After a restless sleep (there are howling Pokemon in the mountains that keep me from a deep, satisfying rest) I pack up camp and make my way to the base of Mt. Moon. A few hundred feet from the road beneath the mountain is a Pokemon Centre, but I don't bother to go into it. My Pokemon are perfectly rested by now.
I run into a boisterous young female trainer and engage her in battle. She talks tough but my Eevee manages to single-handedly manhandle her entire team (a Bellsprout, a Rattata, and a Zubat) and I take money from her with righteous glee. After all, I'd managed the entire fight without resorting to any 'dirty' tricks (though what others consider 'dirty' I call 'strategic') or overly brutal attacks.
The road through the mountain is long and deep, but surprisingly well lit. Mt. Moon was so named as a result of its abundance of Moon Stones, but for those Moon Stones to plummet into the depths of the mountain holes were necessary. As fate would have it, through natural or unnatural methods, gaping holes had been gouged into the surface of the mountain, allowing ample amounts of light to peep in and illuminate the paths of wary spelunkers.
Which is not to say that Mt. Moon is bereft of dark spots. No, it hides shaded nooks and even shadier secrets that may never come to light. Nor am I interested in shedding light on those secrets. All I care about is getting through in one piece. That will be no mean task for a beginning trainer the likes of me, as Mt. Moon is notoriously difficult to traverse in one go. It's been known to put a stop to the careers of many trainers.
I have two – no, wait, three – reasons to enter its dark confines. The first, I suppose, is to train. It's a long road, filled with lots of wild Pokemon. My Eevee and my Pinsir will have lots of chances to boost their strength.
The second is to get to Cerulean City, far to the east. As I am now my only chance to get to Cerulean is to go through Mt. Moon. Certainly not the most convenient route, but my only other option – taking a ferry from Pallet City – will cost too much. I can thank Champion Red for turning Pallet into a virtual resort town, so I hear.
The third, and to me most important, is to investigate some rumours I've been hearing lately. Not told to my face, mind you, but they circulated around my ears as I walked the streets of Pewter in a rage:
"Weird Pokemon in Mt. Moon, I hear. . ."
"Scaring trainers off, attacking. . ."
"Nothing people around here have seen before. . ."
"Vicious, brutal, and very, very loud. . ."
Sounds like my kind of creature. I'd not really thought about the rumours until I started walking away from Pewter, as my mind had been embroiled in other matters (the Pokemon league problem, mainly). As it turns out, though, the rumours may help me solve my problems.
If this Pokemon can scare off whole teams of trainers then it must be strong. And it must like to fight. I NEED strong, aggressive Pokemon. After all, I'm going to be facing the gym leaders of Kanto on their own terms; I'm gonna need all the muscle I can get.
So here I am, strolling down the dank, smelly pathways of Mt. Moon, my way pointed out to me by well-worn trails and cracks in the ceiling overhead. I know that the holes must end eventually, and my team and I will be plunged into darkness – but in the meantime, I'll enjoy the light I'm afforded.
Our going is relatively easy. Eevee has a grand time picking off the Zubats of the cave, delighting in its ability to catch their tiny bodies in mid-flight and pin them to the ground. Pinsir is not quite so approving (I suppose it doesn't much like the taste of blind, flying rodents) but it still seems to enjoy squeezing the life out of a Zubat or two. Or five.
Actually, we're cutting quite a swathe of destruction, what with all the bodies Pinsir is leaving behind. But that doesn't mean it's particularly enjoying itself. It could just be mean.
The walking is easy. So many legs have come this way that the path is smooth, and nicely rounded; more, the rain from the holes overhead have worn the path down over time. There's a lot of small pools here and there. I have to stop my Eevee from drinking from them, as I have doubts about their sanitary qualities. I KNOW that Eevee can probably handle whatever bacteria (I wonder if there's any form of bacterial Pokemon?) lies within them, but I figure there's no point in taking chances if we're going to be down here for a while.
I decide to call a halt after my Pinsir has hurt itself wrestling a Geodude to the ground. Upon discovering it could not ingest the Pokemon it satisfied itself with beating the Geodude into unconsciousness, and in doing so caused its fingers to erupt in bleeding. It doesn't seem to are much about the wound, but I do. If it can't fight, after all, it's worthless to me, and the Pinsir has shown enough promise thus far to prove that it's in my interests to keep it from becoming worthless. In any case, I settle down on a rock and watch my Eevee stretch itself out for a bit of a nap while Pinsir licks at its wounds. (Pinsirs have the most bizarre tongues you've ever seen, almost to the point of being disturbing.)
Wait. Something's not right.
"Murkrow?"
Murkrow is gone.
Huh. That's weird. I didn't even think about it. I guess I'd just become accustomed to its presence to the point that I ignored its red-eyed stare. And now it's gone.
Oh well. It didn't contribute anything of value anyway. My interest in its fighting capabilities waned a while ago.
I wonder what Pokemon lies down here? What creature it is that's scaring people half to death?
Prophetic and corny as it sounds, as I think this, a great, echoing roar sounds off somewhere deep in the darkness of the tunnels. Eevee leaps into my lap without hesitation, trembling violently: Pinsir, in contrast, only tosses a dumb look into the depths before returning to its task.
Personally, I'm scared. Moreso than I think I've ever been. But will I let it stop me? Hell no. I have better things to do than to give into my fears. So, rather than rest longer, I set my frightened Eevee down and set off again, into the depths. Pinsir follows in our wake.
We go for another five minutes before I notice my Eevee has fallen back behind me. This would not be unusual under normal circumstances. However, Eevee should still be scared, and consequently glued to my heel. So I look back apace and notice that Eevee is lying on the ground, breathing harshly, with Pinsir standing over it as though it's contemplating eating my pet. I dash over and wave the big bug off of its potential meal, which it leaves only grudgingly. I have to be sure to feed that monstrosity soon or it'll eat us all, I swear.
Kneeling I gather Eevee up into my arms. It's breathing harder than I thought, and its eyes are wide. The pupils have dilated to dimensions far larger than usual, yet I don't think it's actually seeing anything.
"Eevee? What's wrong?" I ask, stupidly. What else am I supposed to do?
It convulses a little bit, tracking my voice to where it thinks I might be but instead peering off to a different part of the cave. I notice now, too, that's it's abnormally warm. Its body temperature is rising rapidly, so much so that I can feel it even through Eevee's fur. I grow panicked.
Irregularly panicked, even. Eevee has been acting strange ever since we left Viridian. A strange temperament, odd mood swings, disobeying of the occasional order, use of irregular attacks. . . the growth of fins. . . and now, dear me, I do believe its fur is glowing. Its fur is sweeping upwards into glowing spires. Is it suffering an evolution?
But no. Soon its body temperature begins to fall, its fur resumes its usual brown hue, and its eyes close gently. It sleeps, all panic put aside.
In the last few years I've always tried to perform a similar action with my own emotions, setting aside fear, rage, happiness, and so forth, in the pursuit of perfect battling. The real world does not favour those who undergo emotional outbursts. But there are times when fancy takes hold, and sweeps my blockades away. This is one of those moments. I feel – yes, I feel – the profoundest sense of relief at discovering my Eevee is okay.
It's an annoying sensation, that relief, and I crush it quickly under layers of well-bred cynicism. But I know it's still there, peeping out from beneath my pragmatism, waiting for future chances to manifest itself and bug the hell out of me.
Another roar fills the cavern as we walk on, I with my Eevee in my arms, but it's not disturbed by the sound. It can't hear anything right now, aside from whatever it is young Eevee's dream about.