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Pokémon Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Agents of Fate

Chapter 1: Ember's Doom

Shamekeeper12

All glory be to Christ
Location
Variant Suns
Pronouns
He/Him/His






Ember’s Doom

O, rise, you that slumber
Stir, and wake your brothers also
For your mind is empty
And by this your heart is silenced






The furret didn't realize it at first, but every step came sooner than the last. Quicker and quicker, until he was simply running. He had dreamt of this tree before.

He ran like a swinub on fire, squinting as the winter wind bit at his face and numbed his paws. As the tree grew, however, he began to realize this was a different dream…

Because he was getting closer.

And when he had reached the oak tree—with its weeping branches frozen in a waterfall of ice, dusted with the whitest snow he had ever seen—he stopped, not knowing what to do next. He had never gotten this far.

As he caught his breath, he tentatively put out his paw, like a sprouting seed. Reaching out, he touched it—and gasped a little.

This cold bark was real. This was not a dream.

He blinked. It was morning in Variant Suns. The blue pre-dawn light bathed all things, and the wind rested—waiting for the sun. His own heart was the only sound.

Having touched, he let his paw fall away. On the other side, he noticed another furret; and suddenly he remembered why he was here.

He sat down beside her, his satchel's contents rattling as he let it fall off his neck. "Sorry I'm late," he said.

She turned, and though she could not meet his eyes, she smiled and that was enough for him. "I know," she replied. "You were running."

These were the days that were darker than nights. The days that started when the dungeons began to spread. Like a pox on the face of the earth, roads were destroyed, and farmland corrupted. Isolation and famine brought with it gangs of marauders, and all three brought letters to the door of the Exploration Team Federation—all begging for deliverance.

All the Federation's guilds and all the guilds' teams couldn't save even half of them, so those with great reward were saved first.

Abandoned, many killed, stole, starved, and died. Cycles of vengeance ruled the hearts of all, and day by day, the dungeons spread evermore.

Surely, said the prophets, the days were coming for the wrath of a generation to be fulfilled.

And as he stared into the town below, seeing angry crowds, he knew these days had come. Some part of him wished she would stay blind forever, lest she see her shadowed world grow darker still.

"Porter?"

He blinked. The sun was rising now.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

He sighed. He savored her voice, but he hated her question. Indeed, those days were here, and the day for his secret had come as well. "Ainsley…I'll be gone for a few weeks."

The pause in her breathing. It killed him. "You said you would quit."

He didn’t want things to go this way. "I know." He hung his head. He had no excuse.

Her quiet sigh. “Then why won’t you?”

He didn’t dare look up.

“… This… this life isn’t for you anymore. You know this.”

“I know.”

“Then why? We can walk away from all this. Do you know how tired I am of meeting you in secret like this? Do you know how anxious I am all day not knowing when I’ll hear from you again? I can’t go on like this—we can’t go on like this.”

… “I’m sorry.”

“Porter… What’s keeping you? Why won’t you leave?”

“It’s just…” He wracked his brain for something—some way to express why. He knew he was grasping at straws.

But he found a way that seemed right to him. “This is the only life that Quincy knows. He has so much to learn about life, I… I can’t just leave him behind.”

“I know what he means to you, but he’s someone else’s son. Not ours.”

That last part stung him a little. She lay a paw on his cheek. “And he has other teammates. They’ll take care of him. Let him go.”

He huffed. She was right, but still he hesitated. “What do I say to him? What do I say to the Guildmaster? So many people need help—”

“And so do we.” Her quick response betrayed a growing frustration. “At least this way, people won’t hate us.”

He knew she was right about that one too, but he shook his head. “That shouldn’t matter. It’s not right.”

She hesitated. “… I know.”

He flinched a little, suddenly feeling her nuzzle her face into his neck. The thick fur of his winter coat muffled the faintest of sobs.

“I know, and I hate it,” she mumbled miserably. “Porter… Come home…”

He brought an arm around her back, and they squeezed each other tight. They were quiet for a moment.

"…Where are you going?" she asked, taking a breath.

"They say the guild at Shiver Village is in danger. With all the preparations and things to do…it's very difficult for someone to leave now."

Just then, a bell rang in the town below, marking the first hour of the day.

She removed herself from their embrace. "Go," she said, despondent. "You're late."

After exchanging "I love you", he picked up his satchel and started back the way he came. Before he got too far, though, he heard her voice again.

He turned.

She paused a moment, touching her paws together restlessly. "…Above be with you, Porter… I love you."

"I love you too," he said, a second time.

He hesitated, wondering if he would ever see this tree again—this old meeting place of theirs. He turned back and made his way to Cobalt Guild.

He would do everything to make sure he did.





He tried not to make eye contact with anyone as he passed through town. Exploration Team Federation badges were easy to hide. His familiar face, however, was impossible to conceal. His Keen Eye kept him wary along the journey as disillusioned townsfolk stared him down. His ears twitched at the distant cries of the rabble-rousers.

Their words were too far off to be intelligible, but they grew louder as he approached.

"Cast off your chains!" they were saying. "Cast off the Federation! The only thing they'll save is their money!"

He let the words echo in his thoughts more than he should have. She was right: Above is cruel, and terrible things happen to good people.

Idling in his thoughts, he came across a familiar storefront, and he was reminded of what he purchased there.

Peering into his satchel, he found it still glistening in the dark depths. A Gold Ribbon.

He quickly glanced back, his Keen Eye peering up the faraway hill where they had just met. She was gone. Only the tree remained, small in his vision like a wilting bonsai.

At the empty sight, he felt rotten to the core. This was supposed to be a happy moment, the day of their anniversary. But he could not save their last conversation from the pain the world had brought them. Whatever light he makes, the darkness swiftly snuffs it out. Cut a tree, and it falls on you. Build a house, and a storm casts it down. Kindle a fire, and the rain will extinguish it—no ember will be spared.

With a pensive breath, he closed up his bag, and continued towards the guild.

Before he knew it, the guild fence lay stretched out before him, a black row of steel pickets anchored a few yards from the stone face of Cobalt Guild itself. A flagpole bearing its bright blue banner marked the place where the Federation broke ground building it.

The fence was lined with a few dozen angry and shouting pokemon. Many gave ear to a smeargle standing on a wooden crate. His voice was the one he’d heard.

“Come!” he proclaimed. “All you who hunger and are heavy laden, all you who have lost much, come to the gates of your oppressors! Come, and behold the wickedness therein!”

Feeling the cobblestone beneath the snow, he reminded himself that Digging under was not an option. He had no choice, but to navigate through the crowd.

He drew in a deep breath and steeled himself. Walking through an area full of hostile pokemon wasn't new to him. Explorers did that for a living. The only difference was also his only concern:

They are not dungeon crawlers.

He huffed. Now, or never. Paw in front of paw, one pace became two, became three. Past the raticate bundled in a blanket. He kept walking at a steady beat. Past the simipour with the sign. She was too engrossed in shouting to notice him. Wide strides. Stone cold face. Past the stoutland with ice in his fur. Ignore his Leer. Deterrence through confidence is what would save him. By some miracle, he didn't shiver in the hour of his peril.

But cool nerves don’t make you invisible.

The smeargle thrust his brush in his direction, singling him out in the crowd. “This pokemon!” he cried. “We have cried ‘save us!’ and his kind have not heard! We have wept at their feet, but his kind have not seen, nor perceived us! “

Scattered shouts of affirmation rang out from the crowd.

“Behold! The Federation is a wilting tree, and her fruit has become bitter in the sight of the stars! But take heart, all you who have lost much. Yet eighteen moons, and Above will cut down this tree! ”

The shouting grew louder. An emboar steps in front of him, blocking his path.

He was getting nervous.

But a new voice rang out. “Okay, that’s enough! That’s enough!”

All turned to the voice. A bisharp and three pawniard made their way through the crowd, each bearing the city crest on their white winter scarves.

“Leave the furret alone,” the bisharp admonished. “The city is weary as it is. And will you weary them overmuch, and incite violence?”

“Hm,” the smeargle conceded. “Very well, Sheriff Walter.”

The pawniard cleared the way, and Porter was allowed to continue to the gates.

But the smeargle’s voice could not be left behind. “Mark my words: Above will cut you down!”





More pawniard stopped him at the gate. He showed them his badge. They shooed him in.

"You're late, Porter!" one of them remarked.

He stumbled past the entrance. Finally safe, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was too early for that.

He yelped as a tamato berry exploded on the side of his head. Choosing to ignore it, he walked on, only to catch his paw in a Grass Knot, causing him to fall. The crowd jeered and laughed him to scorn. He muttered as he tried to wipe off the mess from his face. The juice fell to the snow like blood. Many wished it was blood. Ignoring their taunts, he made his way to the entrance.

The front yard of Cobalt Guild was fairly barren—landscaped only with the same snow that blanketed all things.

Most notably, no apprentices were gathered here either. He missed roll call.

As he approached the door, though, the drone of a hundred conversations grew louder and louder. He still wasn't used to all this noise.

He put a paw on the door, almost certain he could feel the rumble of the clamoring in the wood. A building filled to the brim with noise, and when he opened it, it all came rushing out over him.

He stepped into the atrium and closed the door behind him, returning the greeting of a passing ariados. The halls have been a lot more packed these past few days. The chaos of various pokemon of all shapes and sizes milling about, carrying boxes, moving items, racing about the halls tended to disorient him. Standing on his hind legs, he could barely see over the sea of bodies.

All of them were part of the Federation's effort to reform in an age of public skepticism, modelled after the very entity that swore to destroy them, the Coalition. Unity was the first step, and they sent Cephas the Skarmory to oversee the start of such reforms in Variant Suns.

Gaining his bearings, he set out on his next order of business. He needed to find his team. If he was seen working with them, maybe he'd escape punishment for being absent at roll call.

The main hall was connected to all parts of the guild. His only challenge was finding which part to get to. He reasoned the notice boards were a good place to start—assuming Cephas hadn't given his team other responsibilities for the day.

As he hit his stride weaving through the crowds, he couldn't help but feel like he was having fun. Staying on his toes, reacting to movements, dodging people...it was a lot like fighting the dungeon crawlers. He couldn't help but smile, finding again his sense of adventure. Quick and fast, he flaunted his agility in front of fellow apprentices and strangers alike. He restrained his play, though, being careful not to draw too much attention—or forget what he was looking for.

A few Cobalt apprentices greeted him at the notice boards, but aside from them, he didn't see his team.

He dashed back into the main hall, the game still in play. The barracks would be the next best place to check.

This time, he took the southern hallway. It was less crowded and offered a straight shot to his destination.

As he zoomed through the guild, however, he couldn't help but notice a type of shouting rise consistently above the rest of the noise. And as he continued through the hall, the shouting grew louder.

His playful side more or less uninhibited now, he couldn't help but also let his curiosity get the better of him. He began following the sound.

He didn't have to travel far before recognizing Callum's voice. The Unfeazant was Cobalt Guild's official number two. And, if Porter strained, he could make out another voice in between Callum's enraged squawks. Cephas.

