We're going to need more time.

The badge has become the least of my worries as of late. I'm afraid to say this whole situation has evolved into something far more risky, and I think it's best to save the details once we're safe back in your office.

We'll pull through, find this merchant, and be back in one piece. If you don't hear from us in a week, then I hope this letter serves useful for the Rescue Team who comes searching for us.

I hope these Pelipper are as reliable as their reputation.

What?

No seriously, what had gotten into Leon? Prinn had never heard him so worried before. It was like he had come fresh out of a dungeon, out of breath and sweating bricks. The duffle bag he threw into his arms weighed poor Prinn, who could do nothing but watch Leon scurry down the streets - too afraid to let this bag go lest they lose their precious little equipment. He had been left alone in this emptying market, to wait there like a helpless pulp while his two teammates did…

What were they doing? Braviary was supposed to find them a place to stay, didn't they? He could turn around and hope he's by the land bridge, but then he'd leave Leon to fend for his own. Prinn can't leave him. He was told to sit still. They're his team - he'll stay right here till the sun comes up.

Then again, it was dark outside. The two food merchants have begun to pack their wares and he'll sool be left with whatever thing scared Leon inside the tent. It couldn't be a ghost-type, Leon hangs out with Froslass way too much to be scared of them. Who knows what horrors could weasel under Leon's skin? Today wasn't the night he wanted to find out.

Prinn stood there like a bright blue statuette in the middle of a snowstorm. His eyes were shut tight as his thoughts filled the empty plaza.

He'd been brainstorming for a bit, and he's been thinking about when they get back to the guild. When they do, they're gonna join the guild for sure, right? Him and Braviary? This is the start of their story, they have to team together because it's how things work! It's a well-discussed tradition to have a close friend, an inseparable ally to conquer the world with. Even if the guild doesn't have a formal structure they'll need some kind of name to stand out from the bunch. "Braviary and Prinplup From the Scholar's Guild" would never work. Time would be much kinder to "Scholar's Guild's Team X '' if only he could think of a name to benefit them.

The problem with thinking of this came twofold: he doesn't know if Leon's to be part of their team, or if Braviary's gonna stick around. The topic of a name's gonna have to stick in his head for until they decide who's gonna be part of their crew.

Then out of nowhere, Prinn gets this feeling.

A spurt of inspiration opens his eyes. Past the town, and beyond the guild tower he sees his muse: a boundless, nameless Sea. Fascinating and dangerous, it'll take a team of the most dedicated of adventurers to chart it. A team of hardy spirits like they should be named Team-

A wing shakes him by the shoulder, and the name slips out of his hand, lost to a metaphorical ocean. He doesn't need to turn around to know who it was. Prinn just sighs.

"Hey, Braviary."

He turned around anyway. A wall of worn-out feathers and tattered clothing towers over him. Braviary's sharpened beak smiles downwards.

"Seems like y'all found the place before me." he points towards the huge bag. "Want me to carry the thing for you? Barely fits in your flippers."

Suddenly the bag feels heavy, and his legs rattle under the weight of standing there too long. Prinn forks it over without question.

"Huh" Braviary shakes the duffle bag. "Lotta weight in here. Weren't we supposed to be short on equipment, what gives?"

"Iunno, doesn't belong to me." Prinn shrugs. "You're not thinking about, uh…going through his stuff, right?"

"Thought hadn't even crossed my mind. Thanks for the suggestion!" Braviary's laugh sounds like he's about to hack out a vital organ. "We can ask Leon later - where's the fellow anyways?"

He left further down the road, didn't he? That would put him close to shore, next to Pelipper Post. He must have an urgent letter to send. It's nothing to worry about - he'll be back just like he said.

"He went to run a thing. It sounded important, because he told me to just wait here till he comes back or you come along. Looks like you got here first."

"Ah, I reckon it's guild business then. You and I are still outsiders to this whole ruckus, he wouldn't want us sticking our noses into it. He'll spell it out later.

Later, Prinn thinks, when they're part of the Scholars.

"Now, look over there..."

Braviary points ahead. The sign posted outside the stony abode reads "Hollow Dreams Tavern". Of course this is why he's here.

When the lights in the plaza grow dim, and none of the shops surrounding it are lit, the tavern glows like a beacon in the night. A gold, soothing light pours out from the tavern's door, inviting everyone with empty dreams into its warm arms. They, as two pokemon with dreams of their own, are more than welcomed here. Now whether or not their drinks are as bitter as the Tavern's name is for Braviary - not Prinn, to decide. Berry juice was more Prinn's stride. Wasn't wine supposed to be a dungeon thing anyways?

