Not So Royal <closed>

How long had it been since he set off? A few days? A month? How far had he traveled? If Cyrus had been asked to use one word to describe his situation, it would have been among his least favorite: helpless. He didn't know what to do, or even where he was going, especially with this damnable fog covering everything. Creatures moved all around him. The wind howled and tree limbs reached for him like gnarled claws. The prince, turned beggar, had just dragged his feet blindly, stumbling over rocks and roots until he was too tired to keep up.  He hardly looked like royalty at all. His family seal had been taken along with everything else he owned, no doubt coined off by those bloody bandits. All he had to his name now was a rucksack with some bread he'd saved from the fire, which he chewed at absentmindedly with his back propped against an old tree. Everything would be okay once he got his strength back ... There had to be a city somewhere around here, right? For now though, he closed his eyes, drifting into a light sleep despite himself.

If any scenario was worthy for a horror movie, it would be the scene that now evolving around the young drake. The forest, which he had hoped would blossom into some sort of civilization or urban scrawl, seemingly delivered him into the heart of Niflheim itself. A hungry, greedy fog licked against the rolling, blackened grass and blinded all that slunk into its domain. It was a dull, depressing grey that threatened to make even the most keen of sight useless, and as the future warrior stood erect and still, his perception of the world shifted. He pondered his options.

Before him lay an incarnation of the very thing he feared: the unknown. Who was to say that there was not some bandit or masked assassin that lurked beyond what he could see? Who could argue to the potential of being face to face with a sleeping monster? Suddenly, it seemed as if a will to do the impossible had been kindled into a blazing, triumphant fire. Passion and sheer determination spurred him onwards, contorting his uncertainty into a physical manifestation: a self satisfied smirk. He would make the unknown known. To do that, however, he would have to do what seemed to go against his usual nature.

Ares threw himself into the very stomach of that fog.

It was not so much as flinging his entirety, but more so a series determined steps: his mentality had long since penetrated the foreboding, grey veil upon first arriving upon the scene. His body was the thing that remained anchored by instinct and a sense of dread, immobilized by the disposition that any of his strength should have. When his conscience returned to retrieve its physical form, the connection was one of puffing forth his chest and propelling his feet into animation.

Stomp, stomp, stomp.

Off into Niflheim he would go!

It would appear that this fog was a labyrinth lacking walls, for promptly the once confident and foolhardy Charmander began to scamper about like a scavenger.

He had just passed that rock, hadn't he?

Wait, that root looks familiar...

Ares began to realize with more and more certainty that he was now essentially damning himself to walk within this realm forever. The unknown was determined not to reveal itself, to remain secretive and aloof to those who wished to plunder it. As a sudden sensation of dread began to inflict tunnel vision upon his brain, a distant thud was audible.

Clarity. This sound was provided by Arceus to tether him to reality!

He betrayed his true nature once more, however, when desperation flogged him on in its direction. Undoubtedly, his flame-tipped tail would be the first to come into view of anyone within radius: it appeared to simply be a levitating, spectral fire that bobbed up and down in a comical fashion. Ares had, unwittingly, revealed himself as he desperately searched for something that went thud.

Cyrus squirmed in his place. As time passed he was becoming more and more unsure of himself. What if he never found his way out of here? What if he died like a fool where nobody would ever find him? Those sorts of thoughts made him anxious, though, and he knew it would do him no good to dwell on them. But it wasn't as easy as shrugging them away. Still, he tried, or at least tried to bury them for the moment until he ran out of food or got mauled or something.

He had nearly finished the bit of loaf he'd broken off for himself when a light caught his eye. Maybe it was the stress getting to him, or a trick of the light. He narrowed his eyes and blinked lethargically, but the light persisted, just... floating there like some sort of...

G-g-ghost?!

He sprang to his feet and instinctively raised his tiny claws - not that it would do much against a will o' wisp. His heart pounded, his tongue swelled. Now might actually be a good time to start mourning his lost legacy.

"S-stay back!" his voice tripped over itself; dry and coarse "I'm warning you!" Cyrus stepped back, only to have his foot snared by a root and smack his head against the tree he'd been resting against moments before. Gritting his teeth in pain, he fumbled for something to defend himself with.

Damn this accursed fog! Nothing Ares could do would grant him the ability to see but a couple of yards ahead of him, and his usual habit of using his tail as a primitive, makeshift torch would undoubtedly do little to alleviate the condition. Stumbling on towards who knew what, he continued his journey through the cloudy abyss pursuing some noise that indicated he was not alone.

Then it occurred to him that this sound could be but a simple illusion projected by his mind in order to keep his body under its rule - it was such a basic and most probable of circumstances. Ares envisioned himself arriving upon the scene, only to discover that the soul he was seeking was nothing more than boulder that gravity had finally conquered. His gait seemed to hasten as he became determined to discover the true origin of this most perplexing of sounds.

