The Orrean – Chapter One – Fate's Left Hand
The main room of the cramped inn smelled of mud and smoke. No illumination save the occasional flash of lightning from the storm outside filtered through the institution's dark windows, leaving only the clock above the bar to alert the patrons to the hour remaining before sunrise. Even this measure of time meant little to the building's occupants as the sun had failed to pierce the storming clouds overhead since this new monsoon settled over Petalburg in the previous days. Rain washed against the inn's windows like the surf on a beach and, having so soaked the wooden frame of the building, dripped from the rafters and seeped into the establishment through the swollen wooden frames surrounding the windows. Little rivulets ran down the walls beneath the windows and pooled in cracks and corners while the trespassing rainwater falling from overhead plipped into buckets set on tables or free zones of floor.
Beside one such bucket in a corner of the room far from either of the two dim lamps attempting to light the chamber, the creaking protest of a wooden chair bore the only witness to its occupant shifting his considerable weight. The lean figure, hooded and cloaked in robes so deeply black his silhouette stood out against the relatively bright gloom of the nearly unlit corner of the inn, leaned forward over his table. The air around him filled with the sound of well-oiled steel plates gliding over one another. Reaching up with a hand armored by a glove covered in sliding scales of black metal, the cloaked figure pulled his hood a little lower and got to his feet as the door to the inn's otherwise unoccupied foyer opened.
Accompanied by the sudden din of driving rain, the heavy thudding of steel boots and the flapping of thick leather cloaks wafted across the chamber of the inn and reached the figure in the corner. From beneath his hood the man in black watched as another character dressed identically to himself strode into the room, followed by another such individual, and then another. Without a word eleven such travelers, hooded and cloaked and each indistinguishable from those around them, filed into the room and stood by the door as the waiting twelfth crossed the chamber and stood before the new arrivals. Only when he stood a pace away from the eleven did the twelfth reach up to his hood, stirring his robe enough to reveal the long, wickedly serrated sword hanging from his hip, and pull the cowl away from his face.
Removing then the layers of dark cloth that wrapped his head, the fair skinned young man beneath the hood looked over the silhouettes gathered before him. "Everything is in order?" he asked, his voice rough and low.
The foremost of the remaining hooded figures then inclined his head, exaggerating the motion as to ensure the gesture would not be missed. "Exactly as you ordered, master," responded the whisper beneath the cowl. "The plan proceeds at your leisure."
Reaching forward, the young master put a hand on the shoulder of the figure before him. "Thank you Six," he said, moving then to rewrap the dark clothes around his head and thus obscure his muddy hair while leaving only his sharply blue eyes exposed beneath his hood. "For the fatherland," he whispered.
Eleven whispers then echoed the hushed call, "for the fatherland," as the icy eyed master strode through the gathered figures and into the pre-dawn storm outside as the remaining eleven fell in behind him.
The sheer weight of their cloaks holding the material steady in the driving rain, the twelve cloaked figures stalked into the streets of Petalburg, angling westward. Only once did they encounter a traveler out in the storm, an old man pushing a covered cart through the mud. The weathered senior, struggling against the rain to move his wares looked up from his labor too late to note the cloaked figures moving towards him like a cloud of fog; he loosed a scream of shock when he found himself so suddenly in their midst and completely towered over by their silhouettes. Immediately the cloaked figure nearest the old man drew from within the confines of his robe a blackened steel sword, leaning forward as if to set upon the old man and aiming the tip of the weapon at the traveler's heart. Just as quickly though, the young master spun around and grabbed his subordinate's sword, itself a weapon no shorter than four feet long and bearing hooked spikes from its hilt to nearly halfway up the blade. Shaking his head, the leader released the blade and turned back to his path without another word or gesture. As the old man in the street cowered beside his cart, the cloaked figures stepped around him without any apparent acknowledgement whatsoever, one man sheathing his sword as he walked.
Reaching the gates of the Petalburg Gym, the twelve figures stepped up to and stood in front of the heavy metal bars separating the private grounds from the rest of the city. On the opposite side of the gate, three men in Team Rocket's red and black armor warmed themselves around a large fire beneath a canvas shelter. One, a ruddy-haired youth looked up and flinched when he saw the new arrivals, alerting his comrades to the visitors' presence with his startled call of 'Who's there?' As his two companions each drew a pokeball from their belt with one hand and went to the melee weapons at their sides with their other, the leader of the twelve stepped closer to the gate and raised his hands to rest them on the thick steel bars.
