Not So Royal <closed>

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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.

Perhaps the hot headed Charmander had pushed too far. This was, after all, a mere stranger who he had encountered in the concealing, deep fog - who was to say that he was not a murderer or rapscallion? His comments, which had come from the great personal insult he had been stricken by ignorantly offering an open flame to a Grass-type, had provoked a rather hostile response. Within his perspective, this meant war.

The fire on the tip of his tail surged up and promptly was dropped from his hands. His brow furrowed, and he let out a snarl. Bring it on, tiny man!

Rustle.

He froze.

Rustle. Rustle... WHOOSH!

Out of a nearby bush, a series of rapid fired leaves produced from a Razor Leaf attack streaked through the air with the precision and power of a hunter's boomerang. Ares dived to the ground, releasing a rather startled howl as one slashed his tail, his hands promptly flying up towards his snout in a protective manner. The series of rapid fire attacks seemed to cease, and it was merely because a rather belligerent Cherubi had popped out. Eep! Kill it!

There was a moment of disbelief as their attacker revealed itself. The reveal was, once again, underwhelming. Cyrus wrinkled his snout at the insignificant rapscallion that had the gall to attack one of the royal family. Nobody here had any respect, but how could they when they didn't even know his family? He experienced an odd moment of loneliness and disproportionate terror of the unknown. Pokemon had hated him before, but they had been barred by castle gates. Now, he was seeing their anger up close for the second time, and it didn't sit well with him. Maybe he'd made a mistake, maybe he should have never left.

The Snivy made a choked little noise, pulled from his thoughts by a Razor Leaf whizzing past his ear. Oh, right... battle. Even if Cyrus didn't like Ares's attitude, he was still his only hope of ever seeing civilization again. He dove and crashed headlong into the rambunctious Cherubi, wresting with it in the dirt. If he could just get it to stay still for a second, he could immobilize it enough for them to get away!

As the confrontation grew on, it would begin to appear that Ares was certainly all bark and no bite: he was still sprawled against the ground and protectively cupping his hands about his snout. Considering his heritage, which had been bred for generations to hone the art of war and battle, this was a major insult. What was he, a Rattata? A meek, trembling Pidove? Why should an adorable, bumbling Cherubi get the better of a descendant of bloodshed?

He had trained for this. He had punched things right in the face for this. He had taken blow after blow in order to maintain his heritage and become strong. His legacy was this moment, and it was going to be a sour one if he didn't do anything.

As the Cherubi and Snivy began to wrestle like fighting, spitting adders in the dirt, Ares could see no possible way of attempting to use a physical move without the chance of hitting Cyrus - he may not have liked the guy for dissing his invention, but the Cherubi was even worse company. His strategy was conveyed as he released a series of Growl attacks, aiming to slowly weaken the Cherubi's attack power to give his ally the upper hand in their fisticuffs match.

The result of those Growls began to show when the Snivy got the upper hand on his fellow grass-type. It wriggled, as much as a thing with practically nonexistent limbs could wriggle, beneath his needle claws as he Glared down his prey. The hypnotic gaze of the Grass Snake pokemon brought their adversary to a trembling halt. He threw it aside, leaping off of it on all four limbs and hissing with surprising ferocity. His time in the wilderness had made him desperate, it was showing.

But the Cherubi was not done. Even paralyzed, it wiggled onto its nubs with an adorable squeak. For something so small, it was awfully persistent. Cyrus had to wonder why it was fighting as hard as it was... Was it guarding something? Treasure, perhaps? What treasure could such a dumb pokemon have?

The moment that Cyrus relinquished the hold upon their opponent, leaving it paralyzed in his wake, was the instant that Ares would attack. His own claws, serrated and curled like that of a ferocious predator, straightened up as he charged headfirst at the downed, writhing Cherubi. There would be no mercy now, no indication of cowardice in the face of hardship: the opportunity that the Snivy had gifted him was enough to trigger instinct in any predatory animal.

A single, powerful strike - a Scratch attacked mixed with a forceful punch - sent their quarry further tumbling into the bleak dreariness that expanded around them. The fire that burned intensely on the tip of his tail was comparable to a conflagration. The din of battle had dumbed his senses, and his inexperience was once more made apparent as he stumbled over something shiny and round.

