//------------------------------// // Much Earlier // Story: The Gryphons // by gryphon88 //------------------------------// Flying flying flying flying flying flying flyiinnnng Smith was beginning to struggle to keep up with the rest of the caravan, his wingbeats struggling to maintain pace. The forested landscape below him seemed to roll on endlessly, tiny hills and mountains and lakes and plains, soaring past. Thankfully, the captain called out for a rest, on a nearby plateau. The young metalsmith collapsed onto the ground thankfully, carefully trying to hide his relief from the other members. “Alright, we all know it’s a long-ass trek to pony country, so we get a ten minute break. Stretch your wings, eat some food, whatever. Stay on the plateau.” Smith removed a small amount of hard tack from the satchel on his back, chewing on it gratefully. He slumped onto the dirt, relaxing. He noticed a small group of gryphons, in a similar position to his own, gathered in a small circle, a few feet away from him. Shrugging, he pulled himself back up to his feet, and trudged over to the circle. The gryphons greeted him heartily. “Hey, come sit,” on said from a crouched position. “You’re the blacksmith, right? I’m Vikgil.” the rest of the gryphons introduced themselves as well. “Thanks. I’m, uh, Smith.” He grimaced a bit, before sitting down in the circle. “Just Smith?” one asked. “Just Smith,” he confirmed. There was an uncomfortable pause, as the gryphons all digested the information. “Uh, well, Smith, we were just talking about the ponies.” Smith gave a half-forced chuckle. “Well, that would be the thing to talk about.” “I had a pony, or at least, my father did,” an amber-colored gryphon said. “And I won’t deny, he was damn useful.” “Oh, they sure are!” said another. “My cousin’s owned a textiles shop for nearly eight years, and he’s had a pony for six. He doesn’t know where he’d be whithout a pony. “Textiles?” Smith asked. “How can a pony help with textiles?” “Oh, easy,” was the response. “You’d think they’d have a hard time, cause of the hooves, but a unicorn can weave a good cloak in under three hours.” “Two if you work em!” They burst into laughter. Smith laughed along, uncertainly. “Eheh, yeah... isn’t it a bit, I dunno, uncivilized? I mean, I’m not complaining, but we’re basically keeping these ponies as... well, slaves.” The small group fell silent. “Slaves?” One asked. “Man, I never really thought about that...” “Well so what? If we keep them as slaves, they’re slaves! What’s the big deal?” Vikgil snorted. The amber gryphon spared him a sidelong glance. “Well, I wouldn’t call it slavery, eh? More, like, I dunno, indentured assistants.” “Yeah. And,” a tall gryphon added, “it’s a part of the war effort. You know, helping Talygryph prevail and all that.” “There isn’t a war.” “Not yet! And anyhow, how long has peace lasted between the ponies and us, hmm? Not much longer than a few decades, I’d say.” Smith drummed his claws on the dirt. “So, what, we try to assimilate the ponies? I mean, I’m more than willing to have help in my shop, but that doesn’t seem like something to do to a people that you are enemies with.” “Smith, you have a smithy, right?” Smith nodded. “Heh, yeah, as I suppose you’ve gathered.” Smith had opened his shop after a period of torment in his life. At the age of 55, he was by no means a young gryphon, but here he was, flying for a pony with gryphons half his age. “Getting a pony was, erm, highly recommended by the smith’s union.” “Well, it’s like manual labor in a prison. We can capture the ponies to combat their forces, but without actually killing the foals.” The gryphon nodded, smiling. “It’s like my-“ “Attention!” The captain called out across the plateau, silencing the rest of the caravan. “Your ten minutes are up. But to give you all a bit more time to lounge about, we’re going to be quickly going over exactly what it is we are doing here today.” The captain took to the air, hovering over the rest of the gathered. “The number one rule of pony raids: do not dally. We should be in and out of there in four minutes! You have precisely that much time to find a foal, under eight years of age, and apprehend it. If you don’t find one,” he snorted, “Well, tough.” He peered down at them, and continued. “And let me be clear- no shopping. This isn’t some market or carnival, and these are not goods to be appraised. Despite what any rumors have been flying about, all three types of pony work just as well as a servant.” He crossed his arms. “Now, get your gear together, it’s another hour until we get to the selected pony settlement. And one more thing-“ Eastern Ranges, Equestrian Continent, 3886 PB The captain grinned, donning his helmet easily. “Be a bit frightening, eh? A successful raid leaves the town in panic.” “Now move out!” The captain turned and soared towards the horizon, quickly heading the caravan towards their destination. The rest of the gryphons took to the air less quickly, but continued to follow nonetheless. Smith tailed the back of the caravan with some of the gryphons who he had spoken to. “Hey, what did he mean, ‘types’ of pony?” Vikgil snorted, turning his beak haughtily at the blacksmith. “Cripes, you old bastard, how the hell don’t you know that?” “Lay off,” another responded. ‘The ponies come in three types, Smith. Earth ponies ain’t got nothing on em, just four hooves and a face. The pegasi also have a pair of wings, and can fly just as well as you or me. The third type, unicorns, are like mages, except half of them can’t do nothing but levitate stuff.” “Oh.” Smith nodded with mock comprehension. “I see.” “Spirits, who would want an Earth Pony?’ Vikgil commented. “Talk about useless. How the hell are they even supposed to get anywhere?” Smith was about to reply, but bit his tongue. I’m sure it’s not all that bad, he thought. * * * Night fell as the gryphon caravan reached their destination. The stars twinkled clearly above, and little light was provided by the new moon. After another eternity of flying, Smith, could distinguish what looked like a small town, right in the middle of a forest, alongside a small lake. Peering closely, he could barely distinguish a few ponies, milling about their daily lives in the small town. Before he could see more, he was pulled down behind the trees, where the caravan was assembled. The captain adjusted his helmet. “Alright, everyone line up.” All twenty gryphons got into a line, standing straight as they could. Nobody had given them the order to stand straight, but the captain’s commanding presence gave that impression. “Alright. Now, the idea is simple enough. When I give the signal, you move there-“ he gestured towards the small town, not fifty yards away from them, “-as silently as you can. Try and grab a foal and creep back without being seen.” “However, you will be seen. Without fail, within thirty seconds of our little expedition, somepony will spot one of you, and the jig will be up. At that point, feel free to abandon all semblance of stealth, and just grab the nearest foal you can see.” He marched towards the front of the group and held out a raised fist. After a moment, he gestured forward. The line of gryphons quickly crept forward. Smith accompanied them, keeping low to the brush as he tried to keep as silent as possible. Luckily, the small houses began precisely at the treeline. Cottages, one or two stories, arranged in a semi-organized grid pattern, composed most of the small town. The group of gryphons each went a different direction in the town, trying their best to remain unseen and in the shadows. Smith silently walked down an alley, a thin space between two tall homes. As he approached the opening to the alley, he spied the perfect target- a small green filly, with a horn spiraling out of her head. She sat with an older, yellow pony, but the adult seemed to be occupied, only superficially watching the small child. Smith waited until he was sure he would not be seen, then began to silently creep up to the chid. Step. Step. With each footfall, he grew closer, until he was just within reach of the tiny filly. He extended a claw... “Gryphons!” A cry rang out around the town. Smith paused, startled by the sudden cry. The yellow pony also glanced up, fear etched across her face. She whirled to grab the child- -and saw Smith, poised to grab her. With a mighty bellow, the pony tackled the child, before Smith could reach far enough to grab it. The weary gryphon cursed, lunging towards the pony to grab the child. But the pony was already gone, galloping across the town, away from him. Smith banged his fist on the ground. Stupid stupid stupid! He frantically glanced around, searching for another filly. Instead, he saw several of his compatriots, all running towards or away from the yelling herd of ponies, some with a foal in hand. Smith scowled, then turned back down the alley Maybe some of them are trying to hide, he thought. It’d be easier than trying to- A peculiar sight interrupted the gryphon’s train of thoughts. There, standing in the alley, was a small blue filly. She tilted her small head at him, looking upon Smith not with fear, but with an earnest curiosity. ...What? Why is she- don’t ask questions! No longer hesitating, Smith jumped and grabbed the filly in his arms, taking wing and rocketing back towards the treeline. The filly gasped, now properly scared as she should have been, and began crying aloud, calling for help. The mournful cries tugged at Smith’s heart, but he tried to ignore them. Remember, Smith, these ponies aren’t going to be killed. They’re just enemies, and we need to show a message. He repeated the weary mantra in his head several times, not truly believing it himself. Regardless, he continued back to the meeting point. The captain nodded at him as he returned. “Good. You’re one of the last to get back,” he supplied, “so as soon as we’re all here, we can go.” Smith nodded, then joined the rest of the gryphons, already standing at the ready. He made note of the way they all held their new prize. Some gryphons held the pony like a sack of potatoes, slung across their backs in a utilitarian, but not uncomfortable position. Some held theirs by the tail, hanging the poor