ToT Chapter 2: Crop Cops + Stolen Stuff

    It was a bright, sunny day in Rivercross Acres. The sky was a clear blue that most only see in pictures, with a handful of fluffy white clouds drifting lazily on the wind. A gentle breeze wafted through the streets and fields, refreshing anyone who felt it. This was truly the epitome of a perfect vacation day.

    Or at least, it would have been if the bandits had not decided to attack on this particular day. At the moment, several young apprentices were hard at work fending off bandits so that they villagers could tend to the crops, a job they desperately needed to finish before the coming winter.

    Horace leapt upwards, dodging yet another Take Down from the Lairon who had set his sights on the Treecko. He sped past him and he fired an Energy Ball at her as he fell, causing her to wince. Unfortunately, his thick steel plating nearly nullified the effects of the attack. He growled as he turned, ready to charge again. “Stand still and let me hit you!” He growled as he prepared to charge once again.

    Horace stepped backwards, trying to put as much distance between him and the bandit as he could. As the Lairon charged, he jumped up into the branches of the tree behind him, causing the Iron Armor Pokemon to crash straight into it. He reeled away in pain, wobbling and dazed.

    Unfortunately, he didn’t stay that way. With a Rock Head ability negating recoil damage from his own attacks, the Lairon quickly recovered and began bashing himself against the tree in order to bring it down. Horace quickly realized the seriousness of his predicament and frowned. He was tired from all of the dodging he had done, and wouldn’t last long. I need a new strategy.

    Before he could plan one, however, a sickening CRUNCH! came from below. Horace looked to see a Riolu brandishing a Honedge, standing over the Lairon. Said bandit had a nasty dent in his armored head where he had been hit with the blade.

    Horace pushed himself out of the tree, landing nimbly next to his masked savior. “Thanks for the assistance, ah…” He hesitated, realizing he didn’t know who he was talking to.

    “Marth.” The Riolu grunted before wading back into the battle, slamming a frosty fist into a scarred Bagon as he did. The Bagon collapsed, twitching and shivering.

    Horace was about to join him when a jet of flame shot past him, nearly roasting him like a marshmallow. For a moment, he flashed back to his fight with the wily witch Morgan in Darkhowl Woods, and was afraid that she had come to finish their duel. He still wasn’t quite at full strength after that match.

    Fortunately for him, Morgan was not the one who had attacked him. Unfortunately, the Magmar that had looked like one tough customer. Grizzled and well-muscled, much larger than the average of his species, he was definitely a level above some of the other thugs Horace had fought since coming to Tabira. He wore an eyepatch over his left eye, though it was his visible right one that scared Horace more. It gleamed with malice, his pupil a cruel black.

    “What’s someone so small doing out here all alone?” He sneered down at Horace. “You could get hurt, little one. This is a rough part of town.” He let out a deep chuckle, cracking his knuckles as he prepared to fight.

    Horace frowned. “It’s only rough because of bullies like you, trying to take stuff from people who worked hard for it. Take a hike.”

    Now it was the Magmar’s turn to frown, and almost comical sight on his snout. “Bully? I’m no bully. I’m only using the gifts I was born with to provide for myself. Now step aside, little one. I have fields to harvest.” He began to walk around Horace.

    Growling, Horace stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “Leave now. I won’t warn you again.” The Magmar belted out sinister laughter before leering at Horace.

    “That’s cute. Now step aside, or I will hurt you.” When Horace stood his ground, the Magmar shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He let out another Flamethrower, narrowly missing as Horace jumped over the flames.

    The Magmar turned his scorching breath upwards, trying to hit Horace as he was in midair. Thinking quickly, the Guild apprentice chucked his Grass Whistle to his right, using Unburden to dart over and catch it. Landing safely on the ground, he crouched low as another Flamethrower shot over his head, then rushed towards his opponent and slammed a foot into his midsection.

    The Magmar didn’t even flinch. Instead, he laughed even harder than before. “Fool! You stand no chance against me! Give up now and I promise to make it quick. I offer no guarantees if you continue.”

    In response, Horace threw a punch towards the Magmar’s jaw. Before it connected, he opened his mouth for another Flamethrower, and Horace ducked to avoid it. The Magmar grinned delightedly.

    A feint! Horace knew it almost as soon as he dodged. He was proved right only a moment later as a fist slammed into his gut. The Mach Punch sent him flying backwards, slamming into the tree harder than even the Lairon, who still lay in a crumpled heap beside it. Horace quickly rolled behind his unconscious form to shield himself from any followup attacks.

    Just in time, too, as another Flamethrower roared overhead, even the Lairon’s armor blackening under such intense heat. Horace ducked lower, trying to think of a way out. He could probably outrun the Magmar, but where would he go? The whole field was swarming with bandits. Any attempt at escape would only lead him into other fights. But he couldn’t fight this guy. Not on his own.

