The Search for the Sword of the Mist!

CHAPTER 1 How an Adventure Begins...

"Ugh, not another one..." muttered the Tranpinch with a look of annoyance.

The Combusken next to him nodded. "I'm afraid so. I never thought something like this could happen," he said with disdain surrounding everything in his voice.

The Trapinch nodded. "And to think that this is the fourth time since the winter solstice that this kind of event has occured," he said as he gathered the fir basket he was carrying in his mouth before he had dropped it in surprise. The Combusken shook his head in wonder. "And here I thought that it was the third," he mused.

"You're forgetting the time when that Ekans was found in the river. The poor guy was drowned, and nobody agrees that it was the work of murderers. There wasn't any blood, since Ekans have an odd tendency of bleeding after their death," Tranpinch murmered.

Combusken shook his head again. "Strange ones, them Ekans," he said. "They have the stranges blood patterns. But the strangest thing is that it had RED blood."

The Tranpinch closed his eyes, remembering the moment of finding the dead body in the water, the water stained with red.

"Ekans have blue blood, not red. How in the HELL could that have turned out different?" Combusken continued.

Tranpinch just shrugged. "Maybe their wath more to the death," he said quietly, his mouth covered by most of the basket's handle.

Combusken turned to him with a confused look. "How?"

"Well, I dunno. Ith wath juth a suggehtion," Tranpinch muttered with the basket full of the berries they were sent out to collect. "But I reckon ith is none of our buisneth."

Combusken followed him, a look of shock erupting everywhere on his face. "You mean...we're not going to tell the village elder about this?"

Tranpinch shook his head. "Nope. It ith probably none of our buithness anyway."

"Like how the Ekans died is none of our buisness?" the Combusken retorted angrily.

Tranpinch nodded, ignoring the anger in Combusken's voice. "We'll juth leave the poor Pokemon to rest, get it?"

Combusken sighed and turned to look back at the dead body of the Marril, it's blood the color of purple, mixing around in the melting snow. Combusken growled and was only able to muster one sentence before leaving.

"What the hell is going on?"




"Come on! Get up! It's your job to get the firewood today!" cried a voice from a room below in the hut outside the forest.

"What! I did it yesterday!" came another voice from a different room.

A Wartortle came running up the hardened, mud-banked stairs of the hut. "In your dreams! You don't do anything around here!" he cried.

He came to the door which would go into his best friend's room. He knocked loudly on the door, sounding like he was threatening to take it down.

No answer. He knocked again. Still silence.

He rammed the door with Withdraw, nearly toppling the door off its hinges. "Open this damn door or I'll break it for ya!" the Wartortle yelled.

He could hear the scurrying on feet hit the floor, obviously meaning that his warning had taken a toll.

The door opened, revealing a half-asleep Buizel. "What's your problem, huh? I was having a good dream," Buizel asked sleepily.

Wartortle sighed. "You had the dream of having the Great Joleio feast again, didn't you?"

Buizel shrugged, failing to act casual. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't," he muttered.

Wartortle grabbed him by the ear, making Buizel recoil in pain.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! My ear! Quit it! That hurts!"

"Maybe I will, if you quit acting like such a brat! I've had enough of doing all the work around the place! Ever since we were qualified to be roommates until they build our seperate houses, you've been acting like a termite in a woodshop!"

Buizel, through grunts of pain, muttered to himself. "Pff! Hope you're not to big to break it down.."

He was bonked on the head by Wartortle's fist, and then thrown to the floor. "And I'm sick of those wise ass comments of yours! I swear to Heilro, what am I going to do with you until those two months are over?" Wartortle asked, a tired look overcoming his anger.

Buizel sat on the floor, rubbing his injured head. "You could give me away as a sacrifice to this Heilro, even though he basically doesn't exist..." he murmered.

Wartortle gave him a look. "Why would you say that? Heilro does exist. He's just not alive right now, that's all."

"Oh, come on!" Buizel shouted. "If he ever existed he would've been able to make sure we had enough food this winter! Lucky for us there was a tree full of the snacks that Ekans had stolen!"

Buizel's eyes were watering. "Right after he died, anyway...," he whispered.

Wartortle sighed again. "Look, I know you're still upset since Ekans died-"

"How the heck would you know? He was my best friend! Then they just found him," Buizel said, his voice overcome with sadness and his eyes in tears. "Dead...."

"I understand that. But that was the past, and this is the present. Some things you just gotta....let go y'know?"

Buizel's crying let down a little bit.

