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Welcome to The Cave of Dragonflies forums, where the smallest bugs live alongside the strongest dragons.
Guests are not able to post messages or even read certain areas of the forums. Now, that's boring, don't you think? Registration, on the other hand, is simple, completely free of charge, and does not require you to give out any personal information at all. As soon as you register, you can take part in some of the happy fun things at the forums such as posting messages, voting in polls, sending private messages to people and being told that this is where we drink tea and eat cod.
Of course I'm not forcing you to do anything if you don't want to, but seriously, what have you got to lose? Five seconds of your life?
Format: 2 vs 2, Single
Style: Set
DQ: 5 Days
Damage Cap: 30%
Banned/Restricted Moves: OHKO'S, Attract, Direct Healing, Anything Prevented by the Arena
Arena Description: The Castle Oubliette
The oubliette is a tiny, cramped room sunk into the floor, buried far beneath even the castle’s foundations. It’s about six feet wide, eight feet long and eight feet high, so only small- to medium-sized Pokémon can fit inside. The entire room is made of heavy, indestructible stone—none of it can be dislodged or moved for things like Rock Slide or Dig, and there’s nothing to shake if Earthquake is used. There is also no water or sand or anything like that available for use in moves like Surf or Sand Tomb, and all weather moves will fail because the sky is completely inaccessible. There are no doors or windows, the only way in and out being the long, slick and narrow tunnel leading up about 30 feet up to the dungeon above. (And the steel trap door is locked from the outside.) The only light comes from a single torch, flickering weakly in the room’s north wall; the arena is quite dim already, so I would advise against putting it out unless you want to risk bumping into stone walls in total darkness.
And good luck dodging attacks, flying around or building up speed—the tight, uncomfortable space makes anything more than hopping around and swinging some moderate punches understandably difficult. Anything larger than a Pichu is going to need to rethink the range and execution of many of its attacks. Only one way in, no way out and no room to run away… can you survive a battle in the oubliette with your sanity intact?
Additional Rules: Any Pokemon sent out has to fit within the Oubliette. Non-fully evolved Pokemon only.
Aglaia the female Togepi <Serene Grace> @ Electirizer Aktzin the male Chinchou <Volt Absorb> @ Metal Coat Ceres the female Hoppip <Chlorophyll> @ Lucky Egg Athena the female Nidoran♀ <Poison Point> @ Black Sludge Igneous the male Geodude <Rock Head> @ Eviolite Hydra the male Deino <Hustle> @ Metronome Roi Herbe the male Snivy <Contrary> @ Leftovers Mushroom the female Paras <Effect Spore> @ Lucky Egg Tournament Defeat the male Sneasel <Keen Eye> @ Razor Claw Deception the female Purrloin <Limber> @ Magmarizer
Sangfroidish's active squad
Sakuya the female Sneasel <Inner Focus> @ Razor Claw Kalameet the male Noibat <Telepathy> @ Yache Berry Artorias the male Honedge <No Guard> @ Dusk Stone Queen Anne the female Krokorok <Intimidate> @ Lucky Egg Rucks the male Lillipup <Vital Spirit> @ Eviolite Kloe the female Fletchling <Big Pecks> Rhyme the female Woobat <Unaware> @ Soothe Bell Kitaniji the male Ekans <Shed Skin> @ Lucky Egg Zia the female Ralts <Trace> Remilia the female Zubat <Inner Focus>
-Sangfroidish sends a prisoner to the oubliette
-Grass King sends down his chosen peasant and gives them their last commands
-Sangfroidish throws a scroll down to his detainee
-In these hollow tomes, empty if not for dust and paper yellowed to crumbling, will be writ an epic worthy of your time.
I have a disconcertingly large number of fly-abouty things on hand for a space this compact. And determined as I am to get the league's first Krookodile, using Queen Anne in an arena where I can't mess around with the ground again seems like a poor idea. I think I'll go with Zia.
Right Athena, I want you to spam Poison Fangs until she's poisoned. If she's poisoned, you're unable to hit her with physical moves or she puts up a reflect, then use Venoshock. If she protects, then use Hone Claws.
Start off with a Misty Terrain to prevent any powered-up Venoshocks, unless you get poisoned right away, in which case put up a Light Screen. Then zap her with Thunder Wave so we can have the speed advantage for a bit, then finally fling her around with Psychic.