    Before he even realized that the Flamethrower had stopped, the Magmar stood over him, fist raised, ready to finish the fight. Horace quickly ducked and rolled between his opponent’s legs. He felt a hand attempting to grab him, but he slipped out of its grasp before the Magmar could get a grip.

    Rolling to his feet, Horace prepared to spring at his opponent, only to be caught off-guard by what he saw: the Magmar had his hat! In a panic, Horace’s hands flew to his head, where he found that his favorite headgear was indeed missing. “Give that back!” He shouted.

    The Magmar looked at the hat and laughed. “Is it that valuable? I was just going to burn it, but I think I might keep it!” He leered. “Unless you want to try to get it back, that is?”

    Roaring with fury, Horace practically flew across the field, reaching for his hat. The Magmar grinned and opened his mouth wide. There was no telltale light of flames bubbling in the back of his throat, so Horace continued, determined not to fall for the same trick twice.

    A noxious cloud of Smog billowed from the Magmar’s throat, causing Horace to collapse to the ground in a fit of coughs. The Magmar, immune to the effects of his own attack, threw a savage punch downwards, knocking Horace unconscious.

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    Gary watched as the Guild members arrived back in the town, some bruised but otherwise alright, some bandaged and limping between friends, some being carried in on stretchers. Unfortunately, Horace numbered among that last group. Gary followed closely behind him as they approached the makeshift hospital that had been set up in an old home on the edge of town.

    When they finally got everything organized, Gary knelt beside his friend, anxiously examining the damage he had received. Several scorch marks ran up and down his arms, his face was badly swollen in several places, and the bruising along his abdomen might indicate cracked ribs. He wasn’t fighting anyone anytime soon.

    But the most troubling part of it all? The hat which Horace kept as a keepsake from his mother was gone. Gary knew how much it meant to him, and decided he should probably try to find out what happened to it. Wandering off towards the battlefield, Gary got his first glimpse of the fight that had happened this morning.

    Strewn about everywhere were scraps of clothing and armor, broken bits of weapons and tools, bloodstains where combatants on both sides had been wounded. Several scavengers were picking at the remains, but when they saw Gary they fled into the tall grass.

    Gary looked everywhere, but found nothing. Even near the charred tree, where black soot marks streaked across the ground in several directions, which Gary was certain was the location where Horace had received his burns, there was nothing to be found.

    Gary returned in defeat, knowing that continuing the search would be pointless. Soon, the villagers would be going out to the fields to plant and harvest their crops, and Gary was in charge of overseeing one of the fields. Deciding to stop in the hospital one last time, he was surprised, albeit pleasantly, to see Horace wide awake. A gloomy frown creased his face, but a familiar face was doing his darnedest to fix that.

    “Cheer up,” Ray gave Horace a pat on the shoulder, making him wince, but continued on like nothing happened. “You’ll get it back, I’m sure. Tell ya what, I’ll go around and tell the other teams to be on the lookout for him, so if he shows up tomorrow we’ll catch him and make him give it back. That sound good?”

    “I guess,” the Treecko mumbled, though he didn’t sound very interested. He just kept staring at his bandage-wrapped forearm, as though willing the burns to heal faster. Poor Horace. Gary thought. He’s going to be moping for weeks if we don’t find that hat.

    Gary decided to do something to distract Horace from the issue. “H-hey Horace, why d-don’t you come with me later? Y-you can help me m-managing the f-field so that you’re not s-stuck in here.”

    Horace looked down the rows of cots set up to accommodate the wounded. A few rows down, he saw Sonya wandering through the rows of injured ‘mons, curing their illnesses with the bell she hung from her ear. Not far away, Chip laid in one of the cots, receiving both medical attention and a lecture from her teammate Riley. Stefan of Team Electrophilic walked around with a clipboard, examining injuries and infections, listing down each one so the remaining battlers would know what to expect during the next attack and the medics would know what supplies to keep in stock.

    “Yeah, I guess some fresh air might be nice,” Horace replied. Gary gave an inward sigh of relief. Having something to do would help distract Horace until they could recover his hat.

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    Even if the management job he was working on kept him bored out of his mind, Horace was at least glad that he had something to keep focused on. Every time he stopped to collect his thoughts, Gary was there with some new task for him. Plant some seeds, escort the farmers, check the outer fields, tell everyone their break is over. Horace got the feeling that he was working more than any other supervisor in the field.

    Not that he was complaining. He felt better doing something, anything, to help out, rather than being stuck in that dreary hospital room all day. Currently, he was inspecting the crops, making sure they were growing as they were supposed to.