creatures upside down like animals. Smith looked down at himself. He held the small crying pony in both of his arms, holding it close to his chest. He sacrificed his own mobility, but he felt that it was the best way to carry the poor thing. Suddenly self-conscious, Smith turned away from the other gryphons, watching the village with an anxious expression. He counted nineteen gryphons, including himself, having returned from the village. After another two minutes, the last gryphon returned, empty-handed, a scowl wide across his beak. The captain laughed at the poor soul, patting him on the back. “Hah! First time someone’s missed a damn pony in nearly two years!” This did nothing to help the gryphon’s mood. He sulked as he ambled towards the rest of the group. “Alright, move out, all! We are headed back to Hardhill!” The captain took to the air once again. “And I’m not going to be going easy on you just because of your damn cargo!” The entire caravan jumped into the air, now holding their captive foals, all unconscious, tightly as they gained speed. Smith hugged the blue filly closer to his chest, shielding her from the biting nighttime wind. He did his best to shield her as long as he flew. * * * Eventually, the caravan reached the plateau once again. Now very late at night, the captain lit a torch, passing the flame between several of the gryphons. “Alright you lot, this is the first and only stop until we get back to Hardhill. You get another ten minutes, and then we’re off. So don’t fall asleep.” Smith touched down, gingerly holding the tiny pony in his hands. He glanced around, and noticed several gryphons were tying harnesses for their new stewards, straps to keep their hands free as they flew home. He also noticed the same circle of gryphons had convened. With nothing else to do, he walked towards them. One of the gryphons held a torch, and was using it to inspect his pony. However, the light cast across the small circle, allowing the others to see just as well. “Hah!” One gryphon exclaimed. “Pegasus. Man, I’m relieved. I don’t want to be hauling this thing around everywhere.” “Hey, yeah, and they can make deliveries for you!” The other gryphon glanced down at his. “Man, that would be awesome, to just relax as a pony delivered everything. But a unicorn’s not bad, I guess. It can weave, right?” To Smith’s dismay, Vikgil was not the gryphon who had failed to capture a pony. He was, however, inspecting his pony as one might a wheel of mouldy cheese. “An earth pony!” he exclaimed. The small beige colt was shivering in fear as it slept, cowering in Vikgil’s hands. “Of all the lousy tricks! I grabbed you from unicorn parents, you insolent twat!” The poor thing just shivered more. The gryphon who owned the textile factory glared at him. “Lay off the thing, would ya? Earth ponies are super strong, man.” “Ugh, please.” Vikgil held the pony by his mane, making him wince. “Everyone knows that they’re just useless farmers.” The other gryphons merely rolled their eyes, returning to inspecting their goods. “Hey, Blacksmith, what did you get?” Smith blinked a bit at the question. “Hmm? Oh, I got a filly.” “...No, I meant what type.” “Oh.” Smith looked down at her, still clutched tightly in his arms. Gently, he opened them, to inspect the small pony. She had fallen asleep. As Smith lowered his arms, she unconsciously shivered at the exposed cold, pulling herself closer to Smith’s breast-feathers. As she did so, a tiny horn poked at him. Ow. Heh, so I guess she’s a unicorn. He closed his arms once again. “Look’s like I got a-“ He stopped. His and felt something else, something odd on the filly. He looked downwards. There, he saw his hand, where it draped protectively around the pony. It also touched a pair of midnight-blue wings, attached to the pony at the shoulders. Smith blinked. “What?” The others glanced at him. “Is something the matter?” “Uh... can ponies be both? Like, I think she’s a unicorn and a pegasus.” “What?!” Vikgil raged. “They can’t even-! And I get a bloody-!” He fumed silently as he glared at the earth pony in his talons. The other gryphons all looked at each other with raised eyebrows. “I dunno,” one said, “I didn’t think that was possible. Or at least, I’ve never heard of it.” “Can we see?” Smith hesitated for a moment, before opening his arms, and exposing the filly, without drawing her away from him. Her wings, nestled by her sides, were just as visible as her horn, poking out from her light-blue mane. The gryphon with the textile mill shrugged. “Dang, that’s lucky. I guess some do come with both.” “Was anything different about her? Like, was she surrounded by guards, maybe? Or in an enclave?” Smith shook his head. “No, not really. She was in an alley. But, when she saw me, she wasn’t scared or anything. No screaming, no running.” “Maybe it’s a freak?” Vikgil offered. “It got wings and a horn, but its mind is all messed up.” Smith cocked an eyebrow at him. While he had only just acquired the filly, and was meant to treat her with the disdainful respect of a master to a servant, he could not help but feel indignant at the remark. “We