Ch 13 - Diplomatic Language
Diplomacy by Other Means
Diplomatic Language
“If an injury has to be done, it should be so severe that vengeance need not be feared.”
— N. Marechiavelli, The Princess
The screeching of angry griffons made any conversation impossible as the chariot wobbled to the sands in the center of the Council Circle, surrounded on all sides by not only griffons of the Misty Mountain aerie, but the scattered colors of other flocks who nearly filled the inner ring of perches and steps. It took little effort for Pumpernickel to imagine all three rings of the whole circle filled with ancient griffons, sharpening their beaks and preparing for war, but time had treated this portion of the griffon’s legacy poorly. The second and third ring of perches was mossy and overgrown, even falling down in places, but the torches that surrounded the inner circle only left that portion of their faded legacy unseen in the darkness.
Sitting on the tallest perch was the massive form of Wingmaster Talon, glaring down at the grounded chariot with only a few flickers of his golden eyes as he looked for the expected form of his son, who had not appeared along with the prisoners. Ambassador Primrose stepped out of the chariot as the two griffon drivers struggled out of their harness and headed for the ground-bound observers around the edge of the circle. She stood in the sand, looking up in the torchlit circle as the screech and roar of griffons continued, seeming so alone.
Until the scattered clouds parted with a burst of magic and a beam of silver moonlight illuminated her like a spotlight.
“Wingmaster, control your flock!”
Echoes from the ambassador's booming voice shook tiny bits of frost from the surrounding trees and cliffs with little skittering noises like spiders that whispered through the abrupt silence. The air of repressed violence that had filled the circle went out like an extinguished candle, although there were quiet whispers as the ambassador spoke again.
“Abandon your foolish attack, Wingmaster! Your actions have only brought shame to the noble race of Griffons, and will destroy everyone who follows you on this senseless attack. Two lives have already been lost to your hatred of the Equestrian ponies; do not feed your thirst for blood with more deaths of your own kind.”
“You speak to us of blood?” bellowed the huge griffon, rising up on the perch to glare down on the unmoving pale pony, who glared back with an iron determination. “We griffons have cowered under the petty laws and regulations of your pony princess for far too long! We have the blood of warriors in our veins, not farmers! Groveling in the dirt is for cowards and weaklings who should be ruled! By us!”
“The tyranny of the strong is a dead end, Wingmaster. All of the races of Equestria united in Harmony are far stronger than any one alone. Emperor Ripping Claw knows this, and has fought long and hard to integrate the proud race of Griffons into other societies. Even your own daughter Gilda has profited from her time at the pegasus flight camp—”
“She befriended a pony!” screeched Talon with such volume that even the griffons who had started to whisper among themselves became silent. “We are meant to rule over them, not take them as lovers!”
In the shocked silence that followed, the soft noise of breathing was almost deafening. “So that was the reason you were so angry at your son.” Primrose removed the cloth-wrapped corpse from the chariot and unwound it to reveal the pale body of Stargazer and her terrible wounds, causing a low whispering to begin among the surrounding griffons.
“When he murdered Stargazer, he went to you to hide his crime. But that wasn’t enough for you. She had to be debased, degraded into something not worthy of being murdered. So you ripped the liver from her cold body and ate it, and made him eat it too.”
“It’s t-true, Grandfather,” said Sunny, rising from her perch by his side despite trembling like a leaf. “I s-saw the two of you take her wrapped b-body out into the forest and dump it. Her b-blood and hair was all over his floor. How could you do that? He murdered my friend!”
“He did nothing wrong!” bellowed Talon. “Ponies are our food! They were made to be eaten!” Turning with a snarl to the ambassador, he shouted, “Where is my son?”
“Your son was a murderer and an eater of the dead,” growled Primrose. “As such, he was a traitor to the Griffon empire and a criminal to all of Equestria. His confession was witnessed by all the griffons who came with us, he was rightfully challenged for his position of Heir, and was killed in honorable combat.”
“No!” Wingmaster Talon rose to his rear paws with wings outstretched and casting a murderous glare around the small group of griffons who seemed to have clustered together in a defensive flocking instinct. “Which one of you cowards and misfits had the claws to challenge my son!”
“I did.” Pumpernickel stepped forward onto the sands, feeling the crunch underhoof as the familiar sound of the Royal Guard sparring ring, only this time, success or failure would be measured in blood, not points. “Your son was unfit for the position of Heir, a coward and a traitor to all griffons.” He relaxed his control just enough to show a shadow of the insane grin he was suppressing. “<As are you. I challenge you for leadership of this aerie!>”
Talon’s eyes bulged from rage as he ripped a chunk of rotten wood from his perch and flung it into the darkness. “Kill them—”
“Stop! The challenge for leadership has been made!” The crash of amplified sound from the ambassador knocked several of the griffons back on their perches, and she continued, “Unless your Wingmaster is indeed a coward, and sends his children to kill that which he fears.”
The sound of griffons whispering among themselves grew to a dull roar, with only the occasional scraps of words being audible on the sandy floor of the circle, but Pumpernickel could hear “challenge” and “tradition” repeated in a repetitive cycle that built until the Wingmaster once again rose to his hindpaws and bellowed for silence.
“What is the name of the worm who claims to have killed my son?” growled Talon.
“There is no claim, Wingmaster,” snapped Pumpernickel, his voice ringing out in the circle like the snarl of some uncaged beast. “I broke his neck with my own hooves, the same way I will break your neck if you do not turn aside from your suicidal path. I am a Defender of the Flock to Princess Luna, Optio of the Royal Guard, and my name is Pumpernickel.”
