Special Chapter: The Deepest Wounds, Part 1
It was said that in the days of humans, Pokémon lived divided into two camps: one that lived alongside humans as their partners and guardians, and one that lived amongst the ebb and flow of nature. Even after that era passed and Arceus himself cobbled together the Cradle, the rough dichotomy remained intact with the arrival of the Pact, dividing Pokémon who attempted to preserve the knowledge of humans in their settlements from those who chose to remain apart, which the town dwellers came to know as 'Ferals'.
The windswept plains of Nagrobek Island were no exception to the rule, as the wild, unplanted fringes were the domain of Pokémon that knew no banner and respected no rule beyond that which their own strength could secure. There, they carried on living as their forebears had for untold eons in the age of humans, waking and sleeping among the elements, and gathering and hunting as their strength allowed. In places of particularly treacherous nature, such Pokémon would sometimes set aside their differences, much as the Pokémon that dwelt inside the maze of barren trees that formed Nagrobek's Mystery Dungeon did. There, deep within under the branches of the dead forest, an Arcanine kept a silent, dutiful watch over a moving set of Pecha bushes.
"I found one!"
A cheerful yip carried through the air, followed by the sight of a young Growlithe poking his head up from the bushes, pulling out a Pecha Berry and plodding along for the watching Arcanine waiting at the edge. The younger of the two Fire-Types set the fruit down, giving a playful wag of his tail before his elder as he beamed with pride.
"It was hidden under the leaves just like you said it would be, mama!" the Puppy Pokémon cheered. "Guess those other Pokémon didn't sniff it out that well."
Cheer filled every crease of the young dog's body, only for his happiness to go unrequited by the mother Arcanine. The larger dog shook her head, pawing at the ground as she nosed impatiently at a small pile of gathered berries.
"That's wonderful, dear. We've gathered enough for today," the larger Fire-Type answered. "Take it and let's get going back to the den."
"Eh? Already? But we came all the way here by one of the exits…" the Growlithe murmured, his tail's wag slowing somewhat. "I bet if we wanted to, we could just go on a little further and we could run in the fields outside!"
The mother Arcanine faltered a moment, her ears and head drooping as she went silent. The Fire-Type grimaced, as if struggling under the sudden weight of a large burden.
" Eltenios…"
"Aw, come on, I didn't ask you to teach me to hunt… just to run!" the Growlithe insisted. "Those predators you say are out there shouldn't be an issue as long as you're around! You're tougher and faster than any of them!"
"Eltenios! Now isn't the time!" the Arcanine snapped. Startled by his mother's snarl, the young Growlithe yelped and pulled his ears and tail in tight towards his body. He gave a low whine back as his mother looked away, shaking her head reluctantly.
"Just take what you can and let's go back," the Arcanine grunted. "It was already dangerous to be out this long right now."
The Arcanine took up a small mouthful of the Pecha Berries and began to pace off. Her child pawed uneasily at his own berry, before picking it up and carrying along after his mother, one question uncomfortably pressing up against his mind.
"Why… was it dangerous?"
"Over there!"
Elty ran ahead into his mother's hindlegs as she came to an abrupt stop. The Growlithe shook his head and peered ahead to see the form of a lanky, dark-scaled Marowak followed by an Abomasnow and a violet Zebstrika in lavender scarves sneering and laughing as they neared.
"When I was told I'd have to root around for a feral Arcanine that put a Rescue Team in the medic's ward, I was expecting it to actually be difficult," the Marowak jeered. "And here I don't even have to drag in some random mutt to take your place, Pact-breaker!"
A low growl came from the Arcanine's throat, her back arching as she flashed her teeth back at the three intruders, fiery hate burning in her eyes.
"I didn't break the Pact, so I'm giving you the same warning as I gave those earlier intruders," the Arcanine snarled. "Get out of my territory."
"Last time I checked the Company owns this island and we'll do what we damn well please on it," the Marowak spat. "This miserable stick pile you sleep in is no exception!"
"M-Mama?" Elty whined. "What's going on?"
