Prologue: The Foreigner
"I couldn't really say what good reason we had to look at him with disdain. For all his skill and power was evident just by the Pokemon that walked by his side. Yet he was not Kalosian. His name had no political weight nor history and thus we all dismissed him at first. It didn't take him long to prove how backward our thinking was. And still he continued to surprise us. I was one of the last obstacles on his way to the League Finals - I knew what to expect - the tales that were told. He still blew me away."
Marchioness Olympia, writing shortly after her defeat to William Dresden
Vaniville Town, Bissy Dukedom, Kalos: 1567 years after the Brink Collapse, Year 547 of the Arturia Dynasty.
I suppose that before I start with anything else, a little background is required as to the Genesis of my journey. After all my rise through the ranks of Kalos' league hinges on my history beforehand as my 'mon and my immigration from Kanto to Kalos are all crucial to the story.
Kalos was truly an odd place for anyone who had not grown up there. Their Old World nobility was unique amongst the surviving regions and gave them a class system and culture just as unique. Kalosians clung to their past, their history and identity - it made living amongst them as a foreigner who had no real regard for said system difficult. They were not racist, just distrustful and arrogant - even the poorest thought their heritage gave them a higher place than some Kantonese Saluad.
I spent the first 11 years of my life in Kanto, in the slums of Saffron to be precise. My father was some low level tech working for Silph Co. whilst my mother worked at the local Pokemart until she passed away from pneumonia. It was my mother who had given me my first mon - a Kanto staple and the last relic still with me of my time there -Ra. Ra used to be a sweet little Charmander (an anathema to any who know the breed of fire type) but him and I had a special bond from the moment my mother brought the little tyke home. It was technically illegal - but mother, bless her soul - knew how much I wanted my own pokemon and we would never have been able to afford one, especially one as powerful as the Charmander breed were known for being. Ra had been abandoned following his trainers loss to the Saffron Gym - I think it's one reason why the little shit was always so hard to keep down in battle, he never wanted to be abandoned for failing again - and mom had 'rescued him' from the Pokemart storage facility where he was being kept to bring him home to a 6 year old me who had no idea how to care for a 3 foot fire type other than shower it with love and order it to use Flare Blitz.
In between being burnt for my overzealous love for the dangerous creature that was more often than not my only companion at home I would regale Ra with my dreams of stardom. Of my naive dream to defeat all comers and march onwards like the Champion I was destined to be. It is odd in hindsight, how despite giving up on that dream I still achieved it, albeit for entirely different reasons. Ra evolved a few months before my 10th birthday and in all honesty was to powerful for a child to handle alone and yet was my closest companion in all things. I suppose my undying tenaciousness in dealing with his draconic moods that could only come with being a child and my tireless willing to train alongside him eventually fostered a mutual fraternity that only Ra understood at that stage.
He is the sole reason I'm alive writing to you right now after all. Without that brotherhood he probably would have cooked me those first few months of isolation along the Johto-Kanto border. Or just as likely abandoned me to the horrors of the untamed Brink.
I didn't know what possessed my father to drag us off West at that the time. But after my mother's death he became odd; always looking over his shoulder, installing a new lock in the door (on top of the existing one) and coming and going from the house at odd times. Then one day, when I was 10, I came back from school to have Ra's pokeball pushed into my hand, a backpack heavy with of clothes and food strapped to my back and ushered out of the door.
He said he'd explain but he never did. He died too quick for that.
So there I was: 10 year sold with a pokemon too powerful for my own good under my belt, lost in the wilds of Kanto, my father shot in the head and then mauled along with our pursuers by a pair of Ursarings who had happened upon our confrontation with whoever it was that was chasing us. I had barely managed to sneak away as it was and now I was all alone with no clue where, no survival skills and a yawning hunger. Not to mention the fact that my father had just been shot and torn apart in front of my eyes.
