//------------------------------// // The Return.... // Story: The Anvil of Dawn // by Starlix //------------------------------// Gold, gold as far as the eye could see. It stretched from horizon to horizon, a solid wall of glittering halcyon, neverending. The walls towered above them, over two hundred feet into the night sky. Before them, torches stuck to the wide gates of the checkpoint ahead lit the path in a bold orange glow, one that felt pleasantly warm against the cold wind chill. Gilda pressed forward, an antsy nervousness bleeding in her movements, clouding her sensibilities in anxious fear. The paved stone clicked under her claws, a feeling somewhat akin to happiness building in her gut, for she was finally home. Yet her stomach tumbled. Home, so close, yet so inexorably far. Up ahead, the checkpoint was quiet, only the faint crackling of torches penetrating the night soundscape. Even in the dim light, the griffin could make out the guard still as a gargoyle on the outside of the massive gateway. Gilda was not surprised; however, she wasn’t exactly looking forward to what was to come. There was no entering the city at night without proper papers, documents which the hen knew she lacked. One of the intricacies of griffinic military code was the emphasis on quality over quantity, not to say the military was small. Despite that, the grip that the king had on the guard was mainly one of convenience. His majesty's reach was wide, too wide in fact, for they would not notice a night guard missing from his keep unto the body would be discovered. The hen sighed, averting her eyes and whistling lowly. Without missing a beat, the male griffin was dragged into the shadows, a struggle just barely visible before his muffled exclamations went silent and his movements ceased. Gilda felt her stomach curl but opted for an uneasy silence. A shadowy figure stepped over the warm corpse, emerging from the dark like a specter. Cynder's face was a mask as she gave her companion a nod. They shared a brief look, each bearing expressions of grim determination. Gilda did her best to avoid looking at the dragon's bloodstained claws. It took them a few minutes to drag the corpse a substantial distance from the gate, hiding it away under a nest of brush for the scavengers to hopefully pick apart quickly. Sickness dwelled inside the hen's stomach. Following behind the slightly larger female, Gilda tried her damndest to quell the nerves racking her skull, but no respite from the turmoil could be found. Sighing in resignation, the hen merely trailed along as they scaled the checkpoint, slipping through the gate quickly. The city inside was dark, night having overtaken the ordinarily bustling metropolis in peaceful quiet. Many of the buildings close to the gate were smaller markets and the like, some devoid of pieces of structure altogether, poorly constructed shelters. Along the walls surrounding them, the vague shadowy forms of patrols could be seen slowly crossing the towering pathways. The structures of the guards became barely visible as they eclipsed the bright torches hanging on the walls. Morphing with the shadowy alleyways in-between buildings and along the crags of broader markets, the griffin maneuvered through the nearly empty streets with practiced ease. The cold breeze beside her that followed just out of sight was all the indication of where her draconic friend had gone. Further up the street, Gilda heard the sound of a lowly spoken conversation. Aligning herself with the sides of the alley, the griffin changed her stance, lowering her body and adopting as much of a hidden pose as her form would allow. Three figures trotted past the alley, not giving it a second thought. Gilda released the breath, one she hadn't been aware of holding, body drooping a little. Up ahead a bit, claws scraped against the stone walls, scrambling up the stone walls and onto the tops of buildings around her. "I'll keep watch." A familiar voice whispered along the wind, the texture of resemblance to flowing silk, so quiet she almost didn't catch it. Grumbling lowly at the idea of being grounded and unhidden, Gilda poked her head out of the alley, scanning the road ahead. A post with several arrows stood in the middle of the street, indicators pointing in four separate directions. Once Gilda's quick check was complete did the hen leave her shelter, crossing the street as casually as she could feign. As much as Gilda knew the city, she hadn't been in every part of it, especially not the slums like this, and even more so without the benefit of wings and sunlight to aide her trek. Written in bold, bright lettering, the sign pointed her along the various different streets. Claws digging absentmindedly against the cobblestone road, Gilda thought hard for a moment. The inn closest to them was still a kilometer or two down one of the streets, and they needed to stop soon. It had taken only a brief glance to know that Cynder was exhausted, despite her best attempts to hide it. If she could be honest with herself, the hen felt a similar level of fatigue deep in her bones, yet they had to push forward. Despite the trying circumstances, Gilda was more than aware that they had some time to work with here. Cynder would probably object to it, given her disciplined inclinations, but the pair could undoubtedly use a day or two to rest and formulate a more in-depth plan on how to go about this task. Among the lowly buildings stood a towering behemoth in the distance, warm orange lights glowing further and more brightly than the stars above. The beacon stood largely unopposed on the skyline, just shy of a few kilometers away. Gilda knew the sight instantly, the glow bringing back memories of her days past when the city had seemed so warm, so safe. Standing in the desecrated and dilapidated slums, the towering haven looked so much more godly than it had before. A cold wind blew past, ruffling her feathers and sending an uncontrollable shiver racing down the hen’s spine. Her claws clenched the stone tightly, tearing marks in the unforgiving ground. Whistling anxiously, Gilda took off down the street, weaving between alleyways and jumping lightly. Flapping her wings once, the griffin pounced against the wall of the alleyway, bouncing off of it and landing hard against the roof of the blighted stone shack. The griffin didn’t bother to turn and acknowledge the