In a time where war threatened them, he was the head of the Royal Guard along with his younger brother Chamsin. They both served faithfully under their Lady Ludvina; the young queen who had ascended to the throne at the tender age of eighteen and would rule the small country until her dying day.
Chammal, as he was called, almost never left his Lady's side. Even when the good king was still among the living, the stern man was always there, ready to draw his sword and protect Ludvina at even the smallest threat. The Lady always insisted that she didn't need Chammal's constant companionship since she did know how to wield a sword -Chamsin had been teaching her, despite the court's attempts to dissuade the young noble from learning the art of sword play.
Since Ludvina was a Queen and they were facing a time where war loomed on the horizon, a diplomatic marriage was required to strengthen the military strength. She was married to the young Price of a neighboring country, Ludwig. Although she took the holiest of vows in a house of God, Ludvina did not abide to her promises of love and loyalty. She stole away from her chamber late at night and came to Chammal's to embrace and hold him.
It was wrong. No matter how high in the ranks Chammal was, he was still a lowly night and she his beloved Queen. He had tried to stop her advances, stop the feather light kisses she gave to his face and neck, but in the end it never worked. It had become a game to her -a game to them- the most sinful, treason worthy game that two beings could play.
How many nights would they spend together until someone found out? How may more instances of mind-numbing passion would they share? How many times would his name drip from her tongue like honey as he made her his over and over and over?
The questions only came to the forefront of his mind when the earliest hints of sunlight rose into the sky, when Ludvina would gather her garments together and bid Chammal farewell with a caress of his face and a light kiss to his lips. Once Ludvina was gone, Chammal would silently plead for forgiveness for the sins he had committed. Asked that their Lord have mercy on them- on her. He would carry the weight of both their sins on his shoulders if it meant his beloved Ludvina would be allowed to ascend into the Holy Kingdom.
In a time of economic development, Ingo and Emmet both worked on the first public railway in the country. They were both young men with strong backs and high endurance, which made them perfect for the task of shoveling coal into the ovens of the trains for long periods of time. They didn't make much money, but between the two of them they had enough to get by and live fairly comfortably. The flat they lived in wasn't the grandest thing on the market but it was a roof above their heads to keep the rain and the snow and the cold away. It wasn't a grand a life as some others lived, but they were happy.
Hilda, on the other hand, was a lowly street urchin. Ducking and weaving throughout crowded streets in an attempt to pick the pockets of those who were unaware and sneak in the back of bakeries and butcher shops to hunt for scraps. Hilda lived in a abandoned building with rotten floors and a leaky roof that just barely kept the cold out. Her only companions being Rattata that crept in who were only interested in stealing what little she had brought back. When this happened, the girl chased after them with a rock or stick in hand, although she did regret having to beat creatures who were trying to survive like the was. It was survival of the fittest, and if Hilda had to bludgeon a Rattata with a stick or crush its skull with a rock so she could keep living, then she would. It was such a sad life.
One day Hilda had slipped her hand into Emmet's pocket while he was chatting away with a blond-haired tailor, in the middle of the afternoon- the busiest time of the day. She would have gotten away scot-free if Ingo didn't see her, which he did, of course. Hilda jumped when he called to her suddenly, holding the stolen wallet close to her chest before running away as fast as her skinny legs would carry her. Ingo was older and stronger than she was, not to mention had longer legs, so it didn't take much for him to catch up to her -although he didn't dodge the other people nearly as gracefully as she did- and grabbing her arm with a firm hand.
Hilda screamed and squired in a attempt to break free but Ingo held fast, managing to halt her squirming by putting his hands on her shoulders. She was a frail-looking thing. Her skin was pallid, almost translucent, long brown hair shaggy and greasy and looking like it hadn't been trimmed in months, the fringes falling into her eyes. The white blouse, open vest and trousers were dirty and threadbare in some places and almost looked too big on her, the only partially-new thing she had on her person seemed to be the brown leather shoes she was wearing; but even they were beginning to fade and thin from over-use.
