A subtle wind grazes the flora, The sun shines down upon any and every being, and animals can be heard roaring. In the distance lies a scene. 3 men, armed with rifles, lie down flat on a hill, covered by nature's tall yellow grass. They pull their dilapidated metal bottles out of their car and fill their bottles from a metal water tank attached to the vehicle, the heat of the sun making the tank burn to the touch and nigh boiling the water. All of the men siphon the water out of the tank, all of the men suffer the blazing touch of the tank, all of the men drink the nigh steaming water, all but one. They go back down to the ground, crawling to perceive the herd in front of them, the harsh ground scratching them at every moment. They aim for a traversing group of animals. The group consists of 4-legged, sharp-teethed, and neck-mane animals. Lions, a pride of them. One of the shuffles forward, aiming his gun at one of the heads of the beasts with the help of his scope. He waits until the pride stops moving and finds cover below the shade of a large tree. He adjusts his aim appropriately, but suddenly hears something shuffling near to him.
Didn't I tell them never to move a single bit when we're hunting? Doesn't matter, this is too good to pass up on such a small and rookie mistake. I'll properly punish them when we get back, I've taught this lesson too many times for them to do this. He ponders.
He puts his finger on the trigger, sweat dripping down his face…
He waits…
He still waits…
The lions are perfectly still at this moment, this is perfect, he pulls-
Suddenly, he gets lifted by an unknown force and gets turned like a rag-doll around to see a buff man with dark red hair arcing up at the front. He wears a button-up, short-sleeved khaki shirt with the same colored shorts to match. The man wears a stoic impression despite his build and looks at the hunter with a thousand-yard stare. A thin scar goes from his forehead all the way to his chin. The hunter lets go of his weapon, a rookie mistake itself.
"Didn't I tell you boys a million times not to hunt here? This is an endangered zone protected by the AWF. Do I need to spell that out for you? Ay-double u-eff. 'Cause apparently you fellas can't get through your thick skulls!" A voice to the far right of the can be heard saying. He looks around the scene and spots that 2 of his men are on the ground, lifeless with no blood. Oh good, they're knocked out. Not dead. Although they will be after this ends.
The man holding him turns to the voice and says in a lifeless voice: "Marcus, stop insulting unconscious men. We'll get them to the police station when the time comes."
Wait but I'm not unconscious-
The man's world turns to black in a split second, barely spotting the buff's man arm hurling towards him at an incredible speed.
"How did you sneak up on them boys without 'em hearing ya? You were one man. Did you develop lion paws or something?"
The buff man turns his head from the car window to the driver to answer the question. The claustrophobic pick-up truck barely providing any room to move. Besides him is John, the newbie. He's new to the job, only in for a couple of weeks, but still very enthusiastic about his profession. The man driving the pick-up truck is Marcus. An experienced guy who's been at it for several years, but still retains his 'funny man' persona after all these years. Behind them in the back of the truck lay the unconscious poachers, chained.
"I injected the water they drank with an anesthetic. Their leader didn't drink anything so I knocked him out as you saw."
"Ah, so you did the good ol'commit a war crime then ey?"
"It wasn't a war and it was only an anesthetic, not a poison."
"It was for you, I saw the look in yer eyes when you picked that poor bastard up. *Sigh* you should realize that sometimes what I say is a joke. Y'know?"
"…"
"So how did you not alert the pride?" John asked.
"John, didn't I tell you this a mill-"
"I timed the injection just right so that they became unconscious when they were lying down. Then I threw the leader's body down on the ground when I knocked him out. So that if the lions looked over, they would see nothing. I also made sure to lie down with the leaders' body."
"Oh," John realized unremarkably.
"How did you teach him that?" Marcus inquired.
"I follow the KISS principle, keep it simple stupid"
"Hah! And here I was thinking you had no sense of humor."
"…"
The car ride was quiet for the rest of the journey, All of the group too tired to continue talking. The day turned into dawn, into night.
"VENASUAR USED LEAFSTORM."
