After wrestling with this story for a week now... I think it's okay and could be better, but the long version of it I came up with actually fits better into ClicheStorm, because it worked better for N's Sigilyph then what I originally had. This has been bugging me to the point of writer's block elsewhere, so I'm posting it anyhow to at least get something done.
Fortunately, the next one shouldn't be so troublesome.
In Process: Joltik
On Deck: Bouffalant, Surskit/Masquerain/Golduck, Machop/Dewott, Timburr/Conkledurr, Zigzagoon/Garbador, Volcarona, Yamask/Sandile, Sawsbuck/Zebstrika
Sigilyph and Golurk
The desert sands blew across empty land, turning the air gritty and brown. There were a few stones, statues, and one old tower standing, but otherwise there was nothing here. On a clearer day, one could look around and see nothing but sand. It rose and dipped in strangely regular rectangular patterns, but none had yet dared to dig there and find out why. Most people saw nothing of importance.
Most people were not like the Sigilyph.
Floating through the air, one moved along the central line of Desert Resort slowly. His blue-tipped wings moved slowly; he kept itself aloft with his Psychic powers, but directed himself with his wings. The black limb that held onto his eye swiveled around, checking out his surroundings. Every day of his life, he always flew this same route at the same time of day. His mother had taught it to him, and he would eventually teach it to his successor.
When he looked around, he saw things. Ancient things which were no longer around, but their images lasted in the inherited memories of the Sigilyph. He saw stone streets filled with human and Pokémon, all working under the Great King. Although old languages crowded the air, he wouldn’t let any of it distract him. He sensed through the stone buildings to see others cleaning, weaving, crafting, cooking, whatever work needed to be done.
He also saw merchants under colorful tents, hawking their wares and bartering with customers. Although he saw them, the Sigilyph didn’t check them out. He saw them in memory, but not in reality. If they were in reality, then he would be accompanied by another of his kin, who checked out the goods to make sure that none were dangerous. Sometimes he had to check on a Trainer for the same purpose, but he made sure he could fly away before they could challenge him.
Then something changed around him. The Sigilyph stirred his small black wings, using them to sense things more accurately. In his visions of ancient times, he saw some people starting to look up at him. They had eyes with no whites, only blacks. Their aura was one of restlessness, an ache for the loss of life and the maddened desire to take it from others. And those souls were starting to manifest in reality.
He stopped in the air, counting how many there were. Fifty lost souls, all across the city. As they retained a memory of gravity, he would be safe above them. But anyone else in the Desert Resort was in danger. The Sigilyph sent a high pitched wail into the air, soon accompanied by other patrollers. It was a warning and a call for assistance.
In response, other Pokémon began to flee in alarm. Wild ones sought caves to hide in, while captured ones did their best to convince their Trainers to get out of the desert. And the various raised sections of sand began to shift. It had been many years, since before his mother’s lifetime and maybe even before then, that something like this had happened. Yet the Golurk were still there, waiting for the time they were needed.
The Sigilyph flew on, finding the yellow glow of the nearest one to him. The clay giant was standing up now, not heeding the sands that were cascading off its body. Through various calls, he heard his kin trying to call the stronger wild Pokémon back out; their powers would help in defense of the city. Never mind that the city itself was already destroyed. It was the purpose, the soul and drive of the Sigilyph, to defend it.
And the Golurk that were here were of the same mind. He spoke with it, using terms he had never used before. Wraiths, the restless and wretched souls that remained, were coming out to attack the living. As Pokémon at least still lived here, they had to fight back. The Sigilypth wasn’t sure why they were coming now, but the wraiths had to be dealt with.
Tightening its oversized fists, the Golurk looked around the landscape. When it saw that the wraiths had yet to fully cross over, the blue golem began to explain. The city had been destroyed by something they could not fight against, disease and the building sands. The spirits of many victims remained, eventually turning into the ravenous wraiths which stole life, turned others to be like them, but never became satisfied.
As their orders remained, even after many centuries, the Golurk would still fight to protect those that lived here. The Sigilyph agreed. They were all still bound by honor to the ghost city underneath the sands.
Sigilyph Black entry: They never vary the routes they fly, because their memories of guarding an ancient city remain steadfast.
White entry: It is said that Golurk were ordered to protect people and Pokémon by the ancient people who made them.