dragoness, cloaked in shadows as she was, it would be futile to do so. Instead, Gilda hopped the buildings, gaining traction with several quick pumps of her wings, wind gliding along her feathers and stinging her eyes. Darkness cloaked her form, aided by the splitting shadows racing along beside her. Moonlight ached and bled across the deathly quiet city, encompassed only by the mournful coughing of the poor and embittered and the filtering of sighs and moans from the impoverished and pained. The tower stood above the rest, looming over the night like a sentinel, watching the devastation and anguish below with apathy and indifference. Cynder gnashed her teeth, the sound distorted by shadows into a crunching, bassy mix. Gilda felt her hackles rise at the noise, knowing just as well that her companion was far from happy at the carnage. Such was the slums, a place of death and pain, where only the strong and quick of wit survived the gangs and violence that emerged from the outskirts. The King, only a king to those who could stand and speak without retribution. Gilda tasted venom. Ignoring the unsettling murmurs from the shadowy mass beside her, the griffin pushed upon the stones hard, accidentally smashing a dent in the hard brick, sending skiters of rock to the ground below. A harsh crash resounded in the air, making a voice in the dark cry out in fear. Gilda frowned. How much had the situation here degraded since her last visit, nearly five years ago? A king, seated at the top of the castle, cloaked in gold and silver, built upon a foundation of bones and sinew. “What a disgrace.” Gilda thought disdainfully, remembering the benevolence of the father of that wretched ruler, a griffin of infernal apathy and aggression. Even among a species as chronically aloof as hers, such a frightening lack of regard for his subjects was unsettling. Gilda gave a disappointed smirk, turning her head almost absentmindedly to the phantom racing just a ways ahead of her, the form nearly unnoticeable from the dark skyline. A nest of clouds lay, hiding the moonlight and reducing it’s light to mere splinters upon the sleeping city. Under the sparkling, splintered moonlight, a series of figures, tall and majestic loomed just upon the horizon. Gilda felt a shiver race across her spine, the shapes unmistakable. She had heard the rumors, the whispering upon her line of contacts, but never had she truly believed it. Siege engines, massive and towering, the forms of the giant cannons were impossible to miss. If there was one perk to the rule of the young king, it was his violent conquest of the splintered griffinic kingdoms under one banner. His banner. The atrocities that had been committed in the name of unification were hard to ignore, yet his rule had yielded it for the first time in millennia. Such weapons could only mean one thing: Conquest of other kingdoms. Gilda didn’t like the idea, as although her feelings for Equestria were mixed, death and chaos was not something it deserved. Likewise, she felt a cold mass saddle up beside her. Upon the wind, whispering around her head in a pervasive echo, the words were clear. “War is coming.” It was a simple declaration, naught a trace of questioning in her voice. Gilda grimly nodded, feeling the mass jettison itself away and back several feet. Cynder peeled off, disappearing from sight, just as discussed, leaving Gilda to run the next minute or so in relative silence. The griffin continued forward, hopping the last few building before landing gracefully in a side alley, crouching low in the darkness. Drawing up to her full height, the griffin cautiously exited the alley, casually strolling over to the dimly lit entrance, several torches hanging over the edge of the overhanging pillars. Her satchel clinked lowly as it jostled against her form, the metal coins inside cold to the touch. A foray into the surprisingly spacious and fancy inn was uncommon for most, so the inn was sparse and empty, save for a griffin, cleaning something behind a counter. Surprisingly, he wore clothes, although it was merely an expensive looking vest and undershirt. Gilda couldn’t help but raise a brow at that. Just behind him, she could see he lacked wings, carrying instead a set of spines along his back. That drew another brow raise from the hen; his kind was not common in this neck of the woods. The bartender turned as her claws clinked on the marble flooring, giving her a practiced and uniform look. The griffin was not a fool, she could fancy a guess her appearance was less than impressive, fur matted and feathers unkempt. Whether or not he cared, the keythong made no indication, merely fixing her with a professional nod and bow, greeting her in formal griffinic. “Good evening, how may I be of service madame?” He raised from his bow, resting his claws on the desk, folded and with evident care taken for them to be close to him. Gilda momentarily was thrown for a second, reminding herself of the formal dialect and switching tongues before she spoke Equestrian. She noted the slightest brow raised as her initial wording was in the language of ponies before she redirected her chords. “Uh… I need a room for the night.” He nodded once, his face remaining calm and impassive. “Would that be all miss?” The hen nodded, a bit whizzed out by the formal language and mannerisms of the tender. She had expected the Tower to have someone more accustomed to the rougher crowds working the night, not this joker. He would be better placed in the castle than the Tower. After forking over the bits, Gilda hurriedly found the stairwell, flying straight up the middle of the shaft, finding the proper room after a quick scan. Her vision was sharper than just about any other species, given her heritage being part eagle, however, the cloud of exhaustion was slowing her considerably. Stenciled in fancy bold letters, the number on the room contrasted the dark oaky texture of the wooden door nicely, not that Gilda cared for such unnecessary necessities of construction and interior design. Feeling a weight lift on her shoulders as she landed, the hen stumbled over to the door, leaning a bit on the wall as she became light-headed, steadying herself with a quick deep breath. Fumbling with the key in her talons, she grabbed the knob in one and pushed the key into the hold of the metal latch. Twisting the key inside the latch, the hen quickly