"Ah shi-."
"THE ATTACK MISSED"
"What?! That's some bull-"
A voice from the computer can be heard shouting.
"ALAKAZAM USED PSYCHIC. IT'S SUPER EFFECTIVE!"
'N wannabe' could only watch in shame as the health of his Venasuar slowly bled to zero. The man website declared the fool as the winner.
"That was a good match, Nathan. I'm gonna probably share that in the group."
"Admittedly yea, I would have won if your cheating Alakazam didn't use hax to dodge only when it mattered. Brayden, what are you doing with your cheat engine?"
"Nothing, I won against ya. That's not cheating."
Brayden was honest when it come to competitions, didn't if he lost or won. For he was a fairly simple man, a black man with long black hair, wearing blue shorts and a t-shirt, and using an office chair he borrowed from work.
Somewhere across the living room, a phone ding could be heard. Someone picks it up and opens the notification leading to a video. When he plays said video, he watches the recorded scene ensue.
"You used trick room beforehand I presume? Otherwise, there would be no way Venasuar could outspeed an Alakazam."
"For your first question, I did use trick room, good eye."
"As for you Nathan, you should have gone for Solarbeam. You would have won regardless of what attacking move you chose. Didn't need to be flashy."
"Yea yea you're right. Now let me go sulk in my bedroom." Nathan whined with low-quality sound. He disconnected from the call. Brayden closed his computer all together.
"So you're planning on sleeping in my place?" Brayden asked.
"For the time being, yes."
"Well you can sleep on the couch if you want, I don't have any spare beds or mattresses. Sorry"
"…"
The house itself was average in every regard. The floor was made from concrete, walls of cheaply made wood. The ceiling barely holding. The kitchen was smaller than an elephant, the bedroom so cramped it causes claustrophobia, and the living room so dusty it rivals a desert. But for what it was, nobody could complain. For it served its purpose of being a home and nobody in their friend group would complain about that. The only reason anybody would come over would be to rest for the nearby airport, which stings Brayden every time he thinks about it. At least people come here, He justifies.
"I'll go now, buy some groceries for your trip. I'll be back in…-" he checks the broken clock hung on the wall. The hands in all kinds of places, the glass shattered into a million bits, and the markers are worn out so much that they're barely visible "in a couple of hours. I won't be late though." The last sentence seemed more like a comment to himself rather than anything.
"Great." He just laid down on the bed nonchalantly. The lack of an AC didn't help, but he wasn't about to whine, he had been through worse, much worse. His scar always serving as a reminder of that.
Brayden had left the building, leaving him all alone. His instincts immediately kicked in, he immediately left the couch and went over every door and window, locking them with practiced efficiency. He checked every nook and cranny like he was a meticulous mother and covered them with anything, glue, furniture, tape- anything. As a last resort should things get violent, he puts his hunting knife on his hip. After checking every preparation again, he finally went asleep on the couch with a sense of uneasiness
He was trapped in a void for god knows how long. He could move, breath, and speak, but no reaction would come of it. Every breath becomes heavier, every movement more restrained, every word spoken more raspier. The strangest thing was not this dream, but the fact that he was entirely lucid. He had never been lucid before, not to this extent. Why is this any different?
After one last-ditch effort to move, he turned his head to the side but a sharp pain erupted from his head. You couldn't feel pain in a dream- that was a fact. If this wasn't a dream then what was this? Wait, this isn't a dream. The man had so many questions arising he didn't bother to notice the most important, there was something in front of him.
After a moment, he removed his cloudy thoughts from his brain and spotted the object. Unfixed neon outlines of prison bars constantly glitching stood between him and the blue outlines of a man. But this man had no face, the only thing he had was the formal suit he was wearing, oddly being normal despite the wearer. With a red tie and black shoes, it seems the only thing that wasn't fully detailed was the body of the man himself. The man was leaning on the bars despite their properties, like a snarky colleague visiting his coworker.
