(Though he may protect the little hero, a dragon is still a dragon. It will always be a danger; untameable, vicious. Out for blood. Still, he is a child of the wood.
He finds a dagger, nestled in the hollow trunk of a tree. It calls to him. A sharpened fang of silvered steel. Cold and cruel. If he is worthy, then he will know how to wield it. When it is drawn from his sheathe, the price is paid: he will share his deepest, oldest memory of the Forest.)
Lance Obtained: Dragon's Dagger! Cold to the touch. It refuses to leave its wielders side. When its wielder sets its sights upon a foe, this faithful dagger will always be there to finish the job. Without fail. But for each drop of blood shed with it, Lance will feel the same pain inflicted back upon him.
( He is four and the Forest is dark; he's been hearing it call him for as long as he can remember. This is the first time he's ever answered, following that call – always before there have been hands, gently turning him away from the treeline and back into the house when he looked to the Forest for too long, firm arms carrying him away when he took too many steps in the direction of the ancient wood.
Today's sitter does not know better, was not warned to keep Lance away from the trees.
Lance is four and lost within Viridian Forest within minutes.
He listens to the trees as they whisper secrets, setting tiny hands on the rough bark of every one he passes to say hello. Pokemon peer out of burrows and between bushes, follow his every step and he laughs when they draw him into their games. (He was kind once, he knows that. There's a time in ancient memory where the memories pokemon shared with him were full of joy and brightness, rather than pain and fear.)
The shadows of the Forest are deep but they are pleasant even when sunlight finally slips away to be replaced with moonlight and the soft sounds of sleeping pokemon.
He's found in the morning, asleep and cradled safely in the roots of an old tree. )