pushed her way inside. Fumbling in the dark for a moment, she was startled and jumped when one of the lamps suddenly shot to life, revealing the onyx dragoness standing in the room. It was just then when Gilda noticed the breeze from the open window at the forefront of the room. Heart-hammering, Gilda stuttered out a flustered response to the dragoness’s quirked brow. “How did you… I hadn't hit the light, how'd you know where I was?” The flustered hen stammered, placing a paw over her chest. Cynder didn't respond for a moment, merely eyeing the griffin with a twinkle of amusement in her bright jade eyes. Her claws clicked on the floor as she meandered around the spacious interior for a moment, turning her eyes to the still startled hen. “Over the wind,” Cynder smirked, brow dropping. “I could hear your heartbeat.” There was a noticeable droop to her normally sharp tone, one that lacked its usual tempered heat, instead, it was cool and almost dissociative. Despite the alarming nature of the words spoken, Gilda oddly found herself more concerned with her tone of voice more than anything else. Gilda felt her feathers twitch, an odd note of fear shooting down her spine. The dragoness paid her no mind, instead going over to the nest of nearly arranged blankets in the corner, pulling a few over to the opposite corner. The blankets were simple, yet strikingly elegant, portraying various insignias and Celtic symbols. Before the griffin could speak, her immediate hunger made itself known, stomach rumbling, a sound that was immense in the quiet room. Gilda’s cheeks once again burned red, the dragoness was unable to do much other than smile quietly in the corner, her eyes drooping considerably. Too tired to even be embarrassed, Gilda gave a sheepish half-smile, the female dragon in the corner giving her a smirk out of the corner of her eye. The blankets did a remarkable job in the dim lighting of hiding the many scars decorating her body, the dark colors of the fabric rendering the dragoness somewhat hard to see. From her nest of blankets, Cynder curled up, stretching her body out with a forceful yawn, revealing her fangs and spreading her damaged wings out wide. With the casts gone and in better light, the griffiness could see the extent of the scarring and it made her cringe. Along the surface of the phalanges and arms were numerous small scars that gave the surface of her scales a duller appearance, almost most of a grey than the stunning onyx black that they had assumedly once been. Even the presumably bright magenta membranes had shriveled up heavily, multiple large gouges in each. If the dragoness noticed the staring, she made no mention, instead curling up into a tighter ball, wrapping her tail around herself, the blade shining in the dim lantern light. Something occurred to the hen at that moment, a revelation she had just realized in totality. She had always assumed that the dragoness being so far away from home weighed heavily upon her thoughts, but the way the dragoness slept, comfortably but cautiously, it almost gave her pause. Maybe, she never really had a home, she just made a home wherever, a true nomad. Cynder had never gone into detail about exactly where she had come from, however, the hen could almost feel like she knew the dragon by heart. Their short time together had been one of trial by fire. Perhaps that was why she never spoke of home. She simply didn’t have one. Gilda frowned sadly. Gilda was more than apathetic enough to the mannerisms of the other female to understand that the uncomfortable conversation of their mission would have to wait till sunrise. Hidden behind a curtain of black scales, the dragoness was out before a minute had passed. Gilda herself felt the fatigue weighing heavily on her. As hungry as she was the idea of a full night’s rest in a warm room was too tempting to pass up, a far cry from the blizzards and freezing nights out in those woods. The griffin shivered, an unnatural dread flowing through her veins at the fresh memory of that struggle, of those nights of frigid cold and the long walk through the primordial trees. Outside, the city awaited a morphing, contorting beast that would do its very best to snuff out the light of those that rebel. Gilda looked deep into the fire of the lamp, watching with muted interest as it billowed and moved. Pride swelled in her chest and the fear that had plagued her miraculously started to dissipate She glanced once more towards the window, slowly padding over and closing it, the lock clicking audibly. She gave another quick glance at the moon, clouded in places but still shining high in the night sky. Home. She was home. If the day came and blood was spilled then all she could do was look over, to the dragoness, her companion with pride. Tomorrow is a fine day to die. ----------- The morning light was warm, smooth, and beautiful. Cynder hated it. She hated it with a passion, for it disturbed her sleep, her blissful, comfortable sleep. Growling distastefully, she rolled over from the overbearing reach of the sun, burying her face in the blanket. Wiggling her back, she burrowed deep into the fabric, unaware of the confused and slightly amused look that the hen was giving her from the counter. Cynder herself was totally unaware of this, continuing to attempt to snooze. Rolling her eyes, Gilda whistled lowly, causing the dragoness to freeze and groan in annoyance. Grinning viscously, Gilda unrolled the foil on both her and the dragoness’s meal, something that dragoness smelled immediately, forgetting entirely about the disturbed sleep. Throwing the blankets off her with a vengeance, the dragoness rushed forward, almost stumbling over to her griffin companion as she tripped over blankets and the occasional cushion. The nearly bloodthirsty look, both literally and figuratively, that took over the dragon’s face at the prospect of hot food. “By the ancestors that smells wonderful!” Cynder practically moaned as she snatched the bowl and plate from the amused hen, tipping the bowl back and sucking down the delicious soup. A diet of cold, fresh meat wasn’t something dragons weren’t completely unaccustomed to, but three weeks of those conditions….well. She forgot that train of thought as the food rested comfortably and warmly in the pit of her stomach. “What’s the plan?” Gilda mumbled as she began to eat at a much more reasonable pace than