Harper Region is temporarily a private site! Registration is temporarily disabled due to big site updates and due to both admins' life schedules -- moving and degree completion and internships. :) If you need to set up a new account or really, really, really want to register, email Rosalie at orosaliearto@gmail.com with "Harper" in the subject line !

Welcome to Harper Region

Important Links


Character Count: 101
Ml: 48 - Fml: 51 - Oth: 2
OR - 14 | R - 17 | H - 47 | G - 23

Quick Updates

Weather Conditions

Season: Autumn

With the cooling season of Autumn, Ice-types are starting to re-emerge from their hibernation as Ghost-, Normal-, and Flying-types swarm in the largest numbers they will all year. In comparison, wild Fire- and Bug-type populations are falling in number. The migration of Flying-types to the south in search of warmer weather has also started, as Istin City starts to re-freeze and Autumn marks the beginning of Cypwater Point's rainy season. Handlers and Rogues alike should be wary: Ghost-type powers are boosted during this season, at the cost of being more prone to their triggers.

Sister Sites

Pokemon: Terrene

Click here to vote for us once a day!
Our Topsite:
Harper Region Topsite

  • Show Box
  • Hide Box

  | Add Reply || New Topic || New Poll |

 Iuchra Nic Longáin's Travels, Hysteresis
 Posted: May 25 2017, 07:47 PM
| Quote |

Peace and safety, friend.
Background Admins/Head Mods
Total Posts: 2105
Member No. 456
Joined on 22-July 12.

Carmen Caldwell, Lahi Sharandi, Gilen Bassett

Awards: None



--and heard her foot go squelch against something half-dry, sticky.

A light blinked to life a few paces away, in the wider street Iuchra had headed out from. The dreadful, netherworldly blue light radiating coldly from the lampent hanging in the air outlined a cloaked figure with a wide-brimmed hat decorated with a single blood-red rose. A white beaked mask peeked out from underneath. The long cloak the humanoid being wore bled into the dark at its feet. It looked like a monster out of children's tales in the dwindling day's light.

There were no feet, also. But the beaked mask drew the eye, almost irresistibly so, as did the lantern-ghost until Iuchra had no choice but to look into its empty abyssal eye sockets and nowhere else. It waited patiently for her attention, then glided forward and murmured in a dry, scraping bone-dust voice that suggested no gender, "I apologize for the suddenness. We have been betrayed."

It let the words sink in for a few moments more before bowing its head. Continued quietly, "The researches we carry out were of a sensitive nature. There were those who would take our findings from us and we did not manage to warn our comrades who were with you in time. But we need help here, now. I am not alive. I am a memory. Please. I need you to ensure that my friends will not be the same."

The image flickered, faded at the edge. By its side the lampent almost guttered out and sank dangerously. There was another effort at trying to maintain the shape of what was now clearly nothing more than an illusion, the porcelain bird's beak parting to spew forth a small stream of glowing white-blue smoke. "Please..."

The lampent blinked out and crashed to the ground, its vessel shattering. From its corpse a pokeball rolled out, singed and scratched but very much whole, still hot to the touch.

Where the bird-masked figure had once been there was the outline of something on the ground. Iuchra could see it if she let her eyes adjust for a few moments. A journal, the letters of which she could not make out here in the dark. But there were lights at both ends of the wide street should she wish to investigate, and one more thing as well, tucked into the pages of the well-worn book: a wooden brooch, the shape of it delicate and convoluted from what her fingers could make out.

She had choices, as always. She could find an inn now before all was night - a recommended course of action - and some light to read what the ghost and its shadow had left for her, delve deeper into this little secret...or simply rest somewhere and wait for the sun to break so she could return home as soon as possible and hear what her tribesmen had to say.

One way or another, it would not be difficult for Iuchra to arm herself. Either way she should choose to head on this wide dirt road, there was a store on the other end, signs declaring themselves the General Shoppes swinging gently in the wind. It was late for most sorts, certainly, but night supported another kind of life in this particular place, and should Iuchra decide to swing in either of these to get a weapon, the clerks would be able to provide her the exact location. Also, the location of the nearest inn.


The pokeball dropped by the dead lampent contains Clover, the final pokemon Iuchra currently has on her profile.

Quest Items Get!
  • (1) Etienne's journal
  • (1) bird-shaped brooch made out of ebony wood

Gilen Bassett
Profile --- Travels
Lahi Sharandi
Profile --- Travels
Carmen Caldwell
Profile ---- Travels
user posted image user posted image user posted image
| PM || Email |
 Posted: Jul 13 2017, 04:16 PM
| Quote |

New Handler
Total Posts: 5
Member No. 2355
Joined on 4-May 17.


Awards: None

{ Egg count 1! }


Iuchra did not look down to see what she had stepped in, eyes on the pale light from the ghost’s glow. She was aware of them - had to be, in her line of work. Ghosts fed on pain and misery, and she had seen its kind roaming in the night, pale flame against the dark.

