[attr="class","main"]
The scene changes.[break][break]
This isn't like the Circhester that Temp had visited with
Cillian Quinn. It's still frigid; not as bad as wherever the hell they just were at least. But his breath comes out in puffs of frost as the taste of ash settles on his tongue. It's disgusting, covered in ooze and sludge. Misery mires the air.[break][break]
It reminds Temp of Pacifidlog from his childhood. An ailing people clawing to survive. It has a pang of sympathy in his chest.[break][break]
His Sygna Suit may be useless without Compass but it could still be useful. Temp clamps the metal visor of the knight outfit shut and calls out Trigger. The bright yellow and pink Kommo-o is fitting with her saddle still. Temp hauls himself up onto her back and follows before Lugia and Cillian. Rains start up, mixing with the ash and snow to make a pasty mixture on the ground. He wrinkles his nose.[break][break]
The front-lines seem to be handled and many people are investigating the sources of the sludge. Temp trots through the streets and observes; the scene is so strange. A mix of ancient and modern like overlapping photos. A half broken wooden cart filled with rough hew breads stands next to a pokemon center that still glows with electricity. It's odd. Like the peasants are just cosplaying, like that ren faire he visited with
Kouji Matsubara.[break][break]
Corviknight still circle in the sky. Temp glances up at them and an idea takes form in his mind, slow and curling. With his ear piece gone, Temp signals to
Cillian Quinn above before trotting off; to let the other know he's safe and won't get into (too much) trouble.[break][break]
It takes a while to find what he's looking for. The grand estate of the Quinns is not there; or perhaps hadn't been built yet? But the roosting nests of Corviknight are, sitting high in trees and staring down with beady eyes. Old and crumbling watch towers are empty except for them. Thankfully it is not a fight that Temp is here to pick.[break][break]
Pokeballs are flicked from his hands as he dismounts. Bongo the Zarude and Mitten the Luxio shake themselves off after awakening from stasis. They both glance around, confused, before looking to Temp for guidance.[break][break]
"You see these feathers?" Temp walks over to a tree, kneeling down to pluck a steely black shed feather from the snow. It's sharp and heavy, the edges gleaming.
"The four of us need to find as many of these as we can carry."[break][break]
And so they collect. Dozens and dozens of feathers. Only the thick gloves of his suit keeps his fingers from getting cut. At some point the birds, curious, start to pluck themselves of old shed and clean out nests. It's as if they know of his plan; but perhaps they just want an easy clean up if someone is willing.[break][break]
He and his pokemon are laden with bundles of feathers when he returns later. A few people give him curious looks but Temp ignores them. He instead moves to the edges of the battle, where scrap wood unsuited for defense lays in piles. Splinters are risked as Temp sorts through the piles. A few pieces of suitable scraps in larger hunks pulled out.[break][break]
Then comes the task of fastening the feathers to the wood.[break][break]
It's slow work. Layers of metal feathers laid on top of one another in careful rows and shifting patterns. Scraps of ropes and strings tied together in intricate sailor's knots; so even if any are broken the feathers will hold firm. The handles are more rope, sturdier stuff, cut from other projects. Too short for much else so it was to be thrown away.[break][break]
Temp works and works and works until his fingers are sore. Silent and focused. While not as many as he had hoped, a half dozen of these makeshift shields sit at his side when finished. All of them are of odd shape. A product of their time and the given materials.[break][break]
It isn't as many as he hopes. Yet Temp isn't done quite yet. Another stack of feathers still sits; too few for another shield yet it seems like a waste to leave them. Another idea strikes him; Temp leaves his pokemon behind with the feathers and shields and runs off elsewhere.[break][break]
He comes back with a cast iron pot. Round and deep. This time, he releases Agni. The Shadow Flareon's eyes flick from the small groups of peasants that occasionally walk by. He dumps the feathers inside- then instructs the fire type to set a steady but hot flame under the pot.[break][break]
More wood is taken from the pile of scraps. Longer pieces. These, Temp shears into rough shapes with Trigger's claws. The Kommo-o used as a very large whittling knife.[break][break]
Wood is dipped into now molten metal. Temp is not a black smith. They drip into odd shapes and he scalds his hand even with the gloves; they're tempered in piles of snow only because he doesn't want to hold them any longer. The makeshift swords are not
good. But they may be
good enough and that is what matters.[break][break]
The nicest sword and shield he claims as his own. A labor of hard work.[break][break]
Banjo, Mitten, and Agni are called back into their pokeballs. Temp sets out to find him companions, and the Leagers who decided to come here, hopping back onto Trigger as his steed. The Kommo-o starts back for where they last saw
Cillian Quinn before a shriek rips through the air.[break][break]
"Go!"[break][break]
Trigger roars and barrels forward. One of the twisted hands reaches for a man who wandered too close to the sludge.[break][break]
The Kommo-o leaps to cover the man and grab him with her arms. Temp lifts his shield to block the hand, slices it with the sword. The glow of
Protect helps to keep it pushed back. Then they leap back, out of harm's way. Trigger places the shaken man down without grace.[break][break]
A child runs out to hug the man, sobbing, and a few of the peasants stare.[break][break]
Temp doesn't like the eyes on him.[break][break]
Temp had long been a man who shied away from greatness. The idea of taking the spotlight, of being important, was meant for others. Others like
Hitoshi Inoue,
Kouji Matsubara,
Yumi Hasegawa.
jayden cross,
Isaac Merlo,
Naomi Sato,
bryan delarosa. His husband, too, of course. They all held potential in their hands even if not all of them could see it. For many years, Temp had gladly passed up on those chances to be like them. To step from the shadows as a lingering side character in other people's stories.[break][break]
It has only been recently that Temp wants to take some control over his own narrative.[break][break]
So he does.[break][break]
"People!" His deep voice rings out, full of command and power. Full of confidence he didn't know he had. It draws attention and eyes on him.
"I am Tempest Quinn! My companions and I are here to protect you from this evil! Stand with us! Stand with us instead of cowering and waiting to die! Take up these arms and reclaim your home!"[break][break]
RNKwENuy
[attr="class","tag"]@ rusted shield
[attr="class","notes"]
notes
[break]
🔗
sygna suit (not active)[break]
🔗 this post is very long[break]
🔗 breaks off from the group to go collect corviknight shed feathers[break]
🔗 his pokemon (kommo-o, zarude, luxio (she's evolving in this thread to luxray ic!) help him[break]
🔗 takes the feathers back into town and makes makeshift shields out of the feathers + wood scraps[break]
🔗 melts leftover feathers in a pot and uses that + more wood scraps to make makeshift swords[break]
🔗 shadow flareon helps with that process[break]
🔗 calls back all pokemon except for kommo-o[break]
🔗 he is using kommo-o as a mount![break]
🔗 uses her + his makeshift sword and shield to save a man about to be grabbed by a hand[break]
🔗 kommo-o assists in this with a
protect[break]
🔗 tries to give a rousing speech to the peasantry![break]
🔗 temp is focusing on
inspiring and bonding with the townsfolk![break]
🔗 salac cause i worked TOO HARD ON THIS POST FOR A DANG 6