Dreams of a Day Past. (56B + 56X/30)
Nov 30, 2018 17:08:58 GMT
Post by Deleted on Nov 30, 2018 17:08:58 GMT
This is following two prompts - "We Remember" and "Generation Gap" via the wildcard.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAA THIS IS SUCH AN EXPERIMENTAL DEAL BUT IT WAS BOTH FUN AND STRESSFUL LMAO
I'd like Posts for this though, please!
Wordcount: 2362
It had been many years, since Dorbickmon had decided to live in seclusion, away from civilization. Many years of quiet, meditative solitude - thinking of the actions they had taken over the years. Their regrets, their fondest memories, their friends and family - they were all thoughts pondered upon, as well as more philosophical ideals... Ideals such as, just how well did they spend their life? Could they have done something better, something different? Sure, perhaps it was all in the past now - but introspection was one of the few things Dorbickmon had to do anymore, in their solitude, beyond fight off the occasional bold digimon...
Quiet, they would step along the cliff that they had perched themselves atop - glancing to a crevice within, a cave. The smells were old, stale - the nest had been abandoned long ago by the digimon that once remained here - but he could still make out the scratches of young, rambunctious digimon on the floor and walls - the etchings like children's drawings. It did not take much for them to remember memories of a time long ago, memories of simpler times - even if deep down, it was all just as complicated as things were now.
When they were young, one of the first things that they were taught and could remember, was that strength is everything. They could recall when they were but a young Gigimon, looking up to their parents, as they were taught this lesson - that strength was paramount, that strength was what would help them through life. And in a way, this was true; though there was always that overarching question of 'why' that they would ponder over, every so often, as his parents taught him to survive. Why was strength so important? Why couldn't they live without fighting? Wouldn't it be easier that way?
As they would've found in the coming handful of years, the answer to this question was because of where they lived - in the deepest, harshest parts of the Western Flatlands, it was rife with dangerous digimon - digimon who would readily prey upon the weak. To survive, they had been forced to grow - and to grow quickly - lest something pick them off while they were still at a young, weak form. Partially, this was due to their parents' rather... Hands-off method of raising them. It was survival of the fittest, kill or be killed - and during that time, they fought to survive. Without strength, they would've surely perished - even if they ended up becoming the very digimon that preyed upon the weaker in the process of finding that strength. For a time, they accepted this answer; having nothing else to go off of.
Though as they grew, reaching into the mid-late portions of their life as a Champion-level digimon - a Growlmon - they began to wonder... Was this all that there was to life? Was this the only thing that they had to look forward to; just trying to survive by the skin of your teeth, avoiding death by a hair? As they grew, a question began to take root in their mind: What if there was something else, beyond all of the danger, pain, and death that they knew up to now? This had all been prompted, when instead of immediately attacking any digimon that strayed into their territory.... They tried to observe, and listen, instead - and found that instead of being attacked, that they were talked to. Talked to about places beyond the harsh flatlands he knew, beyond the constant fighting he had always accepted to be simply a thing.
And it would be for this reason, that they would begin to stray from their home. It, perhaps, was for the best - the nest was no longer as homely and comforting as they once found it, growing too old to rely upon their parents' watch anymore - albeit they rarely did step in, if at all. It was time to leave, to make room for the next clutch, lest their parents decided to make that decision for them. They would've begun trekking towards the border of the Western Flatlands, out into the neighboring lands beyond. It felt like a whole other world, going out into the calmer parts of the Digital World - and it similarly felt like a whole other world to go out into these other climates, these other biomes, that they nary knew how to adapt to.
And indeed, it seemed that others nary knew how to adapt to a digimon like them either - they stood up to other Champions easily, and though they certainly couldn't beat an Ultimate as they were now, they still gave such digimon a hard time. It was rare that they would find themselves in a situation where they would need to defend themselves anyways, on the road - the digimon out here being more calmer, more friendly, and it was... Certainly strange, for them. Conversations were sometimes awkward - often times resulting in long stretches of silence, they recalled - but the Growlmon of then didn't tend to pay too much mind of this. All they wanted was to find a new answer to the question that they had from their youth.
But in this traveling, they had eventually found themselves in the esteemed Terminus City. It was massive, crowded, loud, and overall overwhelming; there were bumping shoulders, strong smells they could never put a claw on, bright imagery and lights, and something was almost always making a racket - it almost made them question why they had ever left their homeland, feeling utterly alien in this strange environment. But when they had nearly decided to turn back and move on... They had found the Infinity Coliseum, and the glory that it had to offer. And it was here, that they - perhaps- found a new answer.
