The old Captain is inside the newspaper when he hears the old work whistle shrill before a young voice echos throughout the streets, all from old and frosted speakers, "Work shift done! Take a breather.". Some of the men inside immediately put on heavy jackets and leave, most of them muttering the kind of apologies you give to co-workers when you know they have to work late into the night.
The Captain blinks when one of the leaving workers salutes him out of the blue, before giving the young man a salute of his own as he left into the biting cold. A cough immediately draws him back as to why he's here. The lanky, though he may just be underfed, man in front of him takes the Captain's focus and runs with it.
"As I said before Captain Rudolph," the man says, "Our conversion of this..." the man seems to hesitate, rising his hand to his head and rolling his wrist.
"Propaganda center, Editor-in-Chief," the Captain says 'Chief' with audible amusement, "Let us not beat around the bush, it was a propaganda center, and it worked well, but now martial law is over and it needs to stay out of mine... and the Council's hands... at least publicly," The Captain glances around the room, full of printing presses all in good condition, "I hope you can make this work, you were the only one I could find that actually ran a newspaper before the Frost".
The Editor grimaces at the mention of the former state of the building he was in, "Of course sir, I'll work it just as fine as I ran the old newspaper back in Barnes... especially since I won't have any competition, right?"
The Captain sighs, "Yes I will try to block or slow another independent newspaper, but know that I need an actual reason to do so. I did not come this far just to be thrown out of leadership because of a single newspaper," the Editor open's his mouth to complain only for the Captain to wave his hand, "I suggest just keeping your head down, reporting only somewhat favorably on our actions, and try not to incite too many strikes, alright? Then maybe I can pull a 'why go with a potentially biased view when we have a true neutral view' card on any new newspapers. Is that good enough, Wilton?"
The Editor, Wilton, gives a slow nod as the Captain sighs again and starts to head out the door, out into the cold with two guards following him.
The biting cold strikes him immediately, his breath turns to mist the moment he breathes, the cold would've burned the lungs and throat of someone not used to this extreme cold but the old man was used to it, as was all of New London. He looks up and right in front of him, down a few dozen yards or so from the newspaper was it, the Generator. The lifeblood of New London. Without it, there would be no city, no hope, nothing. As far as they knew, they were the only survivors left with a Generator. There were some people hiding in the old convict ships that transported criminal workers to Generator sites, others stuck to hot springs, growing some of the few crops hardy enough to survive in soil not snowed on, no matter how barren the soil was. And some just hid in deep caves. But they were the ones with the Generator! The only source of massive amounts of heat to allow civilization, true civilization, not hiding in ships or caves praying for their next meal and a day's worth of warmth, to grow and flourish!
The Captain closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Fumes from all over the city entered him. The cooking of a hundred houses, some in large clumps, some in small rows like old townhouses, with countless meals being eaten by hundreds of men, women, and children. The decaying fumes of the just closed factory, just having finished creating a new automation, those great machines that can replace entire work shifts, limited only by steam cores and computational machines, the first being dug out by a friendly trading partner, and the other being easily constructed by their engineers. Next, the smells of ironworks, coal mines, and wood drills, all just as important as the other. And of course, the most important smell, the Generator powered by tons of coal every hour to keep running. He opens his eyes and exhales.
"A warm day sir," the guard to his left says, half joking, half in sad truth.
"Very much is, sergeant... It's only -30 Celsius". No one says another word as they start marching off to a very slightly larger than normal house at the edge of a smaller collection of houses.
Rudolph is left alone as he enters his house, his guards leave with a salute the moment he touched the door handle. He walks through the surprisingly narrow hallways, narrow due to the thick walls both inside and outside the house. He walks up the stairs, past old hanged art, probably some of the last art pieces on Earth, into his room and immediately kneels by his bed.
Despite his tiredness and the complete burden that ruling the last city on Earth gives to a man, he does not give in to the call for sleep just yet. Like yesterday and the day before that, the week before that, and all the way from childhood to now, Rudolph started to pray.