"You and your mother are coming with us, kiddo," the Abomasnow growled.
"Yeah, we have uses for troublemakers like you," the shiny Zebstrika taunted.
The umber Marowak held out his bony club and slackened his grip, letting it slide down before latching on to its center. The lizard spun it around as blue, ghostly fire erupted at its ends, whirling it back and forth wildly before swinging it out to the side with a menacing glare.
"But enough talking," the Marowak sneered. "It's time for you mutts to go!"
"Over my dead body, it is!" the Arcanine snapped back.
The Fire-Type lunged for the Marowak at rapid speed, lowering her head in a blistering charge only to feel the air pass by her. The dog went wide-eyed with alarm as she looked back, watching the lizard reform from a shadowy haze with a malevolent sneer.
"Huh-?!"
"Ha! You ferals should really get out from under your rocks more often!" the Ghost-Type jeered. "Here! Have another learning experience!"
The Marowak sent his club flying in a spinning arc, clipping the Arcanine in her side and sending her tumbling to the ground with a yelp. Further away, her pup pulled his ears and tail in tight as he backed away with a frightened whimper, only to shriek as he suddenly felt a hand yank him up by the scruff of his neck, bringing him face to face with the Abomasnow.
"Gotcha, you lousy little-"
Before the Ice-Type could finish, the Growlithe in his hands spat out an ember into the creature's face, prompting him to drop the Puppy Pokémon to the ground with a yelp. There on the ground, Elty staggered back up to his feet as the Abomasnow rubbed his face, a swirl of frigid air swirling about him as his breath came out in a furious bellow.
"Alright that does- Ack!"
A hulking orange blur flew in, sending the Abomasnow tumbling back as Elty felt himself get yanked off the ground once again. The Growlithe cringed, feeling the air rush past him until he realized that he was being held in the mouth of a fuzzy, warm Pokémon, prompting him to crack his eyes open and see none other than...
"M-Mama?!"
"I'll explain later!" the Arcanine yipped. "Just stay with me!"
The mother Arcanine ran ahead as a stream of ghostly blue fire zipped overhead, tearing along past rows of leafless trees along a narrow dirt path as shouts rang out behind them. The dog bounded ahead where she came to an intersection, where a loud growl prompted her to see a Golem directly ahead, and an open path to her right. The Fire-Type turned on her heels, rushing right into a chamber lined with dead trees where her paws touched a patch of dirt with the shape of a footprint faintly etched in the dirt.
Click!
It took only a moment for the Arcanine to realize what had happened before ribbons of silk suddenly shot out from the ground and coated her legs. The Fire-Type lost her balance, pitching forward as her child went flying from her mouth towards the ground.
"Aah!"
Elty hit the floor of the dungeon and tumbled along the leaf-littered ground until he came to a panting, whining stop. From behind them, the sound of sneering laughter rang out, growing louder as its culprit drew ever nearer.
"What an idiot!" the Marowak jeered. "I knew that dumb feral would fall for it!"
The Growlithe picked himself up and looked on in horror as the lavender-scarved Pokémon pinned his mother down. The sound of loud blows and a pained cry rang out, only for a gout of fire to shoot out from the group that sent the Abomasnow stumbling back with a pained screech. The Arcanine wrestled herself free, wobbling to her feet as she looked over wide-eyed at her pup.
"Eltenios, run!" she cried. "Don't look back!"
Elty lowered his head and charged ahead as fast as his legs could carry him, his breaths coming out shallow and ragged as shouts and snarls rang out behind him.
"Agh! She burned me!" the Abomasnow cried
"Just pin her down and get her in that Apricorn!" the Marowak snapped.
"Hey!" the Golem shouted. "Her little runt's running off!"
Elty heard footsteps running after him, prompting him to start to turn his head back only to abruptly jerk it back into place. No, he could challenge his mother's instructions another time, but not here, not now. The Growlithe ran ahead for dear life as he heard the racing footsteps and shouts grow louder and louder, the young dog wildly flying around corners in an attempt to try and slow down his pursuer.
"H-Huh?!"