Proceed if your heart staunchly refuses to turn back. You have crossed the first barrier in your journey towards insanity. You have exposed yourself to the whimsy of what lies beyond this wormed wood cover. Merely a collection of dried splinters now, held by grime and glue littered with the remnants of insects. It creaks like a coffin, one that would reveal nothing but a pearly smile, affixed upon a skull clasping its temples in raucous defeat. The cackling is only in your head, as you have but passed the second barrier, the author felt the only dedication worthy of this story was to the human mind. And so lies a printed skeleton, in eternal rest. Writ in this aging tome is a tale most terrible, a tale penned not by men, but by anguish. Every flourish of the quill is burdened by the weight of guilt. Behind every wayward splotch of ink lies a crimson stain that delves beyond the page, still fresh to all who bear witness, still undrying. There resides a capricious monster between the folds in your eyes, ever watchful, ever waiting. Its weighted footfalls slitting through the faint sunlight that dares to set foot in the old castle. This creature, an amalgamation of men and the humanity of men- a tortured, wretched being- holds the crumbling seam of this tome. It caresses each page with its breath, an inhalation of all the dust that infects the world between the words. The monster has one name, and one name only: cruelty.
Hidden in the forgotten room lay two bodies waiting to wilt. Their warmth was huddled together, futility coursing through their minds as the heat fled them. Scarlet eyes beheld the burning brazier that sought their heat, a flame simple and within reason. But all the more demonic in the narrow chamber. It played with the dark scattering the walls, the gridded shadows fell by brickwork protruding at obscene angles. The fire danced above the little beast, casting an orange glow across its pale blue skin, and revealing the deepness of its bagged eyes. Its stare, contained within the blood-red of its iris, moved with the flame, pleading to the ever-burning torch to cast its glaring heat upon her insides. The beast coughed in the cold, perhaps a sign from the flame that it would not stoop to her command, and sucking further life out of her grasp. The pupils, expanding pools of deep, rolling black, flickered with the flame. Her head beset the one kneeling by her shoulder. A head of once fine hair, as if carved delicately from a statue of green, now ran scarce and knotted lengths across a scalp of macabre white. The beast stirred, something with such brightness to its form must be warm, must contain warmth. Her fangs extended, her face half-contorted into one of worry, but the muscles stretched outwards into a monstrous glare. The patchwork of blue skin, torn and tired, lunged forward, sinking fangs into the one kneeling beside it.
Nary a wail escaped the pale white stalk's lips. As the beast poised to suckle on the wound with its curved fangs, drips of a concocted liquid seeped onto the spherical head. A corrosive liquid, an instinctive injection of caustic bile necessary for hunting. Soon enough the Ralts' insides would squirm and clump together, charred then melted by the heated toxin. A white arm, like a discarded piece of cloth wrapped around itself, rose. The beast blinked, and flinched away from the strike. But none came. With the inflections of the arm the air thinned, curving into a wall of barely shimmering light. The fire swayed as its precious air was pulled from it to form the maddening wall; to its embers, the glassy surface was nothing more than another obstruction to cast darkness around. The Ralts did not want to hurt her last companion, at least not until the situation called for her intrusion.
The Nidoran growled a long, hungry, growl. Her stomach spoke from her mouth, and the flickering flame whispered silence into her ears. Her jaw fell open and agurgling stream of bile issued forth. It splattered upon the screen, hissing and cutting through the hardened light. Oozing green, the liquid punctured through the Ralts' shield and sprayed itself upon her head. Her mouth opened to speak, but it managed a weak gasp. Though pungent from its inception, the foul liquid had not been smelt trickling through her insides. Her nostrils pulled, cracking skin, and sampled the smell of a rotting egg rising from within her body. Another arm quiveringly rose from its position nursing her lap. The beast crouched low, licking its lips to rid itself of the acidic liquid, gulping to remove it from the orifice she would feed through. The whitened arm pulled back a thinned bang of green, revealing a swollen, reddish eye. Misty as it may have been, the Ralts urged it to curve downwards, into a sinister stare. A coat of yellow as hot as the inside of the flame rippled across her eyeball. Beneath her leaning form, the bricks found waning crackles racing across their dusty surfaces. The sparks reached the beast, encircling her feet before riding up her limbs. As they rose across her dusty skin, they sank beneath the blue in incrementations. As if a school of eels had broke the surface of the water and were slowly sinking back inwards.