Intrigued, he kept walking. Eventually, he found himself at the door of the very room where the argument was taking place.

"Don't think I can't see the writing on the wall! I know you had a hand in this! You've been on my case since the day you came here!"

"How many times do I have to tell you? You have no one to blame for this demotion but yourself."

The sound of footsteps interrupted his eavesdropping. Not wanting to embarrass himself, he tore himself away from the door and continued on toward the barracks.

Cobalt Guild didn't have the space to accommodate all the new pokemon, so the training field in the back was converted into living quarters lined with three rows of tents—one for each guild—interspersed with temporary camps for the rescue teams. Nobody thought they were warm enough for the season.

He darted out into the blistering cold. Making his way past Verdant and Scarlet Guild's tents, he quickly found the one for his team—tent number 31.

No one.

Somewhat discouraged, he turned back towards the main building, but before he could get back inside, Guildmaster Raichu flagged him down.

"Furret! You're quite a difficult 'mon to chase down. I didn't see you at roll call today."

Any sense of play evaporated, replaced by fear as his superior approached and towered over him. Porter cleared his throat, preparing his recycled excuse. "Sorry, Guildmaster. The townsfolk held me up."

Raichu nodded with an understanding hum. "That explains the smoothie on your head."

Flustered, the furret frantically ran his paws over his head once again. Only managing to get rid of a little tomato juice.

He smiled. "Follow me," he said, gesturing to the main hall. "I have something for you."

Porter followed him back into the main building. As they walked through the main hall, he couldn't help but notice the guildmaster's disdain for some of the rowdier pokemon. Many did not wear badges he could recognize.

Just then he shared a twinge of Raichu's disdain. They were rescue teams.

After some walking, they finally reached Raichu's office. Raichu kindly let him in first. Closing the door behind him, the guildmaster grumbled. "If there's one thing I hate about these reforms, it's Cephas' insistence that my guild play host to mercenaries. They have no business walking beside nobler 'mon."

Porter watched tentatively from the center of the room as Raichu ambled over to his desk, picking up a polished wooden box placed neatly thereon. With the box in hand, Raichu positioned himself in front of Porter, and with both paws, presented the box to him.

Porter stood on his hind legs, and with both paws, he accepted.

The guildmaster gestured to the box. "Please," he said. "Open it."

Porter did as instructed, revealing a small pin in the shape of a silver bar, and a somewhat hastily-made book.

Raichu spoke up as the furret examined the contents.

"Cephas wanted me to choose a lieutenant who would be present during planning meetings with the other guilds and rescue teams. I think you would be a perfect fit."

"Guildmaster, I…. I'm sorry, but—I really don't think I can accept this."

"Oh?"

With Raichu's expectant gaze weighing heavy on his shoulders, Porter races to find an explanation. He debated simply telling him the truth. He would be disappointing Raichu for the second time today, but it would be the truth, the weight on his shoulders, and the deepest thoughts of his heart.

He made up his mind. This was the hour he would resign.

"...Guildmaster, I—"

The guildmaster cut him off there. "Furret," he said. "Don't humble yourself now. You and your team have blessed my guild with many years of service. Your counsel has proved invaluable in many of our endeavors. Now that we face a threat unlike any we've ever seen, I wish to have your advice close at hand."

His heart sank.

"You may not feel ready. But I'm in charge of the largest guild south of the Danzetsu river, and I'm putting a great deal of faith and responsibility on your shoulders. Believe me…"

Placing his hand on Porter's shoulder, he reassured him, "You are ready."

"…Thank you, sir."

Pleased, Raichu nodded, and returned to his desk. "No, Furret. Thank you."



“Go on. Try it on.”

He plucked it out of the box. It felt heavy between his claws. He could’ve sworn he saw his reflection in its glint. He pinned it beside his grimy badge. The mismatch in cleanliness seemed almost comical to him.

“It looks good on you,” Raichu said, beaming.

“Thank you, sir…”

He nodded. “Alright, Furret. Go back to your business. You’re late as it is.”

About business… "Ah, sir… I have a couple of questions."

"If you're looking for your team, I believe Cephas has them by the road loading up crates into the baggage train. You'll find them there."

"…One question."

"Shoot."

"I-uh… I overheard Callum and Cephas arguing over a demotion. What's that about?"

Raichu's expression changed for the worse. "Oh," he groaned. "That… I don't envy Cephas' job. Those talons of his have to land on a lot of heads to keep three rival guilds from ripping out each others' throats."

He sighed. "I don't know if you've noticed, but Callum doesn't like being stepped on. He and Cephas go at it constantly, it's exhausting! I thought it best he take a back seat for this one—especially because it's so important."

He reestablished eye contact with Porter. "Any other questions, Lieutenant?"

The title made him shudder. He shook his head. "None, Guildmaster. Thank you."





The baggage train was maybe ten wagons long, all arranged neatly on the side of the main road. In preparation for tomorrow, when they would leave. More pawniard watched over them, making sure none of the townsfolk got any ideas. He saw a number of apprentices milling about, loading crates, and shouting directions and commands.

One of his teammates was working alone by the eighth cart.

"Hello, Quincy."

The quilava's face lit up. "Porterrr! Ya half-breed bastard! You missed roll call!"—he leaned in, speaking quietly now—“Cephas wasn’t pleased…”

He chuckled sheepishly. "Sorry about that…” he mumbled, taking a moment to look around. “Where's…everyone else?"

Quincy's expression fell instantly. "Oh, them? How do I put this politely?" He pursed his lips. "Hmm… They abandoned us."

He blinked. "...They deserted?"

"Yessir!" Quincy leaned in again. He was about to make a point. "And you know, we're a four-pokemon team, right?"

Porter didn't respond immediately.

"Right?!"

"Right…"

"Well, Cephas—in his infinite wisdom—gave us a four-pokemon job moving crates."

The furret shrugged. "Makes sense to me."

"Well would you know!"—he tapped Porter's shoulder—"Would you know that some of these crates are well-suited to big guys like the honorable stantler, Leo, and HM slaves such as yourself!"

He frowned. "Hey that's—"

"SO! You can imagine, the look of pure shock and absolute horror on my face when, out of the four in our team, only one—me—showed up!"

He looked away, somewhat sheepishly. "Sorry, Quincy."

But he wasn't finished. "You know, I considered—I actually considered evolving just for this purpose. But then I stopped myself, I thought: 'Gee, what are my future grandkids gonna say when I tell them that I evolved just to move crates?'"—Quincy's arms shot up in exasperation—"They're gonna lose their minds! They're gonna say: 'You're stupid, grandpa!'. You know, I was this close—this close to being on the timeline where my grandkids call me stupid! How does that make you feel?"

"After what happened in the Empty Fields? I'd say you deserve—"

"Does it make you feel guilty? You better feel guilty! Because you know—"

"Quincy." He sighed. "Do you want my help or—?"

"Yes!” he cried. “Please! Please help me!"





That evening…

When he opened his eyes, he saw a clear, open sky. Blue as the deep sea. The more he stared into it, the more he felt like he was falling into it.

Stealing his eyes off the blue, he rolled off his back, and the grass caught his cheeks, soft like cotton, and cold to the touch. He shivered. He sighed.

He sat up and rubbed the dirt from his eyes. His vision cleared to reveal a grassy plain stretched out before him, flat like a table as far as the eye could see, right up until the horizon—where infinity met infinity, and the grass and sky were the same.

No longer disoriented, he chanced standing up. Once on his feet, his spine stretched as he tried to get the highest view he could manage, but it didn't matter how high his perch was. This was a featureless plain…

But in the far distance, he could see a tree. An oak tree, all alone in the endless field.

All of a sudden, the light around him seemed brighter. The landscape around him became consumed in a bright white haze of light, and the heat of it soon consumed his thoughts. He squinted in the flurry, and found himself desiring shade.

Animating his legs, he put one paw in front of the other. His shuffle turned to ambling, and his ambling into strides as he started for the willow tree.

Three hundred paces later, he realized the tree did not appear any closer. But he pressed on, soon forgetting why he was going there.

He didn't realize it at first, but every step came sooner than the last. Quicker and quicker, until he was simply running. He had dreamt of this tree before.

He ran like a swinub on fire, squinting harder to see as the light intensified. Yards turned into miles, and he ran forever, that tree never getting any closer.

Soon, forever had passed, and his legs gave out from under him. The light continued to beat down on him as he collapsed, pushing him flat against the ground. Rolling onto his back, his chest heaved with breath as the tips of his paws began to melt. The bright light growing brighter still.

He closed his eyes in resignation as the rest of his body faded away, sinking into the grass, soon to be made one with the endless field.

When he opened his eyes, he soon found himself squinting again as the moonlight seeping in through the tent's open window pierced his vision. Rolling over, his face landed on his deflated hay pillow. A cold draft caught his exposed, sweaty back. He shivered. He groaned.

He blinked before rubbing the grit out of his eyes. It was a bright winter night. All was silent. He took a breath, feeling the rush of frigid air fill his nostrils and chill his lungs. His old cotton blanket had too many holes to warm him up again.

With a quiet huff, he wrapped himself in his tail and bundled the blanket around him. The draft it caused only made it colder. Carefully, he poked his feet out into the cold air, and stepped off of his bed, trying not to let the rustle of the hay disturb the quilava snoozing on the other side of the tent. Quincy had sprawled himself out face-down in a Fire Blast pattern and was snoring softly.

Their barracks was one of the lucky ones to be furnished with a desk—meant to help plan rescues and expeditions. In recent weeks though, Quincy had used it to indulge in his new sketching hobby, covering his work with their guild-issued map to not appear to be wasting time to the guildmaster.

He shuffled over to his satchel and pulled out the book the guildmaster had given him. Turning it over in his grip, he hefted it in his paws. He shook his head. He refused. He wasn't ready to carry all this weight.

Pulling the blanket tighter around him, he brought the book over to the desk, and set it down over the map. The snow outside reflected just enough light for him to read. If he couldn't sleep, he would do just that.

He ran a paw over the cover, feeling the smooth board compare against the deep etchings that scratched out his name in Tree Script.

He squinted, letting his Keen Eye guide his short claws to open the cover and handle the pages. The thin shavings of treated plant root felt leathery to the touch, and were scratched top to bottom with all sorts of information. Lists of type matchups, instructions on how to navigate by the stars, basic combat strategies, items and their descriptions, advice on foraging for food, even a few drawings. He didn't bother to read too much of it.

He flipped through the first few pages of the manual. The pages sometimes squeaking as they rubbed against the string binding. He took care not to be too loud.

A few pages in, a new section began. These pages were sparser than the others, and each one was dedicated to a single pokemon under his command. He started flipping through, counting each page, one by one. He came to a total of thirty six. Thirty six pokemon that answered directly to him.

His blanket had too many holes to keep the chills off his back. He was barely able to lead his own team of four.

Well… two now…

He noticed the book had a few extra pages, all of them blank. Leftovers from the binding process, he assumed. For a while, he just stared at them, not sure what else to do with himself.

"Can't sleep?"

He flinched. "Geez, Quincy! You scared me."

"Boo!"