What was that?

His dragon-like nature came out as he immediately became fascinated over something that glinted from the glow of his fire. If one were to ask him what he was pursuing initially, he would not have known at that time: he was far too bewitched by a shiny item. His hands instantly set to work, his claws shoveling out dirt as he attempted to get to this treasure. What could it be?

This dice is not existing.

The glint had merely been the moonlight reflecting off of some grains of sand. Ares treasure amounted to nothing more than a dirty Oran Berry. Better luck next time.

Cyrus, meanwhile, was blinking, dumbfounded by Ares's ferocity. On second thought, he didn't want to get on this guy's bad side. His hand reached to scratched the back of his head sheepishly. He leaned over the fire type's shoulder to eye his discovery. After deeming it completely useless, he huffed snootily and sauntered away a couple paces.

"Well, now that that's done, shall we be on our way?" He was growing impatient, and it was showing. Just how far were they from town? He didn't think he could stand another day of sleeping on leaves...

An Oran Berry? That was it?

He frantically searched the ground, scooping handfuls of dirt up in an attempt to discover the true treasure. Ares's behavior was akin to an addict who had just dropped their drugs: he was desperate to find them - so much so that he would continue in vain. His smile had faltered into an agonized frown, and all he had to show for it was a simple Oran Berry.

What was he supposed to do with that? It wasn't good to lie on! It wasn't shiny!

As a tantrum ensued within his mind, Cyrus had apparently had his fill of this situation. A disgruntled puff of grey smoke was issued from his nostrils, and he promptly picked up his "treasure" and proceeded to briskly walk in front of his traveling companion. He hated having his hands full - perhaps he could sew together a bag sometime in the future? A couple of leaves, a tree needle, and some thread should be satisfactory enough to construct something that could hold two items: that was all he needed.

"So," he would begin as they continued their march through the mists, "what brings you all the way out here? Treasure? Glory? Fame?"

The obsessive scrambling of his firey companion left Cyrus more unsure about his personality. He had problems... alright then. It was uncomfortable to watch. After he'd had his fill of rolling around in the dirt, the Snivy quickly followed after him, wondering what exactly he'd gotten himself into. He thought of home often, but now it was becoming obvious that he had made a mistake. He'd considered going back -- maybe if he apologized they'd forgive him. But then what? He didn't amount to anything there, even though he was clearly the most competent of his brothers.

Ares' voice snapped through his thoughts, and Cyrus turned to look at him, seeming to contemplate the question for a spell. "Fame, I guess you could say," he stated, shrugging his shoulders. He was surprised by the weakness in his own voice, straightening his back in feigned confidence.

"I'm looking for a fresh start." He didn't say more than that -- Cyrus was a strong believer in theatrics where theatrics were due. It wouldn't make for a good reveal if he just brought up his title out of nowhere.

Fame: that was always a worthy pursuit. To become famous was the equivalent of becoming powerful, which was a concept and ideal that the Charmander could easily respect. At the end of the day, all that really mattered was how quickly you could squash the opposition. A warrior had to perfect that daily and become quicker at defeating his foes, else he be the one decimated upon the battlefield.

"A fresh start is nice," he would begin, attempting to coast over his unfortunate issue with particularly shiny objects, "they often say new scenery is good for strengthening one's will and zeal. That's the reason I'm here, too. I want to find a use for the minerals they find in the caves that keep popping up - iron, in particular. There's got to be something you can do with it. Nothing's useless, ya know?" Did the other ask? No. He just felt obligated to give some sort of back story. That was how these things worked, anyways, particularly when Ares was attempting to cover up the fact that he still had no idea where he was going.

Weeeell, maybe it wasn't actually fame itself he was after. And, weeeeeell, maybe he wasn't even sure why he'd left in the first place other than to get back at his family. Fresh start was right. He was completely bare, but he'd have his kingdom yet. Hadn't he always preached about forging his own destiny? He was here to swallow continents, to sip dry oceans, to usher in an era of peace, but let's face it... that was much easier said than done. Who was to say that he couldn't become something greater than the First King? Even if he had his doubts, he would get the recognition he so rightly deserved.