Wartortle patted him on the back, feeling sad for his friend which he considered his little brother. "I promise you this. If we ever find out who or what killed Ekans, I will kill him for you," Wartortle assured.

Buizel sniffed and was back to being his regular, laid back self. "Good luck with that..."

Wartortle smiled slightly, gald to see THAT problem taken care of. "Good to hear you're ok. Now do me a favor," he said and gave him an agressive but friendly push out the door of their hut. "And get the firewood. And don't come back until you do!"

Buizel glared at him. "Oh, that's real nice! You comfort was all a play, is that it? Sure, whatever! I'll get the firewood! But what if I freeze out there, huh? Then, what will you do?" he asked angrily.

Wartortle chuckled. "You won't freeze. It should be spring now. The weather is gonna warm out out there."

"Yeah, right! Do you not see these white packs of mountain's giving all over the walkway?"

"Indeed I do. But that's not a good enough excuse, is it?

Buizel packed a snowball and held it firm in his paw. "Here! Is this a good enough excuse for ya?" he shouted and threw the cold snowball directly at Wartortle, landing right on his muzzle.

Wartortle ignored the urge to throw one back. "Just get the firewood. Its in the forest! Remember that!"

He slammed the door just in time to block another snowball thrown by Buizel.

Buizel slammed his tail hard on the ground, mad at the fact that he had been tricked out at his own game. He started towards the forest, cursing himself along the way.




Buizel paused at the enterence of the forest, which seemed to be giving off a strange air. "Must've been the freezing that it suffered this winter," Buizel muttered to himself. "But what do I care?"

He journeyed into the forest, whistling a tune that he could remember when his dad was around. Buizel's father was a soldier when Buizel was just a young one. Around then, his father was part of an army that was part of a war between two tribes. His father was a figure that no one could not ignore. As a Captain for a squad he called the Torpedoe Runners. It was his job to make sure the enemy would not try make any attacks water-based. That was why he created the Torpedoe Runners. He and a dozen or so experienced Water types would attack the enemy from under the water, and if they could withstand the attack from the enemy, the operation would be a success.

He had taught Buizel a tune that he would sing for the members of the Torpedoe Runners to keep them ready for the enemy, which was usually right before they were noticed.


We fight! We fight!
Fight for the Sea!
For all of those,
For them or me!

We speed through ponds!
Zoom through lakes!
Our payment?
Anything baked!

Through whirlpools!
Through oceans!
Through anything with the blue
Of the ocean!
Through the Wnter!
Through the Fall!
Through the Spring!
Through the Summer!
Who are we?
The Torpedoe Runners!

Buizel smiled, in spite of himself that he appreciated the tune. It was the only thing he could remember his dad by, since the day his life was lost.

Nobody exactly knew how it occured. Most just thought they were discovered too early. Some thought it was an ambush. Other thought one of Runners betrayed them.

Point was, nobody knew.

Buizel sighed, wishing he could remember what his father looked like. He kept pondering for the speck of a memory, but none came as he reached the area on which the firewood was kept.

He gathered all that he could carry and started to head off.

That's when it happened.

He heard a moaning. Buizel turned around, surprised about the fact that someone was moaning around the forest. He heard it again, coming from the west.

And by the sound of it, it didn't sound like that this Pokemon would last long.

Buizel dropped the firewood he was holding and dashed off on all fours twoards the sound. "Hello!" he yelled. "Anybody there?"

He heard the sound again, this time noticing it was right nearby. He crept over some ferns, and noticed that the voice was right near the river, which had started melted from the winter.

Along the river's edge was Pokemon. A Riolu. And by the looks of it, it was pretty badly banged up. Blood poured from almost everywhere on the Riolu's body.

Buizel acted fast, and quickly grabbed leaves off the nearby fern. He began dabbing the blood from the gash on the Riolu's head, thinking that it was the most important to heal first.

"How could something like this happen...especially to one around MY age...," Buizel mused.

He heard the Riolu murmer something, and, without getting too close so he could give him some air, he heard the first words from the Riolu.

"One...One King..."

Buizel looked confused. "What?" he asked.

"Guards...jump....river..."

"Hey! Are you ok? Hello? What's wrong with you?" Buizel asked intently.

The Riolu started to stir, meaning Buizel had chosen the right wound to heal first.

The dreaded words of revenge fell out of Riolu's mouth.

"Father...I promise you...I'll kill that bastard..."

Buizel stood in shock, wondering what he was saying.


TO BE CONTINUED.........