Chapter Six, Into Shadow

 My other title? Twilight. But that evokes vampires, and we have none in the Forest. Though I'm sure plenty of things would be willing to suck you dry.

What follows is a sentence by sentence commentary on the sixth chapter of the Apocalypse. Is it too much to assume that you've opened it in another tab already?

This single sentence creates the setting for the chapter. From this point on, every sound is amplified by nervousness.

Note how words work together here to set the mood. The forest has only (indicating insufficiency) the hellish (evil) half-light (weakened goodness) of dusk (where light goes to die).

He feels helpless out there. Which, y'know, he is.

"Oh, heh, I'm not afraid at all, and in a completely unrelated note, I think I should keep my pokémon close. "

He seemed small when he wasn't the only thing between you and insectoid death. Did you expect him to grow?

Red does not have a particularly large head.

He's really going for the Most Caring Trainer Called award, isn't he?

Somehow I'm sure that the word waddle made Nyoromo all the more adorable in the minds of my readers.

Try inhalation for once, m'boy. It'll do you some good.

Because if it's on your shoulder, you aren't carrying it.

Isn't he so adorable and such? Also? Nyoromo's pronouns don't always work. His ascension, it tipped back.

Putting a tadpole on your head qualifies as hope in this world. They have fallen so far.

Squelch

Which increases electrical conductivity by george you've made a thinking cap!

He already thought this about Nyroromo.

You know you're in trouble when your pokémon's most useful appendage is its membranous tail.

It's all the rage in Celadon.

Any good suspenseful environ assaults you itself.

Panting = noise.

Not disappear. Die.

Yes. He wanted Nyoromo to walk on a bramble-y road.

Now he's truly alone.

This is how exposition should appear. Subtly.

Once a prison for small animals, it- ...No? We aren't doing that bit?

I prefer this to saying hemisphere, as it has those little clasp bits.

High technology necessitates the use of the word matrix.

Not too long ago. Oak remembers, I'm sure.

I JUST BLEW YOUR MINDS IT'S A POKEYMANBALL WHAT.

What happened to the ones in transit? Through the computers?

Cannibalized seemed the proper word for the setting.

Cliffhanger. Like always. Do they get old?

Chapter Five, Expository Lump

Wow. I am unparalleled in my ability to merge exposition seamlessly with action.

What follows is a sentence-by-sentence commentary, in which all is revealed.

What a strong hook that has next to nothing to do with the rest of the chapter. But you never noticed.

Route 1, if you're that thick. The Kanto one, not the Isshu.

Yes. When emergencies occur, everyone hikes to the north to meet in the shadow of a den of horrors and other such nasties. Because that's how Oak rolls.

Remember, in this world pokémon battles are actually battles. This means that the townsfolk enjoy watching small animals tear each other into bleeding lumps.

Not to the south, though. To the south is Pallet. Then the sea. After.

There was some reason the ocean seemed so far in the games. I provided it.

Because one is so inclined to seek out forests.

The first mention of the Upheaval will probably not be the last.

Most biologists also claim that forests live.

That and the sea.

Medicines like Potion (tm), Super Potion (tm), Hyper Potion (tm), and Max Potion (tm).

Think of what an onix egg must look like. Now make an omelet from it. A delicious, massive, gravelly omelet.

Meat and vegetable. What do you think bellsprout are?

The Fallen Viridian makes its first appearance.

Are you ready to become a pokémon master? Okay, go into the woods with one tiny companion and pray that nothing finds you or you'll die. Yay!

Because that's such a danger, what with only Oak and the Seven guarding it. Any new member of the Called could easily wipe out the town if not carefully watched.

Nothing found you and killed you yet? Good! Now go find the things that didn't get you yet and fight them.

Still alive? Go and see how Lavender fares on the other side of the continent. That should get rid of you.

No. You aren't good enough to die in an exotic locale. Die here. Soon.

This sentence seems increasingly suicidal the more I read it.

Compare it to stepping out the door of a plane with only the parachute from a tiny paratrooper toy.

Yes. The difference in light is that severe and is so for many natural reasons and not simply for dramatic effect.

I enjoy killing childhoods.

