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Old 05-27-2017, 10:47 PM   #13
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Join Date: Feb 2017
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Originally Posted by 134 View Post

Le Manoir des Mensonges
The natives say it's the 'Manor of Lies'. It's stood on the edge of la Ville des Farceurs et Voleurs for hundreds of years. Legend holds that a wealthy matron once owned it, and lived deep within its many chambers with her beloved twin Liepards. No one can say for sure what happened, but it's rumored that one day, a pair of delinquents took her beloved Pokémon and did something truly cruel, never to returned. The story does not stop there, however, for they say soon after the teenagers fell ill and died; the city -- then just a village -- revolted on the woman, certain she must have cursed the boys in revenge. Burned at the stake, some say she rose from the ashes right there in the town square and returned to her house, which was never sold, for no sensible person would wish to live in such a cursed abode. It sits now, in surprisingly sturdy condition, mostly untouched from all those many years ago. A popular spot for thrill-seekers, dark-type Pokémon seem to have taken to the ambiance and are in no short supply in this cobweb-filled, musty old manor. Some even say the old woman still lives, deep inside the twisting hallways and innumerable rooms... Please reply in Teal.

Tate smiled. Pouli cocked her head, curious as to why her trainer wore such an expression. The house before them was old, its paint peeling, its structure tired. A hand came down, and scrubbed at the bony cap on the Houndours head. Pouli leaned into the touch, delighting in the affection.

"They took her Pokémon," the trainer said, slowly, relaying the story of the former owner of the home. Pouli wined. "They came and they took her Pokémon away. So she hurt them, very badly. So they killed her. And now the house is empty."

Pouli looked at the house. She sniffed the air, and pawed the ground. Beside her, Tate exhaled. They both stood together, under the weight of the legend; the sense of loss and the romantic tragedy of dying on behalf of those you loved.

"Let's go inside," Tate finally said. Pouli looked up, her brows knit in apprehension, but her trainer was already walking. Quickly, she moved to catch to catch up. The Houndoomite suspended from the collar around her neck clicked loudly against her exposed clavicle, useless but sentimental.

We endure terrible, marvelous things for the ones we love. Someday, Pouli would learn that.

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