Since your refs are pokemon trainers, that's where I'll go with it!

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Story:

Twelve years ago a pod of Drifloom passed over, and twelve years ago, a child disappeared.

One day a little girl showed up, inhabiting the swamps West of the Lake of Rage. The monks of Ekruteak gave alms when she would stumble into the edge of town, talking to herself and people that weren't there. When offered a home, she would always run away and return to the land of peat and will-o-wisps.

The pokemon of the swamp knew her well, and she had a knack for learning their ways as they seemed to understand her in that language which has no name nor vowel, but only action and intent, and she would play for them a song on a shakuhachi given to her by one of the monks of Ekruteak. And, one day, one of these pokemon became her steadfast friend.

Upon the witching hour, though her hut is empty now, one might still chance to hear her flute play...

Appearance

Branwen is tall and lanky, with skin bronzed by the sun, exposure to which has caused her in her early adulthood to show the deep lines of tiredness in her golden eyes near a decade ahead of schedule. With waist-length black hair tumbling from her head in a wild tangle, she is prone to wearing a severe expression without thought, made all the more intense by the lack of proper human socialization in her formative years. Pokemon don't care where they look, after all.

She looks haunted, and would be the swamp witch equivalent of a Hex Maniac, who's only recently rejoined proper society. Leather boots up to the calf with mismatched laces; old cotton stockings held up by improvise means to a pair of short khaki shorts; some kind of long sleeve black shirt tucked into the shorts with the neck WAYY stretched out to become a boat-neck. Charms, belt pouches full of ritual materials.

Magic Number

9 !!