In a world where no ten-year-old children rose up to defeat the teams that threatened to take over their region, all six organizations worldwide were able to do just that: take over their respective regions. Unsatisfied with control over just their home, however, each set their sights on the mainland – Kanto, Johto, and the surrounding areas – only to find that they weren't the only ones with that same idea.
With six groups who can't get along in one area, who knows what kind of zany nonsense will propel one group to victory above all others? It's up to you, the members, to decide! Help us decide who's the best of the best when it comes to Pokemon teams, and have fun at your stay at Heavy Crowns!
we're officially open~! no fancy givaways or anything yet, unfortunately; just some good ol' app makin' and question asking right now. our first weekly challenges will be coming up on the twentieth in a week's time, so keep an eye out for those. welcome to the site, and we hope you enjoy your stay!
welcome to heavy crowns! today, the thirteenth of october, marks our launch day! there are no special events marking the occation, unfortunately, but when a new event comes around, we'll let you know here! keep an eye out - what we've got in store for you is going to be great.
heavy crowns is a roleplaying forum inspired by the popular franchise pokemon, which does not belong to us. the skin was crafted by pharaoh leap of gangnam style. all art on the forum does not belong to us unless stated otherwise, while all written works belong to the members who posted them. do not take anything that is not your's, please. thank you.
Post by ANARCHY AZALEA on Oct 20, 2014 8:48:49 GMT -6
Her aunt once said that every flower had to grow through dirt, and that in times of suffering to never give up, because eventually she would a strong and beautiful flower that could stand on her own.
She started to think that her struggles might never turn her into a flower. All her life she's seen good only happen to white daisies or might and tall oak trees. Sometimes they'd say that maybe she isn't supposed to be a flower. Maybe she's not supposed to even be a seed.
Or maybe Aunt Gracie was right, because she'd never felt more rooted with her character more than she did now, racing through residential streets. The chains on her mint bicycle made a rhythmic clicking noise as she peddled through. Wind tickled through her choppy lavender hair and for the last few minutes she had felt unstoppable, a force worth acknowledgement.
Work had gone particularly smooth today, but she was eager to leave as soon as possible. She stuck her tongue out slightly as she peddled, concentration dappling her features as she slowly rose with her feet still on the peddles, rotating them as she went. She had vivid memories of him on his own bike, leaping and skipping as he told her to be careful on her training wheels. The memory caused her to frown, and with furrowed brows she popped a wheelie, much to her own surprise.
Laughter bubbled from her throat mingled with disbelief at her own performance. If she felt unstoppable before, she felt invincible now. Atleast until her back wheel trailed a little to close to the cross traffic of a snail, and she was suddenly sent off course. The ingredient for disaster was when her back wheel spun out of control, causing her to spin with it in a full rotation. When she thought slamming both wheels back to the ground would stop the commotion, it back fired as she and the bike tipped over, skidding a few feet across the concrete.
She stopped at the edge of the curb, just in front of the apartment complex. Her palms were scrapped with crumbles of cement, and tasted the iron flavor of blood that had leaked from her low jaw. She placed tender hands to each of cheeks, and the swelling she began to feel welled a few tears to puddle in her eyes as she sat herself on the curb. Her two Pokeballs clattered against the asphalt.
"Hic... hic," her breathing was slow and heavy, touching her bleeding jaw with dainty long piano fingers.
There was something oddly comforting about Goldenrod. More specifically, it was when he'd stand at the corner of the pier, arms folded over the railing and chest leaning against it. The heavy scent of salt and ocean surrounded him, and if Killian closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that he wasn't standing at the corner of a pier - he was back on his father's boat, just beside the wheel. Except, the railing underneath his arms was cold and metallic, whereas the railing on the boat was a smooth wood, as per his father's request. A nice oak.
His father once said that he couldn't have picked a finer place to raise his son, on the deck of a ship. Killian could have wished for a little town, maybe along one of the many regions that they'd visited, being able to stand on solid ground. Yet, he wouldn't have had it any other way.
The wind also felt different than from what he remembered. It was warmer when he was on the ship, usually followed by a little bit of spray - yet when he was on land, it was drier and colder. Though, it was a small change, not quite something that he would have noticed if he weren't trying to look for such differences - and then, he had to ask himself, did it even really exist? The last time he was on the back of his father's boat, sailing happily away from some port that had no substantial meaning, Killian was fifteen years old. Time did tend to wither away memories, after all.
Now, he was twenty-four and a high official of Team Aqua. Killian wasn't sure if his father would be proud or disappointed in the fact, and he didn't exactly want to know how his father would react. In a way, the idea of being something of a disgrace to the Reyes name was almost as terrifying as admitting defeat.
Barbara by his side seemed to grow bored of the same view, however, and nudged at his leg. She was growing restless, wanting to go explore parts of the town that they hadn't made it to yet, and probably a little upset that Killian had come between it. Instead of letting her go explore, he told her to stay close (mainly because Goldedrod was Rocket territory, but Killian knew how to blend) and it seemed to be frustrating the little bagon.
"I agree, Barb. A different view would be nice." So, he pushed himself from the railing, back to standing upright, and let the little blue pokemon lead him to wherever her heart desired.
Her adventure got cut short when across the road, a biker fell into something of a mishap. Killian didn't see all of the fiasco, only really catching the flip over the bike, and then skidding to a halt. Frown settling on his face, Killian briefly debated on whether he should go intervene - there was always that chance that some Rocket member got too nosy, and honestly, he didn't have a proper story on why he was in Goldrenrod to begin with. Being a tourist every time he showed up was starting to get boring.
But he didn't have much of a choice when Barbara ran over, taking the initiative to make sure the purple haired girl was okay. Killian had no other choice but to follow, and once he was close enough, he made sure to squat down next to her.
"Here, let me take a look at it." He moved as if to lightly push her wrist out of the way, so he could get a better look. "What's your name?"
Post by ANARCHY AZALEA on Oct 21, 2014 8:41:53 GMT -6
Anarchy soon heard a comforting voice. The most softest, most concerned male voice she had heard in a long time. Her sight was blurry due to the fat trail of tears that dragged their way down her scuffled face. Dreamily she dabbed her fingertips at the swelling bruise on her cheek and she let her hand fall to her side. Her asked her name and her eyes widened, her hands slowly reaching for her fallen Pokeballs.
"An... Anarchy." she knew it was a odd name. A odd name to go with a odd person with a even more weirder past behind her. "M'name's Anarchy Azalea, sirrah." her accent was certainly off. There was way to pinpoint it, sounded much more Southern if anything. Her hand wrapped around the red-and-white ball and held it close to her chest.
She looked up at him, her eyes watery and blood running down her chest from the small cut there. "Hic... hic. What's yer name, mister?" her voice was soft, a slight rosy hue on her cheeks from him sounding so concerned for her well-being. She lifted her hand to rest it upon his shoulder to lift herself up.
An odd name, but it seemed to fit the girl who sat in front of him. That and it wasn't so much a bad kind of odd, Killian seemed to like it. A small smile spread across his face, though, as he continued to make sure that no real harm was done as she fell off her bike. "It's nice to meet you Anarchy. I'm Killian. Killian Reyes."
She put a hand on his shoulder, and almost instinctively, Killian moved to place a hand at her side to help her up. "Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" Murmuring half to himself, he moved to almost pull Anarchy along in the direction of a mart.
"That is, if you're okay with that." He fully understood if she'd rather limp back home and treat her own wounds, even though Killian would have preferred she not.