Elty came ahead to a chamber where to his left was a set of stairs going up into the roof of an earthen tunnel. Without thinking, the Growlithe charged up the stony steps, spotting light at the end as he ran up into a clearing with a stream and scruffy clumps of grass. He dashed along wildly, only for his feet to get caught on the steps. Elty yelped, pitching forward face first and tumbling onto the dungeon's earthen floor. The Fire-Type curled his body up and quivered, lying frozen on the ground, only to realize the sound of the pursuing footsteps had been replaced with that of the creaking and groaning of strained stone. A loud clatter rang out, followed by silence, and the sound of his own panting, haggard breaths. Little by little, the Puppy Pokémon uncurled himself, rising back onto his feet with an unsteady wobble.
"Mama? Are you alright?"
The Growlithe looked back at the direction of the stairs, and saw naught but a small patch of disturbed dirt in the clearing. Elty ran up and pawed at it, looking around desperately for any sign of his mother only to find nothing but the barren trees around him, along with warm tears bubbling in his eyes as a growing, awful realization began to settle on him.
"M-Mama?"
Elty's cries reverberated through the twisted woods, fading away on the winds out of the Mystery Dungeon long before they could reach the outside… or the stone complex overlooking it from seaside cliffs in the distance. There, in a thick-walled tower anchoring the complex's center, the sun shone through the windows of a chamber built high enough to peer over the horizon. The room was a far cry from the ebb and flow of the Distortion: a shaded space that looked over a collection of squat buildings ringed by a wall, and a fortified ring of even thicker stone walls that went up towards the cliffs' edges built around a central keep to the west.
Inside the office, a Zoroark sat behind a neatly-hewn desk lined with papers on a high-backed chair with lavender cushions. Every now and then, he would move a quill back and forth between an inkwell and the papers—his daily reports to review as a Company Administrator. The walls of the surrounding room similarly had no expense spared in decoration, including a large tapestry bearing a map of Anyilla, flanked by a shelf with a number of rare orbs on display, along with four curious, differently colored spheres made from a strange material with white bottom halves separated from the rest by a black lining in the center. The room was silent barring the rustles of the Zoroark's pen, only for the sound of knocking and the door creaking to ring out, which prompted the Dark-Type to flick his ears and look up from his work.
"Elilan, do you have a moment?"
The jet-furred fox watched as the spider-legged form of a Trevenant in a lavender scarf with a three-layered square pattern scuttled in. Recognizing the figure to be none other than his Commander, the Zoroark tilted his head, before giving a surprised raise of his brow.
"Hrm? You're certainly up here earlier than I expected, Betulo," Elilan said. "I thought you said you'd be busier than normal today."
"I felt the circumstances merited changing up my plans a little," the Trevenant responded. "There was an urgent report for your desk."
Elilan shifted disinterestedly, before giving a shrug and leaning back in his chair.
"If it's the daily status report about the prison, you can just leave them in my mail slot," he answered. "I will review it later."
"It's the transcript of a message I decoded from Team Sentinel. They've sent back a report about Subject Red."
The Zoroark abruptly trailed off, shooting a curious stare at Betulo before reaching up and grabbing the envelope out of his claw. Elilan tore the letter open, his eyes moving back and forth along a sheet of paper, working his way down as a disappointed scowl settled over his face.
"Hrmph… they didn't need so many words to say that they barely missed capturing him again," Elilan harrumphed. "I know that I asked for regular updates, but this is ridiculous."
He gave a disgusted shake of his head and summarily crumpled up the paper, casting it to the corner of his desk and looking away. Betulo eyed the crinkled ball of a report, before he hesitantly spoke up.
"… Perhaps it would be better to have Sorge and his team let things simmer down for a while," the Trevenant offered. "Subject Red is no longer in Anyilla's waters, and the more they chase him, the further he flees and the harder it will be for them to extract him."
"You speak as if the Empire isn't also looking for Protectors. And Garanza and Linglan wouldn't exactly let the opportunity pass to have another Protector join them," Elilan scoffed. "If Subject Red were to attract attention out there, us hanging back would accomplish nothing but give someone else a head start at intercepting him. You know that the plans we have for the Cradle rely on Subject Red, so why take that risk?"
