#pokemon arceus legends
i was doing the massive mass outbreak quest and i went to an area filled with abras…and my heart dropped when i heard the shiny pokemon sound…and my heart dropped further when said abra teleported away
“I assume she is with the Lord?”
“You assume correctly. Lord Basculegion has agreed to carry her to the Isle himself.”
Iscan lent out a hand to help him up the slope, forgetting the other man was wont to climbing upon much steeper surfaces; Ingo still politely accepted his support.
“If I may ask, what brings you to the Cobalt Costlands?” the (not by much) younger Warden asked.
“I wished to see the ocean,” the other simply replied: “I don’t know if I’ve ever gotten the chance before. Besides, Lady Sneasler is nesting and her partner seems scared my presence might distract her.”
“She will have a litter soon?”
“I imagine so.”
“My congratulations to her! Although, I must admit…” and the poor man trembled a bit “The thought of all those little rambunctious Sneasles, with their poisoned claws… I feel I would fear for my life at every turn for the next few months…”
“They tend to bite more than scratch,” Ingo assured him absentmindedly, “And the amount of venom in their claws will take time to reach its full capacity. When they are so young it’s considerably weaker than standard samples too.”
“You seem very informed on the matter.”
“The Lady has many siblings.”
Ocean winds gave the air a salty scent. The volcanic island where Palina currently was together with Lord Arcanine stood calmly in the distance, glowing with rivers of lava pouring slowly, similar to a thick syrup.
Iscan nodded deeply, respectfully at the stones which marked the previous Lord’s tomb, and then shared their gaze: the sight beyond them was truly breathtaking.
The poor beast could at least now revel in a lovely horizon.
A hacked, almost agonizing sound distracted him.
He turned. The already paler man seemed to have turned even whiter against the darkness of his coat, almost transparent; while he could not see his chest under the folds of the Pearl Clan’s uniform, the way his shoulders shot forward in spurts and the labored breath coming from his mouth told an impression of great anguish.
“Warden Ingo?” he asked hurriedly, “What’s the matter?”
Ingo did not answer: he took a step, forward or backward it did not matter - as Iscan had to bolt at his side when his legs crumbled beneath him to make sure he did not break his knees on the hard ground. The foreigner grasped the blue fabric with both hands, heaving as hard as he could, sounding as if he was choking, as if inhaling was the hardest thing in the world, as if the air simply refused to enter his body, and with similarly painful difficulty tears began to spurt from his eyes, heavy and rough and almost as dense as blood as he gurgled uncontainable, unintelligible sobs against the unfeeling rock.
“Warden Ingo!”
He croaked out something without meaning, sinking further. His eyes were fixed on the tombstone. He could not tear them from it.
Iscan struggled to keep him upright before lowering him gently, hoping the earth would lend him support he apparently could not provide enough of. He held him still in his fearful if yet strong arms, tight, gentle, so very afraid.
Dead pale lips finally sputtered out something coherent at last: “I lost it,” Ingo was crying, “I lost it forever,” and he struggled to breathe.
“What is the matter?” Iscan insisted, “What is wrong?”
Ingo stared at the tomb and choked.
“I lost something very important,” he sobbed, “And nobody can bring it back.”