"God I hate 50-50 chances." The thing spoke in a million shattered voices. There was something odd about the sentence, it's like it was spoken yet not at the same time. Like his brain was hearing someone speak out of a black hole.
Suddenly everything disappeared immediately, the man, the bars, the non-existent restraints. The only thing that was remaining was himself. Yet he somehow fell unconscious.
His body awoke to an aching pain from his back. He slowly opened his groggy eyes. Witnessing quite a sight. Himself inside a cave near the entrance, hail and thick snow swarming outside. What was the most surprising thing was that he was in an upright position, more specifically he was sitting. He lifted himself up and turned around to see that he was sitting on an extravagant stone throne. More importantly, that was where the cave ended. No surprise attacks from bears.
Rather than panicking as most people would, he gained his composure and began to oversee the area. The stone throne was covered in strange runes which had no circular arcs like many letters. Moreover, it was probably a proper language, some letters repeated themselves, spacing between 'words', and periods and commas.
He then went over the cave itself, it was short for a cave but that's when he noticed something strange, maybe it was because he fully regained his consciousness but regardless. He noticed that the cave just wasn't detailed as he remembered of usual caves, it was just bland, as if it was drawn. It even had black outlines to top it off.
He immediately checked his own hands afterwards. They were simple, only the white skin color, nails, and fingers themselves still intact. The same applied to the rest of his body, or rather his clothes. His clothes this time were simplistic brown winter clothes with the appropriate shoes and gloves. How he didn't notice them before is beyond him.
He then inspected the screeching hail outside. Picking up a piece of snow with his thick gloves to analyze. He had a hard time picking it up, for it was surprisingly hard and solid, the type you would find in the arctic or the mountains. Not only that, but it's also reaching his knees, so it has been accumulating for quite some time. This, coupled with the fact that there was a throne made for him and his change in clothes means that someone or something was made all of this for him. Could it be that incomplete man?
No time to ponder, I have to survive this place.
His first course of action, or rather inaction, was to wait for the hail to settle. He already had shelter in terms of the cave, water in snow, and slight warmth in the clothes. All he needed was food and a proper fire. So he laid down on the ground and took nap as best as he can on the harsh ground.
When he came to wake again, he found himself starving, thirsty, and cold, despite his clothing. His body wanted nothing more than to crumple into nothingness. But he resisted his urges and forced his eyes to open. A small feat, but at least he did something. What he saw, he will never forget. A peaceful snowy land with no hail to see for miles. He pushed himself against the ground with his arms with all his remaining strength and walked out of the cave. The hard snow providing an excellent ground to traverse on. He walked,
and walked,
and walked.
Until he found a massive dead oak tree, ridden of all its leaves. Good, he can get wood and make a source of fire, unfortunately, there's no fruit to harvest, but that didn't matter, he could go without food for a month. He had a source of wood. Now for food.
He began work on immediately making the fire and spears.
He spotted a herd of deer a mile away and quickly grabbed his spear, sure he worked in the AWF but if he doesn't hunt, he will die. No point in having a meaningless argument about your morals when your only priority is to live.
He made sure not to make any noise or sudden movement whilst he hiked towards them. As he got closer and closer, he took the position of a crouch-walk, as a middle ground between stealth and mobility. As he got closer, he spotted a discrepancy, they have white manes around their neck and chest. As he got closers he realizes why. He has seen them before, now where has he seen them? No matter, he had one chance to make this right. He stops dead in his tracks, aims his spear at one of the deer in the herd, and flings his spear with as much force as he can…
For it to pierce the head of one of them. Yes!A successful hunt! The others flee in fear as they see one of their brethren die from a mysterious attacker. The one with the longest horns surveys the area for the threat, but it is not a threat he can spot, and dying out here in a fight will only endanger his pack because then they will not have a leader. So he runs at an unbelievable speed.
For the hunter, it's quite a happy day, he now has all the basic necessities of a human. Shelter from the cave, water from the snow, days of food from the fresh kill, and fire from the wood. He picks up the deer and begins walking back to his base. However, when he gets closer and examines the kill, squinting his eyes in the proceed, something strikes him as odd. He takes a crouching position and analyzes the deer.