"Y'all might find this hard to believe, but the only other place open at this time's partially owned by the Guild here. I reckon they wouldn't want me, this stranger from who knows what guild, to bust down their door." He squints at the hanging sign. "This place however, folks says it's owned by an independent. There's no money-hungry guildies running this shop: we can come and go as we darn well please."

Again with the Guildie remarks! The way he says it gets under Prinn's skin. He treats it like it's a bad word - which it is not! He wants to give Braviary a piece of mind, but everytime he musters up the courage he takes one look at the old adventurer and he's reminded of how puny he is. He could pulverise him if he wanted to. Which speaking of..

"Did you um…"

Prinn can't even finish his thought before Braviary lets out a blunt "Nope. Didn't care to look. The money I've got is for our beds, and for my drinks."

"Money you should spend on a psychic." Prinn retorts. "Not drinks. He told you to get your head looked at, right? Did you bother to do that?"

"Of course!" He brushes aside his poncho alongside any concern Prinn had shown for him. "Y'all think I'm some kinda criminal? I wouldn't think of betraying Leon for a darn second. Indeed I had myself checked out. However, the actual examination and the exchange of coins is gonna have to come some other day. It might even be tomorrow provided I don't forget."

Okay, he's not a liar, nor a thief. He just swipes wares from time to time and occasionally makes things up about his non-existent past. What a sloppy piece of work, this bird.

"You'll still pay them, will you?'

Braivary laughs.

"Without a shadow of doubt! There's no way to swindle my way out of forking my dough to a psychic, the fella will probably make my head explode if I couldn't cough it up. Though we didn't get down 'n dirty to pick apart my noggin, I did learn a thing or two if you want me to share 'em over a couple drinks."

Prinn was thirsty for sure. Wandering through a town for an hour and standing out in a plaza for several minutes will do that to a pokemon. While Braviary's preferred drinks may not be his Forte, he'd be happy to learn what secrets Braviary had uncovered.

"Sure, why not?" Prinn peeps.

Another laugh, less horrific than the rest, sounds from the old man. He hoists the bag over his one shoulder. He marches across the plaza - towards the soft glow of the Hollow Dreams Tavern. Prinn follows, the sound his webbed feet makes is like the patter of rain. When they reach the open door, the gold light beckons them to plunge deeper, into the depths of a forlorn dream.

From the mouth of the dungeon, a beautiful arrangement of multicoloured paints slather the walls leading downwards. The stair seems old, though the ancient stone they're built on holds their weight well as they creak down into the basement. With each step, the lights of the tavern somehow dim around them, and a new, previously unheard sound enters their ears. Some person down here is singing who doesn't sound bad at all. The sublime strums of a lute accompany it - both are the mark of a bard at work.

The vivid light, as seen from the outside, comes from a copper chandelier hung from the bar's tall ceiling. There are no windows here. The stone walls had been slathered in a bold, dark paint, and the incomplete mural of a majestic flying-type soars above a small stage. Behind an unremarkable barside an autumn-colored Vileplume can be seen polishing glasses, and on the largest of booths facing the stage slumbers a huge dragon-type. The stairs going over the bar lead to the Tavern's rooms.

There's the bard, but aside from their singing, there's nothing to say of them just yet. They're small enough to require a stool, their murkrow-like hat all but hides their identity from a distance. Their song soothes the two birds like a lullaby.

Though compact, moody, and quite unoccupied at this moment, the Tavern warms their hearts nonetheless. It's where souls like them belong, where dreams come to slowly fade away.

The Vileplume perks their head up as the two step onto the tavern floor. The red eyes from under the flower cap gaze at Braviary. He shoots back a smile.

"Howdy!" Braviary shouts. "This a place run for independents? Been looking all around the blasted town somewhere to wind down."

"You could say so." The Viileplume's voice is tiny, carried only by their presence. "We aren't owned by any guild. I welcome all business, no matter how...strange they look."

It's the badge. It's gotta be Braviary's badge. Are they gonna turn them away because they don't recognize the meddlesome thing? Prinn shivers, he's gotta say something.

"Hah, we may be strangers but I promise the only strange one of us is this guy." Prinn tugs on Braviary's poncho. "What's your name? Mine's Prinn and this is Braviary!"

"Vileplume."

Guess they didn't have a name after all. They could just not want to share it to these two oddballs. Either's fine by Prinn. He breaks away from Braviary and waddles up to the barside when a voice freezes him in his tracks.