shall see when she awakens.” “Yes,” one gryphon asked, “Do they all faint when they are captured?” “Oh, gods no, many of them scream as they’re carried off. They usually pass out on the flight, though.” The conversation continued in this manner, until the captain once again ordered the group to depart. * * * As the day progressed, the caravan eventually caught sight of Hardhill. A young town, perched atop a mountain as in the Gryphish style, was mostly ramshackle homes upon a mostly-untamed mountain with dirt roads, that housed most of the Gryphon colonists in the Western Continent. While the gryphons stationed here were technically foreigners in this land, they had been settled on this mountaintop for three generations, and had no intention of surrendering it to the ponies. Smith looked upon it with relief. It had been a hard days flight, and he was eager to rest his wings. And by the sounds of his compatriots, he wasn’t the only one. The filly in his arms stirred in her sleep. He looked down at her with a worried expression. “All company!” The captain shouted, “Halt at the landing platform of the base! Do not depart. You will have several minutes to talk to your new pony, set some ground rules, perhaps beat it into submission. Ready!” Smith cringed a bit at such a casual mention of violence. While they were there, very few gryphons in the caravan agreed with him. The base was upon the south side of the mountain, hanging precariously over the canyon valley. the landing platform was a large, flat, stone area, off to the western side. Smith and the rest of the gryphons touched down with practiced ease. The captain swiftly departed into the base itself, leaving the gryphons to collapse gratefully onto the ground, and begin unloading their various types of cargo. Several pieces of armor, cloth bags, and nineteen little ponies. The gryphons all looked at each other with lost expressions. One gryphon finally got down to business. “Ey, pony, wake up.” It remained sleeping. “Pony, WAKE UP!” The colt started awake. It looked up at the gryphon, and began to cry out in terror. This process was repeated by all of the gryphons on the platform. Soon there was a cacophony of cries, as the various ponies shivered with fear. Some cried, some yelled out, and some just shivered in their new master’s claws. Smith looked down at the filly. She was sleeping, still, and Smith felt slightly guilty about waking her. He gently shook the poor thing. “Come on, little pony. Time to wake up.” “Nnnng.” The pony wriggled around in his grip. “Five more minutes.” Despite himself, Smith smiled. He quickly grew somber again before continuing. “Sorry, little filly. You need to wake up, now.” The filly opened one eye, slowly. She frowned, then opened her eyes completely, craning her neck to look around. “...What?” She looked up at Smith, who weakly smiled. Her eyes grew wide as she began to whine, her fear expressing itself in the high-pitched wail. “Oh, no,” Smith said, his heart breaking. “No, little pony, it’s alright, it’s alright.” He patted on her back with his hand. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t need to be scared.” The filly sniffled. “But-but-but you’re gryphons!” she cried. “We’re supposed to run away from gryphons and-and-and you take foals away to eat them and-“ “Hey, I’m not going to eat you,” Smith insisted. She looked up at him with doleful eyes. “You’re not?” “Nope.” “Promise?” Smith chuckled slightly. “Yes, little pony. I promise.” “Hey, Blacksmith!” Smith looked up, to see Vikgil calling his name. His beige colt was trembling on the ground beside him. “Don’t be so sappy, eh? You need to have a firm claw with these ponies.” Smith nodded, slowly. “...Right. Thanks, Vikgil.” Vikgil grunted and returned to his pony. His method of acclimating the poor thing seemed to involve a lot of bruises. Smith glanced down at his filly, who stared back up at him. “You know what, I think he’s a bit of a meanie.” She giggled, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hoof. “Heehee, yeah.” “Well, I’m not going to be a meanie,” Smith added. “I promise that, too. My name’s Smith.” The filly sniffled again, wiping her nose. “Smith. O-okay, hello Mr. Smith.” Smith laughed. “You don’t have to call me ‘Mr’, little filly. Just Smith is fine.” “Okay then, Sm-mith.” The filly shakily took a deep breath. “...If you’re not going to eat us, why are we here?” Smith clicked his beak as he mulled over the thoughts in his head. “Well, you’re here to... uh. You’re here to be my helper.” “Your helper?” She asked. “That’s it?!” “Heh, that’s it. You know how, maybe, some of the older ponies in your village go off to fights?” The filly nodded. “M-my sister talked about that sometimes... They fight you guys, don’t they?” Smith nodded. “That’s right. Only, I don’t really like fighting that much, you know. Too hard.” He made a funny face, which caused the filly to giggle. “So instead, someone had the idea of catching little foals, to help us out. That way, it’s sort of like fighting, without actually fighting.” “Oh.” The filly blinked. “That’s not so bad, I guess.” “I