"Because Subject Blue and Doctor Nyxem's research are every bit as important to those plans," Betulo replied. "There comes a point where taking further action risks the things we already have. I know the way Inler has been managing this impasse with the Imperials has been less than ideal, but you can't expect Team Sentinel to constantly pursue Subject Red without drawing any attention to themselves."
The Trevenant shook his head, letting his branch-like arms crackle before he continued on with a stern gaze.
"If Sorge causes a diplomatic incident in the process, you can be sure Inler would notice and the other Administrators would find out about Subject Red and Blue's existence, along with Subject Blue's presence here in this facility."
"And what of it?" Elilan demanded. "The Board can find out all it wants, but once Subject Red is reunited with his counterpart, simple discovery won't do anything to change my new balance of power."
"Assuming Sorge recovered Subject Red and brought him back successfully before they found out, otherwise we'd have bigger issues to deal with than me not being able to sit aside you on the Board. Your peers would at the very least demand Subject Blue be transferred from containment here to Inler's control, and Nyxem's research at Torn Outpost would almost certainly be shut down," Betulo said. "Letting Sorge wait for the right time and place to move after Subject Red is a risk to what you've been working for, but the alternatives aren't any better. It's better to let the unpredictable be what it may and focus on things that are more immediately controllable for now... such as Torn Outpost's next shipment of laborers."
Elilan frowned silently, picking his claws a moment before turning his attention back to his Commander.
"I was under the impression that you were still on top of things for Torn Outpost's logistics," he said. "What exactly is the problem?"
"We're about fifty 'mons short for the next batch to be sent out there," Betulo answered. "I'd instructed some of the guards here to go into the interior to help make up the difference, but the ferals are getting more clever about avoiding them."
The Administrator frowned, giving a shake of his head back at the Trevenant.
"Really now, that's what's been giving you so much trouble?" the Zoroark asked. "You're severely overthinking this problem, Betulo…"
"How so? We've been lucky to get more than one or two Pokémon a day lately," Betulo insisted. "We're not getting the numbers we need short of setting one of the forests in the interior on fire."
Elilan tented his claws in response to Betulo's protest, his muzzle curling up in a small smile before replying back to his Commander.
"There's always some crew of disposables out there that slips up during a raid," the Zoroark answered. "Just bide your time and take the numbers you need from the next one."
Much as Elilan had predicted, one week later, there was indeed a hulk full of unfortunates ready for his disposal. The prison hulk's arrival to Nagrobek was a dreary affair, the vibrant Company-issued lavender sails of the ship doing little to brighten up the dingy, run-down shacks of Dulefield Town as the ship's masts poked over the town's hipped roofs.
The scene on and around the ship was little improved, as haggard, reeking Pokémon lay bound on the deck while others groaned from netting dangled over the side of the ship. The local guards were swift to work as soon as the vessel moored, unceremoniously dragging its miserable cargo along up the docks and for a path headed onto solid land.
Among the bound Pokémon were a Trapinch and Gible in cyan scarves, the pair snatched up by a Passimian as they eyed their surroundings in a panic. While the Fighting-Type brought them up the path, they saw line after line of shuttered, decaying huts, a few containing Pokémon who warily watched the accursed procession past their doors and windows. The lemur's course brought the two Ground-Types to a clearing, where they were dropped against the battered cobblestones amid a large crowd of their captured peers in what appeared to be a local square, with their lavender-scarved captors blocking off the entrances and trading sneers with one another.
"Wh-What are they gonna do to us?" the Trapinch gulped.
"I- I dunno, Pekka," the Gible replied. "Just try not to draw attention to yourself."
The murmuring was broken by the sound of a sharp rap of bone against wood, the gathered captives watching as a lithe, umber Marowak with a Second-Rank scarf clambered up a crate overlooking the square. The lizard stood up, batting his bone idly against his free hand as he peered down at the pirates with a malicious smirk.
