Hello, everyone. :) The name's Belinda, but I'm known as Last Legal Drug in many places – either name is fine really. Now, this is the first fiction I've made available to the general public.. I've written dozens of things, but I'm a very shy person naturally and sharing the things I write is possibly one of the most personal things I could do. Weird, maybe, but it's just one of those things. I'd like to think I have a peculiar style – as you'll notice soon enough, I'm not very prone to providing descriptions of my characters (especially in a story such as this that will feature at the very least 13 major characters!). I've never been quite good at it, but hopefully that will not draw away from the overall story. I feel readers should be able to use their imaginations to see the characters as they wish to see them, anyway. Moving on then, this story is a prequel to a Pokemon based video game I'm in the process of making. This story will serve as a large introduction of sorts, introducing the major concepts of the video game such as the land of Saman and the characters that encounter it in the past. But enough rambling then. I hope you'll enjoy my story. If you review, be gentle; it's my first time after all! ;p - Last Legal Drug

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Prologue - Opportunities Await

It was nearing the afternoon and once again, Kane sat in the back corner of his dull English classroom, turned unconsciously towards the windows as his eyes were locked on the docks just outside. Sighing softly into the palm of his right hand into which he rested his head, he watched the calm waves of the ocean brush up against the shore, washing away bits of seaweed and discarded shells and leaving a smooth layer of light brown sand in its wake. Nearby, sailors were unloading a small fishing boat which had just come to shore. As Kane watched on, he could see the looks of discontent on their faces as they unloaded the very meager buckets of fish they were fortunate enough to catch. Lately, the small village had been experiencing quite the difficulties with its number one trade – a trade that was quickly dwindling in its value. The fact was there was simply nothing left to be caught. The year's harvest proved to be unsatisfactory at best and the town was in trouble. The ground was not fertile enough to grow crops, nor was the village wealthy enough to import very much; if they did not find a way to improve their fishing industry, they would surely run out of resources.

Abruptly, Kane's train of thought was interrupted as a large wooden ruler came crashing down into his desk with a loud boom, causing him to start and jump back in his seat. Looking up angrily, his expression suddenly changed to that of slight panic as he realized it was his teacher, Mrs. Cromwell. Before he could utter a word, she had taken his wrist quite roughly and pulled him to his feet.

"Mr. Scarborough," came the shrill and irate cry, "I'm quite tired of this routine. Every day this summer, you have come to my class only to stare into space for the whole of the lessons. You haven't been handing in your assignments, you've BARELY passed your tests, and quite frankly, I'm at my wit's end with you! Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Swallowing slightly, he glanced at her hand, gripping ever tighter at his wrist, before looking her directly in the eyes and responding, "– could you lighten up a bit there? You're cutting off the circulation of blood to my hand."

"– YOUNG MAN," she shrieked – meanwhile, his classmates snickering at the hilarious display put forth before them – as she yanked him out from behind his desk and uncomfortably closer to her, "This is the FINAL and LAST straw! I'll make sure you never disrupt my class ever again!"

And with that, she pulled him out of the classroom, and out of the schoolhouse, for the last time.

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"This is humiliating. Utterly humiliating. What are we going to tell the council?" The man grumbled, smoothing his goatee with his fingers absent-mindedly. "The village is depending on us and we can barely catch enough at a time to feed the village for a few days. Once the leaves start turning in fall, there won't be very much fish at all to catch with the way things are going. We haven't made enough funds on the little we've caught to enable us to stock up on supplies for the winter. We're in deep, deep trouble, Darius."

The other man sighed, shifting in his seat in the small cabin as he sifted through the stack of papers on the table before him. "I wish it weren't the case this time, but you're right, Locke. What do you suppose we do?"

"I wish I knew, my friend. I truly do," Locke mumbled, slowly pacing back and forth in front of the table.

Suddenly, there came a rapping at the door. Taking no notice of the noise, Darius continued to concentrate on the facts and figures written plainly on the papers in his hands. Locke took this cue and walked straight for the door. As he opened it, his brows raised slightly as he caught sight of the figure on the other side. He was unlike the rest of those in the village. Slightly taller than Locke himself, young, and brilliantly dressed – this was no commoner.

"'ello lad, how can we be of service to you today?" He greeted the newcomer in his usual friendly fashion.

"Ah yes, I trust that you are the Mr. Wickham that I have heard so much about?" Smiled the young man eagerly.

"Aye, but you can call me Locke," he nodded, giving way for the man to enter the cabin. "But enough with pleasantries. What exactly have you heard about me that brings ya to our humble cabin this day?"