They have white manes from their chest to the bottom of their neck. White horns and fur at the bottom of their feet, with big eyes. I have seen them before… is that a… sawsbuck?
"So I'm in the Pokemon world huh? A place full of monsters where I can get killed by nearly anything on a whim. Hell, some of them will hunt me for fun. I hope I never encounter a ghost 'mon." He talks to himself. He quickly got over this revelation, no use moping in a situation like this. Aside from all the hunting and branch gathering. He learnt that most survival is just sitting around, doing nothing. So no better to pass the time by talking to yourself.
The fire burns the disconnected leg of the dissected sawsbuck, cooking it at a painfully slow pace, the specks of fire land on the body and burn it just a bit faster. He spent many hours splitting apart the corpse, Pokemon are awfully tough, even for the weak ones such as this sawsbuck. No wonder they only faint and never die. At least the fur is thick and provides better insulation than the winter clothes, a testament to the pokemons' adaptational abilities. The hunter first has to make sure that the corpse is properly cooked before finding a way to entertain himself.
It is now dawn, and the sawsbuck leg is only three-fourths of the way to being cooked. Weren't they weak to fire? Why is this taking so long?
Suddenly, he hears small yet soft footsteps coming from outside the cave. He grabs his spear and prepares himself for a fight. The cave is not a good place to flee from, there's only one entrance and anybody can block it.
As he waits for his possible attacker to show up, he goes over several possibilities of what this intruder could be.
It's most likely an ice type considering the climate and a small one at that, also needs to be from Unova since that region is famous for not having any foreign pokemon. Let's see… Cubchoo, Vanillite or Vanillish, winter deerling- no too cowardly, cryogonal is too big, and kyurem is a legendary. Do the legendaries even exist- No use in pondering a useless question.
The intruder came closer, it had a few distinct features such as a big head and short arms.
Most likely a cubchoo, best if I scare him away since I don't want to deal with a pissed-off Beartic.
Unfortunately, there were a few discrepancies, the head has a sliver covering and the arms were blue, unlike the white fur of a Cubchoo.
When it got close enough to face the hunter, it was quite a surprising creature. It had a metal-like hair, and a small blue body, with fangs sticking out. It was shivering and weak, though its impression would say otherwise. Bones are clearly visible from its chest. Was it because of pride, or was the creature faking it?
Is that… is that… is that a Bagon?! I thought dragons were weak to ice.
The creature must have seen the surprise on his face. Because then it spoke.
"Si me credis laesisse frigus, vehementer erras. non sum infirmus." In a surprisingly deep voice for such a small creature.
Wait this is… Latin. Do dragons speak Latin? Doesn't matter. At least I can talk to the thing. Lets hope all my years studying Latin in the UK has paid off. But first, what is it saying? 'If you believe that the cold has hurt me, you are greatly mistaken. I am not weak.' Yea that seems about right. My Latin is a little rusty but at least I can talk with it.
"Oh, uh-i videri glacies laedere dracones?" 'I thought ice hurt dragons?' Yea that seems right.
The Bagon makes a surprised face.
"Dracones loqui potes?"
"I can speak Latin if that's what dragons speak- oh I mean Latine loqui possum si id quod dracones speak"
"Persona interesting es, sed cur hic non est." 'You are an interesting person, but why not here?'…huh?
"Veni huc ad paciscor" 'I have come here for a deal.' As long as it isn't ridiculous, I may be able to accept it.
"Da mihi cibum et tectum, et non nocebo tibi." He just wants food and shelter, and if don't he will most likely kill me. And I am not going to go down fighting a baby dragon. Though the doesn't make sense, he's shivering and likely starving, he's relying on his façade to get away with it. Though I won't turn down an ally, even a superficial one.
"I accipere tuum multum." Lets hope he's a man of his word
"Bonum. Estne crus mihi?" The Bagon then points to the leg. The hunter doesn't need to translate to understand what he wants. He simply nods.