But the cloaked figure was new. Iuchra held herself still, letting the word sink in. Betrayed. By whom? She did not know this figure, whoever she was-

Comrades. I am not alive, I am a memory. People in two places, the Ti Deinei and the mages and perhaps here, too -

The illusion flickered. Iuchra bit back a curse and lunged forward, trying to reach the lampent in time. “Do not strain yourself-”

It fell. It died. She caught herself on the forward foot, regained her balance, and turned it into a kneel by the lampent’s body. Here, the light was dim, and difficult to see, but she had worked in the dark before. The journal and the oddly-shaped ornament - that was new. The wooden brooch looked like the mask the illusion had wore. Iuchra picked both up, carefully, and rolled the pokeball in her hand: warm, singed. She clipped it to her belt and examined the journal instead. She had learned the language of the Harperians, long ago, and now she thanked the Tree that it was so.

The lampent’s illusion’s words came back to her, then: someone had died. Iuchra tucked the journal and its contents into her pack with a steady hand, then reached for flint and stone to light the lantern that hung from it. She did not know them, but the Bird would need to be aware of the death to collect the soul. Perhaps Suicune would see the light from the lantern and watch over them until it did.

That done, Iuchra pushed off the ground to stand. A hand went to a pokeball on her hip and its trigger; Eóghan blinked when he was released, looking up with calm, flat eyes.

“I need your help,” she said bluntly, and smiled grimly at the treecko’s startled blink. “I need you to watch my back while I find a weapon, and find out what happened to them.” At the last she nodded at the lampent’s shattered body; Eóghan followed the direction of her gaze, and stilled.

Iuchra waited for a long, tense moment while the grass-type weighed the situation, and held still when he leapt off the ground to settle on her shoulder, half of his weight on her pack. “Watch the lantern and make sure it is safe,” was all she said, and she waited for the answering tap of the stick he still held in his mouth before she stepped out of the alleyway, fully.

First, a bow. She did not have the resources - nor the time, perhaps - to carve one herself as she had done the one before. Or to repair, if she could find the materials. Then an inn; she was not unfamiliar with those, thankfully. The Southern Clan’s openness meant that she had been in smaller Harperian villages before.

Iuchra stepped out of the alleyway, spotted a General Shoppe, and started walking. After a moment she pushed her shoulders back and turned her stride into a stalk, like Eilín had taught her, something loose-limbed and smooth that hinted at danger. She would need it in the city, she supposed, looking like she did: leather armor of the Woadarch, braided hair with trinkets, the embroidery on her clothing. The tattoos from her Tairseach.

She felt the weight of the treecko on her back and thought, perhaps, there would be a new one to add when she returned to the Clan.

Iuchra Nic Longáin
Profile & Travels & PCR

user posted image user posted image user posted image

Eryn & Addie
| PM |
 Posted: Aug 16 2017, 09:08 PM
| Quote |

It's a box of spiders.
Total Posts: 2308
Member No. 1
Joined on 19-March 10.

Branson Faust, Rohesia Clements

Awards: 1


The humid night air pressed heavy on her skin as she pressed forward to the shop. The silvery tinkle of the bell above the door roused the shopkeep from where he dozed behind the counter over a book of ledgers he had been slowly working his way through. A glance, if Iuchra was familiar with taxes and the minutiae of business, would show her a list of inventory and sales and columns of figures concerning collections and profits and net and gross and... it was as excitingly sharp as a good soup spoon. He looked glad for the company, even if his brow creased into familiar light lines about his nose as he looked her over. It was the only part of his face that showed his surprise at seeing someone he might or might not have known as Wodarch in his shop.

Nevertheless, he greeted her with warmth and courtesy, inquiring as to her needs and then leading her to a cubby in the corner of his shop betwixt the counter and the wall where a rack of bows stood handsome in the lamplight that fell over them like a golden curtain from the ceiling. Nothing at all like the glow of a lampent. He showed her arrows to match, and suggested that should she need anything more particular, she might ask him for he knew which shops and stalls in the city were worth trading at and which were nothing but childrens' toys beneath their fine polish. He was a man who, clearly, knew his business just as well as he knew the limits of it -- and just as well as he knew a woman did not earn so muscled a shape without earning skill that likely exceeded the basics he had to offer.

He would either take her gold and break it into the appropriate smaller denominations and offer to wrap her purchase or pull out a map that looked for all the world as though he had inked it himself with the sort of loving care usually reserved for fanatics and scribes, and then direct her to either the Nightmarket's northern reaches where the stalls became permanent and surrounded by potted greenery to please the wealthy's eye or, without batting an eye, the court of Lord Aaron Murray. He spoke of the man with both familiarity and respect -- and perhaps a touch of reverence -- as he informed her in no uncertain terms that he was the heart of the city and while she wouldn't find a deal at any of the merchants in the court itself, she would find prices at precisely their proper values and no chicanery in the wares.

