The rp was called "PMD: At Death's Door".
Please excuse any spelling/grammatical errors in it -- I made this awhile back, and I didn't check to see if I had any mistakes. ^^;
PMD: At Death's Door
Let's go play at death's door.
They receive everyone with open arms.
Plot
The bustling city of Treasure Town: lively, safe, and full of kind Pokemon to keep as company. For years, this area has been a stop-and-go for all kinds of Pokemon: Rescue and Exploration Teams, merchants, and even the odd wayward wanderer who "accidentally" stumbles into town and decides to stay for a spell. These figures have indeed contributed much to the diverse nature of the haven -- almost as much as its permanent residents.
Truly, Treasure Town seems to be everything a Pokemon needs -- and desires.
However, this seemingly perfect patch of civilization has its flaws. None of them are really anything major: perhaps a little theft here, a little mischief there. Overall, one would argue that the town is great enough to allow for these minuscule problems. And it is; though by no means is it great enough to accommodate for the more upscale troubles. One, in particular, has been plaguing the settlement's residents for weeks -- literally.
Nobody knows how it had started. The only thing they know without a shadow of a doubt is that the new threat popped out, seemingly from nowhere. Pokemon started turning ill, and the before long the number of infected climbed and grew exponentially. It even reached the further areas of wilderness that high-leveled Teams explore: it was apparent from the start that the deadly disease was the prelude to a pandemic.
The symptoms to the disease are many and varying: some Pokemon complain of high fever or itchy throats; or perhaps abdominal pain or splitting headaches. There are so many symptoms that seem to randomly appear that, when the pandemic started, even those who had the biggest heads on their shoulders thought that there was more than one underlying illness. Possibly the only indicators that the Pokemon of the world have indeed contracted the same disease are the worn, haggard look and hollowness of the eyes that the infected always wear; that, and the splotches. Big, black, bruise-like splotches would form all over the infected's body, discoloring all that it touched -- even fur. For those Pokemon whose skin and fur color are filled with dark pigments, the bruise takes on a different color: stark and blinding white.
Soon after the pandemic started, Pokemon started dying. Their immune systems, having been nipped away and deteriorated by the disease, would simply give out; and the disease would attack the victims' hearts until they beat their last painful cry. Young and old alike fell under the unsuppressed might of the disease, which had been coined "Viceroy of Death" -- and the onslaught continues on today, regardless of the continued medical efforts of those Pokemon medics.
However, with great oppression comes a glimmer of hope: a chosen -- if they can seriously be called that -- few are inadvertently rising to challenge this mysterious disease. These Pokemon possess certain gifts that have laid dormant inside their own bodies; that is, gifts that will continue to lay dormant until they encounter a specific catalyst. That catalyst, as horrendous and macabre as it may sound, is in fact the Viceroy of Death -- the very thing that they will try to overcome. These Pokemon must contract the disease to unlock their gifts... however, they do not know this (nor do they know of their power). In fact, it can be assumed that almost all of them are doing what they can to prevent their being infected.
But... I will let you in on a secret. These Pokemon, once the disease is contracted, will have a very special power indeed. For once they fall asleep, their consciousness' are transported to... some place. No one knows where, exactly, but the description is clear enough: a dark and desolate landscape, devoid of any signs of life. Even the leafless trees surrounding them appear to be dead, the soil choked and hardened in such a way that not even the toughest shrub could penetrate it. The sky is a uniform mass of gray, as though the clouds themselves are about to lament the decay of the earth.
Those Pokemon will wander around in the nightmarish world, aimlessly stepping wherever their paws take them. They will wander until they sense the presence of others... the presence of some shadowy apparitions that vaguely resemble Pokemon. They, however, are blacker than pitch, their bodies seeming to be made more of smoke than skin and muscle. Their eyes are mere sockets, blacker even than their bodies. The apparitions will attack those Pokemon, all the while chanting, "Master will domineer."
The Pokemon will defend, and attack, and run away, and ultimately unravel the mystery of the Viceroy of Death's origins -- and save Pokemon-kind.
But, before that, they will wake up... back to real reality, back to the sickening reality where nearly everyone is afflicted with the bane. Back to a reality where, some may realize with a shock, the wounds of the dream-battles are still scored deeply into their skin, and the fatigue and weariness of fighting and traveling are still singing in their muscles. Back to a reality where, truth be told, will become nothing more than a dream after they go back to sleep.
Are you ready to carry out the burden heavy enough to bow the head of even the great Arceus?
