Quest Hub (stats, party, location, neofauna information, date, time, etc.): https://rentry.org/PokepocalypseQST

Quest Archive: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Pok%C3%A9pocalypse%20Revival (Start here if you want to catch up on the quest's previous threads!)

Updates will be attempted daily! At worst, expect an update every 2 days instead of one. Absences will be announced in advance and given definitive end dates if I can manage it.

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In the year 1884, within a world much like our own, the country has fallen under threat from all manner of otherworldly creatures!

Demons have begun laying waste to our great United States! They wield powers matched only by nature's own, combatting her natural fauna with their own unnatural forces! Control over fire, lightning, even one's own perception of reality... such creatures are not to be trifled with, and best avoided!

Yet, despite this common-sense advice, there exist people eager to ignore it! Walter Roy Buchanan, an aspiring naturalist from New York state, is one such person. He believes not in these demons' immense danger to human life, but in their utility to humanity! He sees them as more than mere threats-- instead, he considers these "neofauna" to be the key to humanity's future.

Walter carries with him four such creatures: a wounded sheep with the power to rend Heaven's lightning unto earth, dubbed "Mary"; a gentle silkworm five times the size of his earthly ilk, dubbed "Taylor"; an anxious young elemental with the power to paralyze his foes, dubbed "Florian"; a fiery young stallion with a mane made of flame, dubbed "Aster".
He is joined, too, by two human companions: a wealthy state-and-businessman known as Thomas J. Steele (with his own demon, dubbed Indiana), and Thomas' hired bodyguard: a man by the name of "Andrew," whose own interest in demons almost seems to match Walter's enthusiasm!

These three gentlemen belong to a group of rebels named the Staters, brought together by State Governor C. P. Huntington's atrocities and kept together by their intimidating leader: Aaron Muyr. They have recently suffered multiple consecutive losses: their headquarters were compromised, several of their members were killed in a raid on their base of operations, and the entire city's military presence has been strengthened in response to their activities... all within merely a few days! The Staters exist now as a motley band of young men and other disgruntled citizens, working to dethrone Huntington and save California state from his murderous hatred of neofauna, never meeting in the same place for longer than an evening so as to avoid further disaster. Walter has become an invaluable asset to the group, working to boost their morale and teach members about how best to befriend and utilize neofauna to their advantage while personally tutoring Muyr in the matter for payment.

With his family in peril and one of the safest cities on the west coast in active danger, Walter finds himself split multiple ways. Mary, his closest companion, remains badly wounded from an overnight ambush in her stables. Sacramento, still caught within Huntington's iron grip, seems to be suppressing news about the Staters and boosting headlines on the dangers of neofauna. Walter's family remains trapped in a turbulent New York, unresponsive to his various letters and with a quarter of its members known missing. Walter remains haunted by a pair of otherworldly neofauna with the ability to invade his thoughts-- in fact, the hundredth kind of "native Californian fauna" he requires to complete his original goal of documenting California's wildlife for a bounty of ten-thousand dollars-- while he struggles to comprehend the otherworldly transformation Andrew's small red chick has recently undergone. All of this is joined by the young man's upcoming reputation as a local hero, brought about after he saved numerous small towns from various types of destruction... at the hand of the creatures he dedicates so much of himself to studying.

As Walter's world has become evermore chaotic and uncertain, the young naturalist has taken it upon himself to confirm the safety of someone very important to him...

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>Saturday, August 23rd, 1884. It is midday in the great city of Sacramento.

>A number of recent tragedies have begun to weigh on your mind. You sit, now, in your hotel room. Upon your desk lays a blank piece of paper, soon to become a letter to your distant family... if only you can stop procrastinating and actually get to writing it.

Right...

You knew that she didn't want to hear about neofauna, so you decided to save that for later. As an opener...

Ma,

...it would do.

You sat there, wracking your brains on what to say. You couldn't just tell her everything at face value. She'd be struck dead by all the neofauna work you had been doing. Befriending a flaming horse...

You could obfuscate this somehow, couldn't you? You didn't want to, but you knew your mother. You were certain that, if you didn't spare the details, she would spend months worrying about you to the point of sickness.

I can't tell you how much I miss you. With everything that has happened... I am just happy that you are safe.

You hoped.

God, you had been forcing your family out of your mind for so long. It was hard to even think about them now, with how it affected you.

Ignoring the waves of emotion tearing you this way and that, you continued writing.

I have continued my studies dutifully. I know you would rather be spared the details, but I think it would be important to tell you that I now have transport and plenty of security. I hope I will be finding my way back home soon, to all of you.

That comma was placed correctly, you figured. Punctuation was never your strongest suit...

My specific transport seems to be rather spoiled. He reminds me of Robbie from time to time, huffing and puffing at his place in the world. He acts as if I am not good enough to ride on him yet and I find it very funny. Do know I have multiple other means of transport if he does not decide to cooperate.

