//------------------------------// // Æclypse- The Sellsword [part 2] // Story: Tales of the Unforgiven // by HeatseekerX51 //------------------------------// As I watched the little girl plummet, I realized I could not save her in time. Not first-hoof anyways. I cast my magic in stride, reaching out as far as I could, the veins in my neck straining with the effort. Coming to within inches of the well’s roof, the little pink furred and golden maned filly came to a sudden stop. I heard a gasp go up from the crowd, the sight of her suspended in the air taking them all by surprise. Cloaked in the white nimbus of my magic, the girl opened her eyes and looked to see how close she had come to an early doom. Tears dripping down the rest of the way to splatter across the rough planks, she swallowed a hard lump. I walked forward, keeping my concentration on the girl, carrying her back to the waiting arms of her father, who seized her with both hooves and clutched her to his breast. None of the griffin had made a move to stop me or interfere with what I had done. Instead they watched me carefully, perhaps just as stunned by my actions as the villagers were. Indeed, the whole of the audience remained silent as stone, the only sound my approaching hoof steps. “Well what do we have ‘ere?” The leader asked, marveling at me like he was seeing a new breed of pony for the first time. Coming this close to him I could discern the finer details of this petty tyrant. His dark plumage came to an end at the base of his neck, beyond which was bare. His skin was fleshy and pockmarked, ruddy in hue. His beak was black, marred with scratches and dents. I could also tell that he was old, he carried the poise of experience, and his eyes gleamed with a sinister fierceness. “I am the one you seek.” I said, standing in plain sight for all to see. “I am the one who waylaid your plunderers, and I acted without the knowledge of any of these villagers.” The ringleader glanced about, considering I suppose whether or not he believed that none of the other ponies were involved. “You know… I’m inclined to be believe you. None of these wretched sods ever had the guts to raise a hoof anyways.” From the corner of my eye I noticed the activity along the rooftops, the other griffins moving in to position around me, preparing to strike from above. There was no way I could fight my way past all of them, I’d be torn to shreds by the sheer numbers. “Whatever revenge you have in mind, you may try to extract it from me if you can.” My offer seemed to amuse the griffins, a chuckle spreading through their ranks like a wave. The leader smiled, and nodded his head. “Fair enough. Rip him up boys.” At once, the air above me darkened under the amassed span of the descending wings, my ears assailed by the warcries. My only chance to escape with my life was to deny them the chance to bring their numbers to bear, complicated by the fact that they operated in three dimensions of movement, whilst I was mostly limited to two. I dashed backwards, throwing a blast of magic as I did that caught one of them in the left wing. I heard a yelp of pain, but did not linger long enough to see the extent of the damage done. I made for the trees, both to splinter their pursuant forces and lure them away from the villagers. Even at full sprint I was not fast enough to outpace fliers of their natural skill, and the early advantage of my surprise was quickly spent. On the ground I could see the shadow of broad wings eclipsing my own, I had to time my reaction perfectly. Launching forward, I twisted my body around to face the raptor, again, the perception of time slowing to a crawl. True to my instinct, he was not but a legs-reach away from me. I fired a point-blank blast of magic square into his chest, before coming all the way around to land on my hooves once more. The scream of my pursuer faded into the distance as I entered the woodline, sharp curses in the guttural language of the griffins echoing off the trees. The run had exhilarated my heart, adrenaline and lust for battle coursing through my blood and narrowing my focus. I stopped and turned to face my hunters, horn glowing. And upon seeing no less than ten of them working their way through the trees, steeled myself much the same way I had during my first Agoge. For a moment I could once more see the menacing outline of a dozen young and hot-blooded Yak warriors, who like me, were hoping to gain glory and renown. But for these griffins, concerning me were no notions of glory or acclaim, only the desire to avenge their comrades and pick the meat from my bones. The first one came in talons first, crashing into a translucent shield that he failed to see until it was too late. His body crumpled against my protection spell, forelegs folding up and his beak glancing to one side until