With a yawn, the quilava got up, and sat on the ground, facing him. "So. What's bothering you?"

"Oh, it's just…" he sighed. "Raichu promoted me today, and…I don't know if I'm ready for all the…responsibility."

"Oh, you got promoted? Congrats." The fact didn’t seem to phase him that much.

"Thanks…"

"So…" Quincy cleared his throat. "…sir…what's the deal with not being responsible enough? We've been on missions with a crazy amount riding on them before. Why the cold feet now?"

He shook his head. "It's just that I spoke with Ainsley today, and…I'm starting to think maybe…I shouldn't be a part of this whole thing anymore."

The quilava held his head at an angle of confusion. "…What?" His tone had lowered.

"I want to quit."

"What, you're gonna leave like everyone else in our team?" he asked, growing irritated. "Is the dream we had, Porter, all those years ago… is that dead to you now?"

"How many years have we been at this, Quincy?" he shot back. "Has the world gotten any better? Look outside! They hate us now. You know, the more I have to break Ainsley's heart to keep this…dream…alive, the more I think I'm doing more harm than good. The more I think this whole apprenticeship thing, the Federation…isn't worth fighting for."

Quincy sat in silence. It was too dark to discern his expression, though Porter knew he had struck a chord with the quilava, and that he was waiting for him to explain himself.

And what could he say?

"All those years ago, when PokePals and ACT were still around? Sure, it was worth it then. We all had vision, you know? But nowadays? We're just rotting away in this tent, waiting for the next payoff. We might not want to admit it, but…the dream died a long time ago, Quincy. And the only thing we're doing is propping up its disgusting corpse—"

"Don't say that," Quincy blurted, shaking his head. "Don't you dare say that."

"Or what? It's true!"

His quills ignited, causing Porter to recoil from the light. "What's true? That we're fighting for nothing? Nothing?!"

Quincy slammed his paw on the map, pointing to Shiver Village's place. "Shiver Village. Fifty pokemon. Do you remember Grandma Froslass from last Winter? I didn't bring enough food to last the mission. We were starving, Porter, but she helped us! They're good people. Just like any one of us. But the Coalition wants to burn it to the ground—why? Because its guild didn't want to pay them tribute!"

Quincy struck the table again for emphasis. "A whole town is being marked for annihilation. Show some class."

And with that, Quincy went back to bed, pulling the covers over himself. He turned his back to the furret.

Porter sighed and held his head in his paws. He closed his eyes, feeling as though the skies were falling around him. He drew in a breath, letting the cold winter air numb his raw emotions. Opening his eyes, a passing ember pulled his gaze with it—a remnant from Quincy's outburst. Fickle and frenetic, it zoomed, and swirled, and danced. Rising higher and falling lower, all the while, answering to every eddy in the air—every wind and word of fate.

As he continued to watch, the ember grew dim,
and as quickly it infatuated him,
it perished.

He had never felt so cold.







Hello Thousand Roads! I've finally gotten around to posting here. I've never posted my story on a forum before, so please forgive me for any formatting errors. Please let me know if there's some things I can fix! This was actually supposed to go out last Sunday—which happened to be my birthday lol—but I got school work really ramped up then so I didn't get the chance.

I hope you enjoy reading! Any kind of feedback is always much-appreciated :)

If you like what you see, Chapter 2 (which has been more than a year-and-a-half in the making) should already be up on FanFiciton.net and DeviantArt. If you don't mind waiting, I'll be posting it here on Thousand Roads as well in a week or so!

Special Thanks:
Maxatax1029: Beta-Reader
Talgoran: Suggestions
Shadow of Antioch: Suggestions
 

Adamhuarts

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Okay, finally got my ass and decided to give this story a review. This a bit overdue and I apologize for that. Anyway, I'll just get into it now.

Right off the bat, I think you did a good job at setting the tone of the story. I also like the angle you took for the main conflict. In many stories, it's usually some evil dark force or some baddies, but a lot of the time folks tend to ignore the more simple causes for great turmoil in worlds. I believe having a famine be the driving cause of conflict in the story is a very interesting move.

Even in history, famine periods tend to come with periods of volatility in society and a lot of regimes and monarchies tend to fall whenever a famine situation is poorly handled. Here we see an Exploration society completely overwhelmed by an unprecedented disaster and are barely clinging on. Not helping the matters are the rightfully angered crowds and mobs, and at this point they're very close to the tipping point.

It's no wonder Porter feels the desire to throw in the towel at this point when the problem they're facing isn't one that can be solved with a straightforward approach or with ease.

I don't yet know which angle the rest of this story is going to take. I'd say I doubt it's just going to be rising doom and gloom to the final chapter, but I do believe things aren't just going to get brighter starting with the second chapter. Will the resolution of the conflict be ending the famine or just finding better ways to live through it? We'll know that sooner or later, and I'm excited to know the answer eventually.
 

Pen

the cat is mightier than the pen
Staff
Partners
  1. dratini
  2. dratini-pen
  3. dratini-pen2
Hey shamekeeper! Welcome to the forum! I was intrigued by your summary, but it took me a while to get around to writing a proper review.

Before anything, I enjoyed your music theme at the start. Really set the mood!

So, I love PMD stories that explore the idea of the mystery dungeons inexorably spreading and the havoc and social turmoil that would cause. It's such a tantalizing concept. You can fight bad guys, but how do you fight a force that has no cause or explanation? You do a great job throwing us in to a developed situation and portioning out the exposition in a way that feels natural. We've got the guilds, who are working with mercenary rescue teams now, in a break from their past tradition. We've got the Coalition--still unsure what they are, and if they're connected in some way to the more religious doomsday criers of the mob. Either way, they definitely seem like a volatile force that might cause more harm than help.

Porter's exhaustion is clear throughout. And of course, you've got the classic set-up of one last mission. His sweetheart does seem more like a plot device than an actual character--the stand-in for the untarnished world that's gone, etc. Quincy was a lot of fun. The story takes a grim tone, so I wasn't prepared for the humor he introduced--and it was appropriate humor, not the kind that took me out of the grimness of the story, but rather reinforced it by contrast. I also like that Quincy isn't just a humorous sidekick. He's the one who makes the moral argument against the disenchanted Porter, and it was a powerful argument. Especially after Porter's experienced the town pokemon as a mob, Quincy invocation of specific pokemon and their acts of kindness seemed to be the reminder he needed.

There were two places that didn't work quite as well for me as the rest. The first was the opening sequence, where he thinks he's dreaming when he's awake and running. It's definitely surreal, but ultimately felt unbelievable. I don't think you need that first invocation of the dream to make the second invocation powerful. The second was why the guildmaster chooses Porter for this roll. If Porter's whole team aside from Quincy just deserted, he doesn't exactly seem to be the most competent.

I enjoyed the prose in this. You've got some lovely images and sense of rhythm. Your word-choice feels very intentional, and I particularly enjoyed lines like [Surely, said the prophets, the days were coming for the wrath of a generation to be fulfilled.] and [The only difference was also his only concern].

Definitely looking forward to seeing where you take this!

The furret didn't realize it at first, but every step came sooner than the last.
I'm not quite sure how to parse this sentence. As a way to say he didn't realize he was speeding into a run it feels a bit round-about.

He ran like a swinub on fire, squinting as the winter wind bit at his face and numbed his paws.
I like the simile, but the clause that follows doesn't really match the sort of frantic run that I'd associate with a swinub on fire. If you're squinting and feeling your numbed paws, you're not running with total abandon.

As he caught his breath, he tentatively put out his paw, like a sprouting seed.
Like a sprouting seed feels like a bit of a strange simile for this gesture. Maybe like an unfurling leaf? Though honestly I don't think you need a simile here.

He blinked. It was morning in Variant Suns. The blue pre-dawn light bathed all things, and the wind rested—waiting for the sun. His own heart was the only sound.
"blue pre-dawn light" is prettily phrased

Having touched, he let his paw fall away.
"Having touched" is an awkward construction. Touched what?

On the other side, he noticed another furret; and suddenly he remembered why he was here.
So he thought he was asleep and dreaming when he was in fact awake? That does push suspension of disbelief a bit.

These were the days that were darker than nights. The days that started when the dungeons began to spread. Like a pox on the face of the earth, roads were destroyed, and farmland corrupted.
Ooh, yes. Lovely rhythm and ominous feel here.

All the Federation's guilds and all the guilds' teams couldn't save even half of them, so those with great reward were saved first.
Does great reward mean the ones who could pay the most?

Abandoned, many killed, stole, starved, and died. Cycles of vengeance ruled the hearts of all, and day by day, the dungeons spread evermore.
The archaic language feels a little overdone here. What does abandoned mean? Abandoned by the rescuers? I see how not being rescued from a mystery dungeon leads to death, but how specifically does it connect to societal breakdown? Obviously if dungeons are spreading that leads to refugees and all sorts of issues, but are those issues individual rescue teams can do much about?

Surely, said the prophets, the days were coming for the wrath of a generation to be fulfilled.

And as he stared into the town below, seeing angry crowds, he knew these days had come. Some part of him wished she would stay blind forever, lest she see her shadowed world grow darker still.
Love the invocation of the prophets.

Wasn't sure here if she's literally blind or not.

His Keen Eye kept him wary along the journey as disillusioned townsfolk stared him down.
The capitalization was kind of jarring here. Would he not be wary passing through this mob if he didn't have an ability called keen eye? Feels video-game-y.

"Cast off your chains!" they were saying. "Cast off the Federation! The only thing they'll save is their money!"

He let the words echo in his thoughts more than he should have. She was right: Above is cruel, and terrible things happen to good people.
Really like the crowd's formulation of their chants and how they linger with him.

Idling in his thoughts, he came across a familiar storefront, and he was reminded of what he purchased there.

Peering into his satchel, he found it still glistening in the dark depths. A Gold Ribbon.
Huh, wonder why he bought that.

Only the tree remained, small in his vision like a wilting bonsai.

At the empty sight, he felt rotten to the core.
Not sure this simile works. Bonsai are meant to be small, so the trees being small doesn't connect to the idea of a "wilting" bonsai. I'm not sure what about the sight is empty, either.

Before he knew it, the guild fence lay stretched out before him, a black row of steel pickets anchored a few yards from the stone face of Cobalt Guild itself. A flagpole bearing its bright blue banner marked the place where the Federation broke ground building it.
Curious about the formulation "broke ground." Is this meant in a literal or idiomatic sense, or both?

He drew in a deep breath and steeled himself. Walking through an area full of hostile pokemon wasn't new to him. Explorers did that for a living. The only difference was also his only concern:

They are not dungeon crawlers.
Nicely put.

He huffed. Now, or never. Paw in front of paw, one pace became two, became three. Past the raticate bundled in a blanket. He kept walking at a steady beat. Past the simipour with the sign. She was too engrossed in shouting to notice him. Wide strides. Stone cold face. Past the stoutland with ice in his fur. Ignore his Leer. Deterrence through confidence is what would save him. By some miracle, he didn't shiver in the hour of his peril.

But cool nerves don’t make you invisible.
This moment is really well-done--the tension and his composure come through strongly.

