DuskLugia

The night was dark, clouds obscuring the stars and the moon a thin sliver in the sky. The hour was late, most residents of the harbor having gone to sleep long ago. Only the outskirts and alley slums still shuffled with activity, conducting business that only the cover of darkness would allow. Overlooking the residential districts on the tiers below, the Blackwoods building sat like a bejeweled mandibuzz looking for her next meal. Its midnight facade seemed to swallow up what little light the moon gave and cast long shadows over the lower tiers of the city like crooked talons. Oh so reminiscent of the building’s current owner - the esteemed savior of the once bankrupt guild. The windows glowed dimly with amber light, a visual reminder that the prestigious guild remained awake and alert even at night. Past displays of velvet tapestries and walls of enchanted lumber, beyond twisting staircases and candle-lit hallways, the elusive Guildmasters had secluded themselves away in Waterbaby’s

A tense silence sat heavy as a snorlax between Cyril and Aeon, though the cyclizar was clearly the more troubled of the two. That stillness followed them all the way to their destination.  The awkward lull was, thankfully, broken when they arrived at the guild shop of Clean Pickings, a tiny bell jingling as Cyril pushed open the door. A shiny zigzagoon with a green leaf on their head was diligently dusting off a rack of mining equipment. Their ears perked up at the sound of the bell, turning towards the entrance. “Hello, hello! Welcome!” Oraansi greeted cheerfully as the two Stargazers approached, “So happy to see you again, Cyril!” Swallowing down her melancholy, the cyclizar put on a playful smirk. “I was just in here yesterday, and you already miss me?” she teased, earning a laugh from the shiny zigzagoon. “Of course! I miss each and every one of my dear paying customers,” Oraansi winked. Depositing the duster in a pocket on their apron, they folded their paws neatly in front of

“-and once we’re done here, we need to stop by Clean Pickings,” Cyril said as she walked beside her partner along the boardwalk. The cyclizar had taken a few of the feral hoppip into her arms from the lucario, allowing him at least one free arm to lean on his cane as he walked.  The dragon type chuckled under her breath at the pleasant hum of purring coming from the content grass types perched over every inch of the albino’s body. Some of the smaller cottonweed pokemon even piled on top of each other to stay on Aeon, despite Cyril’s offers of more space by carrying them herself.  “Oraansi sent word that our eggs from the Spring Festival are finally ready for pick-up,” she continued, “This year’s Eggtravaganza was the biggest yet, so those two have been up to their ears in eggs needing opening. I wonder what kind of treats we got?” “A mystery for the ages, indeed,” the fighting type remarked playfully. The dragon type snorted, tossing her head to hide her amusement.  “Mystery for

Claws scrabbling at the brick, Cyril pulled herself up and over the edge of the roof with a heave. Her eyes swept the shingles before she sighed.  “Found another one,” she called out loudly.  As she had suspected, the glimpse of pink she’d seen from street level was a hoppip. The poor thing was stuck headfirst in a chimney pipe.  Feral hoppip flocks, like many other species, headed towards the coast during the summer months, utilizing the strong tailwinds coming off the sea to help them on their seasonal migration. However, a bad storm they had a few days ago brought with it powerful crosswinds that lingered even now. The gusts had knocked a flock of hoppip off course, resulting in them getting caught on various structures around the harbor. Thus, the job posting went out to help dislodge the displaced grass types. “Easy, buddy...I’m trying to help you,” Cyril soothed as the hoppip in the chimney pipe started squirming after she grabbed its back legs. The hardest part of this task,