V M Shadkjah Rising (NPC)

[Fennec Shand]

In the beginning, there was Shadkjah, and only Shadkjah… probably. Forget Arbiters; fuck that noise. Sure, they were real. Yes, they were super powerful. Of course, they had physical forms. But any true believer knows what the Frogospel makes perfectly clear: they all pale in comparison to the might of the Frog God. Deep in the jungles of Kraw, there lived a sect of people who knew the truth: even today, he still ruled. That’s what they were told, anyway.

“Steady,” Bug Catcher Rick whispered to himself, “Steady.”

His fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of his net. He took a step forward into the tall grass, the blades tickling his feet and bare ankles through his sandals. He almost laughed, but knew that would blow his cover, and he couldn’t afford to do that. The frog god demanded a sacrifice, and it was his job as Bug Catcher -- yes, that was his official title within their community -- to provide.

The Caterpie hadn’t noticed him yet, and if Shadkjah was to be pleased today, it would need to stay that way. It scuttled through the tall grass, whirring its little Caterpie sounds as it wove through the blades. Rick focused hard on his prey as he approached, slowly and carefully, the net held high.

He’d long since proven himself the most skilled Bug Catcher in the entire tribe, so Caterpie like this were almost too easy. The others struggled to wrangle a Kakuna or a Metapod, but more than once, Rick had returned home to Shadkjah’s Shadow -- the tight conglomeration of trees that supported their village of treehouses -- with a true prize. Today, Caterpie might be the only thing he would bring back, but it wasn’t unbelievable for him to come back home with a Butterfree, or even a Venomoth.

Today, though, his goal was simple: early bird gets the worm.

Sunlight glinted off the Caterpie’s emerald green back. Rick could feel the sweat dripping down his own back, sliding from the tufts of blonde mullet sticking out of his hat. His off-white tank top clung to him in the wet Kraw heat.

The forest green flannel wrapped around his waist did an admirable job holding up his slightly-too-big brown shorts -- a hand-me-down from his older brother that he’d yet to fully grow into -- but still they slid. He cursed inwardly at his lack of belts, then reached down and yanked them up, the shuffling cloth alerting the little Pokemon to his presence. Fuck.

The Caterpie straightened, its bulbous black eyes circling over to see the Bug Catcher hunched over just a few feet away.

“Stay,” he warned the little guy, holding out a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “Stay.”

The Caterpie quirked its head, almost as if to say “hell no.”

Then it spun around and started to scatter. Bug Catcher Rick leapt into action, literally soaring forward and slamming the net into the ground.

Fuck, he cursed, I missed!

His prey dove away, into a thicker patch of tall grass to try and camouflage itself, but the Shadkjah cultist was too quick. He rushed forward on his hands and knees, leaving the net behind and shoving blade of grass after blade of grass out of his way. Within moments, the Caterpie was within reach, and he lunged forward and pulled the little worm into a big, tight bear hug, collapsing on the dirt with a huff.

“Got ya,” he exhaled, relief washing over him. He sighed, hurrying off the ground. He’d just washed this tank top and he simply could not handle it getting muddy so soon. He picked his net up off the ground and shoved the Caterpie down inside it, hurrying out of the tall grass and starting the short trek back to the Shadow. The sun was cresting further and further over the horizon, which meant the morning ceremonies would begin soon, and Shadkjah waited for no one.

The frog god needed his breakfast.

***

Shadkjah’s Shadow was a village of interconnected treehouses weaving through a particularly tight patch of trees deep in the jungles of Kraw. Far away from any civilization, the cultists of the frog god were free to worship their deity as they pleased, without interference from Dr. Jones or Scamander or any of their ilk. And that was just the way they liked it.

On the surface below, they’d set up a pyre in a small clearing near the village’s middle, standing just in front of a small stone altar they’d uncovered from some nearby ruins. Long wooden benches sat there constantly, always ready to accept butts for the feeding ceremonies that took place three times a day. Breakfast, of course, was the most important meal of the day, and Bug Catcher Rick never missed an opportunity to donate. He would admit that at times he found the bugs rather cute, but Shadkjah had, quite literally, saved his life, so a Caterpie here and a Venonat there seemed like a small price to pay in return for that.

Today, though, as he entered the clearing, net swung over his shoulder, Caterpie writhing around inside of it… he was thinking of Scizor. Too much, in fact. He glanced up at his own little hut, nestled in a nearby tree.

No one knows, right?

No one knows I’m keeping one for myself?