"Iron? Well...It's not impossible. In the country where I'm from, we use copper for tools, so maybe Iron could be used the same way." The grass-type mused. Then, he paused, and looked around the misty woods, which seemed no less dense than when they first began. "How much farther to town?"

He'd had his suspicions, but he didn't want to jump to conclusions because this was literally the only option he had. Besides staking out on his own again, and look where that had gotten him. Just as Ares had started to distrust him moments ago, now it was Cyrus's turn to wonder what his traveling companion's intentions were. What if he was leading him into a trap?

Ares stopped and froze at the mention of copper, his eyes growing wide with what appeared to be amazement. Did Cyrus just say what he thought he said? He was prompt to turning towards his companion and sticking his hands up in the air in surprise, allowing his mouth to morph into an open "o" shape.

He looked like he had just forgotten that he left the stove on at home.

"Copper?!" the Charmander would exclaim, "You actually use copper in tools? That's amazing! Tell me more." His appearance of surprise and disbelief had morphed into child-like whimsy, as if Christmas was coming early. It was exceedingly evident that this he considered this exceedingly important. It was practically as if he had purposefully ignored the follow up question...

The Charmander's attempt to gloss over Cyrus's question did not go unnoticed. He came stop, arms crossed. "Ares, how much farther to town?" His heart raced. This wasn't some pleasant walk in the woods around the castle grounds -- this was real, and dangerous, and there was no time for chatting about such things until they knew they were safe. Unless... he had been right and this "trailblazer" had something sinister in store for him.

Before tonight, Cyrus had craved company. It was funny -- he hated being alone, but now that he got his wish for a travel partner he was questioning every second of their time together.

Great, it appeared that his plan of glossing over the subject had been ignored. Of course he knew tools were made of copper - that's why he sought to improve them! A hesitant, albeit nervous, smile crossed his face as he attempted to disengage the predicament he had just landed himself in. Did he tell the truth, or did he continue this charade?

He chose the latter, of course. Why would he admit that he was wrong or admit his ignorance to anyone? Ares allowed a confident tone to fluctuate through his voice as he communicated, perhaps solely so that he might put the other at ease, "Not too far!" Whirling about, he would grab his tail and promptly shove it in front of him, once more assuming point. "Just a ways further!"

Had by this point already caught on to what was happening, and his imagination was running wild. He did follow, but let the Charmander coast forward a little more than last time. Carefully, quickly, he dipped to pick up the jagged end of a fallen branch, no bigger than a dagger, concealing the crude weapon behind his arm. Just in case... He only hoped he was quick and quiet enough to get away with it, and that the darkness was enough to conceal him. If fortune allowed him to go unnoticed, he would quickly rejoin his not-so-trustworthy companion and hope for the best that he was telling the truth. Probably wasn't though.

"I can't wait to sleep in a feather bed again... take a nice bath..." he'd say wistfully, eyes betraying an unspoken threat, "the wilderness can... put a pokemon on edge. I do hope we get there soon."In the corner of his vision Cyrus could see things watching them from the trees, their eyes aglow in the torchlight. He'd press the crude dagger into his palm, chest tight and breath bated.

While Cyrus was obtaining a makeshift weapon from the resources presented to him, Ares was much more concerned and preoccupied by the idea of how to get out of this fog. It was as if the mists were alive... as if they did not want to relinquish their newly obtained prisoners. His flame flickered as his mind grew dark and grim, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he attempted to fight off the notion that he would be wandering these mists forever.

Wait, hadn't he just passed that rock?

That stump looked familiar!

It was as if the entire place was caving in on him, and he risked a look back towards his companion. Perhaps Ares had been moving briskly, for the Snivy was apparently a good distance behind him. The Charmander beckoned towards him, "C'mon, Cyrus." A mistake.

The trees began to buzz and stir with life as a horde pop out of the leaves, their shadows large and black. Ambush?! Ares froze in his tracks, looking onward in awe and fright.

This dice is not existing.

This dice is not existing.

This dice is not existing.