“Hm,” the smeargle conceded. “Very well, Sheriff Walter.”

The pawniard cleared the way, and Porter was allowed to continue to the gates.

But the smeargle’s voice could not be left behind. “Mark my words: Above will cut you down!”
Liking this interplay between the different forces of the city.

He stumbled past the entrance. Finally safe, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was too early for that.

He yelped as a tamato berry exploded on the side of his head.
Feels like a bit more is needed between "relief" and "it"--as is they just flatly contradict with no buffer.

Maybe, "He stumbled past the entrance, and breathed a sigh of relief. But he had relaxed too soon."

The juice fell to the snow like blood. Many wished it was blood. Ignoring their taunts, he made his way to the entrance.
Strong image.

I thought it said above that he had already gone past the entrance? But now he's making his way to the entrance?

Most notably, no apprentices were gathered here either. He missed roll call.
Think you want the pluperfect, "He had missed roll call."

He stepped into the atrium and closed the door behind him, returning the greeting of a passing ariados. The halls have been a lot more packed these past few days.
Again, the pluperfect would be best here. "The halls had been a lot more packed these past few days."

All of them were part of the Federation's effort to reform in an age of public skepticism, modelled after the very entity that swore to destroy them, the Coalition.
Lot packed into this sentence, and I had to reread it a few times. The Federation is trying to reform, and they are modelling their reform after the Coalition--the Coalition being the group that's trying to destroy them?

Gaining his bearings, he set out on his next order of business. He needed to find his team. If he was seen working with them, maybe he'd escape punishment for being absent at roll call.
I think you could go without that first sentence. It gives more of a mechnical feeling. Totally naturally to just say, "He needed to find his team. If he was seen working with them, maybe he'd escape punishment for being absent at roll call."

His playful side more or less uninhibited now, he couldn't help but also let his curiosity get the better of him.
The first clause here is a bit awkward--almost overexplanatory. Think the point comes across with, "He couldn't help but let his curiosity get the better of him" or even "His curiosity got the better of him."

Any sense of play evaporated, replaced by fear as his superior approached and towered over him.
Again, his mental state feels a bit overexplained here. If we read, "Any sense of play evaporated as his superior approached and towered over him." it's pretty clear that's he's now worried.

Flustered, the furret frantically ran his paws over his head once again. Only managing to get rid of a little tomato juice.
Not sure why a fragment's needed here.

As they walked through the main hall, he couldn't help but notice the guildmaster's disdain for some of the rowdier pokemon. Many did not wear badges he could recognize.

Just then he shared a twinge of Raichu's disdain. They were rescue teams.
Ooh, so rescue teams are distinct from whatever Porter does? Interesting.

"If there's one thing I hate about these reforms, it's Cephas' insistence that my guild play host to mercenaries. They have no business walking beside nobler 'mon."
Ahh. Nice dialogue exposition.

Porter watched tentatively from the center of the room as Raichu ambled over to his desk, picking up a polished wooden box placed neatly thereon.
"thereon" is a bit intrusively archaic. Think just, "Porter watched tentatively from the center of the room as Raichu ambled over to his desk, picking up a polished wooden box." is fine.

The baggage train was maybe ten wagons long, all arranged neatly on the side of the main road. In preparation for tomorrow, when they would leave.
Fragment's a little jarring here. You could say, "The baggage train was maybe ten wagons long, all arranged neatly on the side of the main road. Tomorrow, they would leave."

Quincy's expression fell instantly. "Oh, them? How do I put this politely?" He pursed his lips. "Hmm… They abandoned us."

He blinked. "...They deserted?"

"Yessir!" Quincy leaned in again. He was about to make a point. "And you know, we're a four-pokemon team, right?"

Porter didn't respond immediately.

"Right?!"

"Right…"

"Well, Cephas—in his infinite wisdom—gave us a four-pokemon job moving crates."
I was not expecting it after the grim tone so far, but the comedic timing here is great.

HM slaves such as yourself!"

He frowned. "Hey that's—"
This feels very video-game. How does PMD world come up with the concept of HM slaves?

"SO! You can imagine, the look of pure shock and absolute horror on my face when, out of the four in our team, only one—me—showed up!"
I like Quincy.

But he wasn't finished. "You know, I considered—I actually considered evolving just for this purpose. But then I stopped myself, I thought: 'Gee, what are my future grandkids gonna say when I tell them that I evolved just to move crates?'"—Quincy's arms shot up in exasperation—"They're gonna lose their minds! They're gonna say: 'You're stupid, grandpa!'. You know, I was this close—this close to being on the timeline where my grandkids call me stupid! How does that make you feel?"
No, I love Quincy.

"Quincy." He sighed. "Do you want my help or—?"

"Yes!” he cried. “Please! Please help me!"
LOL

Stealing his eyes off the blue
This construction is a little confusing.

When he opened his eyes, he soon found himself squinting again as the moonlight seeping in through the tent's open window pierced his vision.
This sentence feels a little clogged up.

He opens his eyes. The moonlight seeps in through the tent's open window. It pierces his vision. He squints.

Maybe, "He opened his eyes and immediately squinted against the moonlight seeping in through the tent's open window."

He ran a paw over the cover, feeling the smooth board compare against the deep etchings that scratched out his name in Tree Script.
Tree script! Is most communication more like morse? That does seem more suited to different species.

"All those years ago, when PokePals and ACT were still around? Sure, it was worth it then. We all had vision, you know? But nowadays? We're just rotting away in this tent, waiting for the next payoff. We might not want to admit it, but…the dream died a long time ago, Quincy. And the only thing we're doing is propping up its disgusting corpse—"

"Don't say that," Quincy blurted, shaking his head. "Don't you dare say that."
Nice job situating this.

Quincy slammed his paw on the map, pointing to Shiver Village's place. "Shiver Village. Fifty pokemon. Do you remember Grandma Froslass from last Winter? I didn't bring enough food to last the mission. We were starving, Porter, but she helped us! They're good people. Just like any one of us. But the Coalition wants to burn it to the ground—why? Because its guild didn't want to pay them tribute!"

Quincy struck the table again for emphasis. "A whole town is being marked for annihilation. Show some class."
Go Quincy! Really nice moment.

Opening his eyes, a passing ember pulled his gaze with it—a remnant from Quincy's outburst. Fickle and frenetic, it zoomed, and swirled, and danced. Rising higher and falling lower, all the while, answering to every eddy in the air—every wind and word of fate.
Mm, lovely.
 

Shamekeeper12

All glory be to Christ
Location
Variant Suns
Pronouns
He/Him/His
Okay, finally got my ass and decided to give this story a review. This a bit overdue and I apologize for that. Anyway, I'll just get into it now.

Right off the bat, I think you did a good job at setting the tone of the story. I also like the angle you took for the main conflict. In many stories, it's usually some evil dark force or some baddies, but a lot of the time folks tend to ignore the more simple causes for great turmoil in worlds. I believe having a famine be the driving cause of conflict in the story is a very interesting move.

Even in history, famine periods tend to come with periods of volatility in society and a lot of regimes and monarchies tend to fall whenever a famine situation is poorly handled. Here we see an Exploration society completely overwhelmed by an unprecedented disaster and are barely clinging on. Not helping the matters are the rightfully angered crowds and mobs, and at this point they're very close to the tipping point.

It's no wonder Porter feels the desire to throw in the towel at this point when the problem they're facing isn't one that can be solved with a straightforward approach or with ease.

I don't yet know which angle the rest of this story is going to take. I'd say I doubt it's just going to be rising doom and gloom to the final chapter, but I do believe things aren't just going to get brighter starting with the second chapter. Will the resolution of the conflict be ending the famine or just finding better ways to live through it? We'll know that sooner or later, and I'm excited to know the answer eventually.
Hey Adam! Thanks a bundle for the feedback! Apologies for a response that's so late haha

I'm glad you like the setting, and I appreciate your commentary on the overall situation. The chapter is quite dense, so it's encouraging to see that the main points are coming across. I'm also glad you're interested in seeing the outcome! I hope future chapters can meet your expectations

Thanks again taking the time to review, Adam! It really means a lot :veelove:
 

Shamekeeper12

All glory be to Christ
Location
Variant Suns
Pronouns
He/Him/His
Hey shamekeeper! Welcome to the forum! I was intrigued by your summary, but it took me a while to get around to writing a proper review.

Before anything, I enjoyed your music theme at the start. Really set the mood!

So, I love PMD stories that explore the idea of the mystery dungeons inexorably spreading and the havoc and social turmoil that would cause. It's such a tantalizing concept. You can fight bad guys, but how do you fight a force that has no cause or explanation? You do a great job throwing us in to a developed situation and portioning out the exposition in a way that feels natural. We've got the guilds, who are working with mercenary rescue teams now, in a break from their past tradition. We've got the Coalition--still unsure what they are, and if they're connected in some way to the more religious doomsday criers of the mob. Either way, they definitely seem like a volatile force that might cause more harm than help.

Porter's exhaustion is clear throughout. And of course, you've got the classic set-up of one last mission. His sweetheart does seem more like a plot device than an actual character--the stand-in for the untarnished world that's gone, etc. Quincy was a lot of fun. The story takes a grim tone, so I wasn't prepared for the humor he introduced--and it was appropriate humor, not the kind that took me out of the grimness of the story, but rather reinforced it by contrast. I also like that Quincy isn't just a humorous sidekick. He's the one who makes the moral argument against the disenchanted Porter, and it was a powerful argument. Especially after Porter's experienced the town pokemon as a mob, Quincy invocation of specific pokemon and their acts of kindness seemed to be the reminder he needed.

There were two places that didn't work quite as well for me as the rest. The first was the opening sequence, where he thinks he's dreaming when he's awake and running. It's definitely surreal, but ultimately felt unbelievable. I don't think you need that first invocation of the dream to make the second invocation powerful. The second was why the guildmaster chooses Porter for this roll. If Porter's whole team aside from Quincy just deserted, he doesn't exactly seem to be the most competent.

I enjoyed the prose in this. You've got some lovely images and sense of rhythm. Your word-choice feels very intentional, and I particularly enjoyed lines like [Surely, said the prophets, the days were coming for the wrath of a generation to be fulfilled.] and [The only difference was also his only concern].

Definitely looking forward to seeing where you take this!

I'm not quite sure how to parse this sentence. As a way to say he didn't realize he was speeding into a run it feels a bit round-about.


I like the simile, but the clause that follows doesn't really match the sort of frantic run that I'd associate with a swinub on fire. If you're squinting and feeling your numbed paws, you're not running with total abandon.


Like a sprouting seed feels like a bit of a strange simile for this gesture. Maybe like an unfurling leaf? Though honestly I don't think you need a simile here.


"blue pre-dawn light" is prettily phrased


"Having touched" is an awkward construction. Touched what?


So he thought he was asleep and dreaming when he was in fact awake? That does push suspension of disbelief a bit.


Ooh, yes. Lovely rhythm and ominous feel here.


Does great reward mean the ones who could pay the most?


