LegionPothIX

No Turning Back - Into the Abyss

@sep Is your post reacting to my post, which hadn't come out yet, or priming it? 'Cause it reads like it's reacting.

No Turning Back - Into the Abyss

Witch's Revival

The River that runs from the Mountain to the Glade

The Mountain

Deep in the heart of Cryogenics the only light to be found was cast by blue interfaces on slumbering machinery. The ever present frosted glass defused the harsh panel's light into a soft glow that provided a tranquil ambiance to anyone whom found themselves patrolling the deep freezer. In the passing moments the silence was broken by the automatic restart sequence as a lever slid down the stacks to retrieve a pod.

Far outside grating slid to one side, and the heavy standard-issue boots of Vitate security trudging up from the ship's underbelly filled the halls. These rumbling low noises were burred beneath chanting of fervent women twelve in number. Before the procession was allowed to enter from the causeway, their Arc Security escorts ensured that the area was clear so that the ritual would not be interrupted. Once secured, and their right of rite of passage produced, two columns of six women were allowed to proceed up into the antechamber from the tunnels that housed the sewage and water lines.

The mouth of the River came only so far as the foot of the Mountain, and from its depths the faithful walked to the entrance to Cryogenics from the nearest access point. With the faithful came the song, and the chanting continued. With it the foremost and rearmost pair of crones burned thyme as they sang. The rest carried censers of ornate cast iron in which mistletoe leaves smoldered.

The twelve formed into an octagon with eight on the circumference and a square of four in the middle. Frozen chrysanthemum petals flit and fluttered from their hooded cloaks as they danced barefoot across the chilled deck plating. The perfect precision with which the group sang and danced their spiral reflected the dedication they had to these proceedings, and their mastery which required a month's practice. Despite having come up from the ship's sewers there was no indicators of passing through it. They did not carry the tell-tale scent of damp piping, or insulation, and instead had about them the crisp scent of fresh grave dirt wrought into their very being.

The Song

As the spiral dance of the outer eight made its way outward the inner four kneeled facing inward in anticipation of the ship's acknowledgement of their presence. The timing was perfect in that the moment the song and dance came to its end, they had found themselves in a large chamber with the Viate's most annoyed technician whom oversaw the defrosting procedure. A large mechanical arm delivered one particular cryopod from the stacks, to the place of rest's end, and placed it in the center of the coven's gathering. Particularly on the reactivation node which they had enshrined in sacred geometry inked with the oil of milk thistle. To anyone outside of the traditions these practices would seem arbitrary, as would the choice of plants, but anyone within the traditions would know the meaning: that the plants were carefully chosen and prepared for this ritual. That they are what they represent and represent what they are.

There was no question of the revery with which those attending paid to the dreamer who dwelled with death in chamber of cold-heart. The question of legality of the proceedings had been settled years in advance. That, on this day, the High Priestess of the Old Religions would rise up from her bed of ice, on the Mountain where cold is kept, and return to lead her people. In the months prior they, the most devout, had walked the whole River in preparation for this moment: the moment awakening—of walking from the Mountain to the Glade. It was with some reluctance that their escorts walked with them but now the walking was nearly done.

Under the glass canopy of the cryopod a thick mist was being pumped out through attached hoses as to prevent leak in the closed system. Only the slightest trace of mist entered the sterile air of the medical facility as the canopy slid upward and back revealing the witch. With life returned the support umbilicals monitoring her vitals disconnected, and fell away, and the Keeper of Traditions opened her eyes. The chanting resumed as she braced her hands on the lip of the pod—one on either side—and hoisted herself up into a sitting position. A wave of relief and love washed out of her to her followers and then back from them to her. With great effort and imitate assistance she herself from the pod and into the circle. A circle that the mechanical arm reached into and retrieved the pod as she stepped out of it, and return it to whence it came. With the circle now complete it was time to return to the River and follow it back to the Glade.

The River

Source

Rather than launch into an address the awoken sleeper instead resumed the chanting, and with her the other twelve joined in. They reformed their columns and danced their way back into the Vitae's water access channels. They were followed by security escort whom closed the access hatch behind them. Through this, the Vitae's River, they marched down stream to where the water of life flowed. Ever toward the hub. While one might expect the procession to proceed to the Garden of Eden, such a person might also expect them to walk on the streets of man. No. Instead they were swept away in the River and lead deep underneath to the glades: the place which sprung up from the natural convergence for the Vitae's ley-lines.