He took a deep breath and approached the altar with today’s sacrifice. There was no time to stress about things like that now. It was almost time for the Morning Feeding to begin.

 

[Sigmund Vrell]

It was a quiet, peaceful morning in Shadkjah’s Shadow. Honestly, almost every morning was calm and peaceful there, so long as nothing particularly nasty came barging through the little treehouse community. It was a big part of the appeal for Niall, who loved nothing more than to sleep in through the whole morning. Unfortunately for him, arriving to the morning feeding empty handed would get him scolded again, so when the little frog sitting on his bedside (or rather hammock-side) table started croaking incessantly, he wasn’t able to simply tell it he wanted to snooze.

“Blergh…” He groaned, making a feeble effort to get out of his hammock and only managing to put himself face-down in the tightly woven webs. “I’m up, I’m up.”

With another groan and a Herculean effort, the cultist managed to haul himself up out of the hammock just enough to flop onto the floor, letting the impact jolt him awake. Though reluctant, he picked himself up and threw on his “cultist robes”, which resembled a frog-themed raincoat far more than the vestments of a far more serious cultist. As vaguely silly as it might have been, he couldn’t help but smirk slightly when he flipped up the hood, presenting the visage of Shadkjah, with his powerful but hard to place expression proudly on display.

“Ah… the sooner I get to work, the sooner I can get back to bed.” Niall sighed to himself, grabbing his ramshackle, yet strangely durable, fishing rod and carefully descending from the treetops. It wasn’t a long walk to the nearest pond, it was only proper that a frog cult stay close enough to actual frogs, but for the lazy man it was about as much effort as he could muster up.

Though the followers of Shadkjah called the body of water a pond, something which generally conjures much quainter, more peaceful images in the mind, they used the term in a very Krawan way. That is to say, it was much closer to a lake than a pond, deep enough to hide all manner of fearsome, voracious beasts. Among these beasts were the aforementioned frogs, ranging from cute little things that could climb on your finger to monsters big enough to swallow a human whole, which happened more often than would be comfortable for anyone not affiliated with the frog god. Even as Niall set up on the bank of the pond, he could see a couple of the gigantic amphibians resting on lily pads big enough to support a car. He paid them no mind, however, and simply plopped himself down, set a bit of raw meat on his hook, and cast his line.

Settling in, the cultist held his fishing pole in the crook of his arm. It was little more than a big stick with a length of repurposed spider silk attached to an old, salvaged crank to reel his catch in, but it served its purpose well enough. He was more than ready to doze off and let the fishing rod wake him up, but his slumber was rudely interrupted before it could even start by a thrashing in the water, some mysterious pond-dweller wasting no time pouncing on the fresh meat he had baited the line with.

”Whoa there!” Niall gasped, leaping to his feet and yanking the rod back, pulling the line taut. Whatever was on the other end was strong enough that he felt his wading boots begin to slip on the damp soil around the lake, but not quite strong enough to pull him straight in. That was as good a sign as any on Kraw!

The cultist and the fish battled for what felt like hours, but in truth couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. As luck would have it, Niall’s tendency to save his energy rather than spend it was serving him well in this battle, and the line was slowly but surely moving towards him until, finally, he hauled a piranha the size of his head up and onto the bank of the pond.

“Hmm…” He grumbled slightly, leaning over the fish while careful to keep enough distance so that it couldn’t take an exceptional flop upwards and take his nose off. This was, unfortunately, not unheard of on Kraw. “Looks a little small. Ah well, beggars can’t be choosers.”

The fisherman gingerly jabbed the handle of his fishing rod towards the piranha until he managed to pin it down, suppressing its wild thrashing as much as he could before taking hold of it, grabbing just far enough up its body that it wouldn’t be whipping around and biting his arm. He could already tell that bringing it back was going to be a pain, but what could he do?

As he made it back to the clearing, he could see his fellow cultists milling about, preparing for the God’s breakfast. Just in time! He gave a casual greeting to his neighbours as they got ready for the ceremony, receiving anything from a cheery greeting to a sarcastic remark about him being up so early in return. Claire, Adam, Beth. When he went to greet Rick, however, he couldn’t help but notice that the bug catcher was distracted by something, staring up at his hut. No one else seemed to notice, too busy with their preparations to be too concerned, but Niall wasn’t going to be the one to ask. His business was his own. Plus, he had his own offering to worry about, with the piranha somehow still finding the energy to struggle even after being pulled from the water more than ten minutes ago.

He just hoped he’d get his turn in the morning feeding soon. Keeping a tight hold on the thing was exhausting!