They would find themselves regularly entering battles and tournaments in the coliseum, testing their mettle against other digimon who were seeking glory themselves. And though it took time to get used to the rules of the tournament - used to the more brutal combat of out in the wilderness of the Digital World - they would find themselves enjoying the cheers and whoops of the crowd, the combat that was still blood-pumping all the same. And better yet, there was no real risk of death; neither for themselves, nor the combatant. Here, perhaps they weren't growing in terms of data, but they were honing their skills - getting stronger for the glory and fame.
Yet even with the few risks, they found benefits in it all the same. Even if they weren't absorbing data and growing stronger, they were gaining Bits - money. It took time to figure out what exactly they could do with it; but they would find themselves being able to buy things such as food or a place to stay the night for themselves, and supplies for if they ever wished to move on. It was a reasonable exchange, they had decided then; and for a time, they would spend their days building up a reputation at the coliseum as the dragon from the wilds, the tenacious fighter. And with this fame, they'd eventually draw the attention of other digimon... Including those looking for assistance. With these fights, they would've put their foot in the door to become a mercenary of sorts - doing odd jobs for other digimon for bits, and - enticingly enough - a chance to fight foes more seriously.
They would come to join a group of treasure hunters who needed a bodyguard, which meant that they would be on the road once more. As one would expect, it didn't exactly start off socially; from their perspective, it was mostly business - doing what they were paid to do, and getting to get stronger - so as to better do their job and protect their charges. But despite this... As time went on, they would find themselves talking to the other digimon, on an occasion. That slight social awkwardness and long pauses was still present, them having never really gotten used to talking to people... But the treasure hunters would try nonetheless, especially a Sangloupmon that seemed to take an interest in them.
They both found themselves to be like minded, in a few senses - and despite their efforts to keep up a distant air... They would find themselves growing a bond with this ragtag team of travelers. Though the others would always keep paying for their contract, as they continued to grow - from a Growmon to a Megalogrowmon - they began to care less about the money, and more about the thrills and adventure they found in traveling alongside their companions - especially the Sangloupmon - now a Matadrmon in their adventures. They wanted to get stronger to keep up with their newfound best friend - a playful rivalry - and to better protect their friends.
This would go on for a few passing years, each mission or hunt more daring than the last, and the group growing more and more with each victory. It seemed like they had found their answer to that ever-burning question, finding the value in their strength to be for protecting those they considered close. Hell, they and their Matadrmon rival would begin to grow ahead of the others, them becoming a Megidramon and he a Grand Dracumon respectively! It seemed that all was perfect, among them...
... But much like their ever-changing life, from the wilds, to the coliseum, to travel once more... It would change once more, eventually.
The latest mission would've seemingly been a simple one, though then came the troubles. They disturbed two powerful digimon slumbering deep below - in the ruins that they had descended into- and what started as an easy retrieval mission quickly became a fight for their lives - one by one, the once-proud Megidramon watched as their allies fell and were absorbed by the angered digimon; leaving only themselves, and their best friend, the Grand Dracumon. The fight was difficult - the power of the two mons far beyond anything they had faced until now. Though this was also a moment when they would reach their top form - Dorbickmon - it was also when their final friend would fall as well, from the fatal wounds inflicted in the fight - despite their best efforts to protect him...
Though they escaped alive, they escaped alone - and this distraught them. They had felt as though they failed their most valuable purpose - to protect the ones they cared about, that was what their strength was meant for, right? And yet, look where it had gotten them. Having no reason to remain, they would end up wandering almost aimlessly, and... Before they knew it, they'd be returning to their place of birth - the far reaches of the Western Flatlands.
Which would then lead to the now, the Dorbickmon living in solitude, after having supposedly made a life for themselves. Perhaps in a way, this was them repenting for what they felt was their mistakes - if they were a little stronger, fought a little harder, could they have saved even one of their friends?
... Despite their best efforts to find the answer to this question, though, it was hard to say... It was all in the past now, after all.
Dorbickmon would sigh and shake their head - they certainly had let their mind wander then, didn't they? Though, they supposed it was something that happened more and more often these days. Shifting into a more convenient form - that of a Growmon - they would enter the den, and curl up in the nest, so that they could sleep for the next day.