It would be softer on a purse, but she should be wary of handsome men with bright promises, he told her -- not because they were not true, oh no! But rather because she seemed like a woman who had other business on her mind and their city, oh, their city would keep her heart and soul if she were not careful to guard them both. He glanced at the map that was clearly his own, very fine, work with raised brows and a brief, smooth wave of his hand as if to say 'see what it has done to me?'

But the journal rode high on Iuchra's mind, nagging and tugging like a child at her hand in a way that simply could not be ignored. Some compulsion decreed that, once outside the shop and beneath the unsteady glow of the streetlamp in the foggy night, she must draw the journal out again and open to its first battered page, the only one which was not blank. And yet... and yet she did not feel as though she held a blank journal. She turned her eyes to those first few paragraphs, scanty and spider-handed as they were.
MY 756, Second Qwilsday - month of Virion.

Nearly seven years ago this day, we had begun our research, and we strove to reach into the essential hearts of the substance of pokemon to dictate them to our wills. Perhaps a year later, the results brought much unforseen destruction upon the region. It was never our intent, but it is the price of all such progress, in the end. Even now we still reap the benefits of those early failures, more recent than the people should like to admit. Those failures were... they were strictly punished. No longer do they work within our ranks.

They were not the only Magicians who knew of the work, of course. Those who burn for the tragic twists of fate never are the only ones. Others will always carry on with the task, often in secret. I was such a one. We sought to strengthen them! Push the limits and press against Arceus's barriers placed around and between us! A noble cause, a noble pursuit, for what could a world be like where neither man nor mon were bounded by the limits of the flesh? Of the mind? Free from the mortal coil, fire from our twisted limbs and the hot rush of blood and humors and spirits through our bodily cages... We could transcend; we could be all that we could ever wish to be.

Such a dream is such a long way off. But perhaps, some day, one of our Seekers might uncover a key, a rumor, a whisper, a gasp of the secret to immortality and the reunification of life to One and All.

It is in this pursuit that I do forsake my quietly sequestered home among the Mages, despite my failing lower limbs. Contracts have been made across the region with peoples of all kinds for aid, waiting until I, only I, send words back requesting they be placed into motion. I journey south, beyond the borders of any bold merchant or brave pirate's maps, and then beyond again past the edges of those created in that new and foreign land. I perhaps chase nothing but a rumor of a story of a dream of a child's forgotten make-believe friend -- but I believe with the entirety of my heart and soul that there lies the truth. There, in those distant lands few if any Harperians have ever seen, resides the secret.

I write this entry as my last from within the cloistered apartments and airy rooms of my home among the Mages. I may trust that the Guild shall provide for my trip, as ever they have. The great world calls to me, but I shall turn from its siren song and travel for my purpose as an arrow loosed from a vast and celestial bow. I go.

The next page bore only the faintest traces of writing -- if she squinted hard, it perhaps was there. Or perhaps it was a trick of the light. Some instinct she did not know informed her that she must wait. Must remember, and consider, and when the journal was ready there would be another page.

As she read, the night had closed ever further in around her, damp as the mouth of a beast and hot as its breathing, so far south. Fog banks rolled in from the sea and curled against the strange trees of the swamps. Iuchra's feet echoed oddly on the wooden boards of the Walks as though the fogs had surrounded her in some kind of bubble or cocoon, but she would find where she wished to go were she careful. She would not, however, feel nor see the thing that followed her just beyond the heavy mists at her back. There were little signs of passing pokemon, stray or wild or messengers in the night revealed in damp footprints or the track of a tail through the boot-mud on the boards or a not-so distant splash, but nothing showed itself to her. She could rest, or she could leave the city without sleeping and chance the great swamp in the night.


user posted image-- user posted image --user posted image
Branson - - + - - Rohesia
« Pr & Tr » - - * * * - - « Pr & Tr »

(Sprites by Mackay)
Post Count Rewards
Old Characters: Tobias Middleton & Travels, Gineva Winstret & Travels

| PM || Email |
1 User(s) are reading this topic (1 Guests and 0 Anonymous Users)
0 Members:
Share this topic:
« Next Oldest | Cypwater Point | Next Newest »

| Options | | Add Reply || New Topic || New Poll |



RNG & Word Counter

Scrolling Affiliates & Listings
War Is Brewing
PokéFiends Living the Dream: a Pokemon RPG Mutant Revolution Online a resource community BTM affiliates Pokemon: Forever Forgotten Kaleidoscope deep in the meadow {warriors}

Skin designed by Daniel of Outline. Gen 6 Pokemon sprites from Smogon. Gen 7 Pokemon sprites from smogon.