You pulled out a few neatly-wrapped packages from your trunk. You'd taken extra precautions to keep them intact, with each package being double-wrapped in a silk underlayer and plenty of blankets atop that...

...but, once you got to the underlayer, you figured it a better gift to leave the silk over top.

All three packages were sat beside the letter. You would have to mail them separately.

I made sure to get the twins gifts. If they don't arrive by September First, deliver them immediately upon their arrival. I can promise you they have nothing to do with neofauna or nutberries.

Another glance at the silk covering the actual gifts gave you an idea. You tugged on each one carefully, making sure it could last an entire bumpy trip... as you'd expected, the silk held firmly. Taylor had delivered his usual quality.

I have wrapped them in a material that has become trivial to me, but may help the rest of you.

Of the creatures I have found, one is able to produce remarkable amounts of silk at will. His personality is such that I am never short of the stuff, and I felt it would be unkind to hoard such a valuable material all to myself.

That was enough on neofauna for now.

The third gift contains one for each of you. The pups could not get anything special, but I made sure to get Looker something he could share with them. I hope all of you enjoy your gifts and what they offer you.

You'd nearly forgotten until now...

I'm not sure if you received my previous mail yet. I wrote to you not long ago, but have yet to receive any responses to what was addressed in that letter. Please do let me know if you received the mail.

God, you felt like a businessman talking to a child. You wanted to say more, in a less controlled manner. You wanted to hug your mom and tell her everything was going to be alright. That you were going to see her soon, and that the rest of your siblings would be safe.

You wanted to see your dad again, and hear of his war stories. You wanted to help him assemble jig-saw puzzles and talk about the future. You wanted, so badly, just to know he was okay...

But here you were, writing a letter that you didn't even expect to reach your family, speaking as if you could say nothing of your current circumstances. Writing as if you barely knew them in some desperate attempt to keep your mother calm.

Your troubles left you through a sigh. You leaned against your chair and gave the nutberry sprout to your left a glance. The white flowers adorning it seemed healthy enough. Its leaves seemed green and vigorous...

You were procrastinating again.

I wish dearly to know how you are. All of you. I am unaware of the East outside of the news, and the news has not been very kind. The City seems drowned in the same kind of unrest now capturing Sacramento, and I do hope that it hasn't made an attempt on any of you.

You decided not to name Keith or Robbie.

I can only pray for safety, and I shall do so as often as I can.

I have recently heard word of an enormous, aquatic type of neofauna saving men from a conflict in the Orient. It has reminded me to stay hopeful and believe in miraculous rescue, even in times as dark as these, and I simply request that you mimic such faith.

Of course you had to bring up neofauna... it kept nagging at your mind. Her horror-- the refusal to see how they could help...

If Mabel can see the good in these creatures, I trust that the rest of my family also has such capacity within them. I would not be nearly as safe as I am without my own companions, and I implore you all to find some of your own, if not for companionship then for the sake of the farm. I am unsure of how long natural earthen creatures will last in this world, and I suspect they may be outclassed by their neofaunic counterparts sooner rather than later.

Sigh. What a way to end. By discussing exactly the thing your mother wanted to hear least. You had to make up for this... somehow.

Some other time, when you could think more rationally.

I pray that you are safe and that life is treating you well.

Yours truly,
Walter

With the final stroke of your pencil, you felt like a weight had been lifted off of your chest... and placed onto your back.

You hadn't thought about your family at all in this huge chaos. You'd kept your mind focused on the tasks at hand so much that an entire week's worth of worries were now catching up with you.

The next few hours would be spent on your hotel bed... relaxing.

There was nothing in the world that you needed to do more at that moment... and you felt your rest well-earned.

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After a quiet lunch on the outskirts of Sacramento, you had returned to the city to fulfill the promise you had made to Bart.

You were left baffled, though, upon actually entering the Sacramento Bee's offices.

You'd... never been to a newspaper's office before.

It was hard to imagine the sight before you.

Innumerable amounts of men sat in front of an equally mystifying amount of desks, machines, tables...

Bookshelves lined every wall, papers spilling halfway out of their doors. More scattered the floor-- half-printed sheets of copy or scrap paper used for notes and absentminded doodles. Nobody seemed to mind you picking one up to confirm.

In fact... nobody seemed to mind much at all.

The entire office building was eerily quiet. Most people kept their heads down and their mouths shut. Few people could be seen even looking at each other, let alone talking to each other.

And then... you came along.

Once you entered, carrying the ailing Mary in your arms and donning Taylor upon your neck, all eyes turned to you.

"You're..."

"Is that..?"

The entire office erupted into whispered rumors.

Then, audible speech.

Suddenly, you were overwhelmed with a deluge of people whom you assumed to be reporters. Journalists? Press-writers... something.

"Is that yours?"
"What's your name? I think I already know it--"
"I don't, tell me please!"
"You can't be him, can you?"
"A demon! In here!"

Lord, it was getting hard to breathe with all the people crowding you. Eventually, you had to yell: "EVERYONE!"

Mary flinched at the shout, but you saw that she was thankful. The crowd was clearly starting to unnerve her.