Jacques

In a move I am sure to regret later, I have just spent the last half-hour organizing all my information about Jacques. The story's thread is complete, so if you ever wonder why the Half-Djinni Spirit King gave his blessing to Jacques, or why the God-Slave of the Wreaked needed to send news to the council of the Unmortals, you have only to wait for that part to be written. I'm worried that I may be crafting a beast of hideousness beyond that which mortal man can bear.

Of God, Cousteau, Signs, and Nunnery

...in reverse order!


Maria (Part II, written for June fourteenth) was only written because I didn't want to write something difficult. She seemed easy.  She was. I wrote a relatively short, transitory tale and called it good. It was. The story was little more than a snapshot, but I don't think that's a problem. There's something powerful about a nun speeding to the Yucatán on a motorcycle, habit flapping in the wind.

Th response I received was mixed. Elphaba gave only encouragement, mirroring my feelings for the nun. I received a different response from an anonymous source I'm sure you all know. The source expressed dislike for our favorite nun (also for our favorite mariner, but that's neither here nor here. It will be there, though). However, I am inclined to completely disregard this response, and instead focus on the most powerful. My mother never, to my knowledge, reads rps. Yet, one day I checked my email, and found a note from her. It explained she liked my story about "The nun". I was shocked and then happy. Then I told her it was a sequel to an earlier part. I sent her a link.


Crow. I almost named her Wren, but I preferred Crow. It's a good name. What happened to her? I'm not sure. Where is she going? I hope we one day find out. But I think she might already be done, and for that I weep.


Jacques Cousteau lives again. His third story takes place before the Necromaster's death, and quite possibly before Jacques descended into the deepening darkness of the dark depths of Darkdeep. The entire story struck me as both less mad, and more. I don't know if I prefer it (do you?), but I have a feeling that further stories will be written more like this.


Ryan was given the last Gift of a dying God. Is it sacrilege to kill off God (I'm looking at you Philip Pullman)? If so, it is sacrilege of a delicious sort. I have vaguely formed plans for Ryan, but he might easily fail to return. I don't know. He is a much a character as Maria was at her conception, but less than jacques may have been. Yet so much more. How do you like him?

Chapter Four, The Lurker in the Shadows

What follows is a sentence-by-sentence commentary for Chapter Four. Open it up in another tab. Now.


Heh. It never fails to start a chapter with a major viewpoint shift. It's somehow easier than to keep writing from one perspective. More importantly, it helped me expand what would otherwise have been a painfully short chapter.

Because pokémon battles are supposed to be fair.

Poor Nyoromo. Cut down so soon after hatching.

See? This sort of thing is the thing that just materializes. Story ideas are not made, they give themselves to authors. It is here where we work, cutting them until they shine. But then? These little touches appear from nowhere. There's an odd beauty to the art.

It tickles.

Boom! Implication that she is one of the Called from the same Calling as Red and Green.

I'm willing to bet Red has a little bit of shock to deal with, eh wot?

This sets up the tradition of having the girl be the only character whose thoughts we actually read. Yet Red is easily the protagonist, and the person the third-person perspective can see through. What an odd way to tell a story. The author should be censured for his crimes.

Green is not the sort of person who ties rattata to the ground and peels back their flesh to watch a still-beating heart pump the blood from his victims body.

Unless he has a reason to.

That would be Green.

Because "Smell you later!" is not at all something someone who enjoys causing pain would say.

Now who in the world does that sound like? And why is my narcissism telling me to stop wondering?

Wow. After seconds, this girl has put together an entire psychological profile. How astute.

Remember kids. Pokémon can bite. Even if they don't know the attack.

Yes, there are bluk berries in Kanto, even if this is based on Generation I. Which it is. Deal with it.

I had to do a fair bit of research to learn the word drupelet. Now that I know it, I will never forget. It's one of those words that somehow just sounds exactly like what it's supposed to be.

Ooh, maybe this is a clue to what her pokémon is. It's... not a magikarp. Right? Probably.

See? I can include hints of humor in a serious scene. Move over Brian Jacques, there's a new author in town.

Aw, poor Red.

Stupid fish.

See? Here I alluded to the attack Splash. I found it funny, at least.