"You're uh…" They look towards the bird and gurgle something, then quickly shift to Prinn "Aren't you a little too young to be here, Prinn?"

The question cuts straight into Prinn's heart. Do they think he hatched a day ago? He's old enough to have studied in Lapis Town, to have made a trek all the way to Scoria and chart the Obsidian Peninsula. Maybe he's not the greatest battler in the world, actually he might be the worst one to have shown up to the Scholar's gates, but he's experienced. He's got a dungeon under his belt for crying out loud! Where could this possibly be coming from?"

"Young?" Prinn chuckles sheepishly. "Are you calling me a kid, sir?"

"Listen to yourself right now, you sound like one." Vileplume gestures in their vague direction, a cup still in their hand. "No pokemon, unless they're some kid hoping to get in with the "grown ups" defends their age like you just did. I don't want hatchlings in my establishment."

Twice today. First was the lady he heard from the tent, now this bartender. Prinn dips his head to the ground, quick to resign to his fate.

"My pal here's older than he looks. He'd be a…" Braivary nudges Prinn. His voice pipes down to a whisper. "...what do you fellow evolve into again?"

"E-Empoleon."

"He'd be an Empoleon right about now if he were the battling type of fellow." Braviary spices his words with a jovial spirit. It's loud enough already - he'd hate to hear him off his rockers. " I'm an old soul, he is still full of youth. He's in this third tier of learning right now."

Third tier? There were first and second tiers of learning? Did he mean to say he was a scholar or did he just pull the concept of '"tiered learning" out of thin air? He sure knows how to lie.

"And?"

Like a machine, Braviary marches up the bar, swipes the glass from Vileplume's hands and digs underneath his poncho. As though he had pulled it from thin air, a bottle of Enigma Wine appears in his wing. He pops off the cork instantly, fills the cup with dark liquid, and he beckons Prinn forward.

Oh no.

"Y'all say he's a kid, right?" Prinn reaches the counter just as Braviary bellows. "This stuff's really tasty, not the strongest, but it's sure not something you'd give to a hatchlin'. He'll chug this thing down right now to show you he ain't the wee little boy you think he is."

Prinn laughs. A feeble laugh, like the squeak of a critter trapped inside the jaws of a beast. He's only drunk this stuff to show off the Scholar's trick, not because he enjoys guzzling down this wine. He's too young; it's too strong. It may taste like Oran Berries to him, he can handle cups, but Braviary had already poured the brew into one at least twice the size of what it should be. But he'd been put on stage. Either he drinks this, or they find a new place to stay.

Protesting, squawking or otherwise complaining about Braviary putting him on the spot like this would result in destroying his partner's carefully made illusion. This is going to suck, but he's got to do this.

He looks into the glass to see his weary face in the pitch-black liquor. The cup feels as heavy as a boulder he puts it to his beak. He shuts his eyes, puts his head back, and hopes for the best.

It tastes exactly how it smells. The bittersweet sludge is a full blown assault to everyone of his senses, his whole face feels like it wants to collapse in on itself. But somehow, either through determination or some nascent steel-typing counteracting the poison, he manages to drink the whole thing.

Prinn still puts on a signature smile as he returns the glass to Vileplume, and gives them a cheery wave for good measure - both to hide the fact he nearly spilled wine all over the carpet.

"See?" Braviary points to him. "Told ya so, now are you gonna serve us here or what? Because we've been dying to find a roof to sleep under."

These last two minutes must have been a ride for Vileplume. Ordinarily, Prinn would feel sympathy for such a fellow. The times in these last few days where Braviary has made him feel confused, and a teeny bit terrified were too many to count on his imaginary fingers. However, he had no such sympathy whatsoever for people who were sticks in the mud. Thank goodness for Braviary, they'd be sleeping out in the forest again were it not for his guile.

With nowhere left to fuss, Vileplume surrenders. They turn to face a wall cluttered with numerous bottles, and novelties.. As they dig around for something back there Prinn scans the bar's display.

A lattice rack spans the entire wall. Dozens of bottles are arranged vertical rows by their colour, forming what he'd describe as a sideways rainbow of liquor. Those drinks were vibrant, but they all appeared monochrome in the shadow of the scintillating feather framed above it. A feather which glowed with the intensity of a lantern yet produced no visible flame. Depending on the angle it was green and red; other times it was silver and orange. Its golden glow was the one consistent thing about it.