his head hit with a thump. With a pathetic groan he slid downwards, tongue lolling from the side of his beak. I dropped the shield, inviting the nearest ones to advance. I had to engage them as quickly as possible, before more arrived and overwhelmed me. Two were closest, bounding off the trees to my right and left in design to flank me from either. The ground beneath me was still wet from the overnight rain, puddles of brown water forming in the depressions of my hoof prints. I slashed my magic into the mud, driving up a wash of muck that caught the griffin on my right across the face, blinding him with a screech. Towards the other I whipped ‘round to find almost upon me, and struck him in the gut with a concussive blast from my horn and sent him crashing into a tree trunk. The griffin I had blinded with mud scraped to clear his face, and never saw me leaping up to tackle him to the ground. Landing atop him, I battered his head with blows from my hoof, fighting through the claws as they lashed out in desperation. With one good crack across his left eye, his forelegs went limp and fell to his side. I was still astraddle him when talons dug into my shoulders and pulled me off my hooves. Again I reacted with a beam of magic, this time swapping heat for force. He began to writhe and screech, the acrid stench of his feathers beginning to burn in my nose. In his craze I was released, but not before another griffin wrapped his claws around my hind legs, dropping me onto my face in the muck. The rocks and pebbled exposed by the rain met my cheek without give, and I felt my skin split under the cushion of fur. My new attacker reach up and stabbed his talons into my back, more as a means to stabilize himself than to torture me I suspected by the sound of his paws floundering behind. I cried out sharply, and kicked out with my legs to fend him off. Together we started to wrestle in the mud, he scrambling over me as I tried to twist away. “I’m gonna rip your gizzards out!” He snarled. His comrade, still reeking of burnt feather, came down with his beak to peck for my eyes. When he lunged I seized him about the neck and held tight. I was able to wrench him down and maneuver his body over mine as a shield from the other, pinning him against me. The one in my hold gagged for breath, his windpipe being crushed with every second. It was clear that these raiders had no experience combating a capable unicorn, much less one of the hardened, trained warriors of Thule. At last I caught the other with a clean kick to the jaw, and he retreated. With my lower body freed, I rolled my captive onto his belly and, letting go of his neck, stomped down on the limb of his right wing. The bone snapped with a sickening crack, and he could do naught else but wail like a banshee. On my hooves again, I rammed my body into the other one while he still reeled from the kick, driving him into a tree hard enough to crush the breath out of him. Before he could recover, I bashed the side of his skull with my forehead, and he slumped to the dirt. Like wild beasts, the cries of the other griffins howled in the forest. I had little care to entertain another round of their claws, the series of gashes along my back sensitive even to the light breeze. I was sure that the bloody rakes would soon take on an impurity if they were not properly cleaned. I thought to lose the rest of them in the hills. Even in the daylight the canopy was thick enough to block out most of the rays, leaving the forest floor in a shaded veil. The thick bush created a difficulty for me, in that I was unaccustomed to moving through such dense greenery. Thule had forested areas, but nothing so lush with growing life as this. Coming across a path that cut through the dale, I dashed along it for a few dozen paces before jumping off to the side, leaving no hint of which way in the prints. Much to my wonder, the forest grew even thicker, as if no pony had even tread hoof in this part. An untouched primeval growth. The sounds of the pursuing griffins long behind me, I stepped curiously through, marveling at a state of nature I had never imagined existed. There were the sounds of birds, and the sweet scent of the plants, beneath my hooves was rich dark soil. I began to feel shameful for contaminating such pristine life by my presence, indeed the very air filled me with a sense of being somewhere I did not belong. I came unto a pool of water, several paces wide but shallow, so that I could see the grass growing under the clear surface. A lone beam of light shone down to the center, where an island of a young tree grew, branches reaching out towards it like a child to their parent. The fight and the chase had left me parched, and the temptation to quench my thirst in the unadulterated bath was beyond my constitution to resist. Kneeling down at