"O'Lord, He that provided us with the animals we hunt for food, the men that can provide safety for the weak, and the wisdom of our engineers to better us all, please... keep us with You, may even the lowliest drunk, and hardened of criminals find forgiveness from You and in You," it's repetition at this point. He has said this specific prayer ever since boarding the dreadnought, that great machine that was designed to travel the Frostlands, and he has said it every day for months, only adding on to it, never changing it. Until today. The old Captain starts to stand to take his jacket off before heading to bed, only to find himself back on his knees and praying once more.
"O'Lord.... please.... grant us respite from the Frost, may spring... finally come," he thinks he's asking too much, temperatures are comparably low, food is high, animal populations are being tracked and are thought to be rising, coal is in good supply, and maybe they might just find.... or more likely stumble, across one of their sister cities. They couldn't have been the only ones to survive the storm. They were late to get to their site thanks to a malfunction on their dreadnought so others who had far more time must have made it... right? He sighs before finally heading to bed. Not knowing that his prayer was being answered.
The Frozen North, Northeast of Groenstein and Directly East of the Penguin Capital, Dachaigh. Late 1006.
In the Frozen North, around a hundred and fifty miles off the coast of Groenstein, was a singular Beam-styled fishing trawler with a small Nova Griffonian crew. Captain Straus was at the wheel when he saw it, or rather, was blinded by it. Straus fell, though he'd always say he ducked in stories, clutching his blinded eyes. The door to his bridge was almost immediately opened when he fell to the floor, letting Straus hear a chorus of surprised caws and swears as a pair of claws suddenly take ahold of his great coat and hoisted him back up to his paws.
"CAPTAIN!" the gryphon screamed into Straus' ear.
Straus could only confusingly look, though his eyes hadn't completely recovered so all he saw was a brownish blur, at the other gryphon before saying, "Y-yeah?"
The blur pointed... a finger he thinks, to the window in front of him, "LOOK!"
Straus looked out the window and saw... a white blob? A MASSIVE white blob actually! Wait the ship was still moving! Straus pushed himself out of his crewmate's claws and, despite not seeing much, managed to slowly stop the ship. His crewmate's voice brings his focus back to the brownish blu- well it wasn't really a blur now, he could see the blue in his eyes now.
"You alright, cap?"
Straus rubbed his eyes once again before looking at the griff once more... oh great. It was Tovi, the bloody layabout. "I'm fine, Tovi, head back to your duties and I'll..." Straus glanced back towards the white blob only to see a massive island utterly covered in snow, "Is that an island?"
Tovi looked at the island before turning back to Straus, "I think we should gather the crew, cap."
Straus just nodded, "Yeah... you go.... gather the crew I need to... think."
Tovi just raised an eyebrow before turning and heading out of the Bridge. Straus immediately sighed and put his claw to his head... "Gods... this better not be a fucking teleportation spell, I do not want to be anywhere except Groenstein."
A few minutes pass until their small crew of 4 griffs gathered around their captain.
"Gentlegriffs," Straus starts, "We have a problem," a chuckle comes from the youngest of them but a glare her way shuts her up, "there are either two ways to explain this. One, an island got teleported. That is unlikely as I think the only persons who could do that are the princesses back in Canterlot. The more likely one is we got teleported. And seeing as though that island is completely covered in snow, we may either be far more northwards than any ship should go, or we're near Pingland," He takes a glance towards his crew, they're silent, "We either head south, or look for anyone on that island. Any objection?"
The crew look at each other before the youngest of them says, "Uh, cap, I've been to Dachaigh, it's not this snow-covered even in the harshest of winters... are we sure this island wasn't just teleported by... divine means?"
Tovi scoffs at the young woman, "I doubt the Gods would summon some random snow island for us to explore, Sanne".
