There was a sound like winds rising up a cliff side, cold like the dead of winter. The powerful gale barrages him, threatening to pluck every last feather from his body, and rip the boy from his wing. It is so vicious that it consumes everything, his sight, his hearing, eventually he can no longer tell if he still holds the boy. He didn't know how long they fell. Maybe a few seconds, though it felt like an eternity. But eventually, what was taken from them was returned to them moments before they would meet their doom.

And like heavy stones they toppled onto the forested foor. Braviary takes the most of it, Prinn flying from his grasp the instant he hits the earth - feeling him bounce away as Braviary completely collapses. He gasps for air, then…

Nothing.

Pain doesn't erupt from his old bones; he can still move his legs, he's breathing, and when he opens his eyes he sees a pristine night sky. He's somehow unharmed, even though a fall like this should have ordinarily turned him into paste. How could a mere gust of wind break their fall like that?

This feels simultaneously new to him and routine, as if he performed this stunt a hundred times before, in places just as twisted as these dungeons. The method of this place's madness feels familiar. It's as though he knew before Leon said it: deeper was the only way through a dungeon. An experienced adventurer like him shouldn't be surprised by this, after all, he knew he'd be fine. He would not have plunged down a mysterious chasm if he hadn't known, nor should wonder he hadn't broken every bone in his body. Accept what's happened, get off the floor already. Leon's probably about to land on him.

He shuffles away from the Braviary-sized spot in the leaves, then sits upright, his back against a fallen log. They're on the road it seems, it's as if their path went through a dungeon-shaped tunnel and they'd just come out the other end. The trees were full of yellow leaves, the air was cold, but bearable. He knew they were safe as he did not taste the frost in the air, and the night was calm. He glances at Prinn who looks to have recovered. The boy's snuggled up near a bush just as he's up against a log. He was shaken, but he was quick to adjust. If the boy is fine why is he still in a panic?

Some terrible thought is at the back of his mind, it ferments there like a toxic wine, moldering with every second which ticks by without someone to bicker with. He breathes heavily through his nose. That stench, the smell of the cruel seas. An unforgiving place; a monument to how tiny he was. Did the feral fear it as well? Did it lose itself to an ocean? He withheld his tongue for Prinn's sake, but there's no telling he'll ever find his answer..

Another gale cuts through the air. Leaves scatter like dust as a smeargle appears on the earth next to them. Leon, completely out of breath, stews on the ground.. He too finds his own place to lie on his side, rolling over to someplace between the two birds. The forest breezes over all of them, a lack of frost in the air tells them everything is fine. They're all out of the dungeon now, they can all stay calm.

Their break didn't last five minutes, Braviary and Leon needed answers.

When the two looked over their shoulders they became locked into a standoff. Who was going to explain themselves first? The guildie who hid his combat potential so he can have the poor, one-winged bird frontline instead of him - or the frontliner with nonsense claims of experience who decided to chat to a feral when inches away from safety? Neither of which was a good look, neither of which wanted to be the first one to say it.

Completely separate from the two, was Prinn, who had fared the worst. As tensions began to ignite, a thousand words raced through his head. He glances between them, his breath quickening. What does he say, what will get them to listen to him?

They barely seem to notice as Prinn begins to stand. His beak moves, then.

"So, what was the stunt about?"

Braviary beats him to the punch. At least he didn't throw one, but who knows? Someone just might.

"You want to talk about stunts?" Leon spits, "Let's talk about your jump back there, it was pretty good! I'd give you a medal to go with your stupid badge if you didn't muck everything up!"

"First things first, my badge isn't stupid. Unlike you, I've earned this thing, which means I've got proof to show for myself!." Braviary stands up, dwarfing the smeargle. "So I would appreciate it if you didn't depreciate my accomplishments because of one harmless mistake!"

"Harmless mistake? You're joking, right?"

Leon, who's hardly the bird's size, points his tail straight into the man's face. It nearly grazes the Braviary's beak with lime-green paint.

"If you stood there like an idiot for a second longer the boy would be out cold - or worse." Leon points around them. "What'd we do then, flee to a corner of the dungeon and hope somebody comes to rescue us?"

Braviary's breath is heavy. A terrible sensation suddenly chokes him, and the words refuse to leave his mouth.