The Nidoran twitched to the slowed beat of her heart, running not upon the fumes of blood but creaking sparks; a tightened coil of muscle springing into her throat. The solitary eye was still watching, waiting for the currents to settle within the unruly beast. Its gaze grew purple, the colour boring into the Nidoran's mind. The Ralts snorted as she entered through the skull of her companion, splitting bone and flesh in half. The beast screeched, and the noise bounced between the newly formed walls inside her head, echoing behind her ears. The Ralt's snorting grew more frequent, their intensity following suit. Noises began to erupt from her mouth, the faint inklings of laughter attempting to shirk the dusted chains that held it deep within her. The beast was not resigned to its fate, and hurled its bilious waste through its mouth. She uncovered her eyes when the futile smack of dampness on glass halted the mental severing. The Nidoran heaved, gasping in an attempt to push her forehead out through her skull, in the faint hope that the pain would follow in its wake. She willed her relenting muscles towards a puddle of her own ejected venom. Her cracked fore-tooth clasped around a solidified piece of the dredge, a dark purple pile of partially-solid slime she had swallowed when they had found themselves trapped. She needed the nutrition now more than ever, however little the sludge provided.
Notes: Hastily scribbled, the fleeting thoughts of the author, as cramped as his fearful mind.
-I ref speed stages as ±10, and as such I will not do a coin flip unless the Pokemon’s speeds are exactly the same.
-Paralysis, however, is a straight drop to 25% the original speed. Athena is now operating at 10 base speed.
-Venoshock's base damage doubled, but the final damage was halved because of Light Screen.
-This is probably not where Zia wanted the Bastion to take her.
-Credit to nojoh of deviantart for the yokai Pokemon images.
Before the second chapter lies an empty page, a memoir, perhaps a spiteful remark at one who came before him. Perhaps it was a foreword, a grasp at informing the reader of who had continued these creatures’ suffering. Inked upon the page an ancient word, bearing no meaning but enveloping the reader in a bitter cold:
“Sangfroidish”
Bad luck getting the poison there, Zia, but at least we got stuff set up pretty decently. Time to start delivering the pain. Put up a Reflect to soften the inevitable barrage of Facades, then throw her around with a bunch of Psychics. If she protects, use Calm Mind.
The note falls closer to the wavering of a candle, and is further stained by a patch of wax. A quiver contains itself in your hand, only daring to travel up to your shoulder. Was this atrocity…planned?
Zia
Ralts (F) [Poison Point]
Health: 70% (Capped) | Energy: 89%
Condition: Light Screen (3 more actions), Toxipoisoned (2% damage next round) ”...” Reflect ~ Psychic/Calm Mind ~ Psychic/Calm Mind
Two ruby eyes were set into a ghastly face, the skin beneath in an endless struggle to pulse and purge the poison that racked them. The gaping maws watched the firelight in the blindness, and the flame watched it in turn. Below the opened wounds lay a gathering of twitching muscle, when seen through the orange glow cast upon their orifical window they shook and shuddered. The emerald of the hair that spread so scarcely, splattered with purple, drooped down as if in request. Obscuring the fatal wound. The real eyes were unmoving, but kept as if they were always aware of the beast's movements, ever watchful. The vigilance was merely a precursor to the ghostly figure's true intent, warning was not enough, prevention was key. A stalk rose from its side, appearing as if sown to its crumpled torso, and drew a circle in dry air. The spiralling unsettled the old residents of the oubliette; the dust parted in a line where the ghost's hand moved. A circle of light appeared inside the lightwall that shielded the Ralts from the torch's glare. The shape spun and flecks of colour stole themselves off the surface, tearing off the original sheen of the wall to adopt a more resistant hue of orange.
The beast stood, waiting, it had found its mental faculties had slown. Not in the traditional sense, it still felt the world at the same bitter pace. But the ordered structure that her cranial cells followed were now wasted on nursing the jolting wound that ran across her. It was a mischevious imp wracking torture and cacophony all across her seizing body. The sparking demon roosted upon her neck, spreading its cold fire across it. The muscle tightened. She tried to hold it back at first, but her mind snapped to attention and chose a far more profitable route. Maw gaping, a vile gush of putrid bile soared once more. The rectangular wall appeared to have only met the circle on its surface, as the rotting expulsion struck against the wall. The shield had served its purpose, and much of the acidic barrage meant for the pale one had made its mark upon the orange tint.