When entering the Glades one needn't step up out of the River, as they did at the mouth of the Mountain, since it simply poured into the open. In a practical sense the Glades was a series of open catwalks, back-alley junctions, and forgotten access corridors and maintenance shafts. By modern societal standards it was a dingy and dismal place, but to these witches it was the Vitae in its most natural living state. Though it may be thought strange to describe the Vitae in the same manner one would a planet it was their world now, and it had in it all that which a planet does; if only in a modified form. The Glade was a perfect representation of that as even the druids could feel the power in this place.

The Glade

As their voices swelled in its halls, and open spaces, the faithful whom tended to the Glade came to meet their priestess and join in song and dance. Dance to the place of ceremony where the song might end and the stories begin. Stories of the other realm. There they gathered and there she would tell them of her travels through the spirit world that their frozen families inhabited.

To speak at gathering was a great honor often reserved for the few of wisdom and experience, but in this time of unity all were invited to share and many did. They did so in the most natural place. The place where the stories of Earth and her will was made manifest on the Vitae: the Geological Research Institute. A towering spire that stood amongst the water treatment facilities, and hydroponics bays of the hub's undercity. It was the place where Earth's will lived on through its children who replicated her processes so that others may yet live in her splendor.

The Cathedral

While not all whom worked in this sacred space believe in, or were attuned to, its mystical nature as these devout followers—they were certainly aware of its sacred stature in the community. They did little to belittle those faiths as many of the sector's brightness minds in the field practiced their craft along side their work, and both benefited from it. After all, the Geological Research Institute being the Cathedral was the undercity's worst kept secret.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

@Fallenreaper I was tempted to go that route myself, but I figured that he'd be gone by the time ℝoot broke in a new suit. So, I talked to @nitemare shape about what I ended up posting on. Still not sure where I fit in in all that.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)

First Timothy 6:10

No sooner did ℝoot commit to the act, than did her computer present her the opportunity to make good on her word. A ping from an algorithm monitoring the city's hacked CCTV network detected escalating collateral damage in China Town. ℝoot smirked as she focused her algorithm on the event it began correlating data from key word searches of popular media sites and reconstructing events from eye witness accounts and cell phone recordings that were posted online.

While much of the bystander footage was focused on the meta-spectacle several cameras caught glimpses of things not shown on the CCTV. Conspicuously inconspicuous observers. Her software reconstructed the audio of the fight, piecing it together from footage that was cleaned and digitally enhanced, or patched together from lip-reading software that scanned each still image of all of the video.

Most of the audio consisted of meaningless banter but a few important details were also revealed. Not so much the identity of those fighting, as a simple media cross-reference search would do that based off of the powers displayed and outfits worn, but of the nature of their relationship: that one was employed to capture the other. She played back the audio reconstruction on a delayed loop while scanning the footage for outliers.

"Nevertheless, I’ll be taking your girl back to my employer whether I have to put you down or not..."

She was looking for observers. People likely smart enough not to be caught on CCTV, and she compared civilian footage she could attain against the CCTV footage to find them. It was the rapid response time of the drones that told her someone must be observing the battle on site, and if they were there then they would stick out like a sore thumb. They would be the people reacting to the end of the conflict, rather than its spectacle or beginning, and with that ℝoot narrowed down the list to a handful of vehicles. Three of which were easily tracked by traffic cam and their plates came up registered to civilians.

Two others on the other-hand were less so. The black SUV screamed private military and was likely a command vehicle while the other, a van, sat heavier on its suspension than it had any right to do so. Given what the reconstructed conversation told her about why the two were fighting, she reasoned it must have some addition heavy-duty off-market equipment inside to restrain a meta guest of the caliber that was captured.

"That one," ℝoot mumbled as she tapped the van on her screen, "That one has the payload so it must be going to the hideout." She turned to another screen that was monitoring the SUV. "Which means this one must have an agent in it." She tabbed over to the cell tower network which monitored communication traffic.

While it'd be absurd to suggest that the contents of communication were monitored, it was the job of a cell tower to monitor the devices that are establishing connections and communicating. China Town was a cultural hub of activity which mandated that service providers have multiple towers to handle the network load, and as a result ℝoot was able to use the physical location of the vehicle as the primary point of reference to ID the devices inside by triangulating them on the network.