Sanne opens her beak only for Straus to say, "Yes yes, we know Sanne, 'we do not know the true actions of the Gods and can not hope to know them', I already decided on what we're doing," he pauses to look at the island, "We will circle the island, compare it with the island that Dachaigh stands on, if it's not the same then we head southwest towards where Groenstein should be. If it is Dachaigh, then we'll dock and explain our situation, if we're lucky, the penguins won't be too racist towards us," Straus sighs, "Dismissed, head to your positions. We're heading to that island".
New London. Late 1888/Late 1006.
Rudolph wakes up at 6 AM, just like every day for months on end. He moves his hands to his face to rub his eyes only to notice something. His hands were off, like extremely off! He blinked at his hands.... claws, thinking he was just dreaming. Hesitantly he brought one claw to the other and pinched the bird-like hand. Pain, dull through the scales but still there, radiated from the pinch. He stared at his claws, before finally noticing the feathers on his arms, leading down... down to his shoulders. It's when he accidentally taps his shoulders with his beak that he finally realizes he isn't dreaming.
He starts screaming, "HELP, OH- FUCK SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE!" He rolls out of his bed, only revealing more of his new body, thankfully his shirt and pants had transformed to better fit him. He started to pull at his feathers, plucking some, revealing bird-like skin underneath. With plucked feathers in his claws, he starts to hyperventilate... he can't breathe. He tries to get onto his feet... paws only to fall back down onto his chest, finally he curls around himself, trying to calm down. Seconds pass... then a minute as Rudolph tries to calm his breathing. He raises his claw to his beak, trying to feel out his face... his face felt soft, it must've been covered in feathers as well.
Finally... the man... bird thing? Started to slowly raise himself, one claw on the bedroom table next to him. He only notices his cat-like feet as he stands up. He feels numb, his... paws? His paws were numb as though frostbite had swept through them. A minute passes as he waits for the feeling in his... paws... to return before taking a single step. Then another... and another... a few more and he let go of the table only to hear a soft thack sound. Looking behind him, he sees a long slender tail with a spade-like end of fluffy fur. He must be more cat-like then he thought... then again... he couldn't see anything since he was still wearing his pants and shirt... wait he swore he saw something behind him.
Using his claws, he felt it... it was a massive patch of feathers... was it.... he pulled the hardest part of it out to his side... it was uncomfortable.... but it was exactly what he thought it was.... wings... he had wings. Fuck this was bad.
'Oh God... please... let it just be me,' he thought as he slowly started to shuffle from his bedroom and to the stairs... this was going to be painful.
It was not just the Captain. The city was in complete chaos. Hundreds of citizens were rioting in the streets, religious zealots fight each other as some said it was a blessing for them to better survive the Frost and others said it was a curse from Satan himself.
Most religious people simply prayed for answers in the Great Temple. Entire guard units are disorganized, unable to recognize fellow comrades, leading to some saying that others are in fact traitors in disguise. Order is broken, and Faith is shaken.
The Captain has just exited his house, barely remembering to put on his coat and boots... they both barely fitted him. His paws were too big and the boots too small. His wings twitch under his coat, it's both annoying and uncomfortable. He sees some citizens running around on unsteady legs, with some running on all fours, and even one... flying?
He sighs before starting to run to the Generator.
He pushes past rioting crowds that don't recognize their Captain as he finally gets to the Generator. The Council is there; Carl Snape, the official head of the New London Police and Guard, (though most people know that the Guard are more than willing to ignore him and answer directly to the Captain and the Police don't really exist in the city yet) Olen Wright, superintendent of the New London Mines, Jeanette Carnall, Overall-Commander of the Scout's League of New London, and finally Jason Vear, Chief Scientist of the New London R&D department. He only recognized them because of their clothing, Jeanette's specially designed goggles, Vear's eyepatch and glasses, Carl's military-styled great coat, and Olen's silver medal he so loves to wear on anything and everything. There is a small line of guards in front of them... at least he thinks they're guards, he doesn't recognize any of them.