her draconic companion. Cynder cast her a look as the griffin continued to mumble, realizing that the other female was talking more to herself than anyone else. Racking the sleepiness from her brain, Cynder began to think as she walked over to the window and paced. Along the still sleeping city, those monolithic stone towers stood tall, soaring over the buildings below. Cynder’s keen eyes picked out a hardly noticeable detail. Just at the cusp of each of the towers of castle’s spire was a series of small overhangs, straddling the thin stone liner. Such designs bore an abundance of structural integrity from above, but if one were to strike underneath with enough force, they could break through. Under the cover of night, she would be able to sneak in practically invisible to all but the most astute observer. Another piece of the massive castle stood out from here. The spires themselves spiraled upwards, a feature which more than likely mean a long set of spiral staircases was the only way up and down the towering pillars of metal and stone. The dragon cast her eyes back towards her companion with the beginnings of a plan already in the works. She needed the plans to the building, otherwise there would be too many unknowns to create a strategy of attacking the castle. If this city worked anything like Warfang, the blueprints to the building would be stored within either the inner seat of government in the castle itself or some kind of other architectural departments somewhere else in the city. Implying that the plans still existed, she was hoping for the later. All they needed was a path to wherever the hell the information they were here to destroy was located, anything else would have to be a secondary objective, no matter how objectionable the means. They didn’t have the luxury of knowledge or time, and both they were short on. “One step at a time, I suppose.” She snapped a claw, getting the attention of the griffin without turning from the window. Cynder could feel the golden eyes on the back of her head. With an exasperated sigh, Cynder turned and regarded her feathered companion. A frown formed on her lips and she trailed the outline of the doorframe warily. “A few questions.” The dragoness turned once more to the window, gazing at the enormous towering pillars of the castle in the center of the city. Somewhere in that mass of stone and metal was their target, a simple unassuming piece of paper with a few words printed on it. The oddness of the situation was not lost on her, the frown on her face morphing into a scowl for the briefest of moments. Even with her back turned, Gilda’s raised brow burned a hole in her back. “First, any idea how much time we have before the files get processed?” Gilda coughed lightly, the sound of claws scuffing the floor just barely audible. “Most documents on ‘traitors’ are processed second in the queue.” “Meaning?” Cynder leered lowly, jade eyes glinting in the sunlight. “If it hasn’t been filed away already, we may have a few days.” Cynder sighed. The holes in this little plan of theirs were evident from the beginning, but now that they were in the thick of things those holes were much, much harder to ignore than when they had been trudging through the winter mountains. Collapsing to her haunches with a groan, Cynder fumbled with her bracers, mind whirling. Counting from ten, the dragoness took in the information they had, not much, but they had to start somewhere. “Alright, then we need to find out if they already have been processed. If that’s the case then this is gonna become difficult.” A memory from their first meeting returned to her mind. “You mentioned a contact when we first talked.” Gilda clicked her tongue once, nodding in understanding. “Yeah, I guess he is our first lead. He’s an old friend of mine from when I was young, we kept in touch.” Cynder turned her head, regarding the hen with a single raised brow. The hen narrowed her eyes and avoided the amused glance from the dragon. “Oh buzz off. I may be cold, but I’m not completely alone.” “Could’ve fooled me.” Cynder turned her head once more, missing the scathing glare that the hen leveled at her. With that thought in mind, Cynder pondered the next step. Realistically she wasn’t needed at this meeting, so perhaps she could occupy another task. The proverbial light bulb flickered on. “Regardless if the files have been confirmed, we need to know the rough layout of the castle. Where would the blueprints be stored?” Gilda seemed taken aback for a moment, raising a claw and plucking her feathers absentmindedly. “Huh. I really have no clue, but I would guess either the keep or somewhere with the Mason’s Guild. Cynder thought for a moment. “The Masons….” She mumbled to herself, deep in thought. That seemed more likely than the keep by any means. Whenever the castle needed to be renovated, it was likely that the guild was paid for the task, meaning they would need the plans to the building itself on hand. That was the idea anyway. “The latter seems more likely, by any means.” Cynder murmured lowly turning back to her companion. “Where is this guild at anyhow?” Gilda blanked for a moment, eyes glazing over as she tilted her head to one side, apparently thinking hard. It took her a minute or two to recall the exact location, a piece of information she had offhandedly seen a very long time ago. “I think it’s a large four-story building with a spiral tower on the top. If I remember correctly it’s painted red.” The griffin seemed sure enough, and so Cynder nodded lightly, running a claw over her braces, scritching at the cold steel. “Alright, well, in that case, I believe we should get to work. You find out what you can from this contact of yours, I’ll see what I can do about the plans. Meet back here by dusk.” Gilda harrumphed her affirmation, padding over to the window with her draconic companion. A mile or so in the distance the castle stood, unyielding and cold below the warm glow of the sun. “Try to stay out of sight, we don’t need people asking questions as to why there is a dragon in the city. They and us are not on the best of terms.” Cynder tilted her head as she stepped outside over the railing, hanging precariously above the ground. “Is that so? Why did your family save me then?” The dragoness was genuinely curious. Gilda didn’t answer immediately, taking the long way back to the door frame, seemingly to