"There's talk in the guild; rumours of you either being a criminal, or a ploy of another guild. They have their reasons to think these things, and if you're going to be cracking under pressure all the while touting you're an experienced adventurer, then they're gonna start asking more questions. More questions leads to more trouble, Braviary."

"When there's trouble in a guild they can either waste their time working on it, or cut out the source."

Leon relaxes his shoulders, and makes his point known.

"Don't let this happen in a dungeon again. You cut it out where and when it matters, and I never bring this to the guildmaster as long as you don't let this happen a second time."

"Or?" Braviary mumbles.

"Or you tell me everything, where you're from, why you froze up, and what your name is."

Those words threw his back to the wall. There's no other option, if Braviary wants to stay in the good graces of this smeargle, then he spits it out. And no half-baked excuse or wave of his wing will surfice, nothing other than a full explanation will satisfy him. His options are clear: have the trust of one of two battle-ready pokemon in their troop and the guild he represents, or forsake it all for nothing.

Every piece of him he reveals, every favour he does for them, he inches closer to becoming part of their conglomerate. No, he doesn't want this. He has to stay to himself, it's the only chance he'll get to break his ties.

It feels like Leon hasn't blinked at all. His gaze is a dagger against his throat, demanding his compliance. Braviary stares at him like a creature trapped in a beast's jaws.

Leon has been through this before, maybe not him, but at least the guildies whom he has forged a great bond with. He's a strong, loyal sort, Braviary knows this about him. He will not let Braviary trample on Prinn's future, he will cut this trouble at its roots before word even reaches his guild. He's a statue, unable to be toppled by the likes of Braviary. Leon's look says it: cooperate with me from now on, or we all lose.

Lose to what?

"Alright, alright. I'll…"

"Tell me everything, right?" Leon steals the words from his mouth. "I don't think we're in danger right now, so give me the basics, tell me the rest while we're headed to Calico."

Where does he possibly start? His childhood, his time in the guild, where he's from? Everything's full of holes. Like his memories had leaked out a regrets and "once-were"s.

"Do I need to tell you now?"

"To keep you from backing down on your word? Yes, you have to." He stretches his tail, like wringing out a towel. He's eased up. "We aren't going until then."

Prinn is in agreement. His stance is with Leon, which he affirms with a tired "uh-huh" as he slops back down on the floor, and opens his map. He draws lines over the charcoal mountains with his flippers so he could appear busy; keep his mind from the fact he almost saw his partners duke it out.

Braviary's feathers bristle. He expands like a ball of stress, ready to explode with indignation and confusion. Speak, his mind tells him, say the first thing about yourself.

"I don't know my name."

Leon blinks.

"Umn, can you repeat that?"

The air escapes Braviary. All of his frustration leaves him with a feeble sigh.

"I have not the slightest idea what my name is, no initials on my badge, nothing to even give me a clue. Going by Braviary is easier than explaining myself."

From the corner of his eye he can see Prinn on the ground, looking up at him in astonishment. It's like he knew all along, possibly from the moment he had found the bird passed out on Black Shore. He's been right all along, but he won't brag, not yet.

"I had you pinned as being weird and disoriented. This takes it to a whole new level." If Leon had a notepad, he'd be writing this down. "Do you remember anything at all?"

"No…" Braviary scours through his mind. "But these dispositions of mine don't come out of nowhere, I'm missing a key memory or two, or dozens."

"It's as though there's a wall in my head, dark like this forest. When I listen well enough I can hear familiar voices behind it, but it's all muffled. Their candor, the way they say these things to me about me, is all I can make out. I get the feeling I've been an adventurer for a heck of a long time - enough to become bitter. Then something happened to make me this way: something happened to my wing."

How does an old, amnesiac flying type end up in a place he doesn't know? Does he fly across the vast ocean until he finally sees land, or was he guided here by the waves? He's right to assume his wing is connected to his current being. Without it, his bloated, waterlogged body would have never ended up ashore.

WIth no idea how he ended up a flightless idiot, a part of him has latched onto the thought someone, somewhere did this to him. Maybe they did not like the way he ran his mouth, maybe their negligence did this to him, but making it someone rather than Something gave him the goal his mind needed. Find who did this - give them payback - move on with his life. He could tie everything with a nice bow, knowing it wasn't a mere accident, but the work of a foe who had it out for his life. It's easier to think he may actually matter.