Prinn had never seen such a feather, nor could he imagine what flying type it may have fallen from. His only guess would be a Skarmory, though their quills tend to be more rigid. They wouldn't be put on display lest it had grown into a particular alloy, it'd be a waste to have a Skarmory feather on show otherwise. They're better made into tools or fancy weaponry. It had to be an exceedingly rare pokemon, or a rare coloration of a pokemon he's all too familiar with. Fire typing would explain the glow... wait a moment, he thinks he's got it!

"Mister?" Prinn calls out. Vileplume turns to face him. A copper ring with a plain key dangles from their hand.

"The feather up there." The Prinplup points. "Did you get it from a talonflame? I don't think there's many of those guys in the Dusk Continent, it's too cold for them."

"Nice uh…observation." Vileplume slides a key to Braviary. Did they ignore him? "Two hundred, and the room furthest upstairs will be yours. There's a big bed, you'll be real comfy."

Two hundred? He runs the mental maths, it would be about the same price as four orbs wouldn't it? A little pricey compared to Golduck's Place, though nowhere near the cost of Reviver Seeds. Those things fetch around eight hundred a pop. Leon was right, he's better off practising Bubble than going toe to toe with a grizzled bird for the cost of a four night stay.

The price doesn't seem so bad for Braviary as he gleefully forks over Leon's hard-earned coin. He takes the key, stuffs it in the same unseen pocket where he keeps the rest of his precious things. Braviary looks oddly calm as his wing finds its way back to the bottle of enigma wine. He's fully immersed into his element now, free to chug away until his coin goes away or Leon rolls down to slap the bottle from his hand.

"Don't need to go up there yet, do we?" Braviary peeks at Prinn.

"Um, I don't suppose so." The feather; he can't stop thinking about it. "We still gotta wait on our friend, right?"

"Right we do. He'll find us in no time." He takes a swig, his attention drifts elsewhere. "Vileplume was your name, right? You wouldn't believe what me and my pals here have been through these last couple days."

"Really?" Vileplume returns to their glasses. "Other than the wing, you're not the most shabby pokemon to walk in here. Saw worse from guild-jobs-gone-wrong."

Braviary replies something, then laughs, and it's about then Prinn tunes out of the conversation. He was barely part of it, they couldn't even answer him about the feather over there. It's frustrating, but hey, he won't have to worry about a room tonight. Leon's gonna be here soon, he only needs to pass time before he shows up. He looks at the two others in the room: the dragon-type is sprawled out on a booth facing the stage with a half-empty indigo bottle on her table, and the Minstrel is still humming atop of their stool. There's always the option of lying on one of the cotton booths, but sitting around sounds boring. He wanted to talk.

Prinn takes one foot forward when he feels it. It's like he's suddenly in water, on a rocky boat. When he moves he doesn't waddle out of his own volition, he waddles because he's all too afraid to suddenly fall over. It'll go away. It has to. He spots an empty seat on the corner-shaped booth the Dragon-type is on, and trudges over there. He feels like he's walking over sharp stones, teetering side to side until finally plopping himself down on the seat like a shot glass.

The Dragon-type didn't even say a thing about Prinn sitting next to them, in fact, as he looked over their way, their eyes were closed. The bipedal pokemon was on its side, its powerful legs dangling off the side of the couch, arms crossed over the red sash on their chest. Thick, yellow scales cover their body like pieces to a plate armor, and their two red tusks are as sharp as blades. The largest of these plates, one which wraps around their shoulders to their chest, has been painted a stormy black tinge. Though it appears they've missed a spot straight above their left arm, the scale underneath it has been exposed like the glint of gold in a dingy mine.

Prinn gathers his breath slowly, each one of them over the course of the next few minutes steadies the metaphorical boat which his head had become. The music still trills softly, but the dragon-type has not said a thing to this new face. Curious, Prinn takes a long careful look at them.

Their arms hide a badge: a semi-circle with four protruding points on the opposite end. It could represent a rising or setting sun, it's a matter of perspective. But it's not their badge he focuses on, nor their appearance, it's their everything else. There's a shocking lack of movement from the dragon-type. They could have been replaced with a life-sized statue and no one would bat their eye. Their red serpentine eyes were open the entire time, they too are completely still. A deluge of tears saves them from shriveling up. Pokemon do not sleep this way.

He can barely see them breathing…so they're not gone. He keeps an eye out on them as he turns the bottle around. Chesto Berries - are they trying to fix their sleep?

"Leave the Haxorus be, she's in the space between worlds now."