keep appearances. She stood for a moment unmoving. With a small turn of her head, she gazed at the leaning dragoness out of the corner of her eye. “I’ve made mistakes in my life, one that I really regret.” The hen turned her head fully to look at Cynder. “That mistake believed in helping others. I won’t make that same mistake again, not with you.” Without another word, Gilda lumped her small leather pack across her back and stepped through the door. Cynder watched her leave, eyes downcast. Quietly, she whispered a low, murmured thanks and slid down the building blending into the shadows of the alleyway. This was no time for sentiment. --------------- The hen had forgotten just how crowded the streets of the inner half of the city could be. Compared to the slummy parts of town, they were as congested as the underworld. Grimacing as she pushed her way through the crowds, she tightened the cloak around her shoulders. Amongst the loud noises of the busy marketplace, she could see the rising hill that her presumed target most likely resided in. Within the cloak, a slender, sharp dagger clanged against her side, just rough enough to give her pause. Never hurt to be careful. Eyes and ears resided everywhere in a city such as this, ones that she wasn’t too sure she wanted aware of her presence. Hugging the cloak close to her body, the hen wound her way through the bumpy cobblestone roads, crossing small bridges and pushing through less crowded alleyways en route to the building: a moderately sized tan building, iron grates covering windows and crossed swords adorning the heavy set doors. The barracks was as ancient as the rest of the old city, the newer constructions shining in pristine metallic glory while those of the olden city, muddied with age and cracked with conflict, guarded the castle. It sat alone on this hill, bridges arcing away from it’s form and connecting to multiple roads and pathways, these colored by large, bright homes and inns. Each post was guarded by a small checkpoint, the attendant guard at the one in her sight appearing stoic if a little bored. Pulling the cloak close, the hen hid, nestled in an alleyway. Grabbing hold of the side of the building, she forced her claws into a loose series of cracks within the wall, flaring her wings as he forced her way up the side of the house. Slowly scaling the wall, the hen crouched low atop the roof, watching the building and post carefully. Crawling over to the edge of the structure, she gazed across the building at the post, tracing the separate section of the hill, the moat under the bridges filled with a shallow amount of dirty water. Inching closer to the drop, the hen whistled lowly in frustration as she watched her target, his eyes not straying from the bridge. Looking once again at the moat, Gilda noted the bits of stone and rock that resided at the bottom of the water, an idea popping into her mind. Carefully clutching a loose chunk of stone that protruded from the roof, she pulled it free with a light grunt, aiming her arm back. Tossing the stone over the opposite side of the bridge, over the post, she tumbled off the building, hovering just above the moat cautiously as the stone impacted the water on the opposite side. As the guard became aware of the splash, Gilda scaled the wall of the moat quickly, scrambling onto solid ground and jumping for the nearest bit of cover she could find. Peering over at the post, she breathed a sigh of relief as the griffin returned to his post, looking slightly frustrated, but ever as stoic as before. With the building only a few feet away, she took the advantage she now had on the guard. With deft movements, she strode over to the door, silently gripping the handle. Without a sound, the hen slipped into the darkened building. Inside, the walls were tight, only illuminated by the faint torchlight on the wall. The building was empty as she had predicted, the sun at it’s apex in the sky, meaning it was noon. The only griffins left inside would be information attendants, something an old friend happened to be. The building was familiar, its layout something she had known quite well as a younger chick. This time, her father would not be there to accompany her, the feeling giving the griffiness an odd sense of dread. Slowly crossing the corridor more on muscle memory than thought, she found herself standing in the candlelight of a large, immaculately decorated oak door, baring expensive formations and gorgeous pieces of stones and gems. Underneath the lightly sparkling gems rested a heavy plague, golden and shining. It read: ‘Garon Quorthon’ Raising a claw shakily, she knocked softly three times, before lowering the shaking appendage and resting it on the floor. A quite commotion sounded behind the heavy door, followed by the sound of rowdy cursing in her native tongue. Any fear and uncertainty resting in her stomach were gone now. That was him, no mistaking that voice. The door cracked open, just enough for a tired looking aqua eye to peer outward. Gilda, with her head still mainly obscured by the cloaked forcibly pushed her way inside, eliciting a startled squawk from the occupant in the room. Before she could even raise a claw to her hood or open her beak, the voice was reprimanding her, it’s boyish, yet gruff tone cutting into her. “What is the meaning of this damn it! You can’t just barge into my room!” He growled pointing with a claw towards a plate resting on a desk in the corner of the room. “Especially! Not on my lunch!” The griffin in front of her hadn’t aged much from her last meeting with him in person, some five years ago. His smoky earth colored body was complemented by his bright golden feathers and tuft, and the rage in those azure eyes was unmistakable. The most noteworthy feature was his height, as he stood about a full head shorter than her. “The absolute gall! I have half a mind to gut you for this right here and now!” He growled lowly. Gilda rolled her eyes underneath the black hood, lifting a claw and pulling the garment down across her neck, revealing her face to him. Whatever burning anger lingered in his aqua eyes was replaced by shock, which was then taken over by joy. “I had nearly forgotten how flamboyant you are Quorthon.” Gilda deadpanned as he took a step back. “It still hardly suits your height.” “G-Gilds! It’s been so long, my friend.” He made to embrace her, a motion which she