This time the noise of uneasy griffons was too loud for any order to be imposed by the bellowing roar of the Wingmaster. The big griffon darted up into the air with sweeps of his massive wings, lashing out at the noisemakers until he returned to his high perch in the resulting silence. All the while, Pumpernickel watched the Wingmaster with narrowed eyes, observing the way he flew and the motions he made when striking his disobedient flock.
He was fast. Faster than any griffon or pony guard Pumpernickel had ever fought before. Once he came within reach of those steel-clad talons, it would not matter how much armor he was wearing, or what enchantments it carried. There was only one way to do what needed to be done, and it went against every instinct he had nurtured since he first put on the armor of the Night Guard. He steeled himself to the concept while watching the huge griffon bring order to his flock and turn back to the arrogant ponies below.
“So this is Celestia’s plan, then. To slay me with one of her champions.” The big griffon’s eyes darted to Laminia, who was still sitting beside the chariot and snickering uncontrollably. “What? You think this is a joke?”
“No!” gasped Laminia between wheezes of laughter. “Just. Champion. Him?” One wavering hoof pointed at her husband while she struggled for breath.
“The Nocturne Pumpernickel is anything but a champion of Celestia,” shouted Ambassador Primrose, causing the whispering among the griffons to hush for a moment. “He is simply a member of Luna’s Night Guard.”
“Not a simple member,” shouted a powerfully-built griffon wearing green and gold for colors as he stood up on his perch. “I traveled to Canterlot at the command of Emperor Ripping Claw, and faced Luna’s guards in their Ring of Combat. They are honorable opponents, strong and true. The Night Guard Pumpernickel faced me twice in the ring, and I defeated him both times.”
Pumpernickel could not help but try to place the colors of the griffon, and it took little effort to remember his sparring matches with the fierce Imperial Guard. He noticed the griffon did not mention just how long it took for him to be pounded into the ground, or how many of his fellow Imperial Guards he had fought that same day. The big griffon sat down on his perch, still looking at the furious Wingmaster and without a single glance at his former opponent.
“He is correct, Wingmaster,” shouted Pumpernickel. “We of Luna’s ambassadorial party were not chosen for our skills. We were chosen to be disposable. I have sparred in many matches, but I have never defeated an opponent until tonight. Do you fear to fight a mere pony for leadership of your flock? Will you call for your vultures to fall upon us while you shake in fear on your high perch? How long will our bodies lie rotting on the sands before you dare to approach and take the bite you are due?”
“Silence!” The Wingmaster rose up on his perch and glared down at several griffons who had spread their wings and were prepared to attack, causing them to sullenly tuck their wings back along their flanks and glare back. “I shall not argue with canned food.”
Pumpernickel stepped forward, one hoof raised to his neck as he unfastened his breastplate and let it fall to the sandy ground with a soft thud. “If you fear me so, allow me to bare my flesh to your beak. What will it take for the dry blood of griffons to flow in your ancient veins, vulture?” The backplate slid from his flanks, joining the rest of the armor with a clang. “Will you only hobble down from your perch when I am dead and rotting on the—”
The attack came almost without warning, an explosion of speed from the huge griffon that covered half of the distance between them before Pumpernickel could blink.
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Chapter 13 Author Notes:
Then out spake brave Horsetius,
The Captain of the gate:
“To every pony upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late
And how can pony die better
Than facing fearful odds
For the ashes of his fathers
And the temples of his gods,
-Horsetius at the Bridge
Them's fightin words!
More please, soon!
*fist pump*
Go Lumpy! Take down that overgrown buzzard!
Pumpernickel: Guard... Husband... Soon-to-be father... Pure, unadulterated badass.
3876658
Hmm… Horsetius actually survived holding the bridge. Deliberate foreshadowing?
3877296 Would I foreshadow something like that?
3876841 Probably a smarter move than mooning the griffon.
3876970 You forgot Heir to the Misty Mountain Griffon Aerie, a title that he will not hold for long.
3876943 You first.
Including Princess Luna?
Pumpernickel has one big advantage going into this. Talon is so angry (mostly about his own humiliation) that he isn't thinking, he's only feeling. Soldiers can't afford to do that. A soldier who does not think in a fight is dead.
That doesn't mean that he won't be dangerous because an angry person is also a stupid person and a stupid person does things for the sake of passing satisfaction, even if it will be the ultimate cause of their destruction.
3877369 No can do, I'm stuck on the other side of this screen.
That is such a great line.
3879590 So Pumpernickel's advantage is that the big nasty griffon is furious at him, and his only chance is to keep him furious to the point the griffon wants to rip him into teeny-tiny pieces. I'm sure that's a great comfort to him
3882234 Thanks. This was a chapter with very difficult to write dialogue.
3878829 Note I did not mention demigoddesses. They occupy their own category of dueling opponents.
Goddamn you know how to set a scene
3882449 Ok. Wasn't sure if you were counting Alicorns as a type of pony or not.
Argh. How did I miss this for the better part of a week?
In any case, superb setup. Eagerly looking forward to the climactic fight.
Say whatever you want about Lumpy, but he's quite skilled at psychological warfare
Whoo. That was an intense chapter!
3876658
Lord Macaulay? Rock on, Georg.
I looked it up, kept meaning to earlier but this chapter made me have to
It means choice. Free will. From the day Luna met him, she knew he would one day face a choice that would leave it's mark across history...
I think He made the right one.
3877369
Dead video link, alas.
7834790
It's also a historical rank in the Roman military - a centurion's second-in-command, I believe.
Another excellent chapter.