She captured the IMEI numbers of the devices but noted that none had been used for the duration of the activity. Paramilitary types obviously know better, but there was also the hole that a comm system has to make in every day activity to remain secure, so the secure comm system too was ID'd by the whole it left in ordinary traffic, and each of the signal could be tracked independently.

"Bingo." ℝoot muttered at identifying the existence of the blatant out-of-the-ordinary signifier. It reeked of organized crime of the modern era. She got to work analyzing the interference signature that was left as a ghost in the cell tower network. It wouldn't be enough to identify the signal of the comm unit producing the interference, let alone tap them, but it would serve as a beacon to track the unit itself.

At that moment an instant message popped up on her computer with a link to an unrelated news story detailing police raiding an old-folks home where staff were being carted out in droves with allegations of abusing and neglecting the elderly and running all manner of illegal substances, and money-laundering. As reporters interviewed one of the tenants ℝoot put it together and quickly banged out a response on her keyboard. "Riemann, I could just kiss you!"

She returned her focus to the static image of the SUV and the van paused on her screen while her computer ran tracking searches in the background. "Hiding in plain sight. That's what I'd do. Now, let's see if you try to lose me where I would..." she said as she flipped back to vector analysis of the drone's flight path. Cracking a secure military encryption to get into the drones after she located them would be a hassle so instead she took a different route. "Damnit. Another shell company." she said in reference to the owners of not only the facility that the drones originated from but also to the one the SUV traced back to.

Her frustration was tempered by the fact that for every obstacle she encountered limited the players that could be involved. Only the biggest players in the region had modus operandi she observed, and her tracking report made identifying which player all too easy. Both vehicles went to Midas Industries and one of the cell phones went deeper into the facility. ℝoot now had identified her agent.

With that she keyed into her VPN and made a call from the governors office. Not to Midus Industries but to the old folk's home that Riemann liberated. ℝoot spoke at her computer which utilized a voice-to-text program to capture her words, and then utilized TTY Telphonic scripting to deliver the message to the intended recipient. The phone rang once and was answered immediately. Ten thousand dollars, as agreed, was wired into the recipients account for merely taking the call. The payment was more of a matter of proving her identity, than any signifier of the contact's personal value.

"I have a task for you." ℝoot said, and awaited the response.

Her side of the conversation ended with "Yes, if it comes to that your family will be well cared for."

No Turning Back - Into the Abyss

On the Vitae

For anyone else the term to describe what Xaith awoke to would be 'looming'. The man slept stiff and rigid for the four hours he allotted himself between today's shifts and, he imagined, for the entirety of that time Sasha was observing him. He'd like to think 'watching over' was the term to use, but he knew that her program was not yet sophisticated enough for the requisite emotional attachment such a phrase conveyed.

He took a moment to acknowledge 'her' presence after sitting up and before quickly running through his 'morning' routine. A routine which began with grabbing his EEGARD off the nightstand, applying the RFID transmitters to his scalp, and booting up the system. By this time his automatic coffee maker had produced for him a cup of black lava to get his new day started—even though it was technically still the same day—and it was only a matter of wading through the work he brought home to claim it. He ran his fingers through his short unmanageable hair, before following with a comb, and then rolled off his bed to make the trek to his small kitchen.

Xaith finished the remainder of his morning routine, and was making his way out the door to leave when he stopped, and turned to Sasha. "Follow," he said, issuing the only order of the day that would be given to her. To which she proceeded to fall in on his left flanking position as they made their way to Engineering.

Before they even made it into the door to Main Engineering the duo were addressed by waiting staff. "Sir," one of the many engineering sub-department heads began his report while offering another cup of coffee to the Sargent First Class. "Here's the analysis on the modular tactical reconfiguration circuit you requested. I didn't think it possible but the computer says it could work."

One after another they continued to hand SFC Calhound datapads and explanations to which he nodded in acknowledgement where appropriate.

"Sir," a female this time added, "Lt. Rorq's meteorological analysis. Electromagnetic interference in the comms between us and the Nyx seems to stem from a dense concentration of ferrophosphorus minerals in the planet's crust." She handed him another pad detailing some schematics for a device drives from one of the Rorq Industries "Planetary Solutions" machines. "The stellar radiation from the star intermixing with the atmosphere of the planet has made it prone to ion storms, and as a result the minerals in the surface—particularly around the poles have been, well, polarized."