grudgingly allowed. The hen was immensely uncomfortable in his tight embrace, something he was painfully unaware of in his state of joy, blubbering into her feathery tuft. Gilda sighed, expecting no less of the overtly friendly griffin, well, when his food wasn’t in any perceived danger that was. Letting the male get his kicks out of the way, Gilda stepped back forcefully once he released her, the large grin adorning in his face not moving at the perceived discomfort. “Listen, we don’t have much time, I need a favor.” It seemed her words shocked him out of his trance, the male realizing just where she stood, a place she really wasn’t supposed to be. Cursing loudly, he pushed past her, forcing the door shut and locking it quickly. Turning to her with a semi-panicked look on his face, he spoke lowly. “What are you doing here?” There was a note of aggression to his tone, though one that was more driven by fear than anger. Gilda pursed her beak. “It’s about what you wrote to me about.” The deathly tone of her voice hit Quorthon hard, the fearful frown plastered to his face drooping and his eyes lowering. “Did they get to him?” He appeared saddened, not something she was surprised by, but the hen knew his emotion was misplaced. “No, not yet anyway. I need to know if his file has been processed yet.” A thoughtful look came over the male, as he smoothed his ruffled feathers down and calmed himself a bit. Sighing, he gave her a thoughtful nod, motioning to the cluttered desk in the corner. “I received this month's reports to look over this morning. I haven’t gotten through them yet.” Stomach twisting in knots, Gilda nodded taking a seat on the rug in the corner as Quorthon seated himself at the desk, grabbing a thick folder of files. “I guess being the Commodore has it benefits huh?” Gilda observed as she spaced out, looking around the well-furnished room. Along the walls were several bits and pieces of various expensive looking weapons and artifacts of varying sizes and conditions. The spacious room housed a small cot in one corner of the room, the nesting of the bed appearing thick and warm, something necessary as griffins lacked artificial heating. Thick oak and spruce comprised the frame, it’s sheen polished and decadent. Even his desk, although cluttered and clearly unmaintained, appeared immaculate well constructed, held together by sturdy black leather. Even with the unmaintained nature of the griffin in front of her, he appeared to have done well for himself. “Tis only the benefits of being able to trade in morals for a blindfold from time to time, my dear Grizelda.” The clearly fake posh accent did nothing to hide the shame in his words, though his eyes did not convey said sentiment. He was quiet for a moment as he sorted through the folder, pulling various letters down and returning them after a quick look. Quorthon’s eyes zoned in and out of a glossy state, each roll of parchment pulled from the folder being deposited swiftly back into the folder after a moment of observation. Gilda, to her credit, remained still, but clearly impatient, her tail anxiously tapping against the floor and her claws scraping the lining of the rug. It took him less than a few minutes to dig through the remained, before humming a note of affirmation to himself as he found the appropriate list. “Found it. The ‘Kill List’. Ugh, never was very fond of that name, though I guess I applaud their bluntness.” Quorthon gave a rather disgusted twist of his beak. Gilda ignored his comment, eyes focused on his expression. The hen sat up straight watching him carefully as his eyes scanned the length of the rather large list. He mumbled the name as his eyes roamed the length of the paper. Just when he reached the crease that marked the fold of this list, did he stop, expression unreadable. Quorthon met her eyes, a grave tone about his azure orbs. Gilda immediately felt her stomach knot, knowing just what name the other griffin had come across. Her beak opened and the questioned floated off her tongue, one that needed no repeat. “He’s on here. The file was processed.” Quorthon’s mirth had disappeared by this point, understanding the situation quite well. He had seen the process many times before, not it would be happening to a comrade, and his daughter was the first to know. Gilda unconsciously closed her beak grinding her mouth into a fiercely unpleasant scowl. The hen’s wings fluttered violently, her feathers rising and hackles burning with rage. A deep breath left her chest, forcing itself out of her nostrils in a blowout of smoldering air. The endgame had arrived. This just became much more complicated. “Gilda look at me.” Quorthon’s voice carried an uncharacteristic edge, one that immediately forced the hen’s golden eyes to his sharp azure ones. It’s at the end of the list, meaning it could’ve been processed literally yesterday.” She knew what he was getting at, yet that didn’t do much to quell the heated nerves savaging her body and ravaging her mind. “The document can’t be intercepted anymore, the order has been given to a platoon, usually about fifteen soldiers.” His serious eyes gave her no other option, she knew what she had to do. “The order lies with them and them alone. Burn them and the document to the ground and you have your father’s life.” “H-how am I supposed to even know who is in charge of his death!” She half-yelled, exasperated and afraid. Her chin trembled, in both rage and despair. “There are hundreds of platoons in one branch of the military alone.” She got to her feet, pacing around the room, ranting off the top of her head, while her tail lashed dangerously and her wings fluttered angrily. “Not only would I have to find em’, then I’d have to kill-kill!