Dewmeadow
@Morose
You walked in the direction of the staring Taillow, through sloshing mud and slowly warping wood. The open meadow before had become swampy ground. A miasma of rotting wood and murky water overtook your senses. All of the water seemed to creep, like a thin layer of slime, all migrating toward that rapid river behind you. Broken remnants of trees stuck out from the shallow depths. Bushes grew in sprawls and thorns weaved precariously about the place. Though wild and overgrown, the terrain was passable. Your shoes would get soaked, but that was nothing new for a citizen of Dewmeadow.
Whether by sheer luck or by the guidance of the Taillows, you’d found a speck of yellow, spiky hair in the distance. Sure enough, rushing forward, you’d find Rowan standing in a clearing of cypress trees. Interestingly enough, these trees almost formed a ring around you, save for the entrance way you came in. Thick, levy foliage hung down like strings from twisting branches. It was difficult to see in any direction other than the way in and out. Despite this, you still weren’t quite sure if you would be able to make it out on your own.
Rowan held Purrloin in his arms. The cat was slouched, still fainted from the battle. The boy didn’t appear to have any potions on him, having likely lost them with his bag. An interesting, blue Pokémon was floating on its own tail in front of Rowan. It pointed its body upward, still balancing on the ball at the ends of its tail, and shot form a stream of water into the sky. The water came back as droplets in a miniature storm. Hard rain fell onto soft souls.
@hatakekuro
With a knot in your stomach, you coasted along the side of the raging rapids. They winded, serpentine, through the warped wood of the Quagmire. The way became less tread as you continued onward. Few souls, other than Pokémon rangers or veterans, ever decided to walk alone into the swamp. Taking the river was a safe step, though, as it could always be followed back. Leaving sight of the river might spell trouble for the misguided. You listened to water attacking stone with one ear, and the biotic chorus of the swamp with the other.
There was no trail of either missing person at first. And then there was a sign, vague, but there. Indentations, lines, about a foot or so long before vanishing. The mud floor shifted often, especially near the river, and had likely covered the complete tracks of what appeared to be wagon wheels. They were there though, you were sure of it. And then, sometimes, a hoof print. Sometimes two. The earth around these tracks was drier for some reason, the water having left the soil by some means. You continued to follow these vague clues, this overwhelming river, all the way to the end.
There was a cart.
It was old-fashioned. All wooden, down to the last detail. A lantern hung off the top of the carriage. The wick of the candle had shortened, but the base was still white with life. It was turned and leaned ever so slightly over the edge, threatening to fall frail before the rapids. A trail of parted earth led directly from the front of the cart and down to the basin bordering the rapids. Rouge curtains whipped in the presence of occasional gusts. The ominous curtains waved towards you, as if inviting you in. The interior was too dark to see from where you were currently standing.
@PlatinumSkink
First, the round blue ears revealed themselves. Then, a pair of black, doughy eyes. A rotund, blue stomach was next, as the Pokémon didn’t exactly appear to have a neck. Miniature blue moccasin feet were next. And, finally, a long, black, string-like tail connected to a wrecking ball end. Wide-eyed with wonder, the flash of blue became more clear than a peripheral blur. It poked its head from behind one of the gnarled, overgrown trees you stood near. Its eyes were curious, gleaming. Not darting, but transfixed on the limp Purrloin you held in your arms.
“Azurill?”
It almost looked like a big, blue mouse. You might’ve heard tales of the Marill in the swamp, and maybe as a kid you believed them, but to see it before your eyes, that was something else. The Pokémon didn’t walk towards you, as it wasn’t tall enough to tread through the murky waters of the Quagmire. Instead, it floated towards you on its stomach. It used its big ball of a tail end as a flotation device. If it needed to turn right, it would veer its mass right. If left, veer left. The whole spectacle looked silly, but nonetheless it was burdened by necessity. The sailing was surprisingly quick, reaching your position in a matter of seconds. You supposed it had some practice at this.
The Pokémon took another, starry-eyed look at the fainted Purrloin. The Azurill pushed itself up to a standing position, using rolling momentum like a turtle flipping off of its back. The Pokémon struggled for a moment to maintain balance, waving its ears to adjust its position. Its tail that it floated on bobbed up and down, like a buoy attached to a fishing lure, before coming back to rest in the middle of a circular ripple. The Pokémon then leaned backward, plopping down into a seated position, mouth held to the cyprus leaves above. From its mouth came a gush of water, a powerful torrent that reminded you of the rapids below the bridge. It reached skyward, just touching the ends of leaves before falling back to earth. By this point, though, it was like a mountain’s mist on summer day. The microscopic droplets covered you and Purrloin both. They clung tightly, shining against the late afternoon sun. Purrloin didn’t appear to wake, but the Fury Cutter’s wound was at least cleaned. The Azurill bowed its head and began to tear up, having failed to revive the fainted Pokémon.
“Az…Az…”