The beast's drooping eyes rose to face the torch, and she found her caustic lips whispering gratitude between lapping at the bile pasted upon them. Her dried tongue soaked in some of the stench, patting down the cracked coating of bile, and a gurgle of approval rose from her empty belly. The fire shook in response, a flicker that cast a glimmer upon the beast's approving eyes. The embers twisted, and warped. Arms of cascading flame drew themselves upon the vast nothing of the oubliette, spiralling wildly. Lines of stilled light moved about the retreating shadows, ever-chasing, but appearing glassy and immaterial. The beast shrunk back, the coursing was climbing up the back skin of her neck, she could feel it throbbing beneath. Her head fell, and her paws swiped at the back of her head in futility. Whereas her crimson eyes had downed themselves and gazed upon the floor, her vision remained struggling with the dancing incandescence, the image of weaving flame moving in her thoughts. Pirouetting streaks of ember spun and cascaded in her mind's eye, only to rise like damning phoenixes when they fell to the ground. Her skin and bubbled with the heat that her pervaded her mind. Her head swirled with malcontents, and the chasing imp sprinted upon her back-spikes, racing towards the sheer block placed in her thoughts. They met. And she screamed. A shrill cry of those long past, those who only left animalistic, primal fear as their gifts. It was the shrillful din of the long-dead, and it bounced off the walls. The cry that is spoken by all when they are interred into life, the cry of fear.
The words are scribbled with haste, betraying the heady air that filled the author’s crown and drove this fascinated chronicle.
A1:
Paralysis: (26/100, Not Paralysed)
A2:
Paralysis: (24/100, Paralysed)
A3:
Paralysis: (23/100, Paralysed)
Calculations: Swiping curves of deep black patch dried writing in places where it had meant to fade, willed by some superior force. Defiance of the sane rumbled in the quill.
Notes: Stoked by madness and fear, the mentions upon the margins grew thin.
-Oh dude posting orders in the same style makes it all the more awesome!
-Black Sludge only healed 1% overall this round because of the rest being chewed by Psychics. I only mentioned the final healing as to not clutter the calculations, but I do spread out the healing over the round.
-Light Screen faded at the end of the third action.
Shifting aside the crumpled note, you see another foreword. Another name. Beaten into the page beneath a painted skull all too familiar is a pattern of runes. Glyphs and lines and ruined artistry of a tongue no longer spoken. You wonder if it had ever been spoken. Or if it ever had to. As you read the preamble a second time, you feel your mind mist with an image.
A vast grave, bearing a single individual, surrounded by weeping plants and drooping trees. Each less green than the next as the path to the grave continues, until the grey-stemmed flowers turn to face in silent mourning, beckoning your gaze downwards. An oblong sword of chiseled stone pierces the heart of the monument, above the last words of a king carved with memory. A king of emerald green.
This story may wind deeper than you wish to believe.
You look to the tattered fragment once more. Many days ago it was part of a whole, a page to a book, and many days before a trunk to an oak. Now it is simply an echo of what had been. You turn your eyes to the castle, and the thought fills its empty halls.
The paper still reads:
"Disqualification warning for Grass King. You have 48 hours."
Maybe madness was not what drove him, but he is who was driven mad.
A vast grave, bearing a single individual, surrounded by weeping plants and drooping trees. Each less green than the next as the path to the grave continues, until the grey-stemmed flowers turn to face in silent mourning, beckoning your gaze downwards. An oblong sword of chiseled stone pierces the heart of the monument, above the last words of a king carved with memory. A king of emerald green.
This story may wind deeper than you wish to believe
The page cuts off there. The rest of the sentence is smeared out, the black-purple of the ink blending with a sharp slash-spatter of something reddish, resembling… blood? Grimacing at the thought, you flip past three, four, five empty pages, but on the sixth the writing begins once more, as suddenly as it had ended. The tale, though the same, is written in an altered hand, most likely by another person altogether. You note and categorize the differences, slight though they might be: the locution and flow are off, the penned words are rounder, but longer and skittish, even bordering on spidery. Your unease growing, you read on, wondering what end the previous writer could have met, if he had, and how…
Grass King (Oo)
Athena (f) <Poison Point> @ Black Sludge
Health: 54%
Energy: 88%
Currently: FIRE, SPEAK Paralyzed (severe: 25% speed, 25% failure chance, 3% more energy for movement; 2 or more actions remaining.)
Commands: Venoshock / Sludge Bomb / Hone Claws x3
Sangfroidish (Oo)
Zia (f) <Trace Poison Point>
Health: 56%
Energy: 75%
Currently: you brought this Poisoned (toxic: 2% this round, 3% next.)
Commands: Telekinesis ~ Hypnosis ~ Dream Eater (health)
Field Notes
-Turn order: Zia (40) > Athena (10.25).