-a group of griffins who just happened to be unlucky enough to be given the task!” Quorthon cut off her ramblings with a sharp whistle, one that startled her harshly. A serious look rested in the older griffin’s eyes, a look she had only seen on one other occasion. “I’m gonna be straight with you kid, this is a line of work you wandered into, one that isn’t pretty. You’ve been given a choice. Them, or your father and potentially your mother.” Gilda opened her beak, protest rising on her tongue, one that Quorthon could see right away. He silenced her with a raised claw, the expression on his face bearing no room for argument. “Don’t be stupid. You know no matter how far you run, they will hunt you down until he’s dead. You’ve been given an opportunity to take care of this right here and now.” He rose from his seat, the letter falling to the rug. He gripped her by the shoulders, forcing her to look a little ways down into his cold, blue eyes. “You, thankfully have an ally.” He sighed, padding over to a chest and rummaging through its contents and pulling a black set of robes, neatly folded and pressed clean, from the bottom of the bin. Gilda noted the symbol boldly embroidered on the sleeve of the robes. Her breath left her at the sight of the red dagger, crisscrossed by red lightning bolts. Special Forces Deep Reconnaissance. “I made a promise to your father when he left us. One that I intend to keep.” Quorthon regarded her, a warm smile taking over the serious expression on his face. With the robes in his arms, he moved them over to his cot, laying them carefully under the blanket, just out of sight. Returning to the desk, he laid his wing over the young female’s back. “I got your back kiddo.” With shock still nestled within her being, the unnerving reality that the simple officer she had known had been a trained killer right under her nose, a reality that she had been keenly unaware of this entire time. Gilda was still confused, but with this additional ally in her back pocket, she felt just a little bit less worried now. Maybe things would turn out alright in the end. Just maybe. Sighing, Quorthon picked up the piece of parchment from the floor, the additional fold coming undone from the bottom. The male scoffed at the paper as he began to fold it up once again, eyes absentmindedly scanning the bottom fold, the names he had missed drawing no recognition on his irises. Just as he skimmed through the halfway mark, he stopped, going dead still and unnervingly silent. Gilda picked up on this immediately, her own form, still a bit shaken, getting another bout of nervousness. “W-what is it Quorthon?” He returned her a grave look, eyes dark and feathers ruffled. With a slightly trembling claw, he turned the parchment over, showing her the name right above his claw. Gilda felt her heart stop and her blood turn to icy slush. Grizelda Gruff. --------- From the shadows of the buildings, Cynder crept from her hiding place, the sewers beneath the city. Her shadow split form maneuvered along the stone crevices keeping to the shadows. As her form returned to the physical world, the dragoness crouched low. From under the shelter of the overhanging buildings, the large towering complexes of stone and metal, the dragoness peered along the quiet, well-paved roads, ever on the lookout. The sun had just begun it’s descent below the horizon. Her journey thus far had unpleasant and time-consuming, however, Cynder was patient when the task at hand demanded it, and as such remained focused, emerging from the alley-way quickly. Her crimson cloak hid the majority of her body from prying eyes, however, the dragon did not take chances. Darting into the cover of another alleyway, Cynder peered upwards, having reached her destination thus far. The towering cathedral stood tall and mighty, highlighted in the ray of the sun’s fading light. Standing tall on her hind legs, Cynder braced her claws in the stone, pushing heavily to find purchase amongst the smooth rock. When her grip had become more or less assured, she lifted an arm, carefully forcing purchase in the building, and thus began to slowly climb. Eyes glowing a paler shade of jade, the dragoness channeled wind below her, giving herself an upward push. The cloak fluttered in the wind, crimson glowing in the fading sunlight. Grunting as she forced herself higher and higher, grasping at any and every protruding objects, Cynder climbed higher and higher. As she reached the halfway mark, the ness took a deep breath, eyes scanning the buildings around her. Despite the Cathedral being the tallest building in the sector at its spire, Cynder could not make out the shade of red that she was looking for. Cursing quietly and taking a deeper, shaky breath, she channeled the wind stronger, resuming the harrowing climb to the spire’s tip. With each foot climbed, her heart would beat faster in turn. A twinge of pain twitched within her wings, giving Cynder the harsh reminder that she was not getting down from this building in one piece if she fell. Despite her heart hammering in her chest and her tired arms and sore claws threatening to give at any moment, the dragoness made it to the top of the spire, seemingly unnoticed. “Dear ancestors why did I think of this stupid plan?” Cynder griped as she hugged the spire’s conclusion with her back, one paw resting on her heart. Closing her eyes for a moment, the dragoness took several deep breaths, before opening them and gazing out over the city. With both paws now gripping the building hard, Cynder felt a bit more content in keenly observing the city below. Despite the lessened panic in her chest, she still forced herself still for a moment, observing her surroundings. The city below was bathed in golden light, the bright stone buildings absorbing the light while the metal parts of the structures reflected the glowing beams of orange and yellow and scorching fiery red in brilliant patterns. Along the horizon, the sun had just begun to sink into the ground, it’s shimmering orange glow warming her cool scales from the harsh winds and shielding her from the touch of icy stone. Cynder closed her eyes for a moment, just enjoying the moment as much as she could, for she knew it wouldn’t last. With warmed eyelids and a warmer body, the dragoness scanned the building closely, examining every little detail, hoping to pick out a large red building amongst the sea of golds and yellows and browns. Her eyes stopped upon a building, just a few hundred yard outs, quite close to the castle. Large, colored in a brilliant crimson sheen and with an impressive towering appendage resting atop. Cynder noted with amusement that it seemed to be more for decoration than for functionality. With a twitch of her wings, Cynder looked out over the edge of the building. Now came the somewhat risky part of the plan. A crooked grin formed on her lips as the dragoness identified a large, pitch black alleyway just below. Mentally logging the Stonemason guild in the back of her mind, she jumped. Angling her body and channeling an updraft upon