The Bagon weakly stumbles to the apparently fully cooked leg and takes a good bite out of it. Ripping it apart with ease and swallowing it in one bite. The showing bones immediately Disappear and get covered with fat. Ah so that explains how he survived out there, he needed so little. This gives the man an idea, but he's not sure if he should propose it right now. He simply sits next to the baby dragon.
"Quomodo discis dracones loqui?" How do I speak to dragons? Well, this is simple.
"Docent in classes"
Y'know. The thing about Latin is that a translation from and to English is that it's not always exactly one-to-one. As proved by that 'why not here?' question. I pray to… god? Arceus? Whatever higher being out there that if I say something convoluted they get the hint.
"Quid est class?" What's a class? Oh! Guess I didn't elaborate on that. and I'm pretty sure that isn't the way you say it. Maybe he's a newborn.
"A loco ubi quis homines subditos docet" hopefully he understands
"Novus."
I should pick his mind a little, see how much he truly knows. Because I need it for my idea.
"Quid scis de tuis postea formis?" If he knows about his further evolutions, then my idea will work.
"quid vero? vix cognouimus." Why should you tell me? Because I already know.
"Quia scio."
"Huh?"
"Prima forma tua est testa 4 tripes cum cute griseo. Secunda forma tua Draco caeruleus est cum alis lunaribus rubris." I pray this butchered description of a shellgon and salamence won't offend him.
"Multa nosti de draconibus. Nonne religionis es?" Am I not religious? What?
"Pardon?"
"Plurimi homines dracones oderunt. quia dis contraria videntur aut aliquid. Nescio multum de illo." Dragons are seen as demons in this world? This is very different from what I remember from the games and the anime.
"numquam scivi." I don't know if saying I don't know is a good idea.
"Fabula est usitatissima." It must be a widespread myth if most humans believe it.
"…"
The two then sat to each other for minutes on end, staring longingly into the fire…
…
…
Until one of them speaks up.
"Nomen habes?" If he has one, good for him. If he doesn't, well…
"No. Omnes sicut infantem draconem vocat me." Oh, he doesn't have a name. A bit saddening but I've only known him for a couple of minutes at best.
"Potest vocare vobis nomen?" Please say yes.
"Etiam. Aliquid melius quam infans Draco."
"Num vocare te Fafnir? Nomen est pumilionum qui Draco fit. Similes formae tuae." The salamence line anyways is similar to Fafnir, small things that become gigantic dragons.
"Ita." That's good.
Now that I have built a bit of a rapport with him. It's time to ask the big question.
"Pactum mutare volo."
"Quomodo?" The Bagon asks with a hint of annoyance.
"Idem est sed venatum adiuvabis. Quia sunt aliquae creaturae quae me in uno ictu occidunt, sed illud resistere et repugnare potes. Hoc perexiguum est nunc, si pereo, cibum non habebis, neci inedia. Dubito longo spatio nivis ambulare poteris." If he helps me hunt, then it'll be fine for now.
"…" The Bagon thinks long and hard about this. This could mean certain death but if it helps with the hunt, then he won't have to worry about waiting for a non-existent meal.
The man waits in anticipation, eyes wide.
"Bene, sed si venari me doces." Then I'll teach you all about it.
"Vestigia cervorum haec sunt, annon?"
Lets see here.
The man makes his way to the patch of snow with some footprints with Fafnir standing next to it, the cold is bothering him but he's surprisingly very resistant to the snow. Both of them are holding torches with Fafnir holding a small sharp stick as a spear and the human having a regular spear, both wearing the fur of the sawsbuck, and both looking for food.
An oval split into two circles with small inner indents at the bottom. Yes, these are deer prints. Although the indents appear a bit larger than usual. I'll keep that in mind.
"Ita sunt. Oculus bonus." I should congratulate him every once and a while to make him feel like he's worth something, apparently dragons really care about their usefulness.