The bright, bouncing wisp would seem to quicken as he progressed closer and closer towards this unknown entity, and even those not generally perturbed by strange phenomena might feel a crepitus chill tickle down their spine. As he encroached upon the area in which the sound had most likely been projected from, the Charmander heard something he so graciously welcomed.

A voice.

It was undeniably one that indicated wariness and desperation, one that seemed to be the antithesis of an open armed greeting, but Ares would continue his wild chase after it. It was like a scene from Hamlet: he, Hamlet, was pursuing the ghost that most certainly would inform him of his present whereabouts and mission. Such flawed logic, tainted by ignorance of the situation, seemed incredibly sound to him at this present time.

This was the part of a horror-comedy movie where the build up came with a less than satisfying resolution: where a monster would have reared its ugly head and roared its ghastly threats, a benevolent little bunny rabbit pranced out instead. Scampering forth from the sunken clouds, the young drake had delivered himself upon a rather delirious Snivy! What were the odds?

Ares cocked his head, allowing it tilt slight, as he examined his new found treasure. His voice would not be conjured forth in greeting, for he was far too interested in a meticulous check over this other lost soul.

Closer it came, heedless of his warnings. Closer and closer until the will o whisp was nearly upon him! He bit his lip and scrambled to his feet, ready to -- Hold on? He blinked as the flame's master became visible, just an outline at first, then, breaking from the fog... Just a plain old charmander. It seemed they'd both been spooked over nothing.

Silence filled the gap between the two, an awkward pause. Cyrus of course played it off like it was nothing. Despite his wear and tear, he was still a prince. You say he thought this Charmander was a ghost?! Phah! Lies and slander! He brushed off the dirt on his sides and lifted his head, regarding the peasant aloofly. The Charmander's silence was a little more than off putting. Very well, if he wouldn't talk, then Cyrus would just have to take the initiative.

"Well, are you just going to stand there all day?" He snapped. So much for first impressions. He shouldn't have cared, really, but he was all too aware that right now he looked nothing like a prince, and he did ... sort of... need help... maybe.

"... Forgive my sharp tongue, good sir. You see, I may be in need of assistance. Please direct me to the nearest town, unless you are as lost as I am."

It was hardly any better from the tone of his voice, but it was something.

As the mystery of what went thud in the night had come to a less than climatic conclusion, Ares encroached upon a rather dusty looking Snivy. There were many questions that floated about the young Charmander's head as he attempted to reach a valid conclusion as to why a Snivy was wandering around this misty labyrinth, but equally so, one could counter and seek the reason as to why he was in this place, as well. A pregnant silence seemed to be bubble up between them with only a whispering, wallowing breeze to provide some sort of ambience. Regardless of what one might conclude about this other, it was generally unwise to stick around long when a silent stranger appeared out of a dense fog.

Though it appeared that the Snivy was not mute, for he promptly turned on Ares with the tenacity of a hungry hound, this did not sit well with the young warrior. A proud, stouthearted 'hmph' was given as the fire type crossed his arms in a defiant fashion, and promptly displayed his own smugness. As he pivoted where he stood, "Well, I guess I better just go towards town, then!" It was a mere bluff, after all. Who would know which way was which in this fog?

The prompt apology, however, was what caused the Charmander to relinquish some of his harshness. It was easy to identify with such a reaction, considering that situations in this place would have caused him to react in a similar fashion to a silent stranger. He slackened his haughty stature, and allowed himself to feign knowledge of where he was headed, "I'll let it slide, only because I'd hate to leave someone down on their luck in the woods." What happened to his usual isolationist attitude?

So then, there they were. Things were beginning to look up for Cyrus -- he wasn't used to being alone, and by the way he spoke, this gruff fire type knew where he was going. The Snivy sighed with relief. Desperation brought out the best and the worst of `mon; the usually snobby and entitled prince found himself thankful for this vagabond. In a gesture of good faith, he extended his hand.

"My name is Cyrus. And yours?"

Although he relished his title, he kept it a secret. For all he knew, his family could be hot on his tail. He'd stolen some pretty important artifacts. Not that it mattered now. Blasted thieves.

With all the confidence he could muster, the generally aloof and solo Charmander, simply flicked his snout with his index claw and thumb before flicking it into a thumbs up. That was how he had always seen his mother behave when she was "knowledgeable" in a subject, so undoubtedly it was the correct way to behave.

He'd feign chipperness for the time being, up until he could really get a good scope of this individual. It would be a good idea to remain on positive terms with someone that he had just encountered within the desolation of the fog. "I'm Ares," the young lizard quipped, "It's good to know that I'm not the only one wandering in here today."

How funny it was -- them, here, with some commoner being better off than he was. The Charmander's strange hand motion was unlike something he'd ever seen before at the castle, earning the fire type a confused blink. Pleasantries were nice and all, but he really did want to get back to civilization as soon as possible. You know, to get some food that wasn't stale bread. Oh, how he missed the dining hall!

