Gobrend sat curled up in a corner of his cell, fighting a three-front war against the bone-chilling cold, the gnawing hunger and sleep deprivation. He could handle freezing and he could handle starvation. This wasn't the first time he'd endured such hardships. It was the lack of sleep that was getting to him. Between the humiliation and the beatings and his hazy conscious, it could have been a few days or a few weeks since he'd been thrown into this cursed cell.
He may not have looked like it, scrawny as he was, but Gobrend knew how to take a punch. Even though his interrogators were oversized brutes with more muscle than manner, they were sloppy and didn't know nor care how to ask the right questions. Fortunately they preferred to use the fist over the flail. Of course, he allowed them to continue until they were frustrated and worn down.
Oddly enough, there seemed to be a few times where, when they had left, one would stay behind merely to look him over. In his dazed state, he would have even believed that he was given some tonic that dulled the inflammation.
He decided to stop screaming soon enough. It only seemed to energize them. Then it became a game of attrition, the rules and boundaries set by stubborn pride above all else. Will against will. And Gobrend's constitution was that of steel. But when exposed to the elements, steel rusted just as any other metal did. And rusted steel was far more prone to snapping.
After three days of nothing, the fun had been sucked out of it, and the sessions became a chore. And one thing the guards did not like on top of work was more work.
So it was in lieu of more refined methods (yes, they had eventually brought the flail, but considering they lacked Ren's finesse it was to little avail), they took to the much more effective method of leaving him to wither and rot in his cell. At first it was bearable. They yet brought him water, but they resolved not to feed him until he spoke of why he attacked a Diamond Dog, who he was conspiring with in the attack, and to name an accomplice.
Gobrend knew there were no good answers to these questions. He knew that the dogs knew the answers to these questions as well. One thing he came to learn about torture was that it was not used to extract information or to avenge oneself upon he who brought harm to one's ally. Indeed they cared little for Ren, only groaning about the extra work they were now left with in his wake. That, and the awful rank. No, torture, he found, was for torture's sake. An outlet, if you will. Torture needed no objective. It needed no trigger. Torture simply was. Were Gobrend to answer any of their questions, he knew there'd be no reward, for they sought to bring him harm simply because they could. They were strong and he was weak. They could take from him and he could not fight back. It was the natural order of things.
So Gobrend, in his idleness, took to his usual isometrics both to strengthen his body and to relieve his mind of the stress weighing it down. His bruised and abused joints protested every second of the exercises, but he couldn't let that stop him. He even made sure to stretch out his torn wing. This continued for hours at a time. He swore long ago whatever wasn't bone must be muscle. He swore to survive. He fell asleep for cumulatively sixty minutes over the past week; each time he dozed off two dogs would throw open the cell door and relentlessly lay into him, leaving him a quivering mess.
But there was a change today. While Gobrend sulked in a freezing cell of his own accumulated filth, he noticed that for the first time in the last week it was silent. Completely silent. He wondered to himself whether or not this was a trick to lull him into a sense of false security so that should he fall asleep he'd be in for yet another rude awakening, and despite that he was willing to risk it if it only meant just a minute of rest.
His eyes slowly slid closed.
They then snapped back open when he heard the sound of a key turning and the cell door swinging open.
Tartarus! I overslept! he thought, panic failing to return control to his shrunken body. The questions would start. Then he'd be tossed around for as long as his captors pleased. All he could manage to do was tremble in place.
Gobrend braced himself when he heard the fall of pawpads closing nearer and nearer until they were almost right on top of him. To his surprise, however, all he felt was the warm embrace of a blanket. The pawpads then retreated back towards the door, Gobrend curiously turning toward the sound. There he found the forms of Hagley and Brocarius. The two were whispering amongst themselves, appearing to have an argument of sorts before Brocarius sighed and gestured to the dog. Hagley nodded, producing a small jar filled with a glowing, honey-like substance and a spoon from a pocket in his vest. Gobrend shuddered, his fear lighted anew.
"Hold my glasses, will you?" Hagley furrowed his brows as he did as asked. Brocarius cautiously approached Gobrend, noting his pitiful condition. "Don't worry, Gobrend. If I were here to kill you it wouldn't be with something so bland." He placed the spoon in the jar. "This is Nectar, an exceedingly rare potion with healing properties second to none. When applied externally, it is a warm, soothing balm that expedites the recovery process from weeks to days. Upon ingestion, however, this process is accelerated even further, from days to minutes. Incidentally, it is severely painful upon ingestion. Your lungs will inflate; your vertebrae will contort to such a degree that you will fear it should snap in two at the slightest twitch; your eyes will roll into the back of your head. The greatest danger, despite all of this, will be of you swallowing your tongue by mistake. That is what I am here to prevent as I observe. Now," he said, pulling out a spoonful of the Nectar, "Drink."