-A golden Reflect shimmers around Sangfroidish's side of the oubliette, seeming as strong as ever, but such powerful shields—like all torch-fires—are invariably ephemeral. Only time will tell as to when this one will flicker out, leaving those it protects to weather the elements by themselves.
Chapter 3 Before the story begins, a careful paragraph has been centered on the page, clearly written painstakingly slowly—perhaps a quote of some sort?
I hereby swear, upon the quill I hold,
to take responsibility for what events unfold;
that this account is faithful and correct
to what transpires inside the oubliette;
and now aspire to spiral ever down
(till human voices wake us, and we drown.)
Please, protect th
The ghosts that haunt this cursed place know (do not ask how I) that there are only two rules in the oubliette, silence and light—but already the intruders have angered the watcher. Every further sound is a cymbal-crash or climax of wicked drums, every flicker of the flame a further wrenching of the knife, but this disorder will not do. So the ghosts send a warning, a chill of the thoughts, along with a series of tests for the, ah, former writer. (So he did meet some sort of end, then? The language makes it seem more, however, like a pause, you note, continuing to observe the marks that make this writer unique. More… self-aware, perhaps?)
In response, for the moment united by a common enemy, the mind-child and mouse-beast huddle together, suddenly feeling that they have been abandoned by some greater presence, a crucial cog in the machinery of existence. A casual viewer (though I assure you, I am serious) might mistake them for requiring warmth, but the torch above burns brighter than ever, a sign of interest from the spirit who watches (do not forget, however, that interest can be deadly.) Both notice the change, an agreement is silently created, and the girl draws apart from the almost-embrace to face her foe, stance critically assessing, eyeless face still unerringly (eerily) watchful. (Neither ever quite touches the other: a sign of their continued enmity, and of their paralyzing fear of the watcher's retaliation, yes, but think deeper now.)
A quick wave of the girl's arms (still scattered with pointed bumps and acidic scars, a twisted mockery of the beast's evolved defenses) and the one so mocked is lifted upwards, but not quite that. Shunted, perhaps the word is, so suddenly that at first it seems as if a telekinetic barrier has taken the mouse's place. Upon further inspection, however, I find that the child has convinced a shade to help, to stay invisible but twist and coil around the mouse for the minutes between their last bout (ah, and again I must contradict myself. Not convinced, but rather convinced—for she possesses, for the moment, a member of the ghost's progeny. The young are yet full of craft.) The mouse squeals, squirms, forces her spasming muscles and limbs to cooperate with all the will she can muster, but still cannot escape the prison within a prison that the girl has created. Annoyed, the flame above hisses, sputters, and withdraws (not all warnings must be by pain) and she stops for long enough to consult her instincts. Her instincts, however, say that the position is unsuitable for evading predation, capturing and consuming prey, copulation, and by these means the beast arrives at the conclusion that the transgressor must be punished.
A hissing jet of pinkish venom is spat towards the transgressor's horn (sensitive, useful, and thus a suitable target) and begins to smoke upon contact. It is not until after three seconds that the screaming begins, high and reedy and starting please, get it off, it burns before dissolving into wordless ascending notes. The beast observes with satisfaction that the transgressor is burning, clawing at her face to get it off (but only succeeding in spreading the acid to her hands and arms) even as the toxins already within wrack her chest and stomach with pain. But the greater a stab of pain is, the sooner it fades, and the transgressor manages to recover herself within seconds (a useful technique, but one too often absent in many.) Though she has no mirror in which to observe herself, the child's face and body are not so lucky as her mind; the newly raw skin where the venom was spread is a shiny pink and appears somehow distended. With a shriek, she wheels upon her foe, pointing though the motion hurts her, and the ghost under her command leaps forward and drags the mouse, though unwillingly, into deep sleep—a third prison. (Revenge.)
Save for occasional involuntary twitches of the sleeping beast and flickers of the torchlight, casting dim shadows on the floor of the sunken prison, nothing moves. The girl-child appears to be analyzing something, considering options, and as she ponders, thin interlocking threads of glowing blue energy weave themselves outwards from her horn, latching onto the body of the mouse. Decision seemingly made, she stops moving (in this plane) and (in the next) suddenly is nothing more than an avatar of herself, wandering the apocalyptic city in her enemy's nightmare. Ordinarily this might be a dangerous maneuver, possibly even fatal, but the shadow keeps the sleeping beast constrained, and when the girl wills herself larger (more powerful) she sees eye-to-eye with the tallest skyscrapers' spires as suddenly as if she had been all this time. Surprised, having little experience with the malleability of dreams, she wills the decayed world behind her to melt into a roiling void at her every step (for effect, you see) and it falls into nothingness easily. With a gesture and a shout, society twists and rots. Buildings collapse, crumbling into dust, and the new god-child ambles in sweeping circles with puerile glee until there is nothing in the world but her and the beast, who cowers before the approaching blackness for precious seconds before it swallows her whole.
