//------------------------------// // Great Magic 1 // Story: The Hag, the heroes, and a few other things // by Amaranthine Thought //------------------------------// The first few griffons I talked to were less than helpful.  Well, they were, but not how I wanted them to be.             Most of them couldn’t stop paying attention to my wound.  A few were competent enough to help me bandage myself again and give me a few potions to help healing, but the rest were simply disgusted or horrified, and weren’t thinking properly enough to actually listen to me.             I eventually took to caring for myself somewhat, cleaning the blood and making myself less dead looking, and then trying again.  I saw a pair of griffons and headed to them.             “Excuse me!” I called, only to have the griffon take one look and take off in terror.  The other one started and stared as he went before shaking his head.             “Do you need something?” he asked.             “What’s wrong with him?”             “Don’t know.  He’s been upset and jumpy ever since last night.  Don’t mind him too much.”             I shrugged.  He probably was a witness to the judgement, nothing important for me to worry about.             “Have you seen a blue mare with a rainbow mane?” I asked, knowing that Rainbow would stand out anywhere.             He nodded.  “I did, just recently.  In a group of six.”             A group of six… the bearers?  The rest of the bearers were in High Peak?  Since when?             “Did they say anything?” I asked.             “Actually… they asked about a deathly hurt mare that had disappeared last night.  With your colors, but with a big spike in her back; they think she’s been pony napped or something.”             Mildly concerning, but not too much.  They were asking about me, and their concern was heartwarming.  Not that I was going to let them worry anymore though.             “Which way?” I asked.             “They went toward the market.  Just ahead, and a right.”             “Thank you.”             I soon discovered that High Peak, though deceptively ramshackle, was huge.  The city covered most of the mountain’s peak, and I soon discovered that I might spend all day searching aimlessly.  The marketplace by itself was the size of my old village.             It was a bit of a maze as well; with old permanent structures amongst small temporary stalls.  I saw a few ponies scattered around, but griffons were dominate by a massive margin.             I kept looking, and then, mostly by chance, I spotted Pinkie.  Just a flash of pink for a moment, but I recognized her.             “Pinkie!” I called, heading after her.  I kept spotting pink, but she was obviously not hearing me.  The griffons fluttering and talking around me must be blocking my own voice.             She headed into an alley, and after a moment, I entered only to pause.             She wasn’t inside, but there was no exit.  A faint… something was hanging in the air, and I stepped forward to see a green smear on the ground.  A tiny bit of pink hair stuck in it.             I had a sudden dread and turned and ran.             I saw Rainbow flying in the air before she dove.  I ran to where she had gone, but found the same thing…             That happened three more times.  Three times I would see a pony in the distance, one of the bearers, only to find nothing but a green spot where they should have been.  Always in places that were private or hidden.  Always unable to hear my cries.             Feathers felt my fear, and helped me.  Moving faster from his aid, I saw Twilight heading into an abandoned part of High Peak.             I used all I had to chase her.             I got there just in time to surprise two changelings currently wrapping her in a green cocoon of some sort.             I jumped the first, and stomped on it, cracking the chitin.  Acting in desperation; I was only myself, no forest to aid me and the mountain could only offer little.             So I used something else.             Dark magic powered my strength for that first blow.  An act of insanity really, but it was my only hope to get one out of the fight before they could overwhelm me.             The next came at me, so I struck out at it, but my legs were too short, and it too fast.  It knew I was going to lash out, and how.             Two more came from hiding, and the first spat something green at me.  It was sticky, and caught one of my legs.             I wasn’t going to do this like a pony.  I couldn’t fight like a pony without a forest.  Too weak, too slow, and no training whatsoever.             I stilled, and they approached slowly.  I focused, trying something I hadn’t even thought of ever since I first arrived here.             The power was there.  Even the mountain had that power.             When the first grabbed me, I grabbed it.  The other two jumped back as my hand gripped the first’s horn, and then, heaving, I tossed it at the others, trying to get on my feet.  I was human once more, as if I had never left it.  I only had a few moments like that; the mountain did not have the power to keep my form.             I got to all fours, and leapt again at them, too shocked at the human form to do anything.             I grabbed a leg, and snapped it, taking advantage of the holes in them.  I snagged a horn, and used that to control the beast like a harness.  The third tried to attack me, so I used the second’s horn to stab it, the first staggering, green blood flowing from its leg.             Then I rolled away, gasping.  I had learned a lot in my life, but I was far more capable in my youth.  I was straining from so little already; my human form had none of the endurance of my pony.  If they were more dangerous, I would have been in trouble.             I pulled away some of the cocoon on Twilight, and I saw her weakly move.  Good.  She was stunned, not dead.  A great sign and hope for the rest.             I grabbed a rock nearby, small but sharp.             When they came at me again, more careful and angry, I fought them.  Trying to use the rock to gouge their eyes out which was easy.             They, like the ponies, had huge eyes.             I am fairly sure I killed one and probably blinded the others when I saw the talking one arrive, glaring.             So much more to do; they were still moving.  And yet, my time was out.             My last act was to throw the rock at him, and then I collapsed, shifting back into a pony.  