The acapella has stopped, the strumming slows. The minstrel raises his head to Prinn. He's a small flying-type with vibrant feathers. The huge yellow hat he wears conceals his body and a tiny lute which he manages to strum with his talons.

"Sorry." Prinn slinks back into the cushions. "She's Haxorus, you said? What're you? You're the second bird I've met with a big hat who looks like they travelled from far away."

His conical hat is pristinely made. The particular fabric keeps it from slumping over his eyes, and an elegant white trim skims all around it. A pen made from a skarmory's red quill is pinned to his hat, though its fine edge has been sanded off. Wouldn't want it to cut a wing off by accident.

"I'm Chatot. No, I'm not the famous bossun of Wigglytuff's Guild, though I may be a distant relative of his - who can say?" He chirps heartedly. "Call me Minstrel, it confuses the Explorers much less."

"Who's guild?" Prinn blinks.

"Grass Continent. You'll learn about them sooner or later, they're a classic group - still going too. The town they're from is a real sight, a lot of you junior explorers visit there to tour the place. Since I go where the people go, you can imagine the confusion when the first Chatot they see isn't the one they read so many things about."

His talons move up and down the stationary lute as it looks like he's slowly dancing. The sound he manages to produce is gentle on the ears. Somehow, it all works.

"How'd you know I was part of a guild?" Prinn asks.

"You're young, you wear a bandanna, you've even got a satchel too." Minstrel pauses to laugh lest he be thrown off his rhythm. "My dear friend, you look and sound the part of someone who's been freshly recruited. Sundown Guild by chance?"

"No. I was hoping to get into the Scholar's…"

"Oh, those guys." A hint of scorn spices his voice. "I hear their recruitment process is a real chore, it may hold the prize for the most strict I've heard of. If nobody's wished it to you yet: then good luck."

He's not mentioning the number of pokemon he's seen come from the Scholar's downtrodden, which is to say, a lot. Prinn knows all about it. He's never known why.

"Is there a reason why, do you know?" Prinn had to ask.

"My guess is they've been wronged in the past." Minstrel clicks his beak. "Those are the rumours, anyways. I couldn't provide you anything bonafide if I tried. Sorry, friend."

Sensing Prinn's disappointment, he immediately turns his voice to a whisper. Now his song has become three, ominous notes which thrum on repeat. The notes grow quieter which each inch he leans towards them. Prinn gets out of his seat to lend his ear.

"Say…your friend there, Braviary."

Prinn nods silently. The feathers on his neck stick up as a sense of trepidation comes over him. He's about to learn something very, very important.

"I know this Braviary of yours. It's impossible to mistake his sort of character. He was known for taking independent jobs and spending it all here poisoning himself. If anyone came in here wearing a badge he'd shout, sometimes he'd even spit at them. It's why Vileplume gave you such a hard time at the door. It wasn't about you - it was about this problem customer."

"What happened?" Prinn whispers back.

"About three weeks ago. It could be more, I don't keep records on me. I was here playing my tunes when he looked more off than usual. He kept touching his badge like he was afraid to lose it. After a while, he got up. He buys a bottle from Vileplume, leaves his coin purse on the bar, then he leaves forever. Nobody noticed he was missing nor cared he was gone."

Why would he be touching his badge? Was it related to its ability they're all bashing their heads together to figure out? Could it still work? Prinn's head is swamped from thinking about it all. It may just help to say what he knows. He quickly fires a look behind him, Bravairy's still distracted.

"I…um, found him on a beach, he looked like he was there for a really long time."

He remembers Garl's laughter, treating Prinnn's exact story like it was one elaborate ruse. On the other hand, this no-one bard listens to his every word. They're both curious, two souls thinking in tandem. Prinn continues.

"He swears up and down he doesn't remember a thing. I believe him. He's even done work for the Scholar's Guild. So if he hated guilds like you say he did, then he must gotta be telling the truth. He remembers nothing…"

"Not even his name?"

"No, not even his name."

The bar's door swings open as footsteps trudge their way down the old stairs. It's Leon, with a truly grim look on his face. Braviary shouts his name and the Smeargle drags himself over to him. He says something to the old bird before claiming a bottle of blue wine as his own.

"Relic's Song," Minstrel curses under his breath. "Rules out him being a Beached. He probably got smashed, so drunk he forgot everything…"

"He's a what? What do you mean he's not..."

Minstrel looks over the Prinplup. His expression changes to a joyful smile as two pairs of footsteps come closer. His playing picks up in pace.