Red seems seriously upset.

I'm writing this on an obscenely warm day. That water sounds good to me.

Now he wants it.

But my readers already did. Didn't you, Elphaba?

Not as easy as you thought it would be, is it, my dear audience?

You never know what you have until a flaming lizard scratches your clumsy little tadpole and sends it to a watery grave.

Because, you know, that's something you can really contribute too. Let's give the Seven a helping hand, shall we?

Right. Nyoromo is going to keep Red alive in the forest.

Did I just cleverly use adjectives to gain Nyoromo even more sympathy from my readers? How sly.

What are those things filled with, anyway? Lighter than air, evidently.

I'm quite fond of the word nor. However, like semicolons, I refuse to abuse it through overuse.

One, two, th-five?

Is this a bit much to expect from a little poliwag? Maybe. But he's in his element. More importantly, I built this world, so I make the rules. Mwahahaha.

Dramatic tension. What will happen next?

What else could have happened. Also, here I use the British leapt. Take that, Americans!

Apparently poliwag are half-dolphin. Who knew?

It's a loyal little thing, isn't it?

What? I just gained even more reader sympathy with that sentence. I'd best be careful not to let anything happen to Nyoromo then. That would just be too dramatic.

Like nor, I am fond of the word bemused.

Remember what? What does she need to remember? That Red has a tendency to get splashed by magikarp? That Nyoromo can't beat a powerful charmander despite its type advantage? Her pokémon is fond of bluk berry drupelets?

Yes, she swung. As will be implied much more later on, she is adept in the art of tree acrobatics. Also? Nest building.

Aw, how cute. They love each other and- what? Did I just hear more reader sympathy?

The First of Fools

This was certainly a deviation from my usual sonnet style.

Aside: The sonnets are accurately numbered. Sonnet I was the first sonnet I ever wrote.

The first four sonnets are all written in senses. That is, they tell what is. Sonnet VI tells what is happening. I've finished Fools, and I warn you there is but one more. I originally thought to write only the first. Then I decided to write another. As I set to the task, I considered composing an epic of sonnets. Then I realized how stupid that would be. Sonnets are hard. I'll stick to writing my epic in ballad meter.

Aside: There is a short epic I'm working on. I say short because Homer defined what an epic can be, and I've nowhere near an Iliad of writing. I'm not sure I- who do I fool? Of course I want it. Sadly, I've only forty-five stanzas of ballad meter. It isn't even in pentameter or something fancy. Meh, I try.

Sonnet VIII will be a pleasant return to the old style, though, and IX should remain so, if it ever decides to allow me to place all eight syllables in every line (Oh, certainly. Why not drop half an iamb? All the poets are doing it!). I confess I am bitter.

Is it clear that the Fools the title refers to are the self-styled Wise and Rich? That's kind of what I was going for, but I got distracted with trying to rhyme form. I changed the word in the end. Obviously.

Was I the only one who noticed the tendrils of Lovecraft's influence creeping into the theme? Yes? Never mind then.

The Ruse is Ended

I'm very disappointed in you both. Yes, you, Elphaba and Qupar. I will yell at you both. Separately. First, though, I must reveal something that should have been obvious.

It was all a prank. April Fool's day was celebrated with a false chapter eighteen of the Apocalypse and a temporary change of background to a revolting black.


Qupar, you managed to maintain a revolting level of disinterest. You commented only to ask what had occured, and never bothered to follow up on it. You only mentioned the template change once, and that was to say to me, in person nonetheless, that you liked it. No. No you didn't. It's ugly. The real template of rps not only screams rps, but is much more friendly. On a disappointment scale of one to Caligula, I give you an eleven.

Elphaba? You're worse. You get a Caligula to the power of Qupar. Not only did you fail to mourn Nyoromo who you claimed to love, but you accepted the deaths of the three main characters (at this moment). Admittedly, you trusted me to write something beautiful afterwords, but Yggdrasil, couldn't you form an opinion other than slavish loyalty to my work? It's not a bad thing to like a character enough to be angry with an author. It's a good thing. It means you form an opinion of your own.

The true chapter eighteen is up, though I warn you I write it only for Met. He didn't fail me.