I don't really remember much to be honest. Days blurred together for the most part: I remember Ra fighting wild 'mon. I remember helping him sometimes. I also remember us running, my Charmeleon may have been a dragon, powerful and full of pride but we both knew his limits. Despite the isolation, pain and fear that accompanied every godforsaken day as we tried to find our way back there were good moments to: eating furret meat beneath an ancient oak, laughing as we watched a newly born pidgey struggle to fly, watching the sunrise from halfway up a mountain (coincidentally when I figured out we were going the wrong way), finding Abaddon.
Abaddon. The Demon of the Pit. An Angel of the Abyss. Destruction Incarnate. Both in method and name. A Tyranitar of truly epic proportions who you all undoubtedly recognise as the terror of more than one broadcast match or battlefield story. Back when I found him however he was a tiny runt of a Larvitar crying over the body of his mother. His journey has truly been a great one. I sympathized with him I guess, we had both lost parents to the wild. His recruitment wasn't out of sheer kind heartedness however. I could see how tired ra was slowly becoming; the numerous battles taking their toll and even though we never lacked for meat our endless journeying and fighting had turned him lean and haggard. The Tyranitar breed were known not only for their immeasurable power and temper, but also for their almost unbreakable skin. There was still a part of me that longed for that fabled League title, and an even larger part which knew that if I were to ever return to civilisation I would need more than just Ra by my side.
It was rather easy to gain his trust, food being a powerful motivator. Ironically however he evolved shortly into our journey home and was thus little better than a floating shield and battering ram. I suppose that it was odd, if I'd found him any later Abaddon may have evolved into a Pupitar anyway and would have never needed the emotional support and sustenance I offered him - Pupitars preferring to bury themselves into the ground to soak up minerals and avoid the wrath of various 'mon, namely their parents who would from that point on recognise them as a future threat. Unlike Ra, whose affection and loyalty I had garnered through a child's love and the bond of battle, I don't think I'll ever quite know why Abaddon chose to follow me so readily. He has all the temper his species is renowned for yet yields to me like very few mon I have ever known. I'll always love him for that.
My return to Viridian City was a quiet affair. My time in the forests and mountains West of Kanto and East of Johto (which I found out upon visiting the Pokemon Centre amounted to nearly three and a half months) had forced me to mature and I knew that there was a chance that the organization chasing my father were still after him. Furthermore I doubt a 10 year old kid was allowed possession of either a Charmeleon or a Pupitar license or no, and I definitely didn't have one of those. As a result I bought a ball for Abaddon and some nutrients for both my 'mon using funds from selling skins and other useful pokemon parts in order to somewhat return them to peak health and then got the hell out of dodge.
By that I mean I paid a smuggler to transport me to Kalos where I knew resided the only family I had left. I cannot put into words how grateful I am for my Grandpa. That man may have been nearing 85 but he put a roof over my head, tolerated all of the bullshit for raising a teenager whose childhood had been ruined and didn't once say anything about the two species of 'mon I had brought into his house - both of whom were known for being dangerous. Then again Grandpa had seen more than his fair share of battles - he understood brotherhood when he saw it.
Fin.
A/N: Here's a new one for ya. I've been a fan of Vile Slanders' work TSOK for a while now and while I can understand his decision to discontinue said story it still breaks my heart a little. This story will take some inspiration from the world that he so masterfully creates bu the plot and character will be my own.
I'm primarily posting this here as a waypoint for myself, so that I have some reason to continue developing the plot (including replaying X/Y) and so that I can get feedback. The format of this prologue is a bit of an info dump and I will probably rewrite it one day as it is not the best piece of prose I have written and more for plot purposes than anything else. The story itself will be much more fluid, less of a monologue than this and hopefully make a little more sense rather than randomly jumping around.
Anyways - feel free to drop a reply, just as long as it's not pure hate, I do this for escapism not because I want some keyboard warrior to hack at my confidence.
Enjoy