"Everyone, ah... I'm Walter Buchanan," the crowd cheered as you spoke those words, so you paused for them to quiet down, "I'm jus'... I'm just here t' ask for some information!"

"What information?"
"Yeah, what?"
"Tell us, tell us!"

Jeez... the journalists were so eager to hear what you had to say that some already had notepads out.

"Well, for starters... don't go crowdin' around Mary like that, she doesn't like it." You kept your voice quiet, trying to tone down the energy of the room.

"I see something's happened with her leg..."

"Don't-- don' go writing about that." You tried not to snap, but some of that anger leaked into your tone. The man who'd pointed her bandaged leg out quickly shut up and nodded.

"And... don't go crowdin' around in general, jus'... keep your distance." That was more a selfish request than anything else. This building wasn't too large, and all the people crowding it only made it feel smaller.

"And... why're you all so eager t' talk t' me, anyways? Ah'm... I'm just passin' through." You mumbled.

Hardly a minute passed before another journalist answered your inquiry. "You're a hero!"
"A legend!"
"An absolute newspaper star, you'll make us thousands!"

Thousands? "What? Am-- you have t' explain this, please." You were baffled. What had you missed out on?

"At the saloon! You helped defend so many people!"
"Yeah, you saved so much of the city!"
"It's-- well, it's such a huge story, and..."

The excitement of the crowd began to fade as the journalists continued.

"Well, we would be making thousands off of it right now..." A meek, short man quipped.
"If we were 'llowed to!" A taller, skinnier man complained.

That answered one of your questions, at least...

"Don't talk 'bout it. Just keep yer mouth shut." Another man said, interjecting. He pushed his way through the crowd, all the way to you, and took a deep breath through his cigarette.

"Kid, nobody here's going to be readin' your story. Nothin' more than what the papers already pushed out, anyways."

All you could do was stare and blink, trying your hardest to ignore the smoke enveloping you and this man as you interpreted his words.

"I-- I have t' ask, why not?" You coughed.

Another puff of smoke your way. "Boss's orders. We ain't gonna publish anythin' to do with your demons, or th' ones at that big dumb saloon, or anythin' about that."

You were surprised at how receptive they were to the idea of neofauna--

--before the smoker opened his mouth again, sending you into a coughing fit and continuing to speak. "Shame. That kind'a fearmongerin' always makes us the big bucks. These things," he jabbed a finger in Mary's direction, "are perfect for that. But all we can do is report on all the small crimes. Some weird rat eatin' trash that's been left out too long. A flamin' horse tramplin' someone."

The second comment made you gulp. Had Sacramento had issues with Aster's kind for long enough that this kind of nonchalant statement of injury was normal?
...maybe this was a bad sample group for judging what was normal...

"Stuff that makes them look bad, sure, but not like anythin' more than a nuisance. It's stupid, see, 'n you'd be our ticket to glory... but we can't do that shit or we'll be fired." The man grunted, tapping his cigarette's butt over his pocket and tossing it on the ground.

A young man spoke up over the smoker, his voice indicating that he was barely out of puberty. "Well, we can't! But maybe..."

The same young man pushed his way into the crowd, finding an audience with you while sharing space with the smoker. In the man's hands was..

...a crude sketch of sorts.

The scene it depicted was hard to see through the muddled French text. It was poorly drawn, as well, with little shape or dimension to it beyond wayward hatching and inconsistent linework giving the illusion of further depth.

"It's... it's company property," the boy said, motioning for you to return the paper. Once you did, he went on. "If some officer saw you with it, I think you would get in trouble... but it's the least we can show you, right? As payment for, uh, everythin'."

You couldn't tell whether he was referring to the saloon raid or the fact that you were apparently this newspaper's cash cow.

"Anyways... what didja come in here for? Never took you t' be the reportin' type," the smoker spat.

Funny, that. "Well... ah came t' ask about all that... news not bein' printed." Your throat still hurt from the smoke, but you tried to speak as clearly as you could.

The crowd collectively expressed their disappointment. Some sighed, others groaned. More still said nothing at all.

"'Xactly the thing we can't tell you squat about. Wonderful." The smoker crossed his arms. "Tell you what. The boss's upstairs. We won't do anythin' if you try t' talk t' him, see how it goes. I'd advise ya bring a bag'a cash, but... seeing as that's not'n option, I s'ppose you'll have to find some other way to catch his attention."

Splendid. You were looking forward to dealing with more shady higher-ups.

But... did you really have a choice?

>Of course you had a choice. A choice not to do any of that. Stay with the journalists and ask them more details about the Oriental neofauna instead.

>No, not really. If you wanted to get this news published pronto, you had to negotiate. Thank the journalists for their time and head upstairs, hoping to meet with the boss.

>Write-in.

Okay, I accidentally put my old trip in the title of this thread. I'm going to make a new thread and leave this one to die. Sorry, lol.

ACTUAL NEW THREAD, please post there instead of here.

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