The man grinned as he stepped past Locke and into the dull lit fishing cabin, looking about curiously at his new surroundings, "You are exactly as they say – blunt and to the point. Precisely one of the qualities that drew me to your particular business. I understand you're a sailor and fisherman, yes?"

"Indeed I am, lad. But you've yet to tell me your particular purpose here."

Nodding in understanding, the man put his right hand forth and looked him directly in the eyes, "Ian Webb, an ahh – entrepreneur of sorts. You may address me as Webb. I've come to seek your assistance."

Locke took his hand in a strong handshake, and stared him back in the eyes, "What kinda assistance, may I ask?"

"Well, this is going to seem odd," he took his hand back and grinned, "I've been in your quaint little village but a few hours, and I've come to truly admire your spirit. You're all fighting so hard to make ends meet despite the obvious lack of resources. That is why I've decided to help you."

Narrowing his eyes slightly in suspicion, Locke stroked his goatee just as before as he closely scrutinized the young man before him, stealing a glance now and then to Darius who was secretly listening in on the conversation at hand, "Help us? That's quite a noble proposition for a stranger. There is a catch, am I right?"

"Catch – such a negative sounding word, isn't it? I'd like to think of this as an – opportunity," he said as-matter-of-factly as he began to rummage through the front pocket of his fancy red jacket, pulling out a single folded sheet of paper, frail and brown. He turned his back on Locke for a moment, stepping before the table at which Darius sat before slipping the paper gently onto the table and sliding it towards the – now quite curious – young man. "I'm about to give you and your friend here the opportunity of a lifetime!"

Quietly, Darius took the sheet of paper between his thumb and index fingers. It was parchment paper, appearing quite old, and sensing its frailty, he unfolded it with utmost carefulness, a thin dust falling from the decaying sheet onto the table. As he did so, Locke joined the two men, sitting besides Darius as he watched him open the sheet intently. What unfolded before the three men was quite the curiosity – an intricately drawn map depicting several large masses of land and vast oceans surrounding the former. On the left side of the sheet, they could make out their country quite clearly, as well as a few other surrounding countries with which some of the wealthier areas practiced trade with. Towards the right side of the paper lay several other countries which the two seamen could not recognize – but more curiously was the island that lay in the center of it all. It was no larger than any of the islands which surrounded the southern region of their own country, yet it seemed to be the most detailed and outstanding of the lands on the entire map. To add towards its peculiarity, below it in very stylized script lie a strange bit of writing, unlike any they had ever seen before.

Many moments passed as the three gazed at the map before Darius finally turned his gaze to the strange Mr. Webb, "It's a very peculiar map indeed. However, I fail to see what a man such as you would have to do with it, or how it would help our village solve its fishing dilemma."

Webb remained unscathed by the man's cynicism, as if he were expecting such a retort, and continued to grin slyly as he spoke on, "It may not come to your surprise that I come from a very – distinguished family. Well, my family discovered this map before I was born, and upon discovering it myself in our archives, it has haunted me so. Just a few years ago, I commissioned very qualified historians, archaeologists, linguists, geologists, and the like – all in order to learn more and perhaps even translate the writing on the map before you. They succeeded."

At this point, the two listeners seem engrossed in his story and he paused only a moment to let what he had said take its full effect on them before he continued, rather hesitantly, with the question, "Are either of you familiar with the legend of Saman?"

"A land of wilderness and monsters, where bad little boys and girls go when they don't listen to mum and dad," Locke chuckled in amusement. "That bedtime story is almost as ancient as myself. But what has that got to do with anything?"

"Well, we were quite cynical about this at first.." Webb continued, growing slightly quieter and more serious in expression. "But we've confirmed it time and time again and there could be no other alternative. The island on that map is indeed the land told of in legends and stories."

"This is where I'm going to have to interject," Darius shot the man a bitter look. "Saman is a story and nothing more. Are you trying to tell us such a land actually exists?"

"Yes. I realize it might be a bit much to swallow as of yet, but I assure you this is no jest. The words on that map before you, although they took some time to translate, label the island very clearly as "Isle of Saman." Trust me, I was quite cynical at first too and nearly abandoned the project. However, my researchers had discovered much more. The artists behind that map were the Naajkit, a very ancient tribe of people, nearly lost to the history books. They were quite savage compared to our current way of living – but very intelligent nonetheless. They developed their own system of writing, and in the few texts left behind by their people, they make much mention of this Saman. They go into such lengths as to describe the creatures inhabiting it and the power in which they possessed. In their drawings, they depict such a variety of creatures – small and massive, colourful and unusual, ones that can fly or swim the oceans."