her, she slowed her descent as much as possible, the wind racing by her. An exhilarated rush burned through her chest, the ground approaching near. Flexing her claws, the dragoness coated her body in shadows, the inky substance clinging to her scales, yet not enveloping her due to the still present rays of the sun. A second or two later, Cynder disappeared into the shadows just above the ground, splitting her form and avoiding the fall altogether. Bringing her form back together at the opposite end of the alley, Cynder slowly walked out of the alleyway, scarlet cloak fluttering in the breeze. A dumb smile adorned her muzzle and she shook her head. “That was the single dumbest thing I’ve ever done.” She whispered to herself. “Cynder: 1, Gravity: 0” Resuming her ardent stride towards the guild, the rest of the journey was relatively uneventful. By the time the large structure was in sight, dusk had fallen, with the dragoness scolding herself about her negligent use of time thus far. Heavy, bright torches adorned the tiered building, the upper floors having an open-aired catwalk in between each side of the building. Shadow stepping upwards, the dragoness easily scaled the first three floors, arriving on the highest tier in mere moments. “Best to start upwards.” Cynder murmured to herself as she snuck inside the seldom guarded doors. “And work downwards.” From the top floor, she could make out the building itself quite easily. From the very top, the highest rooms appeared to be generally unoccupied, with nary a soul in sight except for the passing griffin, adorned in odd clothing. Watching for several moments, the dragoness formulated her plan of action. Conjuring a breeze, she filtered it into the building, blowing out the torches and letting total darkness reign. Jade eyes turning black, Cynder was granted perfect vision, slitted irises having no problem discerning objects from the surprised few griffons meandering through the pitch black darkness. She paid them no mind as they stumbled through the dark, ignoring their tentative voices. The scripts upon the labels of each room was hard to discern, the language only barring some similarities to the scripts she knew. Oddly some words were direct translations, while others were completely unknown to her. While possessing some interesting looking designs and bits of theory, the papers laid out on tables and in folders gave her no answers as to the plans she was seeking. Growling lowly in frustration, moved on. Returning to the catwalk and hopping one layer down, she resumed her search. This floor was segmented and as such required a level of caution, blowing out torches and lanterns as she went. Same with the top floor, there were only a few souls milling about. A thorough search of the floor provided nothing. Her frustration mounted. The next floor was a challenge. As soon as she stepped onto the floor, she felt a noticeable change in the air. Tensing her muscles, she snapped her head to the right, where a pair of startled eyes were locked right onto her. Cynder saw his muscles tense. Without thinking she snarled, eyes burning a flash of red. He collapsed to the ground, staring up at her in terror. With a grimace, she rushed forward, pulling the trembling body into an empty adjacent room. Growling to herself at her own reckless carelessness, the dragoness took a deep breath, and looked at the griffin, his terrified eyes locked on hers. She couldn’t kill him. It wasn’t right. It wouldn’t be pleasant but there was only one choice she had. Closing her eyes for a brief moment. When they returned, not only had her irises darkened to a bloody shade of red, but her whites had turned black. Snapping her gaze down to the petrified griffin, she stared right into his own teary irises. He almost screamed, fear consuming every aspect of his mind. Cynder quickly reared back and slammed his head with a wrist. Hard. Checking his pulse quickly, Cynder quickly departed the room. “Hopefully his mind will force him to forget what he saw. The last thing I need is another setback,” Cynder regretfully thought as she proceeded through the next room with much more caution. Finally, at the end of the chamber, a locked door sat. Blowing a stream of wind under the door, the light within vanished. Splitting into the shadows, the dragoness reformed inside the room, a little out of breath from the continued usage of heavy shadow magic. Catching her breath for a moment, she lit the torch with a quick burst of shadow fire. Quickly taking a moment to examine the room, she found a grin forming on her muzzle. This had to be it. A locked safe in the corner of the room caught her eye. Cynder took hardly a second to debate on finding the combination, knowing she was already short on time. Activating tired glands in her throat, the dragoness felt the familiar burn of acidic poison burning inside her. Releasing it with a pained hiss, the glob of acidic energy splattered over the safe, hissing as it ate away at the strong metal box. Waiting patiently a minute or so for the lock to burn through, Cynder ripped it free of its purchase as the hinges degraded. Inside the lockbox rested not only several pouches of gold coins but several stacks of paper. Ignoring the gold for the moment, she dug out the papers, laying them out along the adjacent desk. To her lucky surprise, the very first of the designs was a multistage design of the entire castle. The dragoness didn’t take the time to examine the entirety of the designs, only stopping to carefully make sure that what she was seeing had matched the outward physical appearance of that dreaded castle. Upon further examination of both the designs and the strange runes, Cynder concluded that not only was this guild responsible for the castle, but for other important projects, such as banks, cathedrals, and….what on earth was that? Cynder’s keen eye noted something much more sinister about the design of this particular sheet. They were designs for numerous things, weaponized machines, powerful weapons of war. However that was not the part that floored her, no, something else was very, very wrong here. These prototypes, despite their flaws and inadequacies, all shared one thing in common. They were powered by spirit gems. Cynder felt her blood boil in her veins. She now had an additional objective on this mission of theirs, one she would see through to the end.