Emmet had caught up to the pair at that moment, and seeing the poor girl -no older than seventeen or so- his expression softened. He asked for his wallet back kindly, not even an iota of disgust or anger in his voice. The girl fidgeted for a moment, fingers flexing around her prize before he held it out to the other male with slightly trembling hands. Anyone else would have just left the poor girl or reported her to authorities, but Ingo knew that his brother was too pure to do something like that. Emmet offered a small roll of bills out to the girl, only asking for her name in return
"...Hilda..." she replied, barely audible above the buzz of the crowd as they went about their own business, the ruckus of a screaming and struggling girl quickly forgotten. One thin hand reached out for the money, grasping it lightly like she was afraid it would vanish like smoke. She quickly thanked Emmet and ran off before another word could be said, leaving the two alone in the street like she had never been there at all.
A few days later Ingo felt a weak tug on the back of his shirt, turning around he saw Hilda again. She looked a little healthier than when he last saw her, but not by much. She scuffed at the ground with a toe of one of her shoes before looking up to him and offering him a small satchel. It was to repay for his brother's kindness, even a little bit according to her. Like everything Hilda seemed to own, the satchel was frail-looking, the strings that pulled it closed looked ready to snap at any given moment.
Ingo declined her offer, explaining that she needed the money much more than he or Emmet did, he pat her head lightly and wished her the best before walking away. A part of him wished that he could bring Hilda into his home, but that would be ridiculous. There had to be an entire miniature-colony of street urchins in this city, why was a single girl he barely knew affecting him like this?
In a time of oppression, they had holed themselves up in the attic of a family kind enough to hide their kind: the ones who wore the six-pointed stars. Hin, Her and Lotta, three of the lucky ones who had managed to escape from the wrath of their new government -for the moment anyway. Her and Lotta managed to keep themselves entertained (and possibly sane) by playing with the shadows that the small glass lantern that the family had given to them cast, acting out stories and fantasies that involved a life better than the one they lived.
Lotta and Her exchanged fantastic stories of one day moving to a country far across the sea, far away from the oppression and the murdering and the unfounded cruelty. Where they could live long, happy lives without the fear of being hunted down and shipped to those camps to be slaughtered like cattle. Hin often found himself longing for such a life, but it seemed like such an impossible dream. There was no way to escape the country without someone finding out that a group of their kind was out in the open, and he knew that Lotta didn't quite believe the stories that she and Her weaved in hushed tones- no matter how much she acted like she did.
"Still," she admitted one night as she caressed Hin's face gently. "It would be nice if we could get out of here. Then we could get married..." Lotta tucked her head under Hin's chin, "like we always wanted. Like we were supposed to." She added solemnly, lacing her fingers with his. Honestly what did she expect him to say to that? Hin wasn't the best at talking about his feelings, let alone of the wedding that never would be. All he could do was kiss her head softly.
The next morning they found them, and it wasn't at all a quiet event. The front door blasting off its hinges from downstairs and clattering to the floor , the soldiers who had busted in yelling in angry-sounding, clipped words. Threatening the woman who had hoarded them to tell them where the "disgusting ones" were. Threatening her with whatever firearms they had brought with them (or maybe with those strange creatures from one of the farther away countries). The woman tried to protest, tried to say that she was a proud follower of their Leader and his beliefs and would never hoard any sub-humans in her home. Her defense didn't seem to convince the soliders however, since the sound of gunfire echoed throughout their attic. Hin and Her didn't waste any times barricading the door with whatever they could find, Hin telling Lotta to find a place to hide before they came up to the attic. The brothers jumped back in surprise when something from the other side of the door slammed against the surface, the two attempting to hold back the assault with their bodies.
Not that it did much against the force of men who were much stronger than either of them.
The ear-piercing snap of breaking and splintering wood and objects being thrown to the floor in a shower of broken wood and splinters clattering to the floor. When they swarmed into the attic there wasn't any mercy- why would there be? Bodies forcefully grabbed and yanked around carelessly, almost hard enough to yank arms out of their sockets the soldiers yelling at the top of their lungs, threatening to shoot them if they didn't comply and come quietly. Being shot would be a blessing compared to where they would be going. Their kind where hardly ever that generous however.