    Horace was no farmer, and knew very little about plants, but even he could tell that the little green sprouts he was looking at wouldn’t be big enough to harvest before the winter. The whole field was going to be put to waste. Unless…

    Quickly glancing around to make sure no one was watching, Horace pulled out his flute, sat down in the grass and began to play. The melody was bright and refreshing, like a cool breeze on a hot summer day. Instantly, the little plants stood at attention and began to grow. Slowly at first, then higher and higher until they were almost as tall as Horace. Berries sprouted from their leaves, coloring the field like a rainbow.

    Satisfied with his work, Horace returned to Gary. “Field three is ready for harvest!” He smiled widely. Gary frowned in confusion.

    “Field th-three? B-but the farmers say they planted that only a m-month ago.” Horace froze, realizing that he might have made a mistake. Then Gary shrugged. “I g-guess they bloomed early. Must b-be because of all the g-good weather we’re having.”

    Horace laughed nervously. “Y-yeah, that must be it…” He was about to continue, but was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see a little Zorua, with blue tufts of fur instead of red, smiling shyly up at him. His mind briefly flickered to the fact that he had been meeting a lot of shiny Pokemon lately, but he shook his head and ignored it. “May I help you, my dear?”

    She grinned sheepishly. “O-oh, um, yes. I’m Alice, from the Scholars. Well, there’s been a lot of stuff going missing around here, and it’s gotten worse recently. The townsfolk are demanding we do something about it, but we’ve got our hands full at the moment. I was wondering if maybe you’d like to try to find their stuff?”

    Horace shrugged, then looked at Gary. “Only if my boss will let me.” Gary smiled and nodded before turning to berate an apprentice who was slacking off.

    Following Alice, Horace was led to a large poster in the town square, with pictures and descriptions of the missing items tacked all over. Several apprentices who were not helping out in the fields or doing guard duty were grabbing sheets before heading out to search.

    Horace was surprised to see the Riolu from before, his arm nestled in a sling, glancing over the lists. His Honedge partner lay dormant in the sheath on his hip, its single eye shut. Before Horace could approach him, he grabbed a photo and rushed down one of the roads.

    Eyeing the not-insignificant number of leaflets gently rustling in the breeze, Horace spotted one that stood out to him: a grand piano, made from brightly polished wood, that had somehow disappeared in the night. Figuring that it would be easy to find, Horace grabbed the sheet and headed off to find it. He decided to first check the house where it had resided until its disappearance, to see if he could find any clues.

    The old Politoed who had owned it had no leads on where it could be. “Well, I woke one morning, roughly two weeks ago, and walked downstairs, and it was just gone. There were no scuff marks from someone trying to lift something so heavy, and I’m not quite sure just how they would have gotten it out of the house.” She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry I can’t give you any more clues, but that’s all I know. I would very much appreciate it if you could bring that back to me.”

    Thanking her for her time, Horace headed back out into the town, Looking over the notes he had taken down, only one conclusion came to him. Teleportation. It has to have been teleported somehow. But transporting such a large item would be taxing, so it would require an extremely skilled teleporter.

    Due to the sheer amount of items that had disappeared in Rivercross Acres, and the frequency of the disappearances lately, Horace had a feeling it wouldn’t be far from here. Whoever was doing this wouldn’t want to transport so many objects very far away, due to both the physical and mental strain it would cause.

    Horace searched until the sun went down, but had no luck finding the piano, or anything else from the list for that matter. Returning back to the hospital/headquarters, he found that none of the other search parties had found anything from the lists. Some had found odd trinkets and bobbles, but none of them matched up with anything on the board in the town square.

    Deciding that he’d done enough searching for one day, Horace went back to his cot, which was hard to do since so many ‘mons were rushing around, trying to help the wounded. He found Ray waiting for him, grinning widely.

    “We beat them back pretty bad!” He reported. “Some of the older recruits say that we’ll be able to go back home after tomorrow.” His face fell slightly. “No one saw that Magmar, though. I’m sorry Horace.”

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    The rest of the time in Rivercross went by quickly for Horace. He helped Gary in the fields, he searched for missing items around town, he even stopped in once or twice to help the doctors with the wounded. As the sun began to set, the apprentices were told that they could pack their gear and head home. A handful of them would stay behind to supervise and guard, but the majority would head home and get some much needed rest.

    The ride back was quiet. Everyone had been worked hard during the mission, and no one had the energy to make conversation. Horace was fairly certain that several had fallen asleep.

    Finally, the wagon began to slow, before coming to a final stop. “Alright, we’ve arrived in Tabira!” The Mudsdale who had been pulling the wagon called back. The apprentices stood wearily, some shaking off sleep, before dispersing to their various residences. Horace stepped out of the wagon, grateful that they were finally done with their missions and could rest for a little while.