"That's very fascinating and all," Locke sighed, "but many ancient tribes worshiped unusual fictional creatures of their own devising. What makes these people any different?"

"An excellent question. Well, the Naajkit were a very unique tribe of people. You are familiar with the Polajk who inhabited the southern region of the country before our ancestors settled here?"

"Yes. Well, I can recall them mentioning it in school back when I was a sprog. What about them?"

"This tribe only inhabited that particular area of our country and nothing more. Well, the fascinating thing about the Naajkit that has stumped many researchers is that they were found to be everywhere. The cold lands to the north, the tropical islands to our south, our country itself – they inhabited many countries in their time. This meant that they must have had some means of travel."

Darius interrupted, "But there were no boats or ships at the time, how could they have possibly made the journey?"

"Exactly. They must have had some other means of travel, but what? Well, in one of their texts, we found faint mention of these creatures – massive, blue, seagoing creatures with hard shells upon their backs. The ancient tribes were quite friendly with these creatures, it appears, and this would surely explain their means of travel to such distant countries. It also explains how they would have been able to almost perfectly map out the world in such a way as you have seen here. They had help. These ancient creatures might not just be a bedtime story as we have all been led to believe."

Slowly digesting this, Locke softly rubbed at his temples as he took another glance at the map on the table, "All right. This is all very interesting, Webb, I'm sure. Nevertheless, I have still yet to comprehend how any of this could be of any use to us. We're merely poor fishermen in trying times – most of us couldn't pronounce the word archaeology. Knowing this, what could you possibly want from us?"

Slowly reaching forward and taking the map in his hands, Webb held the fragile paper up into the light of a window nearby, staring at it heedfully before daintily folding it as before and slipping it into his pocket. "My purpose here is quite simple. Yes, you are but a lowly village and my presence here may seem surprising. The simple fact is I am quite bored of my stately life in the north. This discovery has thrilled me in ways I cannot express, and I am prepared to pay quite the large sum in order to travel out to this land and see for myself something that has been hidden from us for hundreds of years. I realize this is a risky venture and not very many fishermen would take me on with my offer. However, as I understand, your village is quite desperate for help. You also possess very fine ships that seem capable enough to me to make such a journey with ease."

Giving the two men before him a final look over, he turned casually and walked very slowly towards the cabin door, the heels of his shoes hitting the wooden floor with a distinct bang. As he reached for the door handle, he turned his head slightly to look at the men indirectly, "I could ensure that your village has enough funds to make it through the rest of the summer, fall, winter and well into next year's spring. Not to mention, this adventure could reveal many new thriving areas of sea in which to continue your fishing trade. I simply request a capable ship and an equally capable crew, with which to travel with. I am prepared to pay you immediately; not to mention, anything valuable we find on our journey would be an equal share between all parties involved, of course. I am not in it for material gain, but simply for the prospect of a grand adventure."

"Well, this is quite a request you have made. I hope you do not expect an immediate answer," came the quaint response from Darius, who had already begun to shuffle through his papers once more.

Webb turned his back to the door and turned the handle, "Of course not, it would be absurd if I expected an immediate answer from you. I do ask that you think about it, however. I do not expect you will ever receive an offer such as this, if I may be so bold. But I digress. I will be in the area for three more days awaiting an answer – you may find me in the Mariner's Inn on the edge of the village. Please, I implore you, do not let this opportunity pass you by. I'll be waiting eagerly for a response."

On this final note, the young man opened the door and stepped outside, closing the door gently behind him. Locke and Darius sat quietly for the next few moments, most likely reflecting over the event that had just occurred. Finally, Locke stood and walked to the window nearest him, looking out towards the dock. The afternoon was coming to a close and the sky was beginning to turn a light orange; soon, the sun would set, bringing a close to another unsuccessful and unproductive day. The sailors, having little to do, were already cleaning the docks and readying to head home for the day. As the Captain of the St. Opal, one of the finest sailing vessels of their time, it disheartened him to see the once bustling port village in such a state. There was very little he himself could do, however, as the course of nature and the creatures in it were as unpredictable as the weather and could not be read simply.

Suddenly, there came a slight shuffling behind him, and in a moment, Darius stood beside him, hands behind his back as he stared out at the dock as well, "I'm afraid we don't have much time. The Council is going to want an answer. What do you propose we do?"

Locke sighed, stroking at his goatee absent-mindedly as he had done earlier, "We don't have very many choices, now, do we?"