The archaic language feels a little overdone here. What does abandoned mean? Abandoned by the rescuers? I see how not being rescued from a mystery dungeon leads to death, but how specifically does it connect to societal breakdown? Obviously if dungeons are spreading that leads to refugees and all sorts of issues, but are those issues individual rescue teams can do much about?


Love the invocation of the prophets.

Wasn't sure here if she's literally blind or not.


The capitalization was kind of jarring here. Would he not be wary passing through this mob if he didn't have an ability called keen eye? Feels video-game-y.


Really like the crowd's formulation of their chants and how they linger with him.


Huh, wonder why he bought that.


Not sure this simile works. Bonsai are meant to be small, so the trees being small doesn't connect to the idea of a "wilting" bonsai. I'm not sure what about the sight is empty, either.


Curious about the formulation "broke ground." Is this meant in a literal or idiomatic sense, or both?


Nicely put.


This moment is really well-done--the tension and his composure come through strongly.


Liking this interplay between the different forces of the city.


Feels like a bit more is needed between "relief" and "it"--as is they just flatly contradict with no buffer.

Maybe, "He stumbled past the entrance, and breathed a sigh of relief. But he had relaxed too soon."


Strong image.

I thought it said above that he had already gone past the entrance? But now he's making his way to the entrance?


Think you want the pluperfect, "He had missed roll call."


Again, the pluperfect would be best here. "The halls had been a lot more packed these past few days."


Lot packed into this sentence, and I had to reread it a few times. The Federation is trying to reform, and they are modelling their reform after the Coalition--the Coalition being the group that's trying to destroy them?


I think you could go without that first sentence. It gives more of a mechnical feeling. Totally naturally to just say, "He needed to find his team. If he was seen working with them, maybe he'd escape punishment for being absent at roll call."


The first clause here is a bit awkward--almost overexplanatory. Think the point comes across with, "He couldn't help but let his curiosity get the better of him" or even "His curiosity got the better of him."


Again, his mental state feels a bit overexplained here. If we read, "Any sense of play evaporated as his superior approached and towered over him." it's pretty clear that's he's now worried.


Not sure why a fragment's needed here.


Ooh, so rescue teams are distinct from whatever Porter does? Interesting.


Ahh. Nice dialogue exposition.


"thereon" is a bit intrusively archaic. Think just, "Porter watched tentatively from the center of the room as Raichu ambled over to his desk, picking up a polished wooden box." is fine.


Fragment's a little jarring here. You could say, "The baggage train was maybe ten wagons long, all arranged neatly on the side of the main road. Tomorrow, they would leave."


I was not expecting it after the grim tone so far, but the comedic timing here is great.


This feels very video-game. How does PMD world come up with the concept of HM slaves?


I like Quincy.


No, I love Quincy.


LOL


This construction is a little confusing.


This sentence feels a little clogged up.

He opens his eyes. The moonlight seeps in through the tent's open window. It pierces his vision. He squints.

Maybe, "He opened his eyes and immediately squinted against the moonlight seeping in through the tent's open window."


Tree script! Is most communication more like morse? That does seem more suited to different species.


Nice job situating this.


Go Quincy! Really nice moment.


Mm, lovely.

Hello Pen! Thank you for the warm welcome, and thanks a ton for the detailed response. I certainly wasn't expecting a review this morning, so you've really brightened up my weekend :quag:

Before anything, I enjoyed your music theme at the start. Really set the mood!
Glad you liked the intro video! It was definitely a learning experience making it, so it's great to hear that it turned out well

So, I love PMD stories that explore the idea of the mystery dungeons inexorably spreading and the havoc and social turmoil that would cause. It's such a tantalizing concept. You can fight bad guys, but how do you fight a force that has no cause or explanation? You do a great job throwing us in to a developed situation and portioning out the exposition in a way that feels natural. We've got the guilds, who are working with mercenary rescue teams now, in a break from their past tradition. We've got the Coalition--still unsure what they are, and if they're connected in some way to the more religious doomsday criers of the mob. Either way, they definitely seem like a volatile force that might cause more harm than help.
When I first published, one of my biggest concerns was whether I had done too much exposition or not. The writing process was a bit of a constant struggle to find the right balance of exposition and plot. It's super nice to see that the chapter wasn't too info-dumpy in your eyes.
On the Coalition, I had feared giving an outright explanation of them might've been too much, as the chapter was already growing quite dense. I did try to sprinkle a few clues here and there about who they are, but I do plan to expand on them more explicitly in future chapters.

Porter's exhaustion is clear throughout. And of course, you've got the classic set-up of one last mission. His sweetheart does seem more like a plot device than an actual character--the stand-in for the untarnished world that's gone, etc. Quincy was a lot of fun. The story takes a grim tone, so I wasn't prepared for the humor he introduced--and it was appropriate humor, not the kind that took me out of the grimness of the story, but rather reinforced it by contrast. I also like that Quincy isn't just a humorous sidekick. He's the one who makes the moral argument against the disenchanted Porter, and it was a powerful argument. Especially after Porter's experienced the town pokemon as a mob, Quincy invocation of specific pokemon and their acts of kindness seemed to be the reminder he needed.
Really appreciate the character analysis! I agree that Ainsley is a little cliche, and unfortunately, I didn't get the opportunity to expand on her character until later on in the story and wasn't able to include any more in the first chapter. That said, I'm glad you enjoyed Quincy's character. He certainly was a lot of fun to write :D

There were two places that didn't work quite as well for me as the rest. The first was the opening sequence, where he thinks he's dreaming when he's awake and running. It's definitely surreal, but ultimately felt unbelievable. I don't think you need that first invocation of the dream to make the second invocation powerful. The second was why the guildmaster chooses Porter for this roll. If Porter's whole team aside from Quincy just deserted, he doesn't exactly seem to be the most competent.
The opening scene is definitely one of the most confusing parts of the chapter. This story has a much heavier thematic focus than my past works, and I wanted to take a risk with the introduction to help illustrate that. The choice definitely put more strain on readers' suspension of disbelief than I'd hoped, but it was worth a shot haha
Half his team leaving certainly doesn't make him seem very qualified lol. I haven't published chapter 2 here yet, but that exact point is mentioned there. Strictly speaking of chapter 1 though, I tried to point to Porter's overall performance with his conversation with the Guildmaster, but I can see how that'd do little to address his reluctance and missing teammates.

I enjoyed the prose in this. You've got some lovely images and sense of rhythm. Your word-choice feels very intentional, and I particularly enjoyed lines like [Surely, said the prophets, the days were coming for the wrath of a generation to be fulfilled.] and [The only difference was also his only concern].
Super happy to hear you liked the prose! I definitely have the most fun writing when working on neat ways to word things, and it's nice to hear that you appreciate the end result. That said (as you explain more in the line-by-line comments), I do have a bad habit of overdoing it pretty often, so I'm really glad you called me out on that haha. I'll definitely be referencing your feedback while I'm writing the next chapters


Thank you so much for the review, Pen! Something this detailed would've taken me a few hours to write, so I really appreciate the time and effort you've put into this one. I'm glad you like things over all, and I hope future chapters can meet your expectations
 
  • Heart
Reactions: Pen

Sparkfire

Bug Catcher
Pronouns
he/his
So! I’m not the best at reviewing, but I’m gonna do my best here.

Starting off - I love the intro. Making it feel like a dream sequence, the familiarity, the movements, the description… And then the reveal that it wasn’t actually a dream. Reading a bit more into it, you really gave the impression that he was only getting here for the first time, before yanking it away with another reveal that this has been a common meeting place before. Based off of the way you described it, I think this tree, although a secret meeting place, is more important to the story than you’re currently making it out to be.

I haven’t mentioned the premise yet. While I don't find it entirely unique, as I’ve seen other fics that handle dungeons spreading as well, it is handled in a better way. The way you mentioned that the Exploration Team Federation couldn’t even save half of all the endangered Pokemon really goes to show how hopeless things are/were when it first started.

I’m going to skimp over the first dialogue interaction because… quite personally… I don’t know what to say about it other than it works quite well.

____

The next section perfectly captures what’s currently happening in the world. Anger, famine.. .The people are losing hope and it’s hitting everyone hard. It’s pretty accurate to actual famine things, so props for the reality of the situation.

(I was intending to leave a more in-depth review, but I’m running out of battery power so I’m going to leave my thoughts in one more paragraph)

You do an amazing job portraying the hopelessness of the situation. It seems like there’s no hope for the people, given the priorities of the Federation, and there’s a group, the antagonists, I presume, that want to knock it down. Porter’s feelings encapture the sense of loneliness and hopelessness. It almost seems like he’s one of the regular Pokemon starving out in the town as opposed to a member of the Cobalt Guild. I do feel like it drags on longer than seems necessary, but you do a good job introducing the cause, characters, and conflict. I’ll be keeping an eye out for updates.
 

Shamekeeper12

All glory be to Christ
Location
Variant Suns
Pronouns
He/Him/His
So! I’m not the best at reviewing, but I’m gonna do my best here.

Starting off - I love the intro. Making it feel like a dream sequence, the familiarity, the movements, the description… And then the reveal that it wasn’t actually a dream. Reading a bit more into it, you really gave the impression that he was only getting here for the first time, before yanking it away with another reveal that this has been a common meeting place before. Based off of the way you described it, I think this tree, although a secret meeting place, is more important to the story than you’re currently making it out to be.

I haven’t mentioned the premise yet. While I don't find it entirely unique, as I’ve seen other fics that handle dungeons spreading as well, it is handled in a better way. The way you mentioned that the Exploration Team Federation couldn’t even save half of all the endangered Pokemon really goes to show how hopeless things are/were when it first started.

I’m going to skimp over the first dialogue interaction because… quite personally… I don’t know what to say about it other than it works quite well.

____

The next section perfectly captures what’s currently happening in the world. Anger, famine.. .The people are losing hope and it’s hitting everyone hard. It’s pretty accurate to actual famine things, so props for the reality of the situation.

(I was intending to leave a more in-depth review, but I’m running out of battery power so I’m going to leave my thoughts in one more paragraph)

You do an amazing job portraying the hopelessness of the situation. It seems like there’s no hope for the people, given the priorities of the Federation, and there’s a group, the antagonists, I presume, that want to knock it down. Porter’s feelings encapture the sense of loneliness and hopelessness. It almost seems like he’s one of the regular Pokemon starving out in the town as opposed to a member of the Cobalt Guild. I do feel like it drags on longer than seems necessary, but you do a good job introducing the cause, characters, and conflict. I’ll be keeping an eye out for updates.