I found out a negative to my shifting.             The human form’s efforts was worsened when shifting back.  I was helpless from exhaustion and falling asleep and the leader was very alive and well.             My last sight was seeing the cocoon wrap around me.             Stonebeak was unsure.             He was the head, and originally, the only member of the High Peak Historical Society.             Lacking a museum, he had taken it upon himself to save and guarantee old relics from the golden age.  When Swift and Greatwing had found the crown, it had been he that had verified its authenticity.             He had worked alone for most of his life.  But after the events of that night, he found himself the head of a movement.  Six griffons looked to him for guidance and he was having some trouble.             There was so much to do.  Where could they even start?             He had decided to start the simplest way.             Recording that night, so that the true story would never be forgotten.  He and the others had named it ‘The Night of Judgment’, and they were certain that no detail was left unsaid.             Even their complicity in raising a false king.  No truth hidden.  Everything recorded, no matter how bad they looked.             After that, he had sent the others out to try and find likeminded griffons.  Spreading the word of a new age that only needed a willingness to work.             He was in his home which doubled as the unofficial museum of High Peak.  Thinking.  Trying to know what to do next.             Wondering if he should tell some other griffon to take his place.             He was old.  Decades spent alone.  He was no leader; he was barely a thinker.  He had no place to be leading this revival of honor.             His own was stained and broken; worse than the others by his measure.             And yet… and yet, they looked at him.  Wouldn’t even think of another, even when he detailed what he had done.  All the lies, and the underhanded measures, and the ways that he was responsible for that fateful night, and even the destruction of others for his benefit.  He had never killed, but he drove many to destitution.             It was a great honor that they wanted him anyway.             It was a great responsibly and something that might redeem him.             And the thought of failure terrified him so badly that he wondered if he might just have a heart attack.             He couldn’t bring himself to do it.             But the pressure of the others forced him.             Their hopes had been tossed upon his shoulders.  And he had no way to drop them or give them away without turning his back on everything he had said.             Dropping them meant killing all hope.  Failing them might be worse, but he had no choice but to try.  To put everything he had into it.             He sighed, and looked at himself in a mirror.  The others hadn’t seen it, but he was worn and drawn.  He suspected that he wasn’t going to find any sleep that night, just like the last night.  Two days since the judgment and they felt like a week.             He sighed, and went to the old metals, armor and weapons.  Old things that were still in a fairly good condition.  He had grown skilled at caring for the steel; High Peak no longer had a blacksmith who could.  He went to one in particular.             A greatsword hanging on the wall.  Looking like it was forged just yesterday.             The blade of the old kings.  Rumored to be able to cut magic and enchanted by the greatest of powers.  It certainly was able to slice most anything.             He had cut the door in half when he brought it back.             The infallible resistance of it inspired him.  It was a relic of past glories, and a great one.  He had found it simply impaled in the rock, untouched by the ages.             He carefully reached up and took it down, hefting the blade.  It was heavy, but easy to wield.  The strength of the blade helped calm him; it was unchanging.  Adamant against everything.             He felt like he could borrow a bit of that strength.  He needed it.             He paused as he held it.  Something about the reflection…             He shifted it and gasped.  The reflection was not the normal refracted sight of the surroundings.  It was a clear image, but not of anything near him.             He saw Hag, sleeping in a changeling cocoon.  Somewhere far from High Peak, in a hive.             The sight was gone the moment he saw it, but he knew:             Hag, the pony who saved them, was in danger.  Great danger, as was the crown she carried with her.             He should have known; changelings had always bothered the griffons of High Peak, but they never posed a threat to them.  Griffons were too strong to be taken easily.             But to an old mare that was suffering a great wound?  In the early morning, in a place where few ever went?             He had to…             He stopped, realizing that he had nearly reached for the door, the sword slung onto his back.  He hadn’t even noticed, but he stopped himself and thought harder.             He was an old griffon.  He never fought anything before.  Hag was certainly in a hive, surrounded by changelings in their own home and even if he got the others, what could he or they do other than die in the attempt?             He hesitated for a long time before looking at the sword and nodding.             Dying for the right reasons was worth it.  And not making the attempt was unacceptable.  Better to die fighting than die of inaction.             He opened the door, and stopped, finding the six from before just outside.  They were smiling, and he noticed the small crowd behind them.  Not many, but far more than he had ever hoped for.             “Stonebeak, we found twelve!” one said.             “And this is only the start we think.”             Stonebeak was speechless. The others didn’t see the sword he carried.             “They are all young and full of life.  They are willing to come and work now…”             “But many others want something to really fight for.  They want to see something great, be a part of something great, and don’t believe that we can offer that to them.  At least not now.”             “All of High Peak is waiting for something.  We just have to know what we can do.”             “Do you have an idea Stonebeak?” the last asked.  “We can think of nothing.”             