Their military -their "Führer"- had trained the soldiers like bloodhounds, that was the best way to describe them. Mindless, merciless bloodhounds who would be rewarded by their master after they brought back their latest catch. Their more-animal-than-human breeding was only made more prominent when one of the soldiers found Lotta, yanking her up by her hair and examining her like a fresh piece of meat at the butcher's. The soldier proudly declared to his comrades that he had found himself a pretty one, and that it was almost a shame she was a "filthy sub-human bitch."
Of course Lotta screamed and struggled to get away -demanding that she be let go. Screaming at the top of her lungs for Hin and Her as they both were dragged away, screamed until her voice cracked from the effort. Or maybe she stopped because the soldier had hit her on the side of the head with the butt of his weapon. The last thing Hin saw was Lotta crumbled on the floor, blood oozing from underneath her hairline as she pushed herself up on trembling arms, only to be shoved back onto the floor with a boot pressed itself harshly into her back. Their eyes met for only the briefest of moments before Hin was forced downstairs, Lotta's weakened screams following after him before they were once again silenced.
In a time of peace, they met on the Battle Subway. White looking tired and slightly irritated from all the battles she had to go through to get to him, and Nobori addressing her with the same calculated calmness he gave to all of the challengers who managed to reach him. The young woman pushing her hat up with a finger and grinning at him after he was finished saying his pre-rehersed lines- a grin wide enough to rival Kudari's spreading across her face. She tossed a Pokeball up in the air and caught it, repeating the actions a few times as she addressed him confidently, almost arrogantly, telling him that she would be the one to win their battle. At first Nobori thought she would just be like the other challengers who had behaved like they would beat him just as easily as they beat the other trainers on the train. Thought she was just another over-confident child who would throw a tantrum when she lost.
He certainly didn't expect to lose to her.
Nobori watched with mild amusement as the girl -White, she said her name was- cheered happily, jumping up into the air with a holler of victory wrapping her arms around the Scrafty that had given her the victory, laughing and cheering as she held the reptilian Pokemon to her chest. Where had Miss. Serious battler gone? Nobori watched the display for another moment before congratulating her, White's attention quickly diverted from the Pokemon to the Subway Master. White grinned at him again, readjusted the brim of her cap and thanked him for such an exciting battle.
As if it were predetermined the trained pulled up to its final stop, White recalling her Scrafty to its Pokeball before promising to try and challenge Nobori again on the Super Single or Multi-Line, warning him to watch out for her when that time came. He allowed the smallest of smiles to come to his lips and said that he was looking forward to battling her again. White gave her own smile in response before stepping out onto the platform, the sliding doors hissing shut behind her.
Nobori put a hand to his chin in thought as he watched the girl saunter around the platform through the subway car door windows before the train lurched into motion and she was left behind. Had he met that girl before? She seemed oddly familiar...
Oh God, I hope I didn't offend anyone by referencing the Holocaust.
Now some of you may be thinking: "Crystal, you silly goober! What are you doing putting historical references in mah Pokey-mans?" Here's what I think: just because the Pokemon world is a alternate version of ours doesn't mean that the travesties in human history never happened. I refuse to believe that history was all sugar and rainbows and happiness just because animals with magical powers were running around, in fact they were probably used as weapons in the World Wars.
As for the Holocaust, the minority being persecuted are probably the ones who don't believe that Arceus created everything (it IS kind of hard to believe a giant deer creature with a ship steering wheel-thing created everything), and where persecuted for it, and the rest is history. I think we can all agree Hitler just wanted to blame a minority; and what better minority to blame for Germany's economical collapse than one who doesn't share their views on who their God is?
Speaking of God, Chammal actually does not reference Arceus at all, does he? I don't know much about the middle ages -round about the time period the first moment takes place- but I would imagine the more religious didn't refer to God as just "God." Referring him to "Lord," instead out of great respect. But I could be wrong, my forte when it comes to history revolves more around the World Wars and the Cold War than any other point in history.
Help with the names:
Chammal, Chamsin and Ludvina: French
Hin, Her and Lotta: German