Hey readers, Lamp here.
IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE: I realize I failed to mention something important, and that important detail is this: The Pokémon in this story do not have special abilities as they do in the games and anime. That is my special twist on the story. At best, a normal Pokémon will feel at home in their element, but it won't stop an ice type from being cold, or a fire type getting dehydrated in heat. There are exceptions though, but they are mostly based on attributes a Pokémon has naturally. For example, a Sylveon still has complete control over its ribbons, and a Scyther can still slash with its claws. But most pokemon rely on weapons to fight for their reliability in most situations, which is why I've chosen to center my story on the provider of such weapons.
-Response to "Joshy": First and foremost, thank you for taking the time to observe flaws in my story! In response to your findings, I'm going to try not revealing too much about the king's court, but just enough to help with understanding. In the dialogue between Randolph and Mugskale, the military officer lets his tongue slip about how the old king is dead, and the new king is his child, though this is not public knowledge. It is a safe assumption to say that out of respect for their old king, the court listens to his heir and doesn't put any orders above his head. The young king knows Randolph has saved his life and doesn't wish to cast away the debt he owes the blacksmith. Being young can lead to stubborn decisions, such as the young king's wish to leave the Glaceon unscathed, and so without the proper evidence of direct disloyalty, the young king sees to Randolph's protection. This isn't to say the entire court agrees with the young king, but they wish to honor the memory of the old king. Please continue to help even out the roughness!
Chapter two is up, and I've gotten a head start on three. Enjoy!
I do not own Pokémon.
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It was evening when Randolph returned to the gates after finding only one of the rare shiny ores he was looking for. After a brief argument with the guard, the door opened and he entered Seafree.
Patrolling the streets, he looked around the passing Pokémon until he came upon a blacksmith shop with a red tarp over it. He leaned in and saw a sweaty Charmander dipping a crudely curved blade into a trough of water. Loudly, he let the Shellstone he was carrying clatter on the counter, and seeing the small orange Pokémon look up, he said, "Hey Teag! Can you bring this to your dad and have him smelt it down into small bars for me?" He finished by dropping about fifteen pieces of the currency onto the ore.
"Sure thing, Mr. Randolph!" The enthusiastic reply caused a smile to appear on the Glaceon's face.
Moving in closer, he leaned over the counter and brought his pouch closer. "Teag, I found something on the beach earlier, it may pique your interest."
The Charmander's eyes lit up, and he gazed at the pouch, asking, "What is it?"
Randolph took something by the handle out of his bag, and produced what looked like a sword hilt and handle, with the blade broken off. It was stained dark by sea water, and algae grew on the pommel. "Take a closer look at what remains of the blade," he advised and passed it to the young apprentice.
After examining it, Teag visually quivered, and his eyes shot up to meet the other's. "Glass fragments! And not just window glass, either. It's tinted slightly red and broke into square-shaped chunks. Do you think…?"
"It definitely is," Randolph replied. "It's a Blood sword, belonging to the-"
"The Knights of the Life Force!" The Charmander's interruption earned a look of pretend anger, but the little lizard went on, "The old scrolls say that the blades couldn't be shattered by anything except for when turned on their owners, and then it's a fatal wound! I wonder what the story behind this one is? Maybe some epic pirate battle, huh?"
Randolph was about to reply when a looming figure behind his friend caught his tongue. From behind Teag, out stepped a large Charizard. "Randolph," the word came out as a hollow grow.
"H-Hi, Kell. I was dropping off a chunk of Shellstone, could ya smelt it down?" The Glaceon took a step back, slightly averting his eyes.
Ignoring him, the dragon looked down at his son, saying strictly, "Don't entertain him." He turned back to Randolph, who was looking up with a blank look. "Don't fill my son up with your stories," he said, reaching up to the wall and bringing down an axe with a blade larger than the blue Pokémon's body.
"Yeah, got it. It won't happen again, sir," Randolph muttered, backing up slightly.
A large orange snout came out of the shop, and it growled menacingly, "Don't forget, I was your mentor, Randolph. Don't go thinking about making my son your apprentice." With that, Kell's growl faded into the back of his shop, and the Glaceon scampered off, listening to the fading complaints of Teag.
As he wandered off, memories of Randolph's youth plagued his head. Being an apprentice for Kell… Jeez, I can't remember if those were good times or not. Sure, he taught me to be the best smith I could with my type condition, but he also did things to me. Not good things.
Flashback
The clanking of metal filled the early morning air. Too early, perhaps. "I've been… at the forge since last morning… sir," a gasping voice belonging to a teenage Glaceon scraped the crisp air. "As a… Glaceon… I can get seriously injured, sir."
It was met by a harsher voice, belonging to a thirty-year-old Charizard. "You'll stop when I tell you to, you pathetic ice type. Who even let you become a blacksmith?"
"My father… is a Flareon, sir," the voice wheezed. Visually, he was stumbling around with a hot piece of steel in a pair of prongs, aiming for a trough of water to douse it in. "He was also… a blacksmith, sir."
Hot breath, in comparison to the forge, covered the back of his neck, and he shuddered. "Well try and take after him. If you mess up one more blade, I'll make sure it's not just your arms that are sore," the Charizard growled, his claws tracing up and down the smaller Pokémon's back. Randolph shuddered, and Kell cackled, continuing to assault the poor Pokémon's ears with harsh words.