the edge, into the soft blades, I lapped a few savory mouthfuls. The sensation on my tongue was as if I had never tasted water before in my life, so crisp and clean it was. Immediately I was intoxicated by its purity, a spirit of renewal strengthening my flesh and bones as it infused into every fiber. It was hard to pull myself away, and would have drunk until my stomach touched the ground had not a queer sound shattered the tranquility. A creaking of wood, like old floorboards under heavy step roused my attention, and lifting my gaze, found a sight both astonishing and terrifying. The tree in the center of the pond, that I had thought merely a sapling fortunate enough to seed in this haven, was turning towards me. The side that had been turned away from me revealed a face as it came around. One might think it a carven image, but there was a smooth complexion to it that left no doubt of being a natural design. It was like that unto a pony but textured with the grain and roughness of a tree stripped of bark. Rising from it’s forehead was a pair of forked branches sporting a trio of green leaves at each tip. Its eyes however, its eyes were glowing ovals of an ethereal viridian, lacking both pupils and irises. I backed away slowly, never looking away, daring not to put it out of my sight for fear of it springing upon me from a blindside. Though as it leveled its own attention to me, it made no move towards, took no hostile posture. Instead the creature lowered its forelegs to the ground, slipping into the water without making a splash, and was about my height. It examined me curiously, tilting its head this way and that. It seemed to grasp my apprehension. “Hello.” The creature spoke, its voice not unlike a young mare. “Why are ye afraid?” “I have never seen your like before.” I said, keeping two paces distance between us. “What are you?” “My name is Dail Lachar, I am a Spriggan. Have ye n’er heard of my kind before?” The more it spoke the more I noticed the melodic quality of its speech, more like a poem than a conversation. “Nay.” I replied. “I am a foreigner to this land, a traveler. Where I am from, my kinfolk have no tales of Spriggans.” “Oh.” The news appeared to dismay her, as I decided, for it sounded feminine. But then she became excited with interest. “A foreigner ye say? Does that mean ye'er from across the Anhygoel? The salt water?” I became less fearful of it, but no less wary. I stayed where I was, and relaxed myself. “Yes, I come from a land far to the west. Across the sea and across the mountains, a place called Thule.” “My rhiant says there were once spriggans across the Anhygoel, to the east and west, but long has it been since we heard any news of them.” Dail thought to take a step forward, but held back. “I have given ye my name stranger, will ye not tell me ye'ers?” “My name is Æclypse, of the Ultima bloodline, and I once bore many great and noble titles. Now I bear only one, The Unforgiven.” “Ponies have very odd names. At least that is what my rhiant always says. But I have ne’er spoken to many ponies, so maybe ye'ers is not quite strange in the manner of pony.” “Your rhiant?” I had understood none of Dail’s native language, but my mentor Iambic Pentameter had put a love of knowledge in me, and I was intrigued to learn what she would tell me of her culture. “My parent, the one from whose seed did I grow. Huh! Do ponies not have a rhiant? How do ye spawn from one to another?” Her head was trust forward in preplexion, as mystified by me as I was she. “Well…” I began but hesitated, as it occurred to me what I was about to explain. “You see ponies have two parents. It is their combined efforts that produce a child that is the blood and flesh of both.” “How strange indeed!” Dail exclaimed with amazement. “My friends shall never believe me. Tell me further, Æclypse, what brings ye into our forest?” I had no intention of retelling her my entire story of exile, and told her simply that I was journeying eastward, and came upon the village of Yardling, and then of the troubles I discovered with the griffins. When I began to tell her of my rescue of the filly and my fight with the raiders, her expression morphed from transfixed to such a wrathful grimace that I was again reminded of my earlier fear. “Plunderers and killers!” Dail cried out, voice more of a growl. Indeed, there was a change in the tint of her eyes, becoming a baleful maroon color. “They would do well to stay clear of our forest! ‘Ere they find themselves twisted and broken amidst our roots!” But I was not so fervent in my resolve. “I fear I have only worsened the villagers situation. What extortion, what retribution will that fiend impose upon them? They possess so little already, what more can they be forced to sacrifice?” “Whatever they now face, they are fortunate to have such a