Raviel the Phantom

Part 3 is here.

In my opinion, think this was not the ideal move for our country, but it was one I think was somewhat needed. The establishment has been so corrupt that it shows the American people are sick of it. Hillary Clinton was so out of touch, well both are out of touch, with the middle class, but she was the very embodiment of the establishment. It also shows how stupid the country is too. We would rather have someone that entertains us more than someone who might actually be qualified to do the job. But sadly, this election was trying to beat the lesser of two evils, which should have NEVER been the case. And with that being said, I would like to throw my name into the ring for the election of 2028.

Okay, here is part two. I have a Mankey and expect it to become a Primape, but since Ash releases it, should I have a set period of time before I release it, or should I just keep it?

This post was put in here by mistake. My apologies.

Girantina definitely stole the show. Those eyes, though, those are haunting eyes of a terrifying Pokemon.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Cool water hits a clammy temple, and the body stirs. A groan lets out through a pair of chapped lips. “Uh, where, where am I?” Opening his eyes, the man is swarmed in a haze. The first thing that comes to his senses is pain. A sharp stabbing at his wrists claw at his nerves like thorns. He looks to find his arms are shackled in old cuffs painted with rust. Ten inches of chains lead from wall to his restraints, hanging both arms over his head. Blood trickles down his arms, creating flowing rivers of red. A dank smell tickles his nose, a foul putrid smell of sewage. It causes him to gag, but it does not take him long to grow accustom to it. Faint, white light pours in through a hole above him, revealing moss crawling up stone walls. The stone floor is sheened with a slick wetness. When the man moves, he feels soreness in his arms, which makes him let out a soft groan. He adjusts his stance to relieve his aching muscles. The quiet darkness is snuffed out by soft taps of footsteps, which grow louder. Suddenly, a fire is birthed in the blackness. Orange light bathes over the shadows, and begins to sway from side-to-side. Embers dance in a glass lantern that is jostled in the gloved hand of a young lad. He merrily dances toward the captured man. When he is only a few feet away the boy sets down his light, and gives a gracious bow. Dressed in a white coat of a ringmaster, he gives a twirl, letting out a childish chide. Stopping on one foot does he face the captive. Eyes filled with a golden hue stares and a sinister grin spreads across his face. The grin distorts the spades inked under his eyes. “Good morning, good morning,” the young lad says cheerfully. “I’m glad you’re awake. It is good if you listen, good for your sake.” The chains rattle as the captive snarls, “Quit screwing with me!” “Oh no, no-no-no, this I do not do. You are not a toy, no nuts and bolts, so nothing for me to screw. I am here, for a child so dear, one that you know too well.” “What the hell are you talking about?” “Oh my, oh no,” Toymaker steps closer to the captive, “I think it has become clear. That glaze in your eyes, the stain on your thighs, and the fact you reek of beer.” Merrily strolling away, Toymaker is draped in shadows, leaving the captive to lash out at the air. In the darkness, he can hear the light scraping of metal against stone. All of a sudden the emptiness is blasted with singing of a metallic vibration. The ringing comes again, tolling like bells, growing loud like thunder. At the edge where the light touches the darkness does Toymaker appear with a crowbar in hand. Again he strikes the wall with the piece of iron, letting out the hollow tune echo. “Does it look familiar?” he asks, swinging it around as if it were a sword. The man furrows his brow, “It’s a crowbar. What of it?” “Not just any,” Toymaker’s tone darkens, “Think. Think. Think.” Stumbling through the front door, the man walks into the dimly lit living room. He is free of any shackles, though he strolls with the same haziness. Held in one hand is a beer bottle which has nearly been drunk. As he steps to the center of the living room, he starts to sway in place and looks around. Aside from some worn furniture and a small television, there is nothing else. Downing the rest of his drink, he tosses the bottle against a wall. It explodes into thousands of shards. Glass rains onto the couch. “Luke,” he shouts with a twinge of slurring on his tongue. “Luke get in here!” At first, he is answered only by silence. Shuffling feet peter toward the living room. From the hallway a small boy pokes his head in. He rubs his eyes of the sleep, and hugs a disheveled teddy bear close to his chest. “You left the light on!” “I, I-I am sorry.” “You don’t pay the bills around here you little brat,” he shouts. Storming toward the child, the boy cowers as his father marches right past him. Down the hallway, the man vanishes into a room, but emerges soon after. Clutched in his hand is an iron crowbar. He swats hit into his open palm a few times. “I’ll knock some sense into you so that you remember next time.” Blood splatters onto the stone as the bar slams into the cheek of the captive man. Toymaker holds it like a bat as he swings again, hitting the ribs. His victim shouts and screams as he is viciously beaten. “Think. Think. Think,” Toymaker barks with every swing. “Think. Think. Think.” The crowbar is drenched in red when he finally lowers the weapon. Hanging by the cuffs, the man barely holds onto consciousness. Welts are already forming on his swollen face. Shards of teeth lay at his feet in the pool of blood. He takes a breath, as tears drip off his face. “You remember,” he shouts at the captive. “Do you finally remember?” “Yes. Yes, I remember. I used it to beat my son.” “Your son, your son, you beat your son,” Toymaker throws as it sails into the shadows with a metallic bounce. “Fathers are meant to be soldiers. They protect their children from what they fear, not be what they fear.” The father spits blood in Toymaker’s face, “Screw. You.” “No screws,” a gloved hand grips the man by the throat, squeezing the life out of him, “You are not a toy, no nuts and bolts, at least not yet.” The hand slips away, as the father sucks in air at a panicked pace. Instead it delves into his pocket, returning into the lantern light with a knife in hand. Glistening in the soft orange light, the blade delves into flesh, causing fresh blood to be spilled. Screams rupture from the father’s throat. “Nuts, bolts, screws are needed,” Toymaker begins to sing, “To do what must be done. I’ll take you apart, rip out your heart, to build a soldier for your son.”

Well seeing that he just released Grenjinja I guess I am using those he released. While he has caught a lot of Pokemon I cannot evolve a lot of them fully, which can make them pretty much worthless.

Well the fact that you can't get half of those powerful mons in reborn at least not until far into the game will make it a challenge.

So I decided for the next 17 days (waiting for Sun and Moon) I would do a little challenge in the great fan-game known as Reborn. I will only use Pokemon that Ash Ketchum has caught in the anime. I have also decided to record my exploits during the game.

That Old Chateau was definitely a creepy episode. Chansey's face was unsettling.

I did not see the that typing for Rowlett's final evolution. Grass and Ghost seems kind of awesome, but now it is really hard to decide which one I want. Also the guardian Pokemon look cool too, but now it makes me think that they are legendary. Which stinks because I wanted Tapu Koko on my team, and was hoping he was like Rotom, but it looks like he is more like Mespit. And finishing up that video... Oh my Gloom, Red is back to challenge us, and he looks OLDER! The trainers matured and become even more powerful. This is awesome. I hope that Red and Blue are like a final boss for the game. And Nintendo better make that battle hard. I want to be gnashing my teeth as I fight two legendary trainers.