Hey Spark, thanks a bundle for your feedback! Big apologies for getting back to you so late (no excuses, really. I'm just a lazy bum lol). It was a pleasure hearing your thoughts on the story, and I'm glad you're enjoying it so far. You're actually one of the few that's caught on to the tree stuff! I'll say that, a tree appears in the intro video and Porter's dreams for a reason haha. Your encouragement is much-appreciated, and I hope future chapters can meet your expectations :veelove:
 
Chapter 2: Desperate Union (Part 1)

Shamekeeper12

All glory be to Christ
Location
Variant Suns
Pronouns
He/Him/His

DESPERATE UNION
Part 1


Rise, you that slumber
Stir, and wake your brothers also
For your mind is empty
And by this your heart is silenced

Walk, you that stand
As you have believed, also do
For you can’t hear your heart
And so your courage withers too



Three days later…
The winds of the Far North blew strong outside his tent, howling like circling wolves. The wooden beams anchoring the tent in place creaked and groaned with every press and tug of the gales. The commander stood hunched over the sand table, his pointed ears folded flat underneath a thick cotton hood, his short, stubby arms crossed over his chest—hugging himself as he shivered. The dim and quivering light of a candle lit an expressionless face, and betrayed a faint, faded turquoise color in his beady eyes. He studied the black and white stones on the sand table, each one representing an element of his strategy. Most were made of black slate, and marked the encampments of his regiments. Others were hewn of white marble, and represented the enemy: the Federation.

He had been staring at them—staring through them—since the day began. Sometimes, they would drift out of focus, reminding him that even his Keen Eye was subject to fatigue.

A sudden clatter. He blinked. Small iron tacks were stuck into the candle to his right at regular intervals to help tell the time in the long winter nights. One had just fallen out of the melting wax, marking the passage of about 15 minutes since the last one fell. With each tack that fell, the enemy drew closer to the annihilation that he had so meticulously prepared.

The messenger should be reporting any minute now.

Sure enough, the dedenne entered the tent. A cold draft filled the room and pressed against his cheeks.

“Commander, Meowstic’s detachment has just reported in.”

“I’m listening.”

“The Federation has encamped at Articuno’s Grip, as we anticipated. He has concealed his troops on the slopes above them, and awaits your orders, sir.”

“Are they ready to strike?”

“On your command.”

He left hovering over the sand table, pacing past the dedenne to catch a glimpse of the weather outside through the entrance. Poking his head out into the blizzard, he squinted as the icy wind bit at his flat, furred face, and numbed his paws. With a deep breath, he chilled his lungs, perhaps trying to feel the warmth of his heart again. The hour had come. All he had to say was “go”, and the enemy would be wiped off the face of the earth. It was… too easy.

It was too callous.

“I can say one word, and kill dozens,” he remarked. “No pokemon should have that kind of power.”

The dedenne watched him in silence. Perhaps it was the same silence the Federation had when the dungeons began to spread, the silence that paid no heed to the starving of a thousand, that said nothing when the bandits abounded—the whole North at their mercy. Eight years of strife, and nothing but silence from the Federation. No seed from them to sow, but wind.

Another bone-chilling gust. He winced. This was wind, but soon, the Federation would reap the whirlwind.

He ducked back inside, shaking off the snow that had accumulated on his hood. “Don’t you find it odd, Dedenne? The world is dying, and so we must kill.”



He glanced expectantly at the silent messenger. “You have permission to speak freely.”

He broke eye contact, looking away at the ground. At last, a reaction. “Shiver Village has the last Blast Seed plantations in the north, sir,” he said. “If the Federation denies us these resources, how can we continue to defend our homes? I judge it necessary.”

He hummed, returning to his post overlooking the sand table. “Do you—Do we… really believe that? Or are we just too afraid to think?” He gritted his teeth. “Dedenne… Do the ends truly justify the means?”

“I…I’m not much of a philosopher, sir.”

A scoff. “A philosopher will not give me an answer.”

If the wind were not howling, there would be silence for a few pensive moments.

“…If you ask me, sir, if our future is at stake…then only our children will know for sure.”

The general nodded solemnly. With a huff, he slackly punched down into the sand with his paw, the grits making a wave on impact, displacing the stones he had carefully positioned. All this planning for an act of resignation.

“I hope our children can forgive us…” he murmured, unable to be heard above the howling wind. “The time has come. Above has forced our hand.”

He then turned his head to face the messenger, and nodded. “Destroy them.”

With a final salute, the dedenne left swiftly, not soon enough to the door.

Now alone, he hung his head. He turned his eyes to the candle beside him, it’s fragile and defiant flames—tossed about by every wafting breeze of fate—coming into sharp focus in his vision.

When will you learn despair?

Why do you burn, when you know the darkness always wins?


Two tacks remained stuck in its side. Just a little more than 30 minutes of wax until the fire died out. 30 minutes until the Exploration Team Federation would be no more.

And as the furret shivered, he wished—so much—that candles didn’t burn.



Quincy stared blankly into the watchfire, leaning against a large stone, letting the snow accumulate on his fur. He was the only waking soul at their outpost. Everyone else—Porter, and another team from Verdant Guild—slept away their sentry duty.

It was the third day of traveling, and two days since they last saw the sun. A heavy snow had eclipsed the sky entire. Cephas had pushed them hard, and the previous night had passed without rest.

The camp had settled in a valley for the night, a place known as Articuno’s Grip. A place flanked on either side by the steep, snow-plump slopes of the mountains that separated the Far North—and their Coalition adversaries—from the rest of the continent.

As he sat in the snow, the licks of flame periodically fading in and out of focus as his body wrestled for rest, the gentle snores of the few around him marking the passage of time, he felt… frustrated.

Shiver Village is only two days travelling from Variant Suns, and yet they still had one more day of walking ahead of them. Wasn’t this a race against time—to get there before the Coalition did?

They shouldn’t have left with as many as they did. Cobalt Guild alone would have been sufficient.

But Cephas insisted every guild in Variant Suns partake, and here they all were. The fifty-some innocent pokemon in Shiver Village were soon to have their homes destroyed, and yet, everyone shrugs, and complains about rations? Hasn’t this famine been ongoing for years?

Why do we sleep when we should wake? Why do we walk when we should run? Why do we mutter when we should cry aloud? Why are we distracted when we should focus?

Why does no one truly care?



As the thought faded away, he began to realize his own eyes grew heavy, like gates of iron. The voice of his flesh tempted him, “Sleep, sleep.” But he had spent a whole past life asleep in the dungeons. His spirit wouldn’t dare.

He shook himself awake. An eighth-inch of snow had built up on his winter coat. All of it was flung to the gentle wind, and for a second, he disappeared in the cloud of flakes. Feeling his badge’s weight shift in his tightly bundled scarf, he reminded himself that his mission was greater than his rest.

Off in the distance, he heard Cephas shouting from the main camp. The skarmory was trying to organize a meeting. He doesn’t know when to stop, does he? he thought. At least someone cared.

He sat up to check on the surroundings, trying at least to not neglect his duties as watchman.

The ongoing snow had blocked out the moon and the stars. The only lights he could see with came from the watchfires, but even then, he could never see anything beyond the tree line. Porter’s Keen Eye would be much better suited for this job. Too bad he was fast asleep. What a bum…

…It was a teasing thought, of course, but he couldn’t help but feel his own humor ring hollow in his gut. Porter hadn’t talked with him much since the expedition left a few days ago. Beyond what speech was necessary to carry out their respective responsibilities, they hadn’t spoken at all. The whole thing made him anxious. The furret didn’t usually hold grudges from an argument, and they were always back to shoulder-punching terms the next morning—no apologies required.

This was different, and it made his stomach churn. It was a feeling he so despised. He felt guilty.

With a huff, he slouched back into his seat, facing the campfire. Keeping watch was pointless.

Reaching into his bag, he pulled out his sketchbook. Almost every page was filled —save for a few at the very end.

How old was this book? It felt like ages since the day Porter gave it to him.

And what was there to show for it? Only sketches of trees and houses and horizons. He had heard stories of explorers perishing in the dungeons, having written chilling accounts of their demise in their journals: getting lost, starvation, poisoning, bleeding out… dungeon madness. He shivered.

Would their fate be his? Who would tell his story, and testify of his bones?

He turned to the next blank page, and setting a claw against the page, he began to write. It was the only thing he could do to take his mind off the dark woods, some part of him believing his demise lurked amongst them.

“What are you drawing?” Porter’s voice. A welcome sound.

“Journaling, actually,” Quincy replied.

“That’s new.” After a brief stretch, Porter laid back down, resting his chin on top of folded paws. “What about?”

“Your snore. I even made this whole metaphor comparing it to flatulence…They do call it a metaphor, right?”

“Metaphor: a comparison between two things without using ‘like’ or ‘as’,” Porter recalled mechanically. At least his school days were good for something.

“Ah, gotcha. So instead of ‘his snoring sounds like flatulence’, I should say ‘his snoring is flatulence’.”

“Yep,” he said, the vapor from his sigh condensing in the cold air. “Just like that.”

Quincy gave a satisfied hum as he scratched in the modification with a claw.

“…Particularly good metaphors also don’t use ‘flatulence’,” Porter remarked.

“Now, now, Porter. I’m still learning! I’ve only been in my right mind for six years. Baby steps.”

Genuine or not, they shared a moment of hushed laughter. Soon, it died away, and the gentle crackling of the fire again prevailed. How fleeting these moments were, Quincy thought. Indeed, good things never last. Not anymore.

In the silence, they let the fire entrance them. The flakes of snow which had been falling for days drew whirls and whorls around it. The burning coals sent up embers to join them, and together they danced a deadly dance: fire and ice, darkness and light, fear and power, until flake and ember parted ways, or they perished each in mutual annihilation.

“…I’m sorry I got angry at you,” Quincy said.

His words were sudden. Porter did not expect them. “Hmm? When?”

He scratched his neck sheepishly. Did he really have to go into detail? “You know—a few days ago…before we left Variant Suns.”

“Oh…”

Quincy waited anxiously for other words.

He’s someone else’s son. Let him go. The memory echoed in his thoughts—as it had been for days. Every time he peered into his bag and saw the Gold Ribbon he meant to give away that day, it echoed. Every time he saw a tree standing alone on a hill, with its weeping branches frozen in a waterfall of ice, it echoed. It echoed all the time—some of her last words to him. Would he ever hear her voice again?

Porter… Come home.

And the echoes kept him quiet.

Porter shook his head. “Quincy, you don’t have to apologize. You have conviction, and that’s more than can be said for a lot of people. In these six years, you’ve come a long way. You did good…my friend.”

The hesitation confused him. “What?”

To this, Porter didn’t seem to respond. Perhaps he had spoken to quickly. He searched his mind, searching for something else to say.

He was too slow.

Suddenly—a loud boom, shuddering the air in their chests. It came from somewhere beyond. Somewhere in the dark woods.

Their eyes shoot up, pupils dilating to peer into the black, ears twitching frantically for more sound. The others began stirring from their slumber.

“What was that?” Porter asked quickly, ears tall and eyes wide. “—Did you hear that?”

“Blast Seed!” Quincy replied, peering at angles into the darkness. “Unmistakable!”

“Who’s throwing Blast Seeds at this time?”

The kricketune from the other team was the first to awake. “Hey, what was that?”

Followed closely by the rest.

“Did you hear that?”

“What’s going on?”

Everyone’s eyes were now wide, wide open. Quincy didn’t get the chance to repeat himself.

A sound like cracking glass, and a blinding light consumed them. They wince and cry out as shards of intense, white light pierced their eyes. Porter buried his face in his paws, but the piercing glares seemed to shine right through his very bones.