Without a word, the Captain starts to walk to the line, only to be met by a growl from a guard, "Back, citizen! Under order of the Council, no citizen is to disturb their meeting". Right... they still didn't have a dedicated building for council meetings so they hosted them in front of the Generator. It helped morale but it also forced council members to not discuss certain topics due to fear of a potential protest mid-meeting.
"I am part of the Council, I am Captain Rudolph, now get out of my way, guard!"
Captain Rudolph pushed past the guard, accidentally knocking him down to his claws, and walked to the council, who were quietly talking to each other. "Gentlemen... and gentlewoman. Things... are fucked".
Carl chuckles before a grim look takes his face, "My men are trying to reorganize themselves, but it's slow. We may be able to get control of the city by," he checks his pocket watch, "10 or so AM".
"Good," Rudolph turns to Vear, "Apart from us being transformed into... these... bird cat things, what do we know?... And get off the floor and onto your feet, you're a man, not a dog!"
Vear coughs a little and doesn't get off his claws, "It's easier to walk this way, Captain. But we figured out what we are... we're gryphons. Ancient Greek animal, of course, they don't actually exist. But thanks to some... doctor work, we know that our new... bodies... are meant to walk on all fours".
Rudolph stares at Vear for a moment, "What about our wings, Vear? I saw someone flying with them just... two minutes ago".
Vear rubs the back of his head before shrugging, "Some of us are taking to it far better than most I assume. My assistant accidentally bumped his head on the ceiling of the workshop after flapping his wings in a demonstration... he was on the first floor. We need people to not uh... fly until we can figure it out, we don't need workers falling into the Generator". He turns towards Carl as he finishes his sentence.
Carl sighs, "Yeah yeah I'll order the lads, but the moment we order people to not fly, they're going to realize they can fly and that's going to cause all kinds of problems on its own. I really don't want to order my lads to chase a flying target when they can't fly".
"Just do it, Carl," Rudolph says before Jeanette asks a question.
"Can you let our scouts learn how to fly first... and we need to delay their scouting missions. They need time to adjust to their new bodies... and wings".
Before Rudolph can respond, Olen finally speaks up, "Sir... we should probably talk with our trading partners. The lads at Greywall probably aren't doing well. And who knows how the other settlements are doing?"
Rudolph says nothing for a few seconds before turning back to Jeanette, "Go to the administration building and check on the local settlements, and your request is accepted, now go!"
Jeanette immediately starts to walk before standing for a moment, only for her to flap her wings and take an uneasy flight.
Vear grumbles, "Of course, she decides to fly the moment we talk about banning it".
"Silence Vear," Rudolph says, "We have bigger things to worry about, Carl, gather your men, if they're wearing a guard uniform then assume they're ours. We're restoring order by 10 AM, we have 3 and a half hours. Now go, Vear get the factory open early, and make as many refitted boots and clothing as you can. Olen, get at least the coal mines up and running, now! Meeting dismissed!
Frostlands
Across the Frostlands, cities and settlements awaken to find themselves changed. New Manchester, already battered by the storm and slowly recovering, falls into open rioting as Scientists from Legacy rush to understand their new bodies, and aid their Manchester comrades.
Sanctuary holds strong even with the changes, their post-storm-created People's Council manages to keep any rioting from damaging the city too much.
The Dreadnought, full of the survivors from fallen Winterhome, is forced to stop, not only from the chaos from the changes but the sudden disappearance of the frozen solid sea and the appearance of a comparably warm arctic sea. The smell of fish lures men and women from Dreadnought and their temporary leader decides, after a warm breeze hits the group's face, slowly melting the snow around them, that this will be their new home.
New Liverpool, barely surviving thanks to the Generator workers left behind housing and food, suddenly finds themselves on a warm arctic sea. Taking the warm sea as a great exchange for their new bodies, the Noble city of New Liverpool starts creating the first ships used by the British in 2 long years, eager to hunt some of the first meat they've had in years. None of them notice the small ship slowly closing to their shore.