"So, they're landing on a great big radioactive magnet," Xaith summarized.

Sheepishly Lt. Rorq's number one assistant responded: "In a word: yes." She then pointed to something in the first report she handed him, "But more importantly the planet can't even begin to terraform the planet without strip-mining it, to deal with the magnetic interference, and building refractive shielding to scatter the stellar radiation."

"Thank you ensign," Xaith said in dismissal for the next in the long queue of people and tasks he would otherwise delegate to Lt. Rorq who was presently off station. It was the dirty little secret of science that with enough work any planet could be terraformed. The question to answer was firstly what stood in the way of successful terraforming, and the second was how long it would take to do so in order to determine if the endeavor was feasible. Due to department policy he knew that these recommendations and reports had already been filed for the higher up's attention and didn't need to make a decision about it himself.

"Sir," began a surly elderly gentleman who was the next in line. "The personnel reports Lt. Rorq requested. Psychological evaluations have been ordered for all staff to assess post-Earth mental fitness. Due to the incident these orders have been expedited." For a moment the man fidgeted in a manner befitting his years, "Sir, I don't mean to pry but I see your evaluation hasn't been scheduled."

The Chief of Engineering nodded, adding only "Yes, of course corporal." He took the pad and added his own name to the schedule, and returned it to the man. "Coordinate with psych and get back to me."

"Sir, if I might add," the corporal continued, "I expected some resistance to the matter. Many of the staff have been protesting."

SFC Calhound frowned. "Remind them that system diagnostics is of the utmost importance to detecting and correcting a fault before it becomes a problem. And, if necessary, explain that I will personally assume anyone not willing to commit to such a diagnostic, to be a piece of faulty equipment, and they will be removed and replaced."

It was harsh, but pragmatic, and the corporal nodded in response to the unified front that was Lt. Rorq's and SFC Calhound's orders.

With that Xaith pushed past the group of engineers, technicians, and staff begging an audience to actually make it into his place of employment. He had quite the long shift ahead of him, and though these were matters of triviality to the Chief of Engineering, they were nevertheless important matters to attend to. As he made his way through Engineering the ever present crowd that Lt. Rorq normally kept at bay with appointments and office hours, flooded to him without any organizational structure to pour in reports, and request orders.

As they did so they slowly pushed Sasha further and further out of position, and in the back of his mind Xaith could see it: she was confronted with her first choice. Her first question of arbitrary nature. A question that was required to be answered by the machine who had no capability of doing so. Just how close must one be to be still considered following?

But work would not wait for him to engage in this moment of internal revelry. "Sir," another tech followed up after reporting core status, "Should we be concerned about the droid following you around? Is it for protection?"

To which Xaith laughed. "No. It's a personal project." he stopped and half-turned toward Sasha while remaining focused on the technician. "The droid is incapable of performing any action—let alone intervening on anyone's behalf." He turned back to the tech and took another datapad, adding as he browsed the schedule for deployed maintenance technicians. "Pay it no mind, and don't waste your time trying to interact with it, because it will not acknowledge you." Xaith truthfully explained before following with a convenient lie: "At the present it only has basic collision detection."

---

Meanwhile on the Nyx

The silence in the Astronomics maintenance bay was interrupted by the sound of an engineer's toolcase closing. Lt. Rorq let out a long sigh of relief as she finished analyzing the adjustments made to her droids. The word stressed in her mind did not go unnoticed as she was quite used to commanding far more than a pack of sensor droids, and here on the Nyx she was as far down the ladder as one could be and still be considered a rung. It had come to her attention there was an unauthorized robotics technician aboard the ship tinkering with her droids.

To rule out the possibility of sabotage, the Lieutenant decided to give them a full diagnostic, only to find that the robotics technician merely corrected and stabilized their radiation purging protocols, and enhanced their EM shielding. As a result she had the broad strokes of what the analysis she ordered while aboard the Vitae would reveal about the planet but lacked the fine details.

With so little to do, compared to her normal job on the Vitae, she was getting antsy and decided that another calibration of her tools would help take her mind off the waiting. And so, the silence in the maintenance bay was once more interrupted by the toolcase; this time it was opening.

Pokémon: Hoenn - Make a Wish

@LegionPothIX Cool post!
However, I'm curious as to the reference of Devon Corporation, since that doesn't exist in this Hoenn.