He groaned in pain, letting himself fall to the ground. In his blindness, he heard a whooshing sound above them, followed immediately by a mild breeze, stirring cold-induced goosebumps on Porter’s hide as it washed over him.

In the same second, a brief and terrified yelp that was silenced as instantly as it was voiced.

He felt more goosebumps rise on his neck, but they were not from the cold. They were in terror.

“We’re under attack!”

“From where? From where?!”

“Floatzel! Where are you?!”

Porter stumbled aimlessly, vigorously rubbing his eyes, trying desperately to reclaim sections of his blackened vision.

Another outcry. The sound of a falling body.

“Quincy!” Porter shouted in his last known direction, his eyes still unable to adjust. “Quincy, are you there? Say something!”

“I’m here! I’m here!” The quilava’s voice sounded behind him.

He whipped his head back around, stumbling back towards him. “Smokescreen!” he cried. “They can see us, but we can’t see them!”

He was awash with stimuli, no longer able to discern the sounds around him with accuracy. Was that another Blast Seed? Whose voice was that?

Porter tripped over something soft, faceplanting into the snow. His half-second prayer pleaded for it to not be a body. His limbs flailed in a blind panic, scrambling him away from whatever he just touched.

Why was he taking so long?

“Quincy! Now! NOW!” His voice cracked.

“Give me a second! You don’t have to kick me!”

The sound of billowing smoke. Quincy dispensed it in all directions, not knowing where their assailants were. Porter kept his head low to not breathe it in, his eyes at last beginning to readjust as the black cloud filled the air around them.

He saw through blurred and teary lenses the thick black cloud enveloping the area. He rushed to Quincy’s flank just before the veil was set.

A horrid silence prevailed. Quincy’s head swung wildly from side to side, anticipating Coalition pokemon to emerge from the dark clouds at any moment.

“Wh… What do we do now?” he murmured.

“What do you have in your bag?” Porter asked urgently, “Do we still have Blast Seeds?”

“No... But we’ve got four Iron Thorns left.”

He shook his head. Dread started to build in his gut. “We can’t do much with that… Don’t you have anything else?”

“Don’t you have anything else?” Quincy shot back.

The smoke was beginning to clear. Quincy took a moment to pump out another Smokescreen.

“We can’t keep this up forever,” the quilava said anxiously. “We’re sitting slowpoke here.”


“I got disoriented… Which direction is the main camp? That’ll be our best shot.”

Quincy’s head swiveled back and forth, but he was unable to make sense of his surroundings.

“I…”

“Quincy.”

“I don’t know, okay!”

A voice called out from the smoke. “Fletcher! Fletcher, where—” —and was suddenly silenced.

They lowered their voices. “I don’t know…”

Porter muttered a curse.

“Can you Dig us out of here?”

“If we dig a foxhole, they’ll just blast us out. If we dig away, we could pop out in the middle of the enemy… or they could Earthquake us.”

“Or we’ll find the camp!”

“Shh!”

Quincy’s ears flattened at the rebuke. “Or we’ll find the camp… Way I see it, we take the chance, or we die.”

“…You’re right.”

“So? Let’s do—”

A pair of steel talons plunged down through the smoke, catching Quincy by the neck, and pinning him to the ground with the momentum of the dive, his sentence extinguished like candlelight.

Porter was too stunned to react in time. Before he knew it, the glowing feathers of a Steel Wing sat at his neck. He recognized the skarmory instantly.

“…Cephas…”

Any other pokemon would have smirked, having bested two exploration teams alone. The skarmory did not so much as grin—not the smallest bit.

They stood there for some tense moments as the smoke cleared, revealing all the others tied up with webbing, and a smug ariados not far from Cephas’ side.

His voice was subdued, but he made sure all could hear: “If I was the Coalition, you would all be dead,” he said.

The snow didn’t seem so chilling now.

“Thank you, Ariados,” he said to the other, dismissing him. Porter imagined a wide grin between his mandibles as he left.

“Eyes open, gentlemen,” he said to the rest—some still struggling against their String Shot bindings. “Your shift is only halfway over.”

He took his bladed wings from Porter’s throat and tucked them at his side. He stepped off Quincy’s neck, letting him gasp for breath.

“You must be Lieutenant Furret Porter, Team Cobalt 93.”

He gulped covertly under Cephas’ piercing glare.

“That’s me,” he replied.

“We’re holding a meeting. Attendance is mandatory for officers. Follow me.”



There was about a hundred yards back to the main camp. They walked in silence for a third of the way, Porter trailing behind him. Cephas’ longer legs were better suited to the deep snow, and it didn’t look like he had any qualms using them. Porter found himself leaping on occasion so as not to fall too far behind. He found a good rhythm for himself. Five paces, one leap; five paces, one leap. Something about it was oddly therapeutic, and he found it helpful to walk off the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

Suddenly, Cephas spoke, catching him daydreaming.

“So you’re the 93rd team to ever register at Cobalt Guild. That’s pretty early on compared to the others.”

“I guess so,” he replied.

“My understanding is that that’s only supposed to be a temporary name. One for the bookkeeper.”

“Yeah…” he chuckled sheepishly, taking another leap to catch up. “We never really got around to it for a few years. When we did, well… ‘Spitfire’ was already taken.”

“The quilava’s suggestion?”

Porter smiled a bit, though Cephas never saw. “Mine. Quincy spent most of his life as a dungeon crawler. I thought it’d be nice to commemorate his rescue.”

“Interesting—Reformed typically have a hard time integrating into society,” the skarmory said, almost to himself. “I guess that’s why he stayed when the others deserted.”

Oh. Them…

Porter sighed. Glancing to the side, he caught a glimpse of the moonlit snow floating gently to the ground—and the darkness of the pine forest beyond.

“…Maybe,” he said.

“How long have you been exploring?”

It took him a moment to realize Cephas had asked him a question.

“Uh… eleven years, sir.”

“Don’t address me as ‘sir’,” he responded curtly. “I’m just an advisor from the Exploration Team Federation. I'm more politician than soldier.”

Porter frowned. "Soldier?"

Cephas hesitated a bit, perhaps realizing he had said too much. After a long pause, he replied, "Yes."

The honest answer made him chuckle incredulously. "I'm sorry, I thought war was a human thing?"

Cephas also laughed. "It is, isn't it?"

They continued on in silence. Before Porter spoke up again.

“How was Callum demoted then?”

“The unfeazant? Raichu’s old assistant?” Cephas gave a small chuckle—almost like a scoff. “A lot of our duties overlapped. He thought I was trying to take his job. He opposed me at every turn—bastard will argue with you over the color of a wooloo's fur… It's white, by the way.”

He stopped their walking briefly to speak to him more closely. By now, they were halfway to the main camp.

“A lesson in leadership for you, Porter: get rid of the shiny wooloo.”

He started walking again. Porter resumed his walk-and-leap pattern.

He then finally provided an answer. “It was Raichu who signed the papers. I was the one who recommended it.“

He extended a wing in a hand-wavy gesture. “Saying ‘Raichu demoted Unfeazant’ is just political semantics for saying ‘I demoted Unfeazant’.“

He turned to eye Porter over his shoulder. “I hope...this doesn’t offend you?”

He shook his head. He had to. “No.”

They kept walking. Another few paces, and Cephas gave another sudden remark.

“Guildmaster Raichu speaks highly of you.” he said. “It’s why I accepted his request to make you Cobalt Guild’s lieutenant.”

He chuckled. “In a way, it’s you who replaced Unfeazant. Not me.”

Porter was a bit uncomfortable now. “I see…”

The skarmory nodded. “Yes, Raichu sees a great explorer in you. To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure why. You seem… unmotivated.”

Porter, already mostly silent, fell quieter still.

“Do you even know the names of those under your command?”

He didn’t. He did not answer.

Cephas gave an intrigued hum. “Guildmasters and team leaders have led our guilds since the Exploration Team Federation’s founding. It was simpler back then, and it worked. The Heroes of Time saved our world from paralysis under this system, Above grant them rest… But times aren’t simple anymore. The Coalition has taught us that… we need stronger unity amongst ourselves.“

Cephas glanced over his shoulder again.

“What makes your position special, Lieutenant, is that your rank is one of the few that holds authority over pokemon from multiple guilds. You’re meant to be that unity— to give us loyalties beyond our guild banners… Am I clear?”

He nodded sheepishly. “Yes, Skarmory.”

Cephas only sighed, hanging his head just a little. “Sometimes I look at us, and I am truly amazed. Leaders of teams, leaders of guilds, even inter-guild leaders like yourself. So many leaders, so little leadership… I fear ours is the last generation of explorers…”

As they approached the main tent where the meeting was being held, they were approached by a team of three. An aggron followed closely by a flareon and wartortle at his flanks. Their heavy winter scarves bore colors and emblems he did not recognize.

“Rescuers,” Cephas greeted shortly.

“Explorer,” their leader responded in kind, perhaps intentionally ignoring Porter’s presence.

Cephas eyed each of them. Each stared intently back at him. “What is the meaning of this?”

The wartortle on his left spoke first. “You Federation types love to brush us aside,” she said. “You snub your snouts at us daily… And now you’re all going off into your own little corner to discuss the future of the expedition.”

“An expedition we’re also a part of,” the aggron finished.

Cephas tried to push past them. “I don’t have time for this—”

The flareon blocked his path, huffing smoke, making sure he understood who had the type advantage.

“You should know, Cephas,” the aggron began, “We represent a dozen more of our disgruntled fellow teams. If you don’t let us participate in this meeting, do not expect us to be here in the morning.”

The skarmory grumbled. “Furret, ” he said. “Go on inside. I’ll chat with them.”

They let him past. He kept his eyes low as he walked inside.



When he entered, he was immediately struck with a welcome heat. He knew the tent was large from the outside, but without the harrying snow to obscure its true size, Porter was startled by just how spacious it really was. He counted maybe 30 pokemon in all, most he recognized as team leaders from rival guilds, and others he knew personally. He didn’t have time to greet them though. Just then, Guildmaster Raichu flagged him down.

“Furret!” He greeted. “Glad you could make it. How do I look?” Raichu posed with a proud chin, his vivid blue scarf and badge shone brightly about his neck.

“Prepared as always, Guildmaster,” Porter replied.

He relaxed his posture. “I hope so,” he said—somewhat under his breath. His eyes seemed to shift anxiously.

Perceiving this, he tilted his head inquisitively. “What do you have to worry about? You’ve led expeditions before.”

The raichu took a pensive breath. “That was different, Porter. They’re leading too.”

“Sorry—who?”

“Why, them.” Raichu gestured begrudgingly across the tent. Porter’s eyes narrowed to peer through the mass of other pokemon. In the distance, he spied the incineroar and torterra Raichu was referring to. “The other guildmasters. Especially that fossil, Torterra. Even his name has been lost to history.”

“Hardly, guildmaster. It’s…Tantalus, I think?”

Raichu was unimpressed. “You’re supposed to be backing me up here,” he grumbled. “I’m the most junior amongst them, and I need to prove myself…”

Porter was silent as the raichu cleared his throat.

