I didn't expect to finish the first chapter this fast, but I got excited! Anyway, here's part one of my adventure story featuring me, Rocky the Weavile! For those it appeals to, there will likely be vorish scenes soon in the story. Comments are a love :D.

Rocky felt like he was starting to sweat. The unpredicted and unfortunate rise in the temperature of the weavile's surroundings made him feel much hotter than the climate he was used to. Being an ice-type, he was much more suited for snowy frozen scenes, rather than sunny and almost tropical ones. But that wasn't even the strangest thing. For some mysterious reason, all his friends and the other creatures that inhabited his chilly tundra were nowhere to be seen. Where could they all have gone?, the pokemon mused. It was anybody's guess.
The weavile trekked onward, sluggishly dragging his feet across the ground, which was almost more sandy like a desert than the typical ice he always loved running through. Man, all this heat is going to tire me out quickly, he worried. At that moment he decided to take a quick rest by one of his favorite spots: a large blue-gray stone that was always surrounded by just the right amount of snow, only there was none anymore.
He sat his tail down, resting his aching back against the stone. The sun mercilessly blazed above him. Rocky painfully crossed his legs and softly slid off his gray colored fingerless gloves from his hands and feet. For some reason the pokemon loved wearing those comfy fabrics, along with a brown collar with an 'R' printed on. Probably because it differentiated himself from the other weaviles he knew. The gloves/socks were drenched with sweat. After as long a walk he had just had to endure, Rocky wasn't surprised. Making a mental note to wash them at the next opportunity, he laid back and drifted off for a nice nap.
Rocky was always known for being unique in his community. Most members of his species were social and fun-loving, but Rocky was always reluctant about large extraverted groups. During most of his waking hours he could be found enjoying a solitary walk or gazing out at the stars, wondering what was out there, far beyond what the sharpest eye could see. This doesn't mean he didn't have any close friends. Whenever he began to feel somewhat lonely he knew he could always turn to Vergil, an especially artistic smeargle with a talent for sophisticated conversations or Wagner, a slightly deranged gliscor who Rocky on some level always felt wanted to kill him. But the bat-scorpion pokemon always meant well, and they had gotten pretty tight over the times. Now all that seemed like a long lost illusion, as there was no one around, like he was on an uninhabited island.
Rocky awoke with a sharp jolt at a loud screech. It was probably a hawk or something, the weavile didn't care. He was just glad to still be alive after the new threats. Judging by the shift in the sun's position an easy two hours had past since the start of his snooze. Starting up, Rocky slipped his gloves/socks back on, which had dried significantly while he was sleeping, and continued his walk again. All the while his enthusiasm and his energy began to once again fade fast.
His desire to find other life eventually lead him to a town called Svilgaard (population: 1289). Rocky had been to the town before. Back then the place was drowned in a winter wonderland. He and some of the other weaviles broke into some of the local residents log cabins (most homes in the town were made of wood) and stole a bunch of warm coats and loose wood to make fire. That was the coldest winter the weavile had ever faced. Once the owner of one of the homes, a rather burly anthro grizzly bear, realized what they were doing he charged at them with a semi automatic rifle. Eager to escape with their lives, and not get their heads mounted on the bear's wall, the pokemon just made it out and they all survived the frozen harshness that year.
That exact town now looked like something out of a wild west movie. The weasel felt like he should have been wearing a ten-gallon hat and some boots with spurs. If it hadn't been for the town sign, Rocky would never have guessed his location to be Svilgaard. If everyone in Svilgaard is gone, how far does this thing go?, he nervously thought. Not knowing what else to do, the weavile went on further into town.
Everything was all boarded up. From people's homes to the markets and pubs, there was no door that wasn't sealed shut. Even though he had been already traveling for more than three hours, Rocky now felt a cool chill fall down his spine. It was nearly like being charged at by an angry trigger happy grizzly bear all over again. It was oddly the same type of fear, the unknown merciless kind that could spring up at you in the last second. It was too silent. Surely something was watching him.