Leaning forward as though he meant to press his face to the gate, the hooded master surveyed the three men opposite him. "An envoy meaning to treat with May Haruka and her advisors," he called out, his voice more than strong enough to reach over the howling wind. "We bring word from the north of Team Magma's plans to strike at her."
Among the Rocket guards, the eldest present looked to his two subordinates and, nodding to one who immediately turned on his heel and darted towards the Gym, stepped in front of the other. "Do they normally receive guests so early in the morning where you all come from?" he asked, producing from the pouch at his side a heavy key, sliding it into the lock fastened to the gate and undoing the ponderous latch. "And what's with the assassin getups?"
As the guard, a burly character looking to be in his mid-twenties, rolled the gate open for the travelers he stepped aside and gestured for everyone to enter the grounds. Wordlessly the twelve men strode into the courtyard and surrounded the remaining two guards, then without a second's hesitation two of the cloaked figures took hold of their swords and swung the weapons though the air in a pair of deadly arcs. The blades passed through the guards' necks as if their steel edges met no resistance and immediately thereafter two severed heads splashed down in the soggy mud. Even before the truncated bodies fell however, two more of the assassins stepped forward and caught them under the arms, holding the bodies upright as yet two more of the cloaked killers moved in and set to undoing the ties and buckles holding the dead men's' armor about their bodies.
By the time the first pair of killers had followed through on their initial blows and sheathed their swords, the executed guards lay naked in the mud, their heads and their untouched pokeballs beside their corpses as their armor and uniforms were carried off by the remaining ten assassins. Turning and walking backwards towards the gate, the two rearguard assassins scanned the courtyard and, finding it void of observers, rejoined their party with neither hesitation nor comment.
The twelve assassins made their way south then, spiriting the two uniforms and sets of Rocket armor into assorted bags they quickly hid on their persons. Trekking through the muddy streets at a brisk pace as the gym disappeared into the storm behind them and the falling rain pooled and washed at the edges of their tracks, they reached the edge of town and, by way of a narrow footpath winding into the brush beyond the city, left Petalburg behind. For an hour they walked uphill as the brush grew denser and taller around them, a forest gradually growing out of the undergrowth. Turning suddenly from the footpath the leader of the band walked into the woods and, scanning a few of the trees spotted his mark. Stepping beside an inconspicuous ash, the master felt along its branches until his fingers found the subtle notch carved into the bark facing away from the footpath. Waiving for his companions to join him, the master lead his party on a path turning sharply east and winding for the next two hours into a series of small hills.
The party came upon and turned to follow a rushing stream that had by all appearances swollen with rainwater and runoff. Crossing the stream and rounding a bend in the hills the twelve found their destination. The narrow mouth of the cave disguised a wide chamber beyond that sloped up and away from the rain, into which the party disappeared. Stopping within the confines of the natural shelter one of the travelers drew from his cloak a flint and steel. Kneeling down by a carefully constructed fire pit stacked with dried logs, he struck the flint and lit the party's campfire. As the warming light and smell of charred ash spread through the cave, the twelve assassins drew from the edges of the cave meticulously stored chairs and benches of roughhewn wooden planks, setting them in a circle around the fire. Ten then sat down and began removing their cloaks and the masterfully crafted suits of blackened armor beneath while the remaining pair, including their bright eyed master, stood at the mouth of the cave and kept watch.
Reaching up and pulling the wraps away from his face without pulling back his hood, the master rolled his head to one side and then the other, noisily popping the joints in his neck and shoulders. "Well Six, shall we have a look at the take?" he grinned, turning to his watch partner, kneeling and pulling one of the plundered Rocket uniforms from beneath his cloak. His partner likewise, and silently, drew a similar red and black set of clothes from his pack and together the men held the garments towards the firelight, inspecting them briefly.
Six, the dark skin of his brow furrowing as he examined the uniform, turned the article of clothing this way and that an over in his hands as he inspected it. "Not a drop of blood," he said, his voice relaxed and tone measured. "Two and Three performed as expected." He turned his eye to the uniform under his counterpart's inspection. "Yours?"
Rubbing the cloth collar of the shirt between his finger and thumb, the master nodded approvingly. "Got to hand it to the twins," he said, "smooth work. The rest of the team really pulled it off fantastically too, stripping the bodies and getting out of sight in seconds? That's a tall-" he stopped and turned to look out the mouth of the cave.
His gaze following his master's as his hand went to the pokeball at his side, Six stared intently out of the party's hideout, his ears visibly twitching as he listened for danger. "Master?" he asked.