"Good morning, you thieving scum," the Marowak sneered. "Welcome to hell."
The Marowak's words made the captive pirates widen their eyes and set their teeth on edge, a few visibly attempting to squirm away as the Ghost-Type hopped down and passed by. The Marowak looked around slowly, his face betraying an obvious satisfaction with his captives' palpable fear.
"I'll spare you all the introductions, since I think we all know what this place is and why you're here," the head guard said. "The only question will be whether you mind your place and make life easier for yourself or if you resist and force us to make life… uncomfortable for you. The Pit's always in need of new bodies to work its mines."
The Marowak raised his bone and rapped it against the ground, turning to the guards behind him with an impatient growl.
"Get them marched off and processed," he snapped. "The sooner these wastes of flesh get out of public view, the better."
Pyry and Pekka yelped as they felt a sudden shove from behind, pushing them forward along the ground, with similar cries and protests coming from behind them. In their panic, the trek from the square went by in a long, hazy blur, the dilapidated buildings of Dulefield Town melting into fields and hills until the pair found themselves getting marched through a gate in a tall, stone wall, ringing squat buildings built under the shadow of a central tower. The two carried on past a wall of glaring passers-by in lavender scarves, towards an entrance in an inner wall that took them to a courtyard where they continued into the entrance of a hulking stone building with small, barred windows into an open, dimly-lit hall. The pair were shoved to the ground, and lay panting as the hall filled with prisoners, the guards circling around them under the watchful gaze of a Scizor barking orders, waiting to swoop in and drag away one after the other to the different wings of the surrounding prison. Among the milling crowd of guards was the Passimian from earlier, who slowed down at the sight of Pyry and Pekka.
"You two," the Fighting-Type barked. "This way."
The lemur latched onto the pair, tearing off their scarves before roughly forcing white and black striped replacements on. The Passimian drug the two off, carrying along down a row of cells roughly hewn from stone where small, haggard groups of Pokémon peered out. The guard carried on to a rickety set of stairs leading up to a wooden catwalk up to a second level of cells, carrying on to a corner cell facing out to a set of narrow windows. The Passimian fished out a crude key and undid the lock, before unknotting the pair's bindings and unceremoniously dumping them onto the cell's stony floor and slamming the door behind them.
"Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable, brats," the monkey spat. "You're going to be in here for a long, long time."
The Gible and Trapinch picked themselves off the ground, where the forms of a Gogoat and an Arcanine came into view, approaching with hardened scowls. His nerves long since depleted, Pekka bolted for a corner of the cell and lodged his head in the corner quivering, until he noticed the sound of slow, regulated breathing, looking up to see Pyry next to him closing his eyes, with a strange ease about him.
"H-How can you be so calm?!" the Trapinch hissed. "We're in Nagrobek! Our lives are over right now!"
"I- I mean, we're not alone…" the Gible murmured back. "My äippä's somewhere in here. If we can find her, at least she'll be there to watch our backs."
Pekka's jaw cracked open, as the Trapinch let out an irritated chitter and flailed his limbs indignantly. Pyry had always been adamant that his mother was none other than Beatrice the Swift, but what good was that supposed to do them now?!
"Pyry, she's dead! She tried to raid Vollezee and failed! If she didn't die there in the city, they almost certainly brought her here and made an example of her!"
"Th-That's not true! You heard the stories back on Orleigh! She was caught!" Pyry insisted. "And there's no way a 'mon as tough as her could have just been done in like that!"
Pekka scowled back at the Gible, only for his frustrations to begin to ebb as he saw the little land shark's face remain firm and insistent. Pyry really did believe from the bottom of his heart that his mother would come for him… in a hope that everyone else knew was already in vain.
"… Come on veikka, don't do this to yourself…"
"So soon? I thought you said we shouldn't expect the signal until the end of the week!"
The Trapinch trailed off as he and his partner looked at the back of the cell where the Gogoat looked up and shifted uncomfortably against the wall to their right. The pair blinked a moment before creeping closer, until they were able to see the Grass-Type moving his head and peering through a small hole, speaking in furtive whispers.