Leon moves towards him, this time to shake hold the bird's wing.

"Get yourself checked out."

He backs away, leaving behind a fistful of coins in Braviary's grasp. Enough for two nights in a tavern, two meals, and possibly some dungeon equipment. Leon doesn't care where Braviary spends this, only that some goes where it is needed most. Leon believes him.

"There are psychic pokemon in Calico who could lend you their services." He reaches back to his bag, as though he just now remembered it. "Let's get away from here and not tell everyone you've got something terribly wrong with you."

The coin slides into a small pocket cut beneath his poncho. He hears a soft clink - the wine from Pysduck is still on him. A little treat for after he's let this psychic dig through his memories. Prinn, who had been listening this entire time, seemed to have heard the bottle. The boy's beak remains shut for now.

"Lead the way, Leon."

Comparatively speaking, Calico was a much larger town than its neighbor, on the larger picture there were much more expansive places beyond the pond. Out of everywhere in the Dusk Continent, none hold a candle to the trade capital.

Calico holds similar roots to Scoria Town. While technically a Guild Town, Calico has since surpassed the label of being a nowhere place on a nowhere landmass. Scoria's view of the Dusk Continent's signature shores is exquisite, truly one of a kind, but the placement of the town is abhorrent. Too high up to have a dock or ferry pokemon to make use of it; too far from its neighbour for the trade families to look at it as anything more than a stop on the long roads. Really the only thing Scoria has to offer is their Guild, which itself is a walk through the forest away. To their credit, the Scholar's Guild has carved a niche for themselves, but an interesting gimmick is not enough to grow their influence into something more. This is why Scoria is called a Guild Town, while Calico isn't.

On the other hand, Calico Town is in an easily accessible place. It exists on a prairie, separated from the Obsidian Peninsula and thus Scoria Town by Basalt Peak and the swathes of forest which surround the coast there. One might say its middling view of Dusk's signature shores is a downside for would-be explorers wanting to see the continent's splendour, but one of these towns has a dock for ferrying pokemon. Could you guess which?

A river begins at the base of this town. Docks and tiny boats sit along the shore, looking like teeth gnawing at the unconquerable ocean. The river flows through the cobble streets and lavishly stone houses, then out into the Dusk Continent's forests, giving life to a number of tiny settlements and mysterious hobbles. A community of insular Psychic pokemon, caverns plentiful in treasures and orbs, a huge rock face said to be a deity's perch - these are just the many curiosities one could find down river. At the very end of the stream rests Lapis Town. Which is its own other ordeal, united in a bond with local fringe (Tiny communities in the wilds like the aforementioned psychics, including settlements within the mouths of Dungeons, only ever marked on local maps) in pursuit of mystery.

As is the nature of a land where dopes like them could wander into dungeons just by going the wrong way, there is always a need for a guild, no matter how mundane life in Calico may seem. The Scholar's lean in their particular direction, Sundown Guild opts to focus on the side of general guild things. Rescuing people from the depths of dungeons, leading guests into dangerous places, catching criminals - the stuff the Scholars do to fund their ever-growing library. And of course, more generalized guildie jobs, means more people can join them without having to go through an arduous application process.

It's not hard to imagine how there may be some bad blood between these two guilds, especially factoring in their shared job board. There is an unspoken rule not to step on eachother's feet, therefore it's an absolute necessity these two bodies keep in communication through a service of their choice. It's through Murkrow, usually. But if there was bad blood before or currently, neither the amnesiac or the child currently explaining Calico to him would know.

The way had been shorter than anticipated. There was a bit of tension, the bitter aftertaste of their shouting match was still on their tongue. All was smooth sailing throughout their day and a half journey up until Braviary made a mistake this morning when he had dared to ask Prinn what he knew about Calico. And for the whole morning up until the afternoon, the silence of these three wandering through the forests were broken by the voice of Prinn stuttering and filling the air with factual dribble.

Braviary had unleashed a factoid monstrocity. All of these endless bits of information throughout the last four hours slowly lead him to speak the obvious question:

"You from here, Prinn?" Braviary crunches on his last berry, coating the inside of his mouth with its spicy ichor.

"No, what makes you think that?"

