//------------------------------// // Prologue // Story: The Gryphons // by gryphon88 //------------------------------// Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak The courier bolted across the desert, moving as fast as he could. Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak The sun had long since fallen, and the light of the distant lightning bathed the cold dry expanse in erratic, brilliantly flashing light. Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak A groan escaped the courier’s beak, as his injured wing throbbed with pain. He ignored it, continuing forward with a frantic persistence. Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak The sound, like the steady machining of blades, grew ever nearer. The courier knew he could never outrun it, but he could make it far enough. Not far enough for him, of course. But far enough for everyone else. Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak He could make out the dim light of his camp, on the horizon. A small desert-tent, a sleeping roll, and a curious blue lantern. He increased his pace, disregarding his own health for an increase in speed. Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak He was so close. He could make it out, now, even without the sporadic lightning–the dim light of the tiny, indigo flame, sheltered by a small cage of iron and glass. Beside it, a pad of paper, pen, and an inkwell. Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak His claws and paws scraped against the flat expanse, as the gryphon’s camp drew further into view. The courier spared a glance behind him, peering at the encroaching enemy. In the dark, he could make out their hellish glare, piercing white eyes in the dark. Distant, growing closer. Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak He threw himself upon the camp, tumbling down next to the lantern. He desperately scrambled for the paper and pen, picking them up and hurriedly shaking the sand off. He grabbed the bottle of ink, only for it to spill out of his fumbling claws. He swore, loudly, into the night. Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak Ink ran down his talons, dripping into his feathers. Desperate, he ran the end of the pen against his arm, leaving a sharp scratch, and picking up a small amount of ink. He put his pen to the pad of paper and began to write. “Courier Fulmir Official Report, 9/33/71. Emergency. Immediately gather all militant resources to Courier’s last position.” Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak Fulmir cursed again, this time at the irritating diction with which his message used. But he knew full well what he needed to write, so as to be noticed by the Council. He scratched himself again to gather more ink, ignoring the stinging. Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak “High-level emergency. Reiterate: immediate attention required. Potential risk to enti-“ The pen ran out. Fulmir angrily scratched down his arm one more, the put the pen to the paper. “-re Republic. High-threat terror.” Nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak nnng-tak He scratched down his arm once more to gain ink, no longer aware that the ink he now used was not black. “Personal mention, Courier Fulmir. Cossima, I love you. Always remember that.” NNNG-TAK NNNG-TAK NNNG-TAK NNNG-TAK Immediately, Fulmir grabbed the blue lantern and jumped forward, turning to face his enemy. They were only a few wingspans away, now, and quickly closing the gap. He would be dead soon. The courier threw the lantern to the ground. It shattered, wreathing the paper and his tent in flames. The oil spilt over the sand and erupted, bathing Fulmir with a cyan light. NNNG-TAK. It also gave him a very clear view of his pursuers. The courier’s screams could be heard for miles. They echoed into the night, ringing into the stars, where they were lost. The blue flame went out.