Perhaps they'll find their answer tomorrow...
... ... ...
Fennel would jolt the tiniest bit, as he awoke to the sound of the crackling campfire, one late night. Another strange dream, he noted as he rubbed at his eyes and sat up - trying to grasp at the fragments and bits he could recall of it. A cave along a cliffside, Terminus City, unfamiliar digimon... He would reach over to the side, grabbing his journal out of his shoulder bag, and flip to a blank page - beginning to write and scribble. This would draw Vulin's attention - the Vorvomon having been keeping watch. "You okay?" Vulin would ask, padding over.
Fennel would glance up to the other, before nodding. "Yeah, just..."
"... Another dream?"
"... Yeah, another dream."
"Do you know what the dreams mean?" Vulin asked, tilting his head a bit; he always felt a bit concerned over the weird dreams Fennel had, were these normal types of dreams for a digimon to have? He never did recall many of his own dreams, so he wouldn't know for sure.
"I..." Fennel took a second to think. "... Maybe, though I don't want to make any assumptions.” He would sigh and scratch the back of his head a bit, staring down at his own notes on the page; as it got harder to grasp to the more vague memories of his dream, he’d begin scribbling faster. “I'm alright, anyways - why don't you get some sleep Vulin?" Fennel reassured, adding "I'll take next watch."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, go get some sleep - you're a big lazyhead anyways, when you don't get enough sleep." Fennel would joke lightly - grinning and playfully punching the Vorvomon’s shoulder - which drew a small chuckle out of Vulin. "Alright... Don't tire yourself out either, okay?" Vulin would request as he made for the makeshift beds they had set up - curling up in one. "Goodnight, Fennel."
"... Night, Vulin. Don’t worry about me," Fennel smiled a bit more genuinely, watching until the Vorvomon's breathing would shift to soft snores, before glancing back down at the journal. He was never a very neat writer, but he could easily make out the scribbled notes of what he could remember, and drawings of the bits and pieces he could recall seeing. The cliffside, the… The city, right. And though he could only recall seeing that digimon from a first-person perspective, he sketched out the look of things like the claws nonetheless. Maybe someone would recognize them…
Regardless though, he’d find a spot to lean back against, and would peer out beyond the campfire - idly poking it with a stick to stoke it - as the thoughts of these recurring dreams mulled over in his mind...
AAAAAAAAAAAAAA THIS IS SUCH AN EXPERIMENTAL DEAL BUT IT WAS BOTH FUN AND STRESSFUL LMAO
I'd like Posts for this though, please!
Wordcount: 2362
It had been many years, since Dorbickmon had decided to live in seclusion, away from civilization. Many years of quiet, meditative solitude - thinking of the actions they had taken over the years. Their regrets, their fondest memories, their friends and family - they were all thoughts pondered upon, as well as more philosophical ideals... Ideals such as, just how well did they spend their life? Could they have done something better, something different? Sure, perhaps it was all in the past now - but introspection was one of the few things Dorbickmon had to do anymore, in their solitude, beyond fight off the occasional bold digimon...
Quiet, they would step along the cliff that they had perched themselves atop - glancing to a crevice within, a cave. The smells were old, stale - the nest had been abandoned long ago by the digimon that once remained here - but he could still make out the scratches of young, rambunctious digimon on the floor and walls - the etchings like children's drawings. It did not take much for them to remember memories of a time long ago, memories of simpler times - even if deep down, it was all just as complicated as things were now.
When they were young, one of the first things that they were taught and could remember, was that strength is everything. They could recall when they were but a young Gigimon, looking up to their parents, as they were taught this lesson - that strength was paramount, that strength was what would help them through life. And in a way, this was true; though there was always that overarching question of 'why' that they would ponder over, every so often, as his parents taught him to survive. Why was strength so important? Why couldn't they live without fighting? Wouldn't it be easier that way?
As they would've found in the coming handful of years, the answer to this question was because of where they lived - in the deepest, harshest parts of the Western Flatlands, it was rife with dangerous digimon - digimon who would readily prey upon the weak. To survive, they had been forced to grow - and to grow quickly - lest something pick them off while they were still at a young, weak form. Partially, this was due to their parents' rather... Hands-off method of raising them. It was survival of the fittest, kill or be killed - and during that time, they fought to survive. Without strength, they would've surely perished - even if they ended up becoming the very digimon that preyed upon the weaker in the process of finding that strength. For a time, they accepted this answer; having nothing else to go off of.