The blue eyed youth relaxed some and took a step backwards into the cave. "Thirteen," he nodded towards the distance just as another figure, this one hooded and cloaked in black just like the others emerged from the trees blocking the cave entrance from view of the stream.
Jogging to the mouth of the cave the new arrival pulled his hood and cowl from his dark and angular features, exposing his face to the nearby sentries. "My prince," he said, stopping in front of the cave and turning from one of the guards to the next, sounding more than a little out of breath, "Six."
Reaching forward and putting a hand on the newest party member's shoulder, the fair skinned youth knelt down a little to put his face on an even level with Thirteen's. "Glad you could finally join us," he said, not impolitely. "What have you to report?"
Taking several deep breaths, stepping up beside the other two sentinels, and leaning against the stony wall of the cave, Thirteen nodded and reached for a canteen hanging at his side. "Happy to say the mission was a dazzling success, my master," he answered, stopping then to take a long draw of water from the steel canister. "I snuck in, saw what there was to see, and got out without alerting a soul."
The young master waited a moment, though impatience spread across his features. "And?" he probed, failing to so much as twitch as a huge pop sounded from the campfire in the cave some ten paces behind him. "What was the situation?"
Straightening up and taking one final breath before ostensibly regaining his complete composure, Thirteen reached up and dragged the back of his gloved hand across his dark brow to wipe away the sweat beading there. "I got a look into Haruka's war-room," he produced from the folds of his cloak a small plastic cylinder with a glass lens on one end and a bronze lever on the other, "it's all on film but essentially it looks like Haruka's planning on moving her forces against Oldale. From there she's planning on using the river basin to strike the surrounding cities."
The young master raised an eyebrow. "Bold plan," he muttered, reaching to his flank and drawing from his pocket a small bundle of vellum pages wrapped in coarse hide and bound with a leather thong.
Shrugging, Thirteen went on. "She's got the numbers for it now though, been recruiting heavily among the mercenaries to the south and from the tribes along the coast, buying their loyalties with promises of land captured from Magma and Aqua." He paused and looked out from the mouth of the cave as mist began to fall and blanket the party's little valley like smoke. "Got a look at May herself while I was there too," he said, waiting as his prince looked up from the pages of the little book.
Pausing in the middle of turning a page, the dark-eyed prince looked up. "And?" he probed again. "Is- is she well?"
Thirteen sighed and scratched at the top of his bald head, his fingers lingering a moment on gnarled scar that seemed to twist up and out of his obsidian scalp and across the roof of his head like a grey worm. "She's beset by some affliction her physicians can't diagnose," said the man in the black cloak. "She works at running the city and her affairs maybe three or four hours a day before fatigue forces her to retire; she sleeps no less than twelve hours a day and spends the remainder in her bed, shivering and sweating. More and more," he continued solemnly, "she relies on her second in command, a young captain from the Orange Islands named Odin, to conduct her affairs."
Flipping through the pages in the book, the prince stopped on one near the end, staring down at the blue runes scrawled on the vellum. "I think," he said, trailing off as he read and looked at the illustration, a sapphire blue circle etched beside a picture of some great Pokémon bearing fins and glowing red eyes. "I think we can safely assume May Haruka has in her possession the Ocean Spirit," he said.
Quickly the prince turned to the rest of his black-clad followers in the cave. "Seven, Nine!" he called out, waiting then as two of the figures leapt to their feet and strode across the cave to meet him. The youth took up the Team Rocket uniform he'd set by his foot and then turned to Six, taking from his the other uniform before turning to the two new arrivals and holding the two sets of clothes out at arm's length. "Get dressed you two," he said as the man and the woman before him both discarded their black cloaks, took the clothes from him, and began undoing the straps and ties that held their armor around their frames.
The woman, a muscled creature with a figure so androgynous that as she stood naked in the cave only her face and her genitals betrayed her sex, spoke up. "My prince," she said flatly, stepping into the pants of the Team Rocket uniform and pulling them up to her waist while slipping on the black and red vest, covering up the countless scars and old burns that covered her legs and wound up her frame, across her torso and breasts before terminating suddenly at her neck. "Forgive my impertinence," she inclined her head, letting her wavy raven hair spill down her shoulders, "but we don't have the facilities to contain the Ocean Spirit, much less safely transport it. Are you certain you wish Nine and this one to bring it here?"