“You… you remember what Samurott was like, right?”

The question caught him off-guard. “Rifka? That was a long time ago…”

“You were around when he was in charge, though. Do you still remember what it was like? Am I measuring up to his… legacy, as it were?”

Porter laughed sheepishly. “You’re definitely the nicer one, guildmaster.”

“Great,” he said flatly, seeming to Leer at his counterparts on the other side. “I’ll be so nice as to earn their respect.”

“Heh…”

The laugh seemed to ring hollow in his throat, as if he were supposed to say something more, something else.

What's keeping you? Why won't you leave?

It reminded him of the day before they left. That moment. The moment he was to resign was the very same one he was promoted. How close—oh how close he was to coming home! And here he was, the furthest he’d ever been. The sight of home long lost to the perpetual blizzard.

Come home.

“Um… Guildmaster…”

Raichu’s eyes were still fixated on the opposite side of the room. He wondered if he had heard him.

“Raichu…”

His name caught his attention. At last, he turned to face him.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Porter said.

The guildmaster’s head tilted somewhat in intrigue. “You do? Is something wrong?”

Just then, Cephas’ voice rang loud above the voice of the crowd. The meeting was about to start.

“We’ll discuss later,” Raichu said, whispering in his ear. “Follow me. Apparently, we have assigned seats.” The guildmaster rolled his eyes, and started for their place.

He nodded—barely restraining a groan. Denied once more, he felt as though cheated by fate. Nevertheless, he followed.

They gathered in rows of tables, loose and random papers littered the tabletops in between half-eaten plates of now-cold rice and stale berries.

Cephas stood from his seat somewhere in a far corner of the tent, and waited. Hushes starting from the guildmasters quieted the tent in a wave.

He began to speak.

“As you know, in our haste to get to Shiver Village before the Coalition, we left half of our supplies in Variant Suns. Over the days, we’ve had the supplies we need regularly flown in thanks to the help of Rescue Teams.”

Porter heard some scattered groans at their mention. He saw him give the slightest of nods towards some place in the back. Glancing over, he saw the rescue team that had confronted them before, watching silently.

“Unfortunately, this morning’s food shipment will be the last.”

There was a brief moment of silence as the tired ears in the tent registered what they had just heard. A wave of hushed murmurings erupted. Guildmaster Incineroar stood from his bench, and was about to speak, but Cephas held up a wing, quieting the room. He motioned towards someone in the audience. This talonflame joined him in standing.

“I know this is concerning,” he said. “Talonflame here of Team SFE was amongst the last supply group. She will brief you all on what happened. Talonflame?”

The talonflame nodded. Cephas sat down, giving her the floor. “Yesterday, the storage warehouse was attacked by Coalition sympathizers,” she said.

Starting with a gasp, the tent erupts once more in thinly hushed murmurings.

She continued to speak over them. “I was there. Though unskilled, the attackers were many and ferocious. Sheriff Walter died of his wounds just before we left.”

The tent lost all order.

“Walter? The bisharp?”
“This is an outrage!”
“What happened?”
“How could they do this?!”
“She said there were a lot of them.”
“Something must be done!”

Cephas stood once more, barely managed to contain the riotous clamor. “Talonflame, how many supplies are left at Variant Suns?”

“We delivered the last of them this morning,” she replied. “The rest were either stolen or destroyed.”

Cephas picked things up from there. “As you can see fellows, our situation is quite grim. Having no official rank myself, I’ve called this meeting to determine how we should react to our new circumstances. Discuss amongst yourselves. We will reconvene once each guild has reached a recommendation.”

As soon as his sentence ended, the tent once more swelled with voices. Porter couldn’t make out a single complete thought out of the multitude of them all. He felt very small.

“Walter was a good man,” Raichu said, looking down at his paws clasped together.

Porter nodded. “He was.”

And again, his words rang hollow. He sat there a while, staring down at the wood of the table, his eyes tracing the grain. Come home.

Come home.


He felt his chest heave bigger and bigger breaths as his heart turned within him: Say the words you fool! Say them! And he would. He wouldn’t let fate cheat him thrice.

No. This time, the choice was his. It always was.

Suddenly, he leaped upright, standing rigidly on all fours. “Guildmaster Raichu! I resign!”

He blinked, astonished. The outburst drew some eyes from nearby pokemon. “... Porter… What…?”

Porter’s eyes fell. It felt like he had shouted at the top of his lungs, and now all his breath was gone. “I resign,” he sighed.

Raichu’s eyes shifted back and forth, acutely aware of those that watched them. “Porter, I assure you our situation is not hopeless—”

“I have been thinking about this for a long time, sir. Even before you promoted me, sir. I’m getting old. Ainsley needs me home...”

Raichu gawked. Porter held his head low, not bothering to see what expression he wore.

“Guildmaster… Half of my team deserted before the expedition even began. If I am not fit to lead Cobalt 93, then I am not fit to be your lieutenant. I’m sorry, sir. I resign.”

Raichu sat there a moment, staring at him. Porter said nothing else. Indeed, there was nothing more to say. Eventually, Raichu’s eyes shifted to meet those staring at them. One by one, they turned each back to their own business.

But one pair of eyes did not turn. Cephas watched intently, keenly observing them from the opposite side of the tent.

When he finally moved again, he turned to rest his wrists on the table, twiddling his thumbs.

“Do you love your wife?” he asked, staring down at his paws.

“M—” he didn’t expect the words to catch in his throat. “... More than she knows.”

“What about Quincy?”

What about Quincy? The question made him wince a little. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Say it, he thought. It’s true. “... He’s someone else’s son.”

Raichu turned to him again. As he looked down at him, he thought he could see Porter’s eyes glisten faintly in their sockets. He had never seen him struggle to maintain his composure before. Truly, he thought, the whole earth groans, and the love of many has gone cold.

He sighed, but not loud enough to hear. “Very well, Porter… I accept your resignation. You are relieved of your apprenticeship.”

Porter bowed his forehead to the ground—a final salute, suddenly becoming aware of the unsteady knees in his forelegs. “Thank you, Guildmaster.”

He stood bipedal to undo his scarf, badge, and pin, but raising a paw, Raichu stopped him.

“I have no use for your equipment,” he said—a hint of bitterness rising in his voice. “Especially those so well-worn. Take them, and bury them as you would a teammate. You have died to this life now. Would a ghost leave its body in the hands of strangers if it had the choice?”

Strangers? “Guildmaster—”

“You are not my apprentice. And I am not your guildmaster,” he said harshly. “Go your way. I don’t know you.”

He swallowed. Was that really it?

Steeling himself, he started towards the exit, its fabric doors tantalizingly close. He made his way past pokemon he knew, not bothering to say anything to them. His steps were urged on by a sense that he ought to be running, as though to escape some kind of trap. But he didn’t run. He was walking when he heard Cephas’ voice.

“Where are you going?” the skarmory called.

He bolted.

“Stop!”

The entrance flung open as he flew past, launching himself into the cold once again.

A hailstorm had started.

A fierce wind rebuked him as he entered the storm, almost pushing him over. The beams of the tent groaned at the squall. But he would not be moved.

Flinching at the stones which buffeted him, he dared not stop running. The snow was deep, but he leapt. He didn’t know where he was going, but he just wanted to go.

He wanted to believe he was free.



Remember when I said chapter 2 would be up in a week? I lied haha…

Terribly sorry about that! Things are up now, and this version is actually slightly modified based on feedback I received from Fanfiction.net, so I guess you guys get to read a better version in return for your patience lol

Thanks a bundle for reading! As you know, feedback is always appreciated

See you guys on the forums!

Special Thanks:
SparklingEspeon: suggestions
Magyk: suggestions
 

Adamhuarts

Mew specialist
Partners
  1. mew-adam
  2. celebi-shiny
  3. roserade-adam
Hello. Just read the second chapter of this fic and these are my thoughts on it.

I like how you wrote the opening segment with the unnamed Commander. The way you narrated the opening paragraphs was pretty good, first telling us a bit about the commander's physical characteristics as well as telling us through the stones and the sand table that he was an antagonistic figure planning an unpleasant event for the federation folks to which Porter belonged. I must admit that the way you described him made me think it was either Porter in a future timeskip, but I learned shortly after that he was a different character entirely. I'm guessing he might be a furret too? The description wasn't detailed enough to know for sure, though that may have been intentional.

His conversation with Dedenne was interesting too. One can really feel the moral turmoil within the commander's heart as he struggles with the fact that his actions would end lives. I like moral dilemmas in characters like these where it's hard to tell what the right answer they should pick is. The mention of the candle tacks gives a grim vibe. Perhaps it's a clue to an impending event to unravel over the course of the story?

I enjoyed reading the banter between Porter and Quincy here. Us knowing that Porter still wants to quit and Ainsley's words weighing on his mind made it all the more bittersweet that they'd fall apart real soon. We didn't get too much time to dwell on that though as the Coalition's ambush quickly fell upon them. Thankfully no one got hurt, aside from the background fodder characters (RIP in peace), and Cephas' entry would've been a lot worse for them had he been part of the Coalition. Honestly I thought he was about to reveal himself as being a spy the whole time lol, though in hindsight I'm glad that didn't turn out to be the case since there was no build up and it'd have amounted to being no less worse than a Disney twist villain o_O. But yeah they should've been more cautious during the attack as they really would've died back there in a different situation.

It's a bit sad to be reminded once again that Porter has been at this for eleven years now and things have gotten so bad that any motivation or passion he's had for being an explorer has faded to dust. It was a bit of an oof reading Cephas asking Porter questions about those under him, Raichu seeing a great explorer in him and all that. We can infer from what we know so far that Porter likely used to be passionate about the exploration business, but the world has changed and so has he. Seeing Porter finally resign to Raichu, onlookers watching the scene as well as him rushing out of the tent was pretty heartbreaking to read honestly. It's pretty clear that Raichu had a lot of faith in Porter and even Raichu himself likely deluded himself in false hope that things haven't changed completely. I imagine the way he dismissed Porter was him acting emotionally and he might lament it later on.

Anyway that's all I have to say about this chapter. I love the characters and story so far. All the poetic language sprinkled in colored the prose and narration nicely and I enjoyed reading Porter's struggle in this world he's in that's falling apart. I eagerly await the next installment in this story.
 

TheCouchEffect

Junior Trainer
Pronouns
He/His
So I'm just gonna say this right off the bat: I love this. I know almost nothing about the Mystery Dungeon games, but I love this. The way you've described the world and factions at play has made it believable and easily understandable for anyone.

Your characterization is absolutely amazing. Porter and Quincy are both relatable and have realistic struggles that anyone can understand. Porter in particular is a character that I can adore reading. His struggle to choose between remaining with the Federation and leaving to keep his promise to his wife is such a good idea to make the conflict - the famine and warfare terrorizing the common people - much more interesting since the main character is being personally affected by it.

I liked the POV of the enemy commander. It's good to see that while the Federation and characters within see the Coalition as heartless monsters, that there is more nuance to them than that. It will make any potential future conflict much more interesting.

Over all, this is a wonderful story and I'm excited to see where you take this in the future.
 
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