Stonebeak stared for a moment longer before thinking.  “…How many others?” he asked slowly.             “The entire city other than a rare few.”             He nodded.  A thousand griffons, give or take a few dozen.             “Alright.  I want most of you to go inside, and try to find a weapon or armor that isn’t worthless and that you can use.”             “What?”             “Anyone who can swing a sword and not hurt themselves or any griffon near them gets the best.  Get ready, and then come to the castle.  I can explain there.”             Stonebeak flew upward, and they watched him go, slightly confused.             One of the crowd shrugged and headed forward.             “Always wanted to swing a real sword.” he said.  The rest soon followed after him, most eager.             When the sound of the ancient bell rang out from the castle, most of the city stopped and wondered.             The bell was older than the castle was, from the oldest of griffon times.  Forged by a dragon if the legend was true.  It hadn’t been rung for hundreds of years.             It was a call, and most of the griffons went to find out who and why.             They found Stonebeak waiting for them, the old griffon determined.  Standing in front of the castle and watching as they gathered.  Something about him prevented any of them from approaching him.             He waited until they stopped arriving and then nodded.             “I am Stonebeak.” he said, raising his voice to be heard by all.  “Some of you know of me.  The old griffon who collects relics.”             He swung the sword and planted it in the ground in front of him.             “This is one of them.  The blade of kings.  I suppose that it can signify more than that.”             “Griffons need to change.  We need to find our glory on our own, and stop waiting.  Stop waiting for something else to come and redeem us.”             “I am told that most of you are waiting for something great.  Something to fight for, to live for.  Something to follow.”             “I can’t give you a king.  I can’t make anything better.  But we can.”             “Together, we can make a new golden age.  But only together.  I can’t do it alone.”             He looked around and saw that the crowd looked uncertain or worried.  They were not yet ready.  There was nothing for them yet.             “I see it in your eyes.  There’s nothing left to fight for.  Just the ramblings of a mad griffon with a few relics.  And in some ways, you are right.”             “I am a mad griffon.  An old buzzard who has no purpose to be holding this blade, and has spent his life looking at the past instead of the present.  My life is nothing to fight for.”             “But there is something to fight for.”             “Just last night, I delivered the crown of kings into safe hands.  Hands that wouldn’t sully it with dishonor or greed or deceit.”             “Those same hands have been taken.  Stolen by the changelings, and taken away.  Perhaps saving another and recovering the crown is nothing to you.  I can see that.”             “But if any of you would not stand up for what is right, and make something to fight for in your own actions, then I call you coward!”             “Make a glory this day!  Make something to be proud of yourself!”             The rest of the group arrived, some of them wearing old armor and a few armed with old swords that they could handle without harming anything.  The crowd stared.             “I am going to save our crown and the keeper.  I am going to give us something to remember our past, and make us recall our old glories.”             “But the battle will make a new glory.  The first step into redeeming ourselves.  Making the griffon empire great once more instead of the joke it is now.  A battle to tell our children, a thing for them and us to remember and propel us faster and harder toward the time when griffons once more stand on their own with support from none!”             “Anyone who wishes to be a part of this, wishes to shape our future, wishes to remake that golden time… follow me.”             With that, he took off.  He knew where the changeling hive was.             The armored group didn’t hesitate at all, and hurried after him.  A few griffons in the crowd took off as well, and after a moment, most returned to their homes in a hurry.             To come back out with anything that could be used as a weapon and some kind of makeshift armor.  Parents had to prevent younglings, some as young as eight, from following, their eyes shining with eagerness.             The times were changing.  To wallow in apathy was easy, and getting out was hard and painful.             But not one griffon didn’t hate it.  Didn’t hate the life they lived and wished for something greater.  They did nothing about it, wouldn’t move on their own, but…             They would follow.  They would rip themselves free of the apathy if given a chance.  If one of them had pulled himself free and called them to action and gave them something to head toward.             It was just that none of them had ever found enough fight in them to do so on their own.  Weak promises and weak minds making them used to false promises.  Until Stonebeak.  Not one of them couldn’t see the truth in the old griffon.             The path ahead was hard.  The first step was going to hurt and the others might hurt more.  It meant changing things left unchanged for a long time.             But they would.  Refusing Stonebeak’s call and resisting the urge to follow would kill them.  It would mean that nothing would ever change.  That would mean that they would always live in filth and dishonor and be known as nothing.             Times were changing.  And griffons flew from High Peak and left their past behind.             Flying toward a future that shined so bright.  Not one reclaimed.  Not one given to them.             One made by them.             Nothing would be the same.  Not one stain would be left.  They would scour themselves until not one spot was left and bleed until not one drop of poison was left.             Each one filled with a fire.  The old went to make a place for their children, and the young went to make their lives better, and maybe better for their own children.  It would be glorious.             No pain too great.  No effort too hard.  Nothing too difficult to surmount.             They had risen, and nothing would ever make them fall down ever again.