End flashback
Randolph shook his head. There was no way Kell could make up for all the grief he had inflicted upon him both mentally and physically. He just hoped Teag's spirit would be okay under the teaching of his father.
Evening came, and along his way, he stopped outside of The Melting Snowball, the tavern known for being a safe spot for resistance members. "I could go for a drink," he said to himself and stepped inside. "Maybe some good company as well." He hadn't forgotten about the fit Pepper had.
Upon entering, he picked up the sound of drunken singing down the bar and saw a dangerous looking bunch huddled at a table in the corner. He decided to sit at the bar with a few other sober folks. Within a few seconds, the bartender came over and greeted him. "Hey, I'm Chip, a Pangoro, and the bartender here. Can I get you a drink?"
Looking at the prices on the wall, he quietly murmured, "These things could cost me half a sword…"
"If that's the case," a voice came from behind him, and its owner sat down next to him. "Give us a few mugs of Ice and Dragon. On my tab!" The voice belonged to a Typhlosion not much larger than the Glaceon himself.
Two mugs, one with blue frothy liquid and the other a faint red were placed in front of them, the Pangoro saying, "Your tab's the only reason this place hasn't been seized yet, T-bone."
T-bone? "Pick your poison, young sir," the Typhlosion bellowed. Hesitantly, Randolph took the one with frothy blue liquid and took a gulp. Cool and sharp sensations met his taste buds, then the signature heat of alcohol kicked in, and he was gagging.
The fire type patted Randolph's back, and laughed heartily, picking up the other mug, downing the red liquid in a single strong draught. After recovering, Randolph wiped the froth from his mouth, and looked up at the Typhlosion, and grunted, "I'm twenty-six. Young sir is not much of a suitable title."
Almost at once, The Typhlosion's face lost all playfulness, and he turned sober. Stoically, he asked, "A title like… Resistance Blacksmith? Is that suitable?" The bar quieted down at the Pokémon's words.
"I'm not that surprised you figured me out, this is a resistance friendly tavern, after all," Randolph commented, taking another swig of the liquid. His cheeks shone red, but he managed to hold back any gagging.
"Aren't you keen, Randolph. You're an asset to us, and I'd expect no less intellect than from my best men. We just don't know how to show you we appreciate your support," the Typhlosion said slowly.
The blacksmith became a bit bamboozled at the sudden interest, but settled for saying, "Who are you?"
"You might have heard Chip call me T-bone, but that's just a nickname," the blue and beige Pokémon stated. "My name is Tiberius, surely a name you've heard of."
At that moment, Randolph got off of his stool and bowed deeply to the Typhlosion. "Excuse my manners, sir! I had no idea I was talking to a Pokémon with such a high rank!"
A chuckle came from Tiberius, and he said, "Get up, Blacksmith. There's no need for a bow, at least, not here." Randolph obeyed and retook his seat. "As I was saying, I am Tiberius, the face, and leader of the Resistance. My base of operations is here in the Melting Snowball, and it's quite the good base too. Backrooms and trapdoors, secret tunnels and rooms, the whole package."
"Your base is a tavern?" The Glaceon was only in the slightest confused.
"That's right, and we've kept it secret from the Loyalists for years. It's not suspicious at all, and we get our fair share of normal civilians in here as well, the ones who aren't interested in the conflict," Tiberius added, motioning for Chip to refill his flagon.
"I… really? I've only known this place to be a haven for resistance soldiers to lay low! How could I have not seen it? My shop is just up the street, too," the Glaceon spoke. He sloshed around the Ice drink, then put it down lightly. Putting on his most determined face, he asked, "How may I be of help to the Resistance?"
"Keep doing what you're doing, Randolph," came the smooth reply. "Continue making swords and other weapons to the best of your ability. I'm going to put some soldiers scattered near your shop so if there's ever an issue, or you need help, it can be resolved," Tiberius answered, taking a freshly poured Dragon and tilting it back into his throat.
Randolph digested the information and nodded to himself. "I'll keep up my best, sir. And I'll make use of the soldiers you assign me, thank you for your generosity," he said, bowing his head. He managed to gulp down the rest of the blue drink, then got up from his seat. "I think I'm gonna go back to the shop now, sir. I'm a bit… sleepy." He stumbled to the door, turning as he did, and said, "Thank you, sir!"
Tiberius laughed as the lightweight Glaceon teetered back to his shop. "Another one, Chip," he ordered, putting down his empty mug. "I have a good feeling about tonight. Things may go as planned."
The Pangoro let a faint sneer shine from his stoic face. He growled, "You better hope it does. I'm not worried about Toby's troops, but Indigo has me on edge. They haven't been communicating with us as of late."
"Chip, Chip, Chip. You forget, we have you, me and him on our side."
"But we don't know if he'll show! He doesn't respond to the messenger Pidgies we send his way, and he really doesn't like daylight."
"Then for as long as the night lasts, we'll have to make use of him, right? And who knows, maybe he'll mind our soldiers this time," Tiberius remarked, sipping on his drink. "We've wasted enough time, go round up the Vanguard and meet me outside the King's castle. We'll see if Indigo plays their part, too. If they don't, I can fill in the holes."
Chip narrowed his eyes but turned to get out of the bar. After chatting with a few of the straggling bar members, they followed him out of the tavern. The Typhlosion watched the tavern clear out, then drank the rest of the alcoholic beverage. He hopped off the stool, leaving it teetering slightly unbalanced. The tavern was empty by the time it hit the ground.
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