In the oubliette, the mouse writhes and twists, the fire watches solemnly, and the girl—miniscule and powerless again—sags, suddenly tired. Even though the beast's dream-fear heals her wounds and patches over the scars on her skin, there are deeper wounds, now, ones in the mind…
Grass King (Oo)
Athena (f) <Poison Point> @ Black Sludge
Health: 39%
Energy: 81%
Currently: Dead to the world—or is the world dead to her? Paralyzed (moderate: 50% speed, 15% failure chance, 2% more energy for movement; 1 or more actions remaining.) Asleep (moderate: 3 or fewer actions remaining.)
Used: Venoshock ~ (asleep) ~ (asleep)
The words under the post-chapter headings in the margin (different from those of the former writer, you note) are scribbled, and several drops of ink have fallen to the side, apparently splattered and smudged by the writer's quivering hand—in the sort of haste that can only be driven by fear… Field Notes
-Turn order: Zia (40) > Athena (20).
Action Notes
-Taking over from TtC, so tell me if I missed something, etc.
-I tried to mimic the sort of writing style you guys have been using, and feedback on that front would be greatly appreciated!
-Reflect and Telekinesis both faded after the last action.
-Athena's paralysis lightened after the last action.
The box that these apparent calculations (to what end? you wonder. Arithmetic, in a place like the oubliette?) are scribbled in is shaky, the lines seemingly curving before your eyes… with what the writer has been describing, might they truly be?
Athena: 54 + 1 (Black Sludge) + 1 (Black Sludge) - 18 (Dream Eater [health]) + 1 (Black Sludge) = 39
88 - 7 (Venoshock) = 81
Zia: 56 - 24 (Venoshock) - 1 (poison) - 1 (poison) + 9 (Dream Eater [health]) - 1 (poison) = 38
75 - 3 (Telekinesis) - 1 (Hypnosis) - 5 (Dream Eater [health]) = 66
The one who possesses a modicum of sangfroid is called, for he may be valuable in moments of crisis, yet it is up to the reader to determine whether this is one…
(thanks for picking this up, Keldeo! You're doing a pretty bang-up job on the writing style so far.)
You turn a page, and a yellowed, worn scrap of paper flutters out from the pages, inscribed upon in aged, fading ink.
Picking it up and turning it over, you see the following decrees scrawled thereupon:
"Thou shalt continue to feast on its slumbersome torment. Should it wake from its comatose prison, however, thou must wreak torture on its very mind. If that too proves impossible, fortify thy own mind, that thou might leave this gaol with some semblance of thy sanity intact."
Okay, it's been more than a day and Grass King has been online since I issued the warning, so Grass King is disqualified. Athena and Zia both get 1 exp and happiness, Sangfroidish gets $8, TTC and I get $2.
Aglaia the female Togepi <Serene Grace> @ Electirizer
Aktzin the male Chinchou <Volt Absorb> @ Metal Coat
Ceres the female Hoppip <Chlorophyll> @ Lucky Egg
Athena the female Nidoran♀ <Poison Point> @ Black Sludge
Igneous the male Geodude <Rock Head> @ Eviolite
Hydra the male Deino <Hustle> @ Metronome
Roi Herbe the male Snivy <Contrary> @ Leftovers
Mushroom the female Paras <Effect Spore> @ Lucky Egg
Tournament Defeat the male Sneasel <Keen Eye> @ Razor Claw
Deception the female Purrloin <Limber> @ Magmarizer
Kalameet the male Noibat <Telepathy> @ Yache Berry
Artorias the male Honedge <No Guard> @ Dusk Stone
Queen Anne the female Krokorok <Intimidate> @ Lucky Egg
Rucks the male Lillipup <Vital Spirit> @ Eviolite
Kloe the female Fletchling <Big Pecks>
Rhyme the female Woobat <Unaware> @ Soothe Bell
Kitaniji the male Ekans <Shed Skin> @ Lucky Egg
Zia the female Ralts <Trace>
Remilia the female Zubat <Inner Focus>
