze gears. This contraption rested on top of a low table, and a wooden arrow on the ground pointed invitingly at the largest gear. Suddenly, the childmon let go of her mother and rushed towards the machinery, and heaved with all her might against the largest gear. While it barely rotated with a low groan, the smallest gear in the jungle of bronze spun at a feverish face, emitting a high-pitched whine as it did so. The smallest gear began taking on an orange hue and emitting steam, so the Umbreon pulled her daughter away, lightly smacking her purple beanie as she did so. Observing this scene were a Braixen and a Lucario, both standing next to a gargantuan ballistae that, if brought to life, would have easily gobbled them up.


    “The teeth,” said Braiden.


    “Hmm?” asked the Lucario, adjusting his purple cloak.


    “The speed of the smaller gear depends on how many times more teeth the larger gear has. Ah, so, Lucani, the 4-Talent Lithobolos is powered by the same principle? I can see some disproportionate pairs of gears on the firing mechanism.” The two mons turned around to face the massive ballistae. It pointed upwards in a diagonal trajectory, aiming for the glass ceiling.


    “I’m afraid that technical detail is beyond my knowledge,” said Lucani. “What I could enlighten you on is the fabled history of New City’s first weapon of mass destruction. Or, as popularly known, W-M-D.” Lucani bowed and gestured his paw at the weapon. Braiden’s eyes grew wide, but he was taking unsteady steps backwards.


    “Thank you, but I’m a little afraid to learn more. This ‘WMD’... it tears down not just walls, but also lives.” Braiden gulped, yet Lucani tilted his head, twirling the ends of his cloak with his paw.


    “You know the saying, young Braiden? Might…”


    “... makes right,” finished Braiden. He nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the towering weapon looming before him. Lucani followed Braiden’s gaze, and tilted his head back and closed his eyes as if to bask in its presence.


    “Excellent. Thus, whatever city-state creates such a symbol of power surely deserves to conquer weaker ones? No wall can withstand the 4-Talent Lithobolos, and no city can resist New City’s will. Are you still interested in hearing about this weapon’s exploits?”


    “No thank you. Could we move onto another attraction? This one is making me seasick.”


    “As you wish. Come.”


    Lucani pointed to a table tucked away in the corner. Much like the jumble of bronze gears, this one combined wheels, levers, glass, and bronze into an elegant, sleek design. A glass container sitting on the left of a lever housed a jagged, blue chunk of ice. The right container displayed a pitch-black chunk of charcoal. Both containers radiated blue and red auras. The lever currently angled towards the ice container, but it slowly tilted towards the other side. As the lever completed its reversal, the wheels kept turning, never slowing down its steady rotation.


    Braiden and Lucani arrived at the attraction, with the former jogging his final steps. He leaned in as close as he could without eliciting scolding from Lucani, and his jaw dropped.


    “This… this shouldn’t be possible,” said Braiden.


    “And yet, the wheels keep turning. Forever.” Lucani’s mouth curled into a slight smile. Braiden’s face remained shocked, and his eyes transfixed.


    “I’m assuming that no outside energy is being inputted into this system?” asked Braiden.


    “Perhaps. It must be the properties of the NeverMeltIce imported from the Braviary Peaks, and Charcoal imported from Altaddia. As for the machinery, well, I cannot explain the theory behind them - “


    “It’s just not possible…”


    “ - but I do know that this device is highly in demand by elites from other city-states. Those simple-minded barbarians can’t resist gawking at New City’s marvelous contraptions. A rather profitable export, and befitting of New City, if I may add. We turn raw, unrefined materials, and mold them into something purposeful.”


    The lever tilted back towards the ice container, causing Braiden’s eyes to slide to the left. A hissing noise later, and the blue aura momentarily dispersed, fading into the surrounding air. As a cold breeze sent shivers down his spine, he turned to Lucani, who had begun fondling his purple cloak again.


    “So, Lucani, this ‘NeverMeltIce’... this heat sink… could it be used to store grain for longer than a season?” Lucani raised his eyebrows, and tilted his head to the side. Braiden shook off the remaining shivers, stood up tall, and looked into Lucani’s eyes. “The Grain Dole would be much more robust if we could make up for, say, this season’s poor harvest using last season’s stash.”


    Lucani smiled warmly. Braiden heard a harsh hissing noise, and some heat seeped from the contraption into his bones. With the gentle massaging of warmth came relaxation. Braiden slouched slightly.


    “Well said, Braiden. Ask yourself this, though: is squandering such precious materials on feeding communities outside of New City truly worth it? The Grain Dole doesn’t even properly feed the urban laborers within its walls most of the time. It’s better to accept the losses, and prioritize greater victories. See the red-tinted, yet perfectly clear glass on the ceiling? It was imported from Mirage City before the Nomadic Road became infested with bandits. Hundreds of thousands of poke was saved by using our contraptions as payment.”