The Snivy retreated his hand and looked out across the unending mist, briefly wondering how many souls had been lost to its tricks. "Well, Ares. Shall we be off?" He walked forward, rolling his near empty rucksack onto his shoulder and waited for his fellow wanderer to take charge.

There was another pregnant moment, one bursting with an awkward silence. A mere clawed hand was lifted up to scratch idly at the back of his domed cranium, his eyes rolling back to casually stare towards the veiled heavens. Well, introductions, asking what to do, what was next? Simply vacating the rolling plumes of blinding grey? Seemed easy enough.

The Snivy was prompt to taking point and addressing Ares by his name, which left him slightly startled. His species was more adept at sticking things out with companions that they were brisk to sever ties with, and it was well known that naming something, or knowing that this something had a name, was a good way to develop an unhealthy dependency. He was keen to prove his independence and mountaineer like skills, and thus he allowed a fake hearty laugh to blossom forth from his mouth. "You should let me do the leading," he would recommend, "I think it might be better that way." A single hand would grasp at his tail, bringing it towards his front as if using it as a method of persuasion.

Well, yeah, that was kind of the idea, since the charmander was the only one of them who knew their way around these parts. Asking for help came naturally to the Snivy, but this didn't mean he accepted Ares as his equal at all; he was no different from one of his family's many servants. With a gesture of his hand, he waited impatiently for the stranger to take lead, and would be quick to follow behind him to end this dawdling. He didn't care to get to know this "Ares" - not while he was stranded who knows where. He'd better not expect any payment for this, either.

While he would've gladly given a bit of coin to the masses to boost his image (peasants went crazy over a couple poke'), unfortunately he didn't have a cent on him. And the mugging had left him in a foul mood; he didn't feel like being kind. The mist dampened his leaves as they walked, and, even if it majorly restricted their vision, Cyrus found he was enjoying it much more now that he wasn't alone.

"So, what do you do for a living, Ares? Farmer? Artisan? Woodworker?" It wasn't terribly important -- he was just growing tired of this stiff air between them. That, and he loved to hear himself talk.

Having been blessed with the duty of taking point, Ares was prompt to grabbing his tail and sticking its tip out as if it were a mere torch. The fire, blazing brightly has it fed off of his determination, only allowed a few centimeters more to become visible and was the equivalent of a night light: something with the only purpose being comfort and portraying the illusion of safety and sight. Perhaps it did its job effectively, for suddenly it appeared that the flame was growing in intensity.

Yeah, he knew where he was going!

This was going to be a breeze!

"Well, I consider myself more of a 'trailblazer', if you know what I mean," he would answer, "I'm out here training and looking for objects of interest and seeing what I can use them for." A sudden urge to explain came over him, and he looked around quickly for a stick. Lifting it up, he would indicate for Cyrus to watch as he ignited its tip with the his own fire. "Like, I take this stick, and make a light source out of. Maybe I jam berries on a stick and cook them. Other times I might get some vine and tie a rock to a stick to make something to chop wood. Stick-y things."

With two "torches" now, he would extend the wooden one's handle out towards the Snivy. "Take this one. I already have my own. Just make sure you drop it and stomp it by the time the fire reaches the bottom."

Cyrus looked at the torch and immediately recoiled his hand in disgust. Fire and grass pokemon rarely, if ever, made for a good combination, and he made sure to let Ares know.

"Have you lost your mind!? That thing'll burn me to a crisp! Honestly..." he scoffed. So he settled to clinging to the light of a single torch, determined to stay as far away from the flames as possible. Even watching it burn through wood made him uncomfortable. His jaw tightened and he hugged his arm close.

He was, admittedly, perplexed and startled by such an adverse reaction to his invention. Didn't he give the instructions clearly? Exhaling a combination of crackling cinders and grey smoke in a concentrated blast from one nostril, he would wrench his rather crude creation away as if he had been blindsided, and thus this infuriated him.

"Fine," Ares conceded with a snarl, "I just had no idea that being a Grass-type meant being a Pansy-type! Golly, I might as well just do a head-to-toe check on you to make sure you haven't rooted and sprouted flowers, either!" Considering that the Charmander was talking to a Grass-type and his knowledge of that element was exceedingly lacking, this could have very well been a possibility.

It wasn't so much that the fire itself was dangerous than it was that Cyrus actually was a complete pansy. That, and he had an ingrained fear of fire present in every grass type. When the Charmander decided to crack wise, he felt his blood pressure jump. He bit his lip to keep from lashing out, but this only held him back for a few heartbeats before he balled his hands into fists.

"How dare you speak to me that way!" he snapped, falling quickly back into old habits. "Do you know who I --" He might've foolishly turned on Ares if a rustle in the bushes hadn't cut him off mid sentence. Their squabbling hadn't gone unnoticed. He stopped and narrowed his eyes at the brush, and when the culprit revealed themselves, they were clearly looking for a fight.

Roll for encounter

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