"If Braviary had a tab, then Vileplume may well have his name. Try asking them, they're not the type to poison someone's drink for asking a question." Were the last words the Chatot could whisper before he raised his tone, and voice. "Sorry you two, I'll be taking requests again at the show tomorrow!"

Prinn looks towards the approaching Leon and smiles. He makes this particular smile anytime he doesn't know what to feel or think. The Smeargle looks his way, like he's about to remark on Prinn's expression, then he drifts back to the Minstrel. Prinn's ruse having passed the Leon Test.

"It's fine." Leon answers for them. "What are you doing here, then? This goes for the both of you."

"Just uh..." Prinn starts.

"I was teaching him about the Relic Song." Minstrel completes his sentence. "The tale is as old as time itself, maybe even the longest as well. We were only a fifth through it, and I had to cut the singing portions."

"Yes, the Relic Song, the oldest recorded story. The singing portions are said to be the foundation for the spoken language." Leon elucidates with a smirk. "I've read all about it.. Since you're a bard I assume you pray to its author?

"No…I'm just your average Minstrel." Minstrel laughs, his feathers plume like a nervous child. "You?"

"Articuno." Leon answers. "This continent would be frozen over if not for her."

"I sing praises to Nobody, I'm my own free bird.'' Braviary shrugs.

"A-And I haven't found anyone yet." Prinn stumbles.

"Zekrom."

A fifth voice enters the scene. The Haxorus, her eyes wide open, stews from her death-like slumber with a guttural snarl. She weakly reaches for the bottle next to her.

"You can't call yourselves free spirits if you don't follow the stead of the Great Knight!" Haxorus takes a swig of Chesto. Her eyes flutter afterwards. "He'd turn your precious bird to ash if he were still here…he'd expel all these…"

"Halcion, how many times do you talk about him? He's a fairytale, and if he were real, he's as gone as the wind." The joy and mirth in the Minstrel's voice starts to falter. His expression is a worried one. "Did you sleep at all?"

"I could hear you two yapping…I heard everything about…" Her words begin to slur, the bottle slips from her hands onto the table. The strength which awoke her is about to leave her. Not before she points one of her claws to Braviary, freezing him in place as she musters the energy to speak her final words.

" Baleful outsider…Faller…meddlesome Cho-"

She suddenly slumps back into the booth, motionless save for the faintest sign of her breathing. It takes every last ounce of Prinn's restraint to not shake her awake after leaving this world with such an omen. The silence is palpable. They just had an experienced adventurer wake up, verbally assault them about this fairytale Knight, and before she could speak ill of their bird she's whisked back into dreamland for another long stay.

Prinn had no words to say about Haxorus, this Knight she mentioned on the other hand? Ancient and fabled adventurers were right up his lane! He loves those lofty tales, the kinds which begin with burgeoning friendships then end in fantastical glory. He could go on for hours about the ones he's heard from the people who visit Garl's place, but this mystical knight eludes his memory. He must have been mighty special to have a loyal fan who's as high ranked as Halcion - if that's Haxorus' name. When she next comes back to life, Prinn should ask her all about him so he may add another story to his ever-lengthening book of tales.

"My apologies!" The moment of silence ends for the trio when Minstrel finally squawks. "Halcion's ill you see, you'll have to excuse her if she butts in. She's told me to keep an eye on her, just in case any dastardly pokemon feels they could snatch her badge."

"Ill with what?" Leon asks.

"No clue. I'm betting something happened during a dungeon romp. She's done for, she's able to get up when she needs to, but I've never seen her awake for more than an hour at a time"

"Sounds like she's in one heck of a sleeping spell, or took a bite outta somethin' foul." Braviary chimes in. "Sure you're not putting her to sleep with your music?"

"No!" Braviary hits a nerve, as the calm Chatot nearly shouts. "My music isn't so boring, I promise you have little to worry about. For I've practised well enough to keep my sleeping spells from slipping into my music".

"I never said I was worried about her." Braviary snorts.

"You insensitive drunk."

Three words were enough to make Braviary explode. He bolts forward, but is caught by Leon who keeps him from flattening Minstrel. His glare could cut steel.

"What did ya say, feather-for-brains?" He wrestles in Leon's arms. "I'd only need one wing to squish your body into that dumb hat of yours!"

Minstrel went as pale as snow when Braviary jumped him, but after catching his breath, he bid Prinn a faint nod. Turns out he was right after all: this is the Braviary he remembers. Calling him a violent drunk after insulting him to his face may be a stretch, but it lends Minstrel's tale a shred of much-needed credence.

