Chapter 1: Forgotten Empire

Heat, humidity, biting flies of sizes that weren't useful for large scale combat, mud, and the stench of things long dead that was now little more than compost greeted the three as they traversed the byways and dilapidated bridges of Dreadmarsh while the sun traversed the sky. Towards the end of the evening the ground had begun to firm, the sickly bushes and choking reeds giving way to sturdier stands of birch and cedar, softwood trees known for growing in these parts. The soil grew gradually firmer and drier, at such a pace that one might suddenly notice they were no longer in a swamp. Ahead, the skies were dark, unnaturally so, like thunderheads viewed after nightfall. Torches blazed in the border village that lay on the near horizon, but even these pinpoints of light seemed watery and weak, as though they struggled to survive.

The trek was an arduous one. Iwakashi's ponderous weight left him foundering all too often. The Reserved Croagunk did it's best to point out the safer paths but it almost didn't seem worth the effort with how frequently the swamp tried to swallow him. But he was used to treks with little comforts and endured the trials mostly in silence.


The flickering torchlight ahead glittered across his eyes. He'd campaigned the region before but the village didn't look familiar. Not surprising with their army shattering completely after the second battle. "I never learned much of the people of this region. They will have to deal with us. Skulking on the edge of town is unbefitting," his face turns inquiringly to Lootbox. Perhaps the slime had some plans as to mitigating the villagers distrust/

"Trusting someone is a good way to get yourself killed. But there's no way around it on a battlefield," Iwakashi responds deadpan. "Would you rather we go around the village then? Any we stop at are much the same but we must stop at some point for supplies."

"I see," Crimson says, "You would know better than I about matters such as this. But..." she ventures, "would any other villages in here be any more safe? I would imagine that if something goes wrong, then it would be better to have it go wrong in a smaller village. Where there are less to harm us."

"Also," she adds, "if you are worried about interacting with those who may decide to betray us - assuming that simply walking in would not have those trying to strike us dead - I can aid in that. While it certainly isn't as easy as with my own people, I can gather some of the thoughts of those I stand before. I imagine that the three of us going in at once, though, would be highly suspicious, especially given that we have no local guide. I know this from my own experiences."

"Not separating too far is likely a good idea," Crimson says to Iwakashi, "But I don't know if it's the best thing to press the issue. Our companion seems very adamant on avoiding this place... so it may very well be that this one is not as good as any other. And if we wish to get any supplies from a town, alienating the one of us who can actually blend in is not a good idea. Until we are strong enough to take what we need, walking in as we are is not likely going to work very well." She casts her memory back, to the earliest days of going into town. "I suppose I became used to only being a target of suspicion, rather than something to kill on sight. That... is not likely going to happen here. If it is as dangerous as Lootbox says, perhaps we should reconsider."

"Some moreso than others," Iwakashi mutters at Lootbox's comments on honor. There were some that had broken away in the final days before his ascension. "The people of Cragspur may be dense, but they aren't blind. We won't go unnoticed but we'll likely go unharassed."

The idea of skulking and hiding doesn't sit well with him still. But it was an unfortunate necessity. Crimson's point of them being too weak was all too true. "Then let's be off. You are a better at assessing the risk here than we. But causing 'trouble' would likely bring more upon our heads."

While Crimson isn't bothered by darkness, this particular brand of shadow almost feels... oppressive. It's no comfort, certainly, and the Pokémon that peer out at them chill her to her... well, exoskeleton. While she would not admit that she's frightened, the place here, as they travel further and further through, it makes her feel... weak would not be the correct term, but certainly more towards the powerless end of the spectrum than not.

More and more, she begins to feel as if the ooze was right in leaving this place. It seemed to have prior knowledge that had proved... quite apt. So, she looks to it again as the group travels, following its lead, as she tries to keep an eye out for danger. Well, more danger.

What well mannered creatures! Normally you'd come across the occasional wild beast that would charge seeing an easy meal. These ones have the wisdom to mind their own business; staring from the peanut gallery as they ought to. If only you could train people to be so polite.

Murkrow were a a particularly interesting sort of creature. Some call them Pirate's Best Mate. Pickpocket's Pal. Thieving bird that hordes all the shinnies. Some lucky scoundrels would show up to the lair with one, intent on making a killing from what the bird could spot with an aerial vantage. More often than not, it was the bird making a killing off an idiot looter's hopes and dreams.

Lootbox still had what... one and a half day's food left? A few scraps for the lizard, a day's worth of travel. Enough to make it to the next settlement with a few bits to spare. But bread would not be the bait this time. Rather, the mimic would morph his left hand as if it were holding a gold coin in hopes of luring a Murkrow down. He wouldn't let the bird take it of course; not without a little game.

Guile to Trick a Murkrow: 14

Stealth to Resist Theft: 14

(Evade)

Lootbox quickly closed his coin hand, pulling it back out of the bite path. "A bit hasty are we? There's no such thing as a free meal you know."

...

"Weeeelllllll.... maybe there is. But you need to guess where it is first~!" As if to demonstrate, the mimic opened his other hand to reveal a piece of shredded bread. He then put his hands together, shaking them up a bit, before pulling them apart closed. Which hand had the bread? What a game this was!

In truth, both hands had a piece. This was less a game of chance and more a gambit to keep the Murkrow entertained. Bolster its resolve for when the real trick came around. Blanket its caution with a string of successes. That is how one tricks a rogue into believing they are on top.