The two then follow the tracks slowly and steadily, always cautious and ready for a fight. It is dawn now, anything could come out. This however means that Fafnir isn't fairing greatly. He's shivering greatly despite his pride on resisting the snow.
"Me auxilium vobis" The man then picks up Fafnir and puts him on his shoulders, the fur providing a comfortable seat. Fafnir doesn't say anything however, because of his pride.
After a while. The duo found that the tracks led to a…small clear pond, which has somehow not frozen.
There's a pond here. How's it not frozen? It's cold enough to freeze. Doesn't matter. At least we have a source of water if the snow doesn't suffice.
A presence could be suddenly felt within the water, it's slowly coming to the surface. The two take a fighting stance when suddenly, a being bursts out of the water, creating a splash big enough to reach the two! Making the already cold duo practically feel like freezing. When they wipe the water out of their eyes, they see a blue seahorse with a little translucent Fin at the back.
Is that a Horsea? Well, that makes more sense that they're here since they're a water type and not a dragon type like Fafnir. Does this Horsea speak Latin as well?, Kingdra is a dragon water type after all.
"GUI AUDEJ BERRIBORIUM MEUM INGRARE?!"The Horsea bellowed in a gurgled male voice.
What? This doesn't sound like Latin at all! He replaced all of the sharp consonants with soft ones, is this an accent or an adaptation? Also, he's mad for… us intruding on his territory?
"Quid hic dicit?!"Seems like he's just as confused as me. But right now our best course of action is to leave.
"Insanit nos unam esse terram suam, nos relinquere-."
"N. Hic manemus et pugnamus. Inde eius fines capimus."Fight him?
"AUBES ME PROVOBARE AD PUGNA? HUNC DABO PIBI UNUM!"Well, now the peaceful option is out of the window. At least I'll have some battling experience.
The Horsea sprays a beam of water at Fafnir, but he steps to his left just in time for a counterattack. He then throws his spear at the Horsea, disorientating him, and lunges at him with all his might, he grabs him and starts to thrash him around. The Horsea is hurt but he's a tough one, instead of letting Fafnir thrash him around, he throws himself off of Fafnir and moves some distance back into the snow. There are bite marks visible on the Horsea and a bit of bleeding can be spotted.
He then sprays a smaller water beam, but this time it's faster yet weaker. It hits Fafnir, although he shrugs it off. Fafnir tries to go for a lunge but the Horsea simply levitates away from side to side every time. A shimmer of hope can be seen within Fafnirs' eyes when he witnesses the Sea horse levitate. He's sacrificing his power for speed and mobility, at this rate he'll beat Fafnir.
"Fafnir, retrahe ad me." Fafnir goes back to him, although his expression says otherwise, he's hurt and going to be exhausted after a couple more attacks. The man whispers:
"Ausum sucinum audi in eo, celerius est, et quamvis non multum efficiat, tantum illum distrahet tibi tantum ut ingrediaris et cum capite impetas, valentius est quam morsus mille passus." It's vague but I hope he picks up on it, any longer and this Horsea would have ruined the plan.
"Quod stultum consilium sonat."Please just work with me.
"Habesne meliorem?"
Fafnir begrudgingly growls in acceptance.
He goes back into the battlefield, waiting for the Horsea to appear. As soon as he does, he throws a small fireball, reminiscent of the move ember, at him. The Horsea is caught by surprise but quickly extinguishes it with his hose of a mouth. This creates a ton of steam, thick steam. The Horsea can't see anything through it, try as he might, there's nothing he can spot behind the gas… until it's too late. Fafnir lunges his head into the Horsea and knocks into the ground. The seahorse is barely conscious, with heavy breathing and the now stinging snow to top it all off, whilst making him feel like freezing. The bleeding doesn't help either, he'll surely die if Fafnir doesn't get to him earlier.
This is the end for him, isn't it? He has suffered through once already, any more and he would be considered an outcast. At that point, death is a better fate.