Leon seizes the reins of the situation, literally as well as metaphorically. He stuffs a half-empty Enigma Wine in Braviary's wing. The codger nearly stumbles back into Leon's arms as he leads the birds away from each other and pats him on the back.

"You've clearly had enough for today." Leon comforts him. "How about we go check your room out? We still need to talk."

Braviary grumbles, yet he clings to Leon like some lost child. The Smeargle motions Prinn to tag along.

Prinn looks back to the bar for a final time. Vileplume is still there, still polishing their dishes, sorting the bar's collection. The golden plume taunts him with its radiance, however, it's the thought of Braviary's tab which couldn't leave his head. He's gotta know. Bravairy can't be some nameless nobody, and if it's an old name, it could be something to help him get a hold of himself. A name will change everything.

"Don't worry about the tab." Minstrel's voice speaks through his quiet music. "I know the big flower more than anyone, you go to your pals instead."

A weight is lifted from the Boy's shoulders as he breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thanks."

Minstrel winks back.

Like the bar below their room is clad in a shade of indigo. Their one bed is nice. It's huge, made entirely from packed together cloths. As the average pokemon is well acquainted with sleeping on mats of hay the actual mattress was a ginormous step up. There's also the comically huge chair by the window which two Prinn-sized pokemon could sit shoulder to shoulder, the "lamp" on the bed that's obviously a pyramid-shaped lampshade resting atop of an Orb (probably Lustrous) and the extra, extra-wide barrel squished into a towel-laden corner.

Leon immediately goes for the window, looks outside, then turns to the chair. It takes his full might to force it to face the bed, afterwards he throws himself onto it. The Smeargle's eyes are of a worried man. He's already defeated.

"Lock the door, take a seat." He motions towards the bed. "The Haxorus downstairs can't hear us, but it'd make me feel better if you kept your voices down. We have things to go over."

Bad things, or very little good. Braviary looks too woozy to be bothered, Prinn unfortunately isn't. They set themselves on the edge of the bed with varying degrees of trepidation and the bag Braviary had been carrying rattles onto the floor. Braviary keeps his head up, Prinn quivers with dread. Leon knows them enough not to put the boy on the spot, he initiates the discussion elsewhere.

"Braviary." The bird shudders when he hears his name called. "We're in a tavern room now, so you held up one half of your bargain. Now what about the other?"

"The psychic stuff?"

"Good, you remembered." There's a hint of joy when Leon says this. It fades like a gust. "Did you learn anything new?"

"Well…" the bed creaks as he shifts in place. "I got my noggin checked by a floaty little fellow named Judeau. We didn't get to the nitty-gritty as they didn't pick apart my head yet, but I had gotten a quote so if I came back some other time they'd give me the proper gander. They were real certain I was...a…erm…"

He makes snapping motions with his wing. The alcohol appears to be wearing off. If Prinn's short stint was anything to go by, then in the next ten minutes he'll have a headache.

"Right, the word they used was 'Faller'."

The word is intimately familiar to Prinn. Visions of oft-told tales flood into his mind; adventurers blazing through the great beyond, finding fortune along their way; calamities forfeited by amnesiac heroes. He experiences the same curiosity as when Halcion spoke about this brave Knight. Didn't she say Faller too? She was pointing to Braviary when she spoke.

"More specifically, they called me a "Beached" though they reckoned there's no difference between the words other than the fact I woke up on a shore. They're claimed to be fellows who wandered too long in those Dungeons. Something about those places that scrambles your mind - there's a good chance I may have been one of them idiots."

A rare moment of self awareness, possibly spurned from one too many drinks. Or maybe he's opened up to them? They're a team here, forced by circumstance.

"That's one explanation." Leon inhales, "It's been known to happen but it's still in extreme cases. People are usually taken by the Dungeon first. Did they say anything else?"

"Nothing of note." Braviary shakes his head. "Gonna check the Library when I get back to see if they've got something on Beached pokemon. May as well make use of it while I'm still a guest there.."

"Good idea." Prinn chirps. "Froslass can find you about anything, it's her job.."

"And you, Prinn?" He made the mistake of speaking, now the Smeargle's curiosity is upon him. "Did you learn anything?"

He was on the trail of name, another potential explanation for his feathery companion's being. But one theory was enough for Braviary's plate, the toll it took on him was evident in his nosedive in tone. He's stopped grumbling, he's not insulting anyone - he's reflecting on himself. Until he has a name to pin with this theory it wasn't worth fogging the mirror.