"That's what I heard, apparently the schedule has been bumped up a bit," the voice on the other end replied. "As far as I know, nothing else has changed, but you need to make sure this doesn't catch the others unawares."
"I'm just saying," the Gogoat grumbled. "A little notice would've been-"
The Gogoat suddenly stopped as his ears pricked to attention, prompting the Grass-Type to jump up and whirl around. The goat's startled look quickly hardened into a harsh glare, as the Pokémon lowered his head and pawed threateningly at the ground.
"And what do you think you're doing, you little twerps?" the Gogoat snarled.
Pyry and Pekka felt their blood run cold, and backed away timorously from the angered Gogoat. The Gible of the pair quivered, fumbling with his words as he tried to talk down his looming assailant.
"J-Just looking for a place to rest, that's all!" Pyry yelped. The Gible's protest was quickly joined in by his Trapinch partner, who tucked himself behind his teammate as best as his bulky head would allow.
"Y-Yeah, we'll get out of your, uh... leaves!"
The pair turned and bolted, the sound of running steps chasing after them as they made their way to the front of the cell. The two came to a skidding stop in front of the cell's bars and screwed their eyes shut in a panic only to feel a hot flash zip by and a low growl ring out.
"That's enough!"
Pyry and Pekka cracked their eyes open and peered behind them, where they saw the form of the Arcanine from earlier crouched between them and the Gogoat, her teeth bared as smoke curled from her muzzle.
"Your quarrel is with the Pokémon in lavender, not these pups," the Arcanine growled. "Act the part."
The Gogoat glared for a long, silent moment, before backing down and throwing his horns back with a snort as he slunk off for the back.
"They'd best not do anything to make me regret trusting them to keep their mouths shut, Sirmia," he spat.
Pyry and Pekka shivered as they watched the Gogoat slink off back for the wall and opted to keep their distance from the irritable buck, the last they heard of him being the sound of his hooves clopping over back to the far end of the cell.
"Sorry about that, some fresh meat got thrown into my cell," the Gogoat huffed. "Let's keep this a bit quieter…"
The Gible and Trapinch trudged along when they suddenly felt a warm nudge from behind, prompting them to freeze in panic when a low growl reached their ears.
"Don't mind Bill, he's just a little on-edge from being cooped up in here."
The pair blinked and looked up to see the Arcanine from earlier peer down at them, giving a firm, intent gaze down at them. The two shrank back timorously, Pyry and Pekka each attempting to slip behind the other until Pekka won out, leaving his land shark companion to stammer back to his questioner.
"H-Huh?"
"You seemed a bit disoriented," Sirmia replied. "I suppose confinement does that to Pokémon of your type as well."
"W-Well what are we supposed to do?!" Pekka exclaimed. "We just got dumped here and one of our cellmates just tried to jump us!"
"Take things one step at a time, and keep your focus on what lies beyond these walls," the Arcanine answered. "When the opportunity comes, you mustn't miss your chance to give chase after it."
Sirmia turned and took her leave, pacing over to their left where she sat and looked out through a barred window out towards a column of fog poking over the horizon. Pyry and Pekka blinked, watching as the Arcanine looked out longingly in the distance, before trading puzzled looks with one another.
"What do you think she did to get stuck here?" Pekka whispered. "She certainly doesn't feel like one of us."
"Beats me…" the Gible sighed. "But what was with that Gogoat from earlier?"
The two looked uneasily back towards the far end of the cell, where the Grass-Type was slipping away from the wall. The goat went and pawed impatiently at the ground with his hooves, acting as if his earlier encounter with them had never happened.
"And why was he so worked up about us hearing a little talk?" Pyry wondered.
In the sea southwest of Nagrobek, a small flotilla of ships carried on a northeastern course, flying sails of a constellation of colors, the lion's share being split between ships flying one of two patterns. At the front, a collection of three ships flying blue sails with white flames led the group, being followed closely by four ships flying dark red sails with silvery blades fanned out on them, the largest among them sidled up with the largest of the blue-sailed ships. There, on the deck of the blue-sailed flagship, the form of Pyroar garbed in blue and Bisharp in dark red pored over a sea chart spread out on a repurposed crate, the Dark-Type tapping his foot against the wood impatiently.