Minutes later, Gobrend lay in a twisted heap, a silent scream on his beak and a heavy sheen of sweat covering his body. Every symptom Brocarius listed was exhibited by the gryphon over the course of three hundred seconds. Brocarius counted each. Before his flailing began, the pony had the foresight to remove the blanket from his shoulders to prevent it from being reduced to shreds. Other than that, however, he merely watched.
Hagley tried to intervene, hoping he could provide some form of comfort. This notion was promptly eradicated when Brocarius turned his cold gaze to him.
After a few more tense moments, Gobrend fell completely still.
...
"Brocarius...Is he dead?"
The pony pressed his ear against Gobrend's chest. He then opened his mouth and checked for irregularities, shaking his head with a sigh. "Of course he isn't; that'd be too convenient..." he muttered. As he wondered aloud just what in Tartarus this bird was made of, Hagley hazarded a closer look for himself.
"You didn't expect him to survive?"
"I fully expected him to survive."
"Then why by the Flame do you not seem pleased about it," Hagley demanded.
Brocarius looked up at the Diamond Dog. "Do you know what chance there is of somepony living through Nectar ingestion, Hagley? Thirty percent. And that's not taking into account possible cardiac arrest or the respiratory complications that all too commonly result from it. This is all if you have a team of trained medical professionals on hoof the moment you swallow this baleful concoction. Away from all of that, though? The chance of survival drops to as low as sixteen percent."
Hagley balked at this information. "He saved us! He ensured I kept my head and helped you because of it; and you repay him by forcing something lethal down his gullet!"
"As I said, Hagley, I fully expected him to survive. Not just anyone can be a prospect for the Knights, you know. Besides―" he grinned lopsidedly at his old friend "―have a little faith, will you?"
Hagley huffed, handing his superior his glasses, which he pushed back over his nose. "I wonder how far faith will get us, if anywhere," he growled.
"Try placing your faith in me, comedian. We have our results; that’s all that matters in the end."
Hagley wisely decided not to comment, gently lifting Gobrend by the head and slapping him until his eyes opened. The first thing to greet the gryphon was the maw of a Diamond Dog. He shrieked, nearly slashing the dog's throat with his talons before Hagley on reflex grabbed both his forearms. He shushed him, trying to calm his panic. When it became clear that wouldn't work, Brocarius conked him on his feathery head.
"Gobrend, it's me, Hagley. We've never formally met, but I need you to calm. Down. Alright?"
Gobrend spared a glance to Brocarius, who nodded in encouragement, before sighing and relaxing. "Alright, dog. I'm calm."
Hagley cautiously unhanded the bird, backing away with a smile. "I wanted to thank you for what you did. You, uh, you saved me and Brocarius, and I just had to―"
"Save your gratefulness for those who wish to hear it, dog," Gobrend cut in, rotating his shoulder. "I didn't attack that dog to rescue either of you. I attacked that dog because I wanted to attack a dog. Nothing more, nothing less. It would behoove you especially to remember that, dog." The intensity of Gobrend's eyes and the malevolence in his words shocked Hagley into silence.
Brocarius watched Gobrend with narrowed eyes as the gryphon wrapped himself in the discarded cover. "Where is Green Springs? I believe it is time to leave this awful place."
“Not so fast, Gobrend. That’s not our reason for visiting you today, I’m afraid.”
Gobrend eyed the pony warily. “...Then what are you here for? To see me in this pitiful state? You did always take pleasure in my―”
“We’re here to bring you to the Alpha,” Hagley interrupted. “He ain’t happy about you toppling one of his dogs, not one bit. Luck has it that I was assigned your transfer, so we were able to make sure you didn’t die before you got there.”
“It takes a bit more than a few beatings and the cold to kill me, mutt.”
Hagley’s eyes widened at the slur, but he bit his tongue when a growl boiled within his chest. Brocarius stepped in before tensions rose. “I was content to let you writhe and rot in your failure considering your rashness, but Hagley insisted I come along to administer the Nectar. If it weren’t for him, you’d still be one paw in the grave by now.”
Gobrend blinked, looking