    “That is a high return on investment.” Braiden nodded, and Lucani smiled.


    The two mons stood next to the ever-moving machine. Their eyes would move left and right following the eternal see-sawing of the lever, their bodies undeterred by the rapid swings in temperature. Before they could join the machine in perpetual motion, a strong, yet mellow, moo reverberated through the room. Braiden and Lucani instantly turned their heads to the source of the noise: a bronze Bouffalant standing menacingly on all fours on top of a thick, sturdy table, in the middle of the room.


    A wooden arrow pointed into its rear, out of which an Eevee’s head emerged. She giggled and waved at her mother. Each laugh sent a fainter moo from the Bouffalant’s head echoing throughout the room. Braiden’s eyes dipped lower, looking at a crumpled, flaring mass of orange, red, and yellow papyrus beneath the Bouffalant’s belly. He then saw the Umbreon snatching up her daughter out of the Bouffalant’s rear. Holding her close to her chest with one paw, the mother pointed at the mass of papyrus seemingly licking the statue’s underside, then at the statue itself, then at her daughter, and finally her paw rested on the entrance to the statue’s interior, which could be sealed by a lid and lock. Giggles subsiding, replaced by whimpers, the Eevee buried her snout into her mother’s neck. The Umbreon, now hugging her daughter with both arms, walked brisk steps away from the attraction.


    “The Brazen Bouffalant,” announced Lucani. His booming voice elicited a shudder from Braiden. The Braixen eyed the mass of fiery-colored papyrus with uncharacteristic concern in his eyes. He turned to the unfazed Lucario next to him.


    “Crashing Storms, you promised you wouldn’t show me anything upsetting!”


    “Please calm yourself, young Braiden, and I’ll listen to your complaints.” Lucani offered his paw, palms up and backhand spike down, to Braiden. He accepted it. Clasping the other’s paw hard, arms shaking, Braiden huffed until he squeezed out a single tear from his eye. Lucani tilted his head before gently sandwiching Braiden’s paw with his own.


    “What’s troubling you?” asked Lucani.


    “How… many?”


    “Hmm?”


    “How many of these exist?”


    “A single Brazen Bouffalant is erected in the town square of every military colony classified above ‘polis’, of every vassal state above ‘minor polis’, and of every rural hinterland district.”


    “Huh? That many?” Braiden had begun gritting his teeth and had to force each subsequent word out of a snarl. “And how many times have they been used?” Braiden’s grip squeezed like a vise. Frowning, and tilting his head some more, Lucani looked into Braiden’s eyes for some time before opening his mouth.


    “A good deterrent doesn’t need to be employed that often. The Brazen Bouffalant’s intimidating stature, the putrid smell of its victim’s burning flesh, and the disharmonious moos emanating from the specially-aligned pipes in its head are plenty enough to send a message that lasts generations.” Braiden’s mouth twisted into a silent scream, prompting Lucani to start patting his paw.


    “Listen, please. Deterrents are beneficial to monkind overall. Should they not be used to make examples out of upstart barbarians, their unwashed brethren would rebel constantly, causing great bloodshed between them and our military settlers. Even more misery would transpire should we be forced to deploy our New Marines. Remember the Illumisian Revolt? How close those savages came to breaching New City’s walls? If those blasted island vassals had just delivered enough tin that season, we would have had enough bronze to install a Brazen Bouffalant in Illumisia’s capital city. But the tin didn’t arrive, there was a bronze shortage, there wasn’t a Brazen Bouffalant in Illumisia, and so the revolt happened. We don’t want more Illumisian Revolts.” Lucani slowly left Braiden’s grasp, and held out both his paws, again palms up and spikes down. He slowly altered between raising one and the other, much like the ice-and-charcoal machine not too far away. A slow nod from Lucani gradually softened Braiden’s silent scream.


    “Like… a cost analysis,” said Braiden. “The pros outweigh the cons.” Braiden joined Lucani in nodding.


    “Precisely. Let’s set sail for more pleasant waters, shall we? I apologize for not respecting your taste in artifacts.” Lucani tilted his head to beckon Braiden’s attention towards the source of a faint high-pitched shriek. They walked past tables large and small, featuring machinery sleek and jagged, bronze and wooden, silent and cacophonous.


    None captured the attention of the stiffly walking Braixen.


    As they approached a small, round marble table, the constant shrieking noise reached piercing levels. The source appeared to be a small bronze ball, threaded through a rod and spinning at unnatural speeds. A jet of steam billowed from the ball, while a bronze kettle of water next to it simmered gently from the glowing coals beneath it. Braiden covered his ears while Lucani cupped his own mouth and inhaled deeply.