Fafnir makes his way to the Horsea, mouth wide open, and his eyes concentrated on the helpless prey. When he reaches his destination, he-
"Stop" This time, the deep voice came out of the man. Fafnir didn't know humans could make their voices this low. Although he didn't know much Galarian, he knew what this word meant.
"Sed quid? Cibus est. Praelio victus sum, ideoque fuit infirmior-" I do not care if you believe would have won regardless. I will not waste such a fighter.
"Meo auxilio"
"Ego adhuc facultates verberandi, tantum temporis erat antequam consilium tuum figuratum i-"No.
"Non curo, bene pugnavit, et te citius superavissetipse etiam aptatus es eadem arte utens." I hope you understand.
The Bagon has an expression of disappointment, with malicious eyes, and growling with his mouth. The man is undeterred.
He walks over the barely alive Horsea, snow becoming more and more freezing, picks up his light body, and covers him under the sawsbuck fur.
"Tu quoque."
Fafnir, despite his protests, gets picked up and gets covered by the fur, just like the Horsea. However, they are put away from each other.
For the Horsea, his world was complete darkness.
The Horsea came to wake, and that was the most surprising thing. Wasn't he going to be eaten by the Bagon? No matter, when he did come to wake, he opened his eyes to see sticks creating a fire. Next to are the hunter and his friend, that Bagon. The hunter is holding out a piece of meat. Eugh, how do they even eat that?
He then noticed more things, he was surrounded by rocky walls, ceilings, and ground. This was much less comfier than the snow and water he had gotten used to. Oh well, 'better adapt' they say.
"Scio tuum genus insecta edisse, ideo nonnulla adduxi."
Oh, someone already knew what he liked? That's surprising. Normally everyone assumes that he eats meat but he despises it with all his fiber.
The hunter opened his hand to present him with several insects of variable origin. This was simply spectacular! He had never eaten this amount before, let alone of this great variety! He consumed them all with ease and greed. He was already full, he had been starving just beforehand. Was this magic?
However, what he saw next to him immediately ruined all his hopes. A Bagon, the same one that beat him, the same one that would have eaten him. Did the hunter prevent his death? Why? Most beasts would have taken the opportunity to eat such helpless prey. The Hard-headed creature wore the face of dissatisfaction, both aimed at the hunter for not letting him eat his prey, and at him for being so weak. He's was going to prove him wrong, if he puts his mind to it, he will be stronger, right? Right?
"Fafnir, Abi, requiesce, opus est." The man politely requested. He just woke up, he doesn't need any more rest. However, when he saw that the Bagon had fallen asleep, albeit a bit begrudgingly, he realized that the request was aimed at the Bagon, not him. That was so stupid! Of course, it was aimed at the Bagon, he was the one hunting. That Bagon looked like he was about to go on and on about how he didn't need sleep, but his body gave out on him at the most inconvenient time.
"Buare peperbispi mihi?."Does this Horsea have an inferiority complex?
"Quia fuisti fortis bellator. Velocius eras, et apte adaptatus." Those traits do make for a great fighter.
"Dracbo ille fafnir, ib nomen?"
"Ita." Yes, that's his name, I'm surprised he picked up on it so quickly. Well, he is an adaptational fighter after all.
"Nomen habere possum?"He doesn't have a name? Do dragons just not have a habit of naming their young? Why?
"Si vis." If he does, it'll be easier to call out to him if we ever get lost within a horde of Horsea.
"…Ego nihil nominare pro me possum."I'll keep a mental note that dragons just don't have a naming culture.
"Quid de Heilong?" I know that Heilong is a chinese water serpent and the Horsea line are sea horses, but it's the best I can come up with.
"Ita! Est nomen proprium regis!"'Proper name for a king', this horsea has inferiority complex yet calls himself a king. Interesting.
"Quid tibi nomen est?"What's my name? I'll tell you.
"…Lance."
AN:
Now obviously i won't have all dragon-types speak Latin throughout the story, that'll be just a chore for me and the reader. Also this Lance will be a very different from the Lance in the games in terms of team composition, personality, actions etc.
Criticism is welcomed :).