"Nope." He chirps. "Just wondering about a fairytale, I think Froslass may have a book about this Knight Guy."

His discovery was mundane compared to Braviary. The secret Leon had been saving was sure to shadow both of their little discoveries. They're all waiting, hoping for the best, or expecting the worst. Leon folds his arms, his tail nearly grazes the couch as it flicks in irritation, and he lets loose a sigh which could silence a whole army.

"It's Eileen's Mom, and she's a member of Sundown Guild."

Instantly, without need of clarification, the three of them knew what this wrought on their investigation. Even Braviary, who would ordinarily be one to shout from the clouds every single gripe he had with guilds, was silenced. This was very bad. They were now the thread keeping two guilds, two towns and the livelihoods of a hundred or more pokemon from falling apart. It was too much. The only thing on Prinn's mind was the inevitable day where he breaks the news to his dearest (and until now) only friend.

All Prinn could do was keep his head in his flippers and think this through. Don't blurt out the first thing which comes to mind, he reminds himself, let Leon speak.

"Mienshao, Eileen's mother is high in rank, so she's high in skill." Leon flicks his tail towards him. "As Prinn had pointed out, Eileen has been more worried about her family than usual. This had led us to believe the mail - her only correspondence - had been tampered with. It hasn't. Her mother has been sending more than usual, seemingly every other day, at around the same hour. She could have easily gained the information she needed to coordinate a swift theft on our winery with information she's gathered through her private letters to her daughter."

Warmth fills Prinn's little heart. A dash of satisfaction, and success reignites him as he lifts his head up from his hands. He remembers the conversation behind the guild as clear as day. What Eileen said there was the key.

"Yeah. She said to me that her mom had been asking about the guild more." Prinn rises up with pride in his voice. "Her father was big in the guild, her mother would have to be too, right? She didn't say anything other than it was personal, so it could be her mom's not happy she's gone to a different guild?"

"And your 'lil fellow, the Guildmaster." Braviary joins in, the drinks have not slowed his wisdom. "He said something about poaching being forbidden grounds, or at least shunned on. She's part of you guys now and her mom can't do anything to get her out of here - anything other than cause a ruckus that is. She has a motive."

"And you say Mienshao's ending mail at the same time, right?" Prinn steps closer to Leon, looking up to him on the big comfy chair like he's royalty. "Eileen said it was by Murkrow, and I didn't see a…"

"Murkrow Mail is specific to the Dusk Continent, dark types who travel by night. So it's why you didn't see any. But I had it on good word she was a regular to Pelipper Post and it's where I found her." Leon rubs his forehead. "And she's only there at night…"

His face palm turns into a face slap when it hits Leon.

"By her grace. She goes there to turn her jobs into Pelipper Post and wait for her Murkrow to show up." A groan rises from deep within the painterly pokemon. "She wants people to think the Pelipper Mail's involved with this.

"This is less about the wine, more about the reputation ain't it? Guildies accusing these mailers of nonsense is gonna be a real blight on any fellow's reputation. " Braviary asserts. "Sounds like a wrap to me."

"Not yet, I have one more thing." Leon holds a hand out. "When I spoke to her she said with a straight face she drinks Enigma Wine. So far I've only seen one bottle in Calico Town and it was in this bar. If Vileplume has no record of serving her a bottle, and Mienshao didn't purchase from us, then there's nowhere else she'd have gotten it other than from a barrel stolen straight from our backdoor."

This moment of quiet pondering lasts longer than the last, as each of their minds each wander their own little worlds. Prinn's thinking about Braviary's memories, the missing merchant, and those bandits he had heard so much about though had seen no sign of. One moment their backs into the corner, now Prinn doesn't know what to think of their circumstance - simply that they're in a better position than where they were minutes ago.

"W-what now?" Prinn warbles.

A wave of malaise has washed over all of them. Leon has sunken into his seat, Braviary has sprawled out the bed coddling the Enigma WInee like a long lost son. This leaves him to stand like a fool while he waits for Leon's orders.

"Sleep on it." He waves Prinn away. "Look for the merchant tomorrow, I-I don't know!"

"But there's only one b-"

With surprising dexterity for a brush on a furry string, he rotates the chair back to the curtains. The glow of Calico's lighthouse seeps through the windows, framing the face of an exhausted Smeargle, whose eyes are glued tightly shut.

Now was a time for rest. Tomorrow was another day.