Though as they grew, reaching into the mid-late portions of their life as a Champion-level digimon - a Growlmon - they began to wonder... Was this all that there was to life? Was this the only thing that they had to look forward to; just trying to survive by the skin of your teeth, avoiding death by a hair? As they grew, a question began to take root in their mind: What if there was something else, beyond all of the danger, pain, and death that they knew up to now? This had all been prompted, when instead of immediately attacking any digimon that strayed into their territory.... They tried to observe, and listen, instead - and found that instead of being attacked, that they were talked to. Talked to about places beyond the harsh flatlands he knew, beyond the constant fighting he had always accepted to be simply a thing.
And it would be for this reason, that they would begin to stray from their home. It, perhaps, was for the best - the nest was no longer as homely and comforting as they once found it, growing too old to rely upon their parents' watch anymore - albeit they rarely did step in, if at all. It was time to leave, to make room for the next clutch, lest their parents decided to make that decision for them. They would've begun trekking towards the border of the Western Flatlands, out into the neighboring lands beyond. It felt like a whole other world, going out into the calmer parts of the Digital World - and it similarly felt like a whole other world to go out into these other climates, these other biomes, that they nary knew how to adapt to.
And indeed, it seemed that others nary knew how to adapt to a digimon like them either - they stood up to other Champions easily, and though they certainly couldn't beat an Ultimate as they were now, they still gave such digimon a hard time. It was rare that they would find themselves in a situation where they would need to defend themselves anyways, on the road - the digimon out here being more calmer, more friendly, and it was... Certainly strange, for them. Conversations were sometimes awkward - often times resulting in long stretches of silence, they recalled - but the Growlmon of then didn't tend to pay too much mind of this. All they wanted was to find a new answer to the question that they had from their youth.
But in this traveling, they had eventually found themselves in the esteemed Terminus City. It was massive, crowded, loud, and overall overwhelming; there were bumping shoulders, strong smells they could never put a claw on, bright imagery and lights, and something was almost always making a racket - it almost made them question why they had ever left their homeland, feeling utterly alien in this strange environment. But when they had nearly decided to turn back and move on... They had found the Infinity Coliseum, and the glory that it had to offer. And it was here, that they - perhaps- found a new answer.
They would find themselves regularly entering battles and tournaments in the coliseum, testing their mettle against other digimon who were seeking glory themselves. And though it took time to get used to the rules of the tournament - used to the more brutal combat of out in the wilderness of the Digital World - they would find themselves enjoying the cheers and whoops of the crowd, the combat that was still blood-pumping all the same. And better yet, there was no real risk of death; neither for themselves, nor the combatant. Here, perhaps they weren't growing in terms of data, but they were honing their skills - getting stronger for the glory and fame.
Yet even with the few risks, they found benefits in it all the same. Even if they weren't absorbing data and growing stronger, they were gaining Bits - money. It took time to figure out what exactly they could do with it; but they would find themselves being able to buy things such as food or a place to stay the night for themselves, and supplies for if they ever wished to move on. It was a reasonable exchange, they had decided then; and for a time, they would spend their days building up a reputation at the coliseum as the dragon from the wilds, the tenacious fighter. And with this fame, they'd eventually draw the attention of other digimon... Including those looking for assistance. With these fights, they would've put their foot in the door to become a mercenary of sorts - doing odd jobs for other digimon for bits, and - enticingly enough - a chance to fight foes more seriously.
They would come to join a group of treasure hunters who needed a bodyguard, which meant that they would be on the road once more. As one would expect, it didn't exactly start off socially; from their perspective, it was mostly business - doing what they were paid to do, and getting to get stronger - so as to better do their job and protect their charges. But despite this... As time went on, they would find themselves talking to the other digimon, on an occasion. That slight social awkwardness and long pauses was still present, them having never really gotten used to talking to people... But the treasure hunters would try nonetheless, especially a Sangloupmon that seemed to take an interest in them.
They both found themselves to be like minded, in a few senses - and despite their efforts to keep up a distant air... They would find themselves growing a bond with this ragtag team of travelers. Though the others would always keep paying for their contract, as they continued to grow - from a Growmon to a Megalogrowmon - they began to care less about the money, and more about the thrills and adventure they found in traveling alongside their companions - especially the Sangloupmon - now a Matadrmon in their adventures. They wanted to get stronger to keep up with their newfound best friend - a playful rivalry - and to better protect their friends.