    “THIS IS THE STEAM - “ began Lucani, bellowing in a relatively quiet corner of the room. The steam had all but disappeared, and with it the shrieks. “Well damn, I will replenish the water later. But…” Lucani gestured and bowed towards the small table, an inert metal ball on top of it. “... I present to you, the Steam Ball, created by Alakzamdria decades ago. It is completely useless.”


    “Huh, ‘useless’. Do you mean that as in not helping make our lives easier?”


    “In some regards, yes. This invention does not augment our military, nor does it help exert control over our colonies, nor does it help extract wealth from lesser city-states. However, because this device was created by the founder of our Library, it deserves special placement in this museum. History should remember the great Alakzamdria. Now, the ‘Analytical Machine’, on the other hand…” Lucani pointed towards an impressive cluster of vertical metal rods each supporting dozens of stacked gears. A wooden arrow directed Braiden’s sight to a stack of papyrus. The top page had neat rows of perfectly round and small holes poked into them.


    “... also useless,” finished Lucani. “It’s a monstrous waste of bronze designed by a scholar from the sea. ‘Barbaracage’ was his name, and he hailed from Sun-Bleached Corals. If you ask me, it sounds too much like ‘barbarian’. The idiocracy of his invention certainly evokes that word. It performs numerical calculations at a rate still slower than a mon’s mind could. Even worse is that the inputs and outputs are codified into holes punched into papyrus in an arcane language he calls ‘Two-ary’. What rubbish. I keep advocating to the museum overseer that this bronze abomination should be melted down into something more useful, such as battering rams or fine metalware for export. She insists though that the Analytical Machine be displayed because it demonstrates - Braiden?”


    Standing in front of the wooden arrow and poking holes into a sheet of papyrus was an agitated, almost hopping Braixen. After delivering a rapid staccato of pokes, Braiden set down the conical knife and crammed the papyrus into the gap between two horizontal rods lined with gears. The bronze lips greedily gobbled up the papyrus as he heaved to crank the shaft in slow circles. Once the papyrus had all but disappeared into the mouth of the Analytical Machine, he stepped backwards, looking straight at the other wooden arrow pointing at its other end.


    Braiden’s breast rose and fell, but his excited gasping faltered when the papyrus failed to emerge from the other side. His tail drooped. Lucani appeared by Braiden’s side, shaking his head yet smiling.


    “Young Braiden, if you had finished reading the instructions on that arrow, you would have learned that you must crank nonstop for 10 minutes just for the calculations to complete. Like I said, this Analytical Machine is a useless, barbaric spectacle. May I ask though what you sought to calculate?” Lucani tilted his head as Braiden grinned, exposing his fangs. His goofy full-body fidgeting dulled what was otherwise an unsettling snarl.


    “It was for flexibility calculations for Dark Oak, which involves matrices. By paw these calculations are tedious and error-prone, but using an automaton to do it would be smooth sailing!” Braiden had begun pumping both fists in a manner that would have been considered lewd. “The 10 minutes of cranking? No problem. The motion can be supplied by the NeverMeltIce and Charcoal contraption over there. Huh, in fact…” Braiden’s eyes widened and he now formed a silent shout of joy. “A cheaper alternative is… steam! That bronze ball spun because of steam, correct? So powering the Analytical Machine is as easy as burning wood to boil water. Then, with all calculations sped up, the work of several types of Overseas Contractors like agricultural engineers or monument engineers could be done - huh?” Braiden completely ceased his lively pumps as Lucani firmly clasped both his paws. A grim frown on his face, and a slow shaking of his head, Lucani otherwise stood still until Braiden had visibly deflated. Even his shoulder fur and tail seemed to go limp.


    “Please,” said Lucani. “Do think about the consequences of this scenario. What would become of New City’s greatest export - it’s refined minds - should their efforts be duplicated by mindless automatons? What would become of our civilized lifestyle? What would become of you?”


    “Oh…”


    “I’ve heard from your mother that your next - what was it - monument engineering task begins in… 3 days?”


    “Yes…” said Braiden. He smiled with his mouth, though his eyes forlornly looked to the side.


    “Why don’t you get your well-deserved rest before you set sail?”


    “Yes.”


    “Very well. I wish you Calm Waters. Feel free to visit the New Museum whenever you please. I do enjoy sharing our passions with each other.”

  9. #9
    Alwyn's Avatar Frothy Goodness
    Content Director Patrician Citizen

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    Default Re: Excerpts from a story about a Bronze Age civilization of Pokemon

    I don't know what the museum attractions are - the descriptions are intriguing and I'm enjoying the history and suspense!

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