Just then, as he was wishing for company to calm his nerves a large bird flew overhead and perched itself on the roof of a local market. Rocky assumed at first that it was just a regular bird, but upon further evaluation he recognized it as a pidgeot, a fellow pokemon. Just what he needed! With a great sense of joy, the weasel went to great the large bird.
“Hey there, Pidgeot” Rocky began slowly. “Do you know anything about what's happened around here? This place is a desert!”.
The other pokemon turned its avian head to Rocky, gazing over him.
“Well, what do you know, a fellow pokemon? You mean you didn't hear the news?” from the voice of the pidgeot, Rocky deduced it was a female.
“I guess I've been a little swamped” he crossed his arms. “Can you tell me?”
The bird's welcoming expression quickly turned sour. “No, I shouldn't. You best be getting outta here. Leave me alone, I'll just stay here.”.
“Isn't pidgeot a delicacy in this town?” Rocky smiled. The other pokemon only returned an unamused glance. “Take it from someone who knows, these people will kill whatever they can, now are you going to help me or not?”.
The bird clearly didn't like Rocky's aggressive tone. With an obvious sigh, the bird pokemon decided to tell the weavile everything she knew about what had happened.
“Fine” she resumed. “But if anyone asks you, you never ever saw me. You got it? Apparently there's a new ruler in town. I've heard that he's claimed more than thirty miles of the surrounding area. He's vicious they say.”.
“Hold on a sec-” Rocky raised a gloved paw. “We don't have a ruler, what do you mean by new?”
“He may very well be everyone's ruler someday. They say he's the most powerful non-divine being our world has ever seen.” The pidgeot nervously did a double-take to make sure no one else was around. “They say he knows how to use magic.” she added in a hushed tone.
Rocky was never one to believe in really any supernatural occurrences, He'd heard countless tales from his friends about their supposed other-worldly experiences, but he never bought them. The idea that there may be greater mysteries in the world is a thought the weavile always blocked from his head.
“Magic? You still believe in magic, kid?”
“Kid? Excuse me, mister weasel, but I'm at my final evolutionary stage, unlike some of us.” she motioned her wing in Rocky's direction.
“What the-? I'm a weavile! I am at my final stage!” he nearly shouted.
“Really, hmmm, why are you so....scrawny?”
The weavile was speechless. It was now his turn to be offended.
“Anyway, weavile, how else would you explain the extreme change in the weather? Certainly not by anything natural.”.
The weavile was getting tired of the conversation. But he still had other questions.
“But where did all the people go?”
“Last I heard, the new ruler, took all the people in the near towns and a bunch of creatures from the forest and is now holding them prisoner, or slaves, or worse!” the worried pidgeot was running out of breath. Rocky wouldn't have been surprised if she had a heart attack. “He's got a lot of his servants scavenging the forest. He lives on the top of that there hill.”
The bird pointed her left wing out into the distance. Over the long miles of forestation Rocky could barely make out some kind of tip to the hill. It was especially large.
“Whoa!” the weasel exclaimed. “Is that a castle?”
“That's right. That's where he lives. The worst part is that I've heard so many different descriptions of the ruler. One person said he's a huge pudgy crocodile and another said he was just a small rat with immeasurable intelligence, either way, I'm getting outta here.”.
Just as the female bird was about to take off Rocky stopped her. There was one more thing he wanted to know.
“Wait!” he shouted. “Before you go, did you happen to see a smeargle or a gliscor cross this area by chance?”
“Hmm, if they were anywhere near here they were probably captured by the ruler. Sorry, weavile, you may never see them again.”.
Without any other words the pidgeot flew away. The idea of never seeing his two closest friends ever again was just something Rocky wasn't prepared to accept. He knew exactly what to do. Looking out into the miles ahead beyond the upcoming forest, was where many of his acquaintances might be being held captive far some unknown purpose. Without a moments hesitation, Rocky made sure his gloves and collar were on tight and sprinted towards the forest, which was riddled with the rulers servants who may indeed kill him on the spot.
“But first” Rocky said to himself. “I may need a couple things.”.