"I'm not fully sold on this, Amaro," the Bisharp muttered. "How exactly does splitting our forces help us here?"
"It's simple, Dirk. The prison complex is surrounded by sea cliffs from three sides with a naval garrison at the base. If we want to finish the job and put that place down for the count, we'll need to thin out the defenders," the Pyroar explained. "The fastest way to do that, is to cause a distraction big enough to draw ships and 'mons away from that prison. That should give you and the rest of the flotilla room to go to town on those walls as the prisoners break out, and me a nice chunk of loot for my trouble."
"I suppose I can see where you're coming from, but I'd like to remind you that we don't really have any room for overlooking details here," Dirk growled back. "This will be the most difficult raid any of us have had to do since Vollezee. We had more allies with us then, and you already know how well that turned out…"
"That would be the case if this battle was just about numbers," Amaro countered. "But you know as well as I do that we have another tool to help tip the scales…"
The Pyroar cast his gaze towards the water, where a set of red spikes sliced through the water as a lumbering blue form latched onto the hull. The figure clambered up, revealing itself to be a Feraligatr in a blue scarf adorned with white flames who saluted the two captains with a toothy grin, seawater still dribbling down his scales.
"Kapitein Amaro, I've just heard back from the moles," the Feraligatr said. "They say that everything's ready to go from inside the prison as soon as the flotilla blows the first hole into the prison walls."
"Excellent, Laurens. Go back to your ship for now and tell the crewmembers to get ready," the Pyroar ordered. "As soon as I give the signal, we sail out for Dulefield Town. Tonight, we celebrate our victory in their own taverns!"
"Aye! We'll all be looking forward to it!"
The Feraligatr darted to the edge of the railing and dove off into the water with an audible splash. Amaro and Dirk watched as Laurens slowly surfaced again, powering off towards a two-masted ship in the distance as the Bisharp narrowed his eyes skeptically.
"Hrmph, rising star or not, I still don't like this," Dirk harrumphed. "Out of all the 'mons in the Phlogiston Raiders you could've entrusted espionage to, you had to choose the one that hailed from a bunch of distorted sea rocks on Vollezee."
"Well, he was the one who came up with the idea in the first place, so you'd have to give the credit for this raid happening at all to him," Amaro retorted. "I'm sure that he'll have plenty of time to fill you in on the details when he's sitting as your peer around our table back in Orleigh."
The Pyroar's suggestion at once drew an annoyed hiss and frown back from his Bisharp ally, who jabbed a blade into the railing with an audible thunk.
"Amaro, I'm not opposed to putting control of the Council firmly under 'mons friendly to us in the old guard, but even you have to know I'm not just going to give you a free second vote for making decisions by having one of your own captains join!" Dirk chided.
"Well maybe this raid will help to persuade you otherwise!" Amaro chortled. "But we can hash out the details later, we've got a prison to destroy!"
Amaro shook his mane and began to prance off down the deck, only for a sharp hiss to reach him from behind.
"Can we really trust that information?" Dirk's voice said. The Pyroar paused, before craning his head back towards Dirk waiting behind him.
"Hrm?"
"From the Imps," the Bisharp insisted. "Of Captain Beatrice still being locked up in that sorry sea rock."
"It's worth a shot, isn't it?" Amaro asked. "With her back on the prowl, it'd put the fear of the gods back into those square-necked landlubbers!"
Dirk scowled back at the Pyroar, who brushed off the Dark-Type's misgivings with a shake of his mane and small, disarming smirk back that served to ease the Bisharp up slightly.
"But even if she isn't," Amaro answered. "I'd say that removing that little cesspit from existence would be a good way to settle the score… for us."
Author's Notes:
- mama - Polish: "mom"
- äippä - Finnish: "mom"
- Kapitein - Dutch: "Captain"