hope not.” Smith sighed. “So, I’ll be-“ “Attention!” The captain burst onto the landing platform, calling out loudly. “Get in line! The King is coming to speak to you all!” Smith cringed. “Oh, dear.” He looked down at the filly. “Alright, dearie, we can talk a bit more later, hmm? But right now, we need to be very quiet. Can you do that?” The filly nodded, securing herself in Smith’s arms. He quickly jumped into line with the others, who had secured their pony similarly in some manner. They all stood silent in the line. And from the doors of the fort, the King strode out onto the landing platform. “ALL HAIL KING FUTHARK!” The captain bellowed. “ALL HAIL!” the gryphons echoed. Smith spared a glance from his stiff position to look at the King. He was a tall gryphon, head held high, draped in a regal violet cloak, and a copper crown upon his head. His coat was dark, and his feathers were a speckled grey, complementing his dark-colored beak well. Smith straightened again. Gryphons with that coloration were few and far between, and were primarily found in the royal courts of the homeland, overseas. To record, only one royal was in the colonies at the moment. King Futhark slowly walked past the assembled gryphons, looking at their catch with a discerning eye. “This is a strong bunch,” he commented. “Our men and their new wards both. They’ll do good on our kingdom.” One of the ponies began to sob, quietly. The muffled sounds were quiet, but easily heard by the entire platform. It was a shaky, depressing sound, that really quite ruined the triumphant mood. Vikgil broke his still stance to deal with the noise, which was coming from his colt. “Quiet!” he whispered. “Be quiet, you little shit!” King Futhark frowned, before gently strolling towards Vikgil. “This is your pony?” He asked. Vikgil paled. “Y-yes, your highness.” Futhark gently turned the pony’s sobbing face with a claw, until the colt was looking right at the king. The poor thing’s eyes widened in fear, and he whimpered. “Do not be afraid, pony,” Futhark dictated. “You will learn to be strong here. All the world may fall at the feet of the stalwart.” Miraculously, the pony stopped crying. Futhark continued down the line of gryphons. Quietly, Vikgil growled at the colt again. “You little brat! You ever try that again, I’ll...” Smith stopped hearing Vikgil’s words, as the King’s drifted across the platform. “Wings are good. Pegasi can travel our cities with ease,” he commented to one gryphon. “Unicorns are difficult, but a good amount of training can make the most useful servant out of them,” he said to another. Each gryphon would respond with a respectful nod, or mumbled thanks. The King did not stop at each one, quickly advancing through the line. As he approached Smith, the still gryphon straightened his back further, staring straight ahead. Of course, he did not want to appear to be slacking in front of the King. Futhark stopped in front of Smith. Smith did not look at the King, but saw out of his periphery that he had stopped. He waited for the King to speak and move on, so as to ease his nerves. He did not. The King stood there, silently. Smith spared a small glance at the King’s face. Futhark’s gaze was trained directly on the filly, in his arms. Smith cleared his throat. “...My liege?” Futhark opened his mouth, but the words failed the regal gryphon as he continued to look at the small filly. The filly, in response shied away, burying her face in Smith’s chest. Futhark finally found it within himself to speak. “...Where did you find her?” “Um...” Smith gulped. “I f-found her in an alley, sir.” Futhark blinked, and continued to stare at the filly for a long while. “Right, then.” He sharply turned, and marched directly back to the fort’s door. “You are all dismissed.” King Futhark vanished into the fort. The captain blinked, before turning to his men. “Alright, you all heard him. Get out of here, I don’t expect to see any of your sorry faces back here again.” One by one, the gryphons began to depart, taking their ponies and taking wing. Smith looked down at the filly. “Alright, we’re gonna head home. Or, uh...” he shrugged a wing. “Your new home, I suppose.” The filly nodded. “Okay, Mr- I mean, uh, Smith.” she gulped. “Who was that guy?” “That was King Futhark,” Smith informed her. “You won’t see him much.” Smith re-secured his bags, then leapt into the air. He soared high above the mountain settlement, once again holding the small filly in his arms. She did not seem perturbed by the sudden aerial shift, and in fact looked out at the passing landscape with a relaxed sigh. Smith began to head to his home. “Well, this was much easier than I expected it to be. How about you?” The filly fidgeted a bit. “You didn’t eat me.” “And nobody intends to, so don’t worry.” As the buildings swept below them, Smith realized something. “You know what, little filly, I don’t believe I learned your name.” The filly pursed her lips. “Luna. My name is Luna.” Smith smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Luna.” The old gryphon and the young pony sailed through the air, enjoying the sunrise.