This would go on for a few passing years, each mission or hunt more daring than the last, and the group growing more and more with each victory. It seemed like they had found their answer to that ever-burning question, finding the value in their strength to be for protecting those they considered close. Hell, they and their Matadrmon rival would begin to grow ahead of the others, them becoming a Megidramon and he a Grand Dracumon respectively! It seemed that all was perfect, among them...
... But much like their ever-changing life, from the wilds, to the coliseum, to travel once more... It would change once more, eventually.
The latest mission would've seemingly been a simple one, though then came the troubles. They disturbed two powerful digimon slumbering deep below - in the ruins that they had descended into- and what started as an easy retrieval mission quickly became a fight for their lives - one by one, the once-proud Megidramon watched as their allies fell and were absorbed by the angered digimon; leaving only themselves, and their best friend, the Grand Dracumon. The fight was difficult - the power of the two mons far beyond anything they had faced until now. Though this was also a moment when they would reach their top form - Dorbickmon - it was also when their final friend would fall as well, from the fatal wounds inflicted in the fight - despite their best efforts to protect him...
Though they escaped alive, they escaped alone - and this distraught them. They had felt as though they failed their most valuable purpose - to protect the ones they cared about, that was what their strength was meant for, right? And yet, look where it had gotten them. Having no reason to remain, they would end up wandering almost aimlessly, and... Before they knew it, they'd be returning to their place of birth - the far reaches of the Western Flatlands.
Which would then lead to the now, the Dorbickmon living in solitude, after having supposedly made a life for themselves. Perhaps in a way, this was them repenting for what they felt was their mistakes - if they were a little stronger, fought a little harder, could they have saved even one of their friends?
... Despite their best efforts to find the answer to this question, though, it was hard to say... It was all in the past now, after all.
Dorbickmon would sigh and shake their head - they certainly had let their mind wander then, didn't they? Though, they supposed it was something that happened more and more often these days. Shifting into a more convenient form - that of a Growmon - they would enter the den, and curl up in the nest, so that they could sleep for the next day.
Perhaps they'll find their answer tomorrow...
... ... ...
Fennel would jolt the tiniest bit, as he awoke to the sound of the crackling campfire, one late night. Another strange dream, he noted as he rubbed at his eyes and sat up - trying to grasp at the fragments and bits he could recall of it. A cave along a cliffside, Terminus City, unfamiliar digimon... He would reach over to the side, grabbing his journal out of his shoulder bag, and flip to a blank page - beginning to write and scribble. This would draw Vulin's attention - the Vorvomon having been keeping watch. "You okay?" Vulin would ask, padding over.
Fennel would glance up to the other, before nodding. "Yeah, just..."
"... Another dream?"
"... Yeah, another dream."
"Do you know what the dreams mean?" Vulin asked, tilting his head a bit; he always felt a bit concerned over the weird dreams Fennel had, were these normal types of dreams for a digimon to have? He never did recall many of his own dreams, so he wouldn't know for sure.
"I..." Fennel took a second to think. "... Maybe, though I don't want to make any assumptions.” He would sigh and scratch the back of his head a bit, staring down at his own notes on the page; as it got harder to grasp to the more vague memories of his dream, he’d begin scribbling faster. “I'm alright, anyways - why don't you get some sleep Vulin?" Fennel reassured, adding "I'll take next watch."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, go get some sleep - you're a big lazyhead anyways, when you don't get enough sleep." Fennel would joke lightly - grinning and playfully punching the Vorvomon’s shoulder - which drew a small chuckle out of Vulin. "Alright... Don't tire yourself out either, okay?" Vulin would request as he made for the makeshift beds they had set up - curling up in one. "Goodnight, Fennel."
"... Night, Vulin. Don’t worry about me," Fennel smiled a bit more genuinely, watching until the Vorvomon's breathing would shift to soft snores, before glancing back down at the journal. He was never a very neat writer, but he could easily make out the scribbled notes of what he could remember, and drawings of the bits and pieces he could recall seeing. The cliffside, the… The city, right. And though he could only recall seeing that digimon from a first-person perspective, he sketched out the look of things like the claws nonetheless. Maybe someone would recognize them…
Regardless though, he’d find a spot to lean back against, and would peer out beyond the campfire - idly poking it with a stick to stoke it - as the thoughts of these recurring dreams mulled over in his mind...