@Phoenix

I got the info from bulbapedia and was referencing its origins as a small mining company based in Rustboro, rather than the massive SilphCo equivalent it becomes. The company has a very long standing history in Hoenn. Much longer than the time gap listed on the OOC page.

If you're saying it doesn't exist in this version of Hoenn, I don't remember seeing that stated anywhere.

Pokémon: Hoenn - Make a Wish

Gulligan is a pun.

Pokémon: Hoenn - Make a Wish

Return to Hoenn:

S.S. Libra - En Route to Slateport City

The large ocean liner swayed gently on the sea. The weight of the ship, its build, and the calm of the water precluded the occurrence of motion sickness. A silver primer ball, followed by two regular pokéballs, were affixed to the waste of the young girl who sat perched restlessly on a box. It was a reasonably large wooden crate that could easily support her weight. The crate, the child, and the whole ship was bound for Slateport City. The S.S. Libra was a cargo liner, rather than a cruise ship, and so there was very little to do to keep her mind occupied. Though she originally caught the ship from Rustboro City to Gateon Port with a load of materials from the Devon Corperation. But now—having departed from Gateon Port—the cargo on-board (and her along with it) was now destined for the Slateport Marketplace. The particular box she was sitting on was labeled in big block letters of the impact font: Volcano Incense. According to the crew it smelled like the upper reaches of Mount Battle from whence it came.

"Sorry about this, miss." one of the sailors offered, between sips from a mug, and in so doing disturbed Sarah from her thoughts "We don't get many passengers so the amenities aren't so, uh, amenable." The sailor, and the child, were both on the deck of the ship watching the waves go by. One was sipping coffee to nurse a hangover while the other was fidgeting with cheap toys. The two had been introduced the night before at the Krabby Club by Professor Krane's assistant who helped Sarah secure passage back home.

"I'm sooo booored." Sarah sighed as she flopped onto her back and kicked her legs over the side of the crate.

"I've got a couple pokémon, miss. Ya'know for defense." the sailor said as he set his coffee down on a nearby table. "If ya'like we could have a battle." While Razzle and Dazzle would be a tough act to follow it was the least the sailor could do to entertain the ship's only guest. Though, it was generally considered bad form to engage in a pokémon battle with a stranger with nothing to offer the winner and, while the sailor drank his salary, the child spent her winnings on memorabilia. So, this contest would have to be one for the sport of it.

While still on her back the child leaned her head 'up' looking down from the sky to the man. "A double battle?" From what she was told double battles were more popular in the Orre Region than they were in Hoenn, and with her mind she wrenched the two normal balls free from her trainer's belt, while digging her Pokémon Lens free from her trousers.

"Sure, why not?" the sailor said as he pulled two pokéballs from his own belt. "I picked these up on the job. They're a bit rare where I'm from," the sailor denoted with a mark of pride as he threw his pokéballs into an open space on the deck, "and we don't often have opportunities to train with real trainers."

Sarah grinned as her Zigzagoon and Oddish hit the deck in opposition of a Wingull and Swablu. Her lens chimed in with "Sailor Matt would like to battle!" before reading out the information regarding the pokémon on the field before the battle actually began. And, it indeed began with earnest.

Lens Report

Wingull: Water/Flying
It makes its nest on a sheer cliff at the edge of the sea. It has trouble keeping its wings flapping in flight. Instead, it soars on updrafts rising from the sea by extending its long and narrow wings to glide. This Pokémon's long beak is useful for catching prey.

Wingull has the habit of carrying prey and valuables in its beak and hiding them in all sorts of locations. This Pokémon rides the winds and flies as if it were skating across the sky.

In the winter, it hides food around its nest.

Swablu: Normal/Flying
A Pokémon that has wings like cottony clouds. Swablu loves to make things clean. If it spots something dirty, it will wipe and polish it with its cottony wings. If its wings become dirty, this Pokémon finds a stream and showers itself.

This Pokémon is not frightened of people. It lands on the heads of people and sits there like a cotton-fluff hat. After enduring winter, in which little food is available, Swablu flocks move closer to towns in the spring.

The child pointed at the opponent's first pokémon and gave imitate directions to her own Oddish: "Sweet-Pea! Open with Spore!" Then, to her zigzagoon she added "Ziggy! Odor Sleuth the Swablu!"

"Not so fast!" the sailor shouted back, "Staypuff use astonish. Gulligan use wing attack."