pony as the Unforgiven Æclypse as their ally.” “I don’t know what more I can do for them, that I should not bring more ruin and misery upon their heads.” Kneeling down in the thick grass, I set my head to lay over my forelegs, and taking a scoop of water in my magic, began to wash my wounds. “This place is not my land, these not my kinfolk. Whether grief or prosperity befall them is none of my concern.” “Oh but it is ye'er concern.” The Spriggan walked out of the water and went over towards were a branch of an actual tree pointed down. Upon the tip of it was an inchworm, and she, touching her nose to the end, allowed the tiny thing to traverse onto her. “Ye have meddled in affairs not ye'er own, and upset the order of things. Now ye must set it right.” I watched the worm hike its way up between her eyes and onto one of the budding antlers. Her words were true, there was a notion of honor that nagged at me like a yolk. I had interfered, unasked for, in the Yardling way of things. I should go to them, and ask wither they would have aid or exile of me. But my mind was greatly troubled in the moment, and wished to think on other matters. “Tell me, Dail the Spriggan. What is the manner of your kind, and of yourself?” “My kindred are the keepers of the forest.” The inchworm settled on one of the leafs, where it began to chew away. I wonder if she felt anything, she seemed not to. “Much like ye pony folk build houses and homesteads, we cultivate all that is green.” She gestured widely with a leg, sweeping it to all that surrounded. “In ages long past my kind raised this forest, before moving elsewhere to do the same. Some of my kind remain here yet, though they are but distant offspring.” “I am young, only a hundred years by the way ponies measure time. My Rhiant is not unyouthful, only about a thousand years.” Only a thousand years! The notion was fantastic, but how could I dispute it? If she were a pony, I would measure her as being no older than a mare on the precipice of adulthood. But she was no pony, how she could even be alive I could not say, but there she stood before me. One year or a hundred for a Spriggan was not within my capabilities to judge. I wondered then about Luna, and how her life-span would compare. “Are all Spriggans of similar form?” She chuckled then, an effervescent laughter that was like trickling water. “No! The older of us are much taller, as tall as some trees. Their branches wide and thickly crowned. Where ye see my eyes, some are blue, or orange, or autumn gold.” I have answered many of ye'er questions, Unforgiven one, I would have ye answer a few of my own.” “What would you know?” Dail came close and settled on the ground opposite me, I could have reached out and laid a hoof on her if I wanted. “I have heard, that on the other side of the great Anhygoel, the land is ruled by two sisters, divine pony-creatures. Is it true?” Exerting my thought on Celestia was not a welcome prospect, but I felt obliged to satisfy her interest. I went on at some length to explain the history of the sisters as I knew it, often interrupted by her questions for clarification. Why was this, and why was that, she asked, so that I retold most of the history of Equestria before she at last was content. Our conversation continued for several hours, exchanging information, telling stories. I learned that this land was called ‘Prydain’ in the Spriggan tongue, and ‘Trottingham’ by the local ponies. She also explained that she had learned the common pony language from encounters with us, and by listening through the green, the very leaves and grass serving as spies for the Spriggan. The ponies living here had come from the west generations ago, carving their homesteads out of the wilderness. At first the Spriggan were angry, and plotted to drive them out. But then they observed the ponies connection to the world around them, saw how they lived in harmony with nature, and decided to leave them be. When the day began to wane, and the dim sky of evening was over us. My mind turned once more to Yardling, and how they might have fared in the wake of my flight. I had taken a spot resting against a tree trunk, my new acquaintance laying in the boughs above. My restless mood prevented me from remaining in one position for very long, and my stirring became noticeable. “The consequences of ye’er actions trouble ye still?” Dail asked, looking down past her swinging leg. “Have ye decided on a course?” “Your counsel is wise, Dail, I should at least offer my services in recompense for their woe. And hope they not chase me back into the sea under a hail of stones.” “I will walk with ye then back to the village!” Hopping down from her perch, Dail used her antlers to nudge me to my hooves. “And if any griffin try to bar our path, then the whole fury of the green will be upon them!”