The prince grinned. "You mistake my meaning," he said. "Seven, I don't want you to bring the Ocean Spirit here just yet, nor do I want you to touch one hair on May's head." He held the leather book up high enough for those around him to see. "If Professor Oak was right, and when has he ever not been," the youth returned the bound collection of pages to his cloak, "then only a savant or a powerful psychic can resist possession by the Spirits, and even then only for a short while.
"You and Nine," the prince looked between the woman and the man who now stood before him in the Rocket uniforms, "are to safeguard May at all costs. She'll act as our containment for the Ocean Spirit while the rest of us track down the other two. Until such a time as all three Spirits are accounted for, you both," he gestured between Seven and Nine, "are to ensure May remains both alive and in possession of the Ocean Spirit."
The man in the Rocket uniform, Nine, cleared his throat and spoke in a quiet tone that seemed to match his lean figure. "Consider it done, my prince," he pressed his hand over his heart and bowed low as Seven did likewise.
His blue eyes softening as he smiled, the Prince nodded approvingly. "I'm counting on you two," he said. "You'll have free reign to do whatever you deem necessary in pursuit of the mission," he trailed off and swallowed the lump in his throat. "I know we've gotten used to working together, but it may be awhile before we speak again. If there's an emergency, you know how to reach me."
The prince trailed off a moment before speaking to Seven and Nine again, this time more quietly though not in so low a whisper as to be inaudible to the rest of his party. "If," he said, slowly and purposefully, "If you determine that Haruka's life is immediately threatened by the Ocean Spirit, relieve her of it and bring it to me but under no circumstance are you to allow her to come to harm," the prince reached inside his heavy cloak and behind his back, fumbling with something for only a moment before a metal latch clicked. Producing from his cloak what looked to be a small cylindrical case just large enough to contain a fist-sized sphere, the prince offered it to Seven who accepted it with a nod of her head. "I borrowed an extra containment unit before we left," said the blue eyed youth as Seven slipped the ponderously heavy case inside her pack. "Hopefully you won't need it. Now," he nodded towards the mouth of the little cave. "Go make me proud."
Seven and Nine both bowed low a second time and, without hesitation, turned for the wilderness and jogged off into the rain. The prince, Six, and Thirteen watched as the two agents disappeared around the little bend in the terrain before Thirteen took his leave and joined the rest of the darkly dressed figures around the campfire in the heart of the cave. Six and the prince, then left to themselves at the stony entrance stood in silence and kept watch for some time as the already ashen clouds overhead grew yet darker.
Clearing his throat, Six turned to the prince and spoke quietly, in a whisper barely audible. "You know," he leaned against the stone wall facing directly away from the party around the campfire, "it might be safer to just kill May and bring the Ocean Spirit here. Keeping her alive might complicate things unnecessarily."
The prince shook his head. "Only a savant can resist possession," he whispered back.
"So you'd be just fine," Six responded.
"For a time," the prince nodded. "But you heard what Thirteen said about May. The Ocean Spirit is already poisoning her mind." He paused and all levity melted from his face. "I would very much like my mind to remain un-poisoned for as long as possible."
Six allowed a grin to cross his full, dark lips. "Is that why you 'borrowed' a containment case?" he asked.
The young prince shrugged. "R&D wasn't using it," he answered casually. "Besides, the case on the Vengeance obviously wasn't one hundred percent effective, or wasn't used properly perhaps, so I'm not altogether confident in the newer model." He turned to stare out the mouth of the cave into the storm. "Oak's notes suggest lead and gold can block the orbs' influence for a while at least but he wasn't completely sure the method was foolproof so neither am I. You know me; I hate to gamble."
Six sighed, deciding to alter the subject. "How long do you think the girl will be able to resist the corruption?"
"According to Oak's notes," the prince prefaced his statement, "probably not more than a year. She'll get worse and worse, slowly descend into madness, extreme paranoia, and eventually death."
Folding his arms before his chest, the dark man with a cloak to match grimaced. "By now news will likely have reached home that their attempts to acquire the Ocean Spirit has failed. We'll have to work quickly to track down the other two."
The prince nodded. "Well that was the plan from the start, my friend." He stopped and looked out of the mouth of the cave again, some expression perhaps distantly related to longing settling on his face. "Home," he muttered to himself, drawing in a slow breath. "No small part of me wants to just go back, forget this whole thing and just go home. I miss it terribly but I can't just let this," he trailed off.
Six put his hand on his young master's shoulder. "You're doing the right thing," he said reassuringly. "And we're behind you to the death. Master or no, prince or not, we have your back."
"Right," the blue eyed prince nodded and sighed again. "Doing the right thing," he echoed.