The four pokémon collided in the make-shift ring. Both of the sailor's pokémon dove head first into Sarah's own pokémon. As the Wingull's wing lanced across the oddish's face, it's head virtually exploded in a white fog. Sailor Matt clinched his fist with excitement: "Super Effective!" before the Wingull's flight ended in a crash landing that had the bird skidding across the deck. Meanwhile the Zigzagoon's odor sleuth failed as the impact from the Swablu left it reeling.

The single attack from the Wingull had left the Oddish fairly messed up but with it asleep the battle shifted in Sarahs favor. It was now two against one. Well, one and a half against one. Sailor Matt grit his teeth and issued orders to his Swablu before berating his wingul "Staypuff counter with sing! Gulligan, wake the hell up!"

Not having any of it, Sarah countered with a "Not so fast!" of her own before adding "Ziggy counter with quick attack. Just keep it from singing." The zigzagoon flashed across the battlefield and delivered a claw to the throat of the Swablu and forced it to retreat. "Sweet-Pea, use Leach Seed," the child ordered her Oddish which produced the seeds and fired them into the Swablu's path.

As the seeds connected and the first bout of vitality was stolen from the Swablu, Sarah declared victory: "It's over." She offered the sailor a chance of honorable surrender by explaining the situation. "Even if your Wingull wakes up before we finish your Swablu, my Ziggy is just too fast. I'm not going to let you land another flying move on my Sweet-Pea." Sarah pointed to the sleeping pokémon with her left hand. "If you fight offensively I'll burn you down in a two versus one match. she then pointed at her oddish to make a point "If you fight defensively, I'll will whittle you down with status effects."

Sailor Matt laughed as he considered her offer. "That's pretty good for a kid, but I think I'll take my chances. Staypuff use safeguard, and follow with growl."

It was at this point that the battle changed direction and became an almost one on one fight. With each passing moment the zigzagoon and the oddish's attacks weakened considerably to the point that it took several more tackles and magic leaves to take down the Swablum but by this point the Wingull had woken up. "Staypuff, I know you're tired, but use Mist." Sailor Matt ordered his swablu, and in its final exasperated sigh it did. As a result, a thick mist rose up from the ocean and swept over the field, and promptly thereafter the swablu crashed into the deck before being recalled. "You were smart, kid. Smart, but unlucky. Gulligan use Areal Ace."

The wingull flapped its wings and a single powerful blast of air ripped through the mist. "Ziggy! Intercept with quick attack! Sarah shouted, and without hesitation the zigzagoon blinked into the path of the blast. Unfortunately at the moment of impact the bubble of condensed air broke into several rays of violently agitated air and streamed around the zigzagoon to connect with the oddish.

"Again!" Matt called to his Wingull.

"Magic Leaf!"

The blade of arboreal energy slashed through the wind energy but failed to disrupt it. Weakened, and intimidated by the Swablu the Magic Leaf was no match for the Areal Ace and Sweet-Pea was K.O.'d. The remaining battle was an all out slug-fest as the two remaining pokémon blinked all over the ship, both performing consecutive quick attacks on the other, both trading blow for blow, but the damage had already been done. The swablu had effectively weakened the zigzagoon which would have otherwise been an even match for the wingull and a slow and brutal beat down preceded to be dished out to the Adamant never-say-die zigzagoon.

Minutes rolled on before the Wingull eventually returned to his trainer; victorious—if only just. It brought with it the unconscious body of the zigzagoon and dropped it on the deck at Sarah's feet before returning to Sailor Matt and perching on his shoulder.

"I don't get it..." Sarah sighed dejectedly as she returned her pokémon to their balls.

"Ya'fought good kid, but never underestimate the power of luck, and the value of personal sacrifice." Sailor Matt reached down and scooped up his swablu. "Sometimes its enough to just be able to soften up an opponent. To be the distraction that helps someone else win. To give your all even when you know it's not enough."

In the distance the mariner bell rang signifying that the S.S. Libra would be docking in at Slateport City momentarily.

The worldly sailor gave a last bit of wisdom before returning to his station. "If ya'learn nothin' else let it be that there ain't no shame in defeat. Its the fighting that matters."

Pokémon: Hoenn - Make a Wish

@Phoenix Ah, don't worry about it, the only reason I've not posted a follow up yet is my momma taught me to never double post so I was waiting for a few more people to post first.