"I ask you what the town's like and you talk like you've been there your entire life. What's so special about this place?"

The boy puts a flipper to his chin. Those gears inside his head are slowly moving, thinking of a fact to say which he hasn't spat already. He looks to the sky for an answer, and his beak moves of its own volition.

"There's...a lot of traders."

"And?"

"And that's why it's special, Braviary." Leon speaks. "Is there really more to say? If they had a storied history, Prinn and I would know."

"Have no mysterious events happened, a huge catastrophic scenario, some hauntings?"

"No, I don't think so." He steers it around, right back to Braviary. "Why are you asking this? Are you worried?"

Now, it's Braviary's turn to stare up at the clouds, to answer why he would even pose such a question. Surely it's not from the fact he woke up mysteriously, maybe that strange occurrence in a dungeon or even the dungeon itself. How could a place like this exist, why doesn't their existence send chills down his or everyone's spines? This may all be a routine; a danger frequently bested by the bravest souls so others may rest peacefully. He could have done this before, but not this version of himself.

He looks ahead. The road is flanked by towering trees, forests which go on for ages, both up and down the mountain this road has taken them around. Beyond this road there's an opening between the trees, behind this - safety. They've all been keeping their eyes peeled for odd shadows, cold winds, shapes in the trees, but there had been no sign of another one of these dungeons.

Is this a localized occurrence? The trail blazers beat a road into the forest, only to come face-first with one of these wretched places. Perhaps a trader discovered it.

These are thoughts worth considering, investigating even. After a while he could formulate a reason behind all his fears, discover some of himself.. Leon wasn't going to give him the time, though. He's looking right at him.

"No." Braviary shakes his head. "Why would I be? Ain't there a guild there, shouldn't it be safe?"

Good save, he thinks, always ask about the Guilds. They'll go on forever.

"Technically yes, it depends on if they have their hands full or not. A guild can't possibly answer every note about dungeons, or odd happenings in town." He motions at the bird's badge. "Since we're clearly part of another guild, and not affiliated with them, they're under no obligation to protect us unless it's for a reason. Usually, it's to keep another guild off of their backs."

"Why not? They should if they're at all worried about making pals."

Leon goes to fetch a berry from the bag, but comes empty handed. Colour momentarily drains from his face.

"Because, as guild members we're expected to know how to handle ourselves. Like the boy said way back, guilds each have their area of specialty, but we're all assumed to be more competent in dangerous situations than the average fellow. This includes us." He accentuates the "us". "If we were to become stranded in a dungeon for any reason, it would be our Guildmaster's fault for giving us a job we couldn't possibly handle. It reflects badly on everyone if another Guild has to rescue our own."

"So…" the boy clears his throat. "Um, if we were to become lost around these parts for whatever reason, or we get roughed up by some bad people - you know the types of folks who would steal directly from a guild. They'd help us, right?"

"If they see it happening, they'll help." Leon went easy on him. "Don't rely on it, though, nobody's gonna beat us in the middle of town unless we say something especially stupid."

Braviary coughs.

"Oh…" Prinn blinks, a spark goes off in his eyes. "Hey, I think I noticed something earlier…"

He goes for his carrying tube, fishing out the brown-ish, green-capped bottle. The leppa berries inside the syrup rattle against the glass walls, making a soft clink sound as he shoves it in their faces. He points at it, he's so proud.

"This was the only thing we could find there, the only adventuring gear, and it came from Garl - the golduck in town. He's buddies with the scholars, so handing these out makes sense, but there isn't a person in town who was selling the stuff a guild needs. No reviver seeds, no orbs, nothing other than food."

Leon nods slowly.

"Is there a reason for that? I'm sure you can correct me Leon, since you know about these trade-things. But if I were a trader going to set up in a Guild Town - doesn't it make sense for me to bring some gear?" He wanders to Leon, and nearly smushes the bottle against his nose. "What's the deal, Leon?"

Leon handles the bottle as if it were an infant, carefully taking it into his arms, ogling at its contents, then returns it to its bearer. He already knows the answer.

"The Deal is that there is no deal."

"Oh shut up, Leon." Braviary spits. "Answer the boy."

"It's the truth, and a joke." They hear him hide a snicker. "I have my guesses. I don't feel comfortable talking about rumors, however. Guildmaster would know for sure, but this isn't a problem right now. We don't need to rely on traders to get our gear, and there's some stuff stocked away."

"This isn't to say it's nothing, it's just not what we were told to do, and I don't think it'll be a problem unless the Guildmaster wants to send more pokemon out on excursions - guildie jobs." He waves at Braviary, then turns back to Prinn. "Did you try asking around, did they refuse to sell to you?"

"No, I didn't ask." Prinn sighs. "But we did wander through the market on our way to see Psyduck, and I got a good glimpse at all the stalls. Nobody seemed to be selling any gear, like I said."

"Huh…"

The smeargle waits for the boy to go on, but he's reached the end of the story, confused. This can't be a mere oddity. No gear being sold in a town which only exists because of their guild? It didn't make sense to Prinn, he didn't understand it, and Braviary hadn't said a thing. Something eludes everyone here. Perhaps...

"There have to be caravanners in town, they wouldn't immediately recognize any of us if we were to ask where they're going and what they're selling." Leon looks at the boy. "If someone's to look in that, it's not going to be me."

"I don't know heads or tails about trade, I don't want to hide this badge either." Braviary shrugs. "So it leaves you, kid."

Prinn's face lights up.. He crams the bottle back into his tube, then straightens his back, like he was born to take this five minute task.

"I planned to get some reviver seeds anyway so Braviary can teach me to fight! I can poke around, see if anyone says anything, and if they ask why, I can just show them the map I'm working on!"

His water typing, his map, and his hobby paint the eloquent picture of a chipper little adventurer wanting to chart out the expanses of the Dusk Continent. He can put on a good "explorative water-type charting the oceans" act.

His glee goes unappreciated. A tired "Sure, kid." are all that leaves Braviary's mouth.

"Just get it done on your own time." Leon adds. "Braviary will be off to get himself checked, you and I will be searching around town for anything pointing to our merchant."

"Wait."

Braviary stops dead in place, the exit ahead seemingly no closer than it was earlier - the forest ceiling still thick with leaves. He waits for a thing neither of them can sense; it never comes. He exhales, and they see him shrink back to size. Leon gives him an odd look.

"Sorry, it's the nerves." The bird squints at the distance. "My last working thing is my eyes. And when we fell into the odd hole, the shadows, and light acted all strange. The way the sun goes through all those leaves plays tricks on my eyes; it makes me think we're back in one of those places - whatever you called them.."

Surely, that place would not be the first. If these are such a common occurrence, then it's only inevitable he'll find himself in another dungeon, either alone, or with these fellows. He'll need to learn how they work, how to navigate through them, what to expect when navigating them. Most importantly, learning to avoid them altogether. Never should they wander into a dungeon again.

Not far from them, a cold wind sweeps through an enduring tree. He hears one of its limbs snap with age, casting several leaves to the sky like a flock of flying types. The leaves attempt their flight, but join the thousands of others lining the forest floor, clipped and left to rot. Once he noticed this, he couldn't look away.

"Dungeons." Leon corrects.

"Right." He nods. "Though I'd be inclined to think it more a maze than a slammer, a dungeon's a bit of a prison-sounding word. Not what I'd use."

Where did he get "slammer" from?

"When we get there, I'm gonna go look for some fellow who can look into my memories, like you said I should, and I said I would. Where exactly are y'all going?"

"I was thinking we'd first go to the Mail Office, ask if Eileen's things have been tampered with. We'll see what unravels from there, but I know for sure we're going to need to find a place to stay. Unless you insist on being there with us, of course."

There's no guild to house them this time, to feed them their meals and to keep them under their roofs, or even be kind to them in the first place. As much as the dungeon had been dangerous, they were going to be well alone in the town ahead. It's good to talk these things through, Braviary thinks.

"I can look about getting a place after the fellow's done with me? There a market we can meet at?"

"There are markets." Leon blinks. "How about Sundown Guildhall? We should just meet outside right before nightfall, I don't think there's a world where anyone can miss itl."

"Is it that big?"

The Smeargle laughs.

"It isn't the one here, but there's a guild who built their hall into an entire hollowed-out cliff, Braviary. The whole cliff, about four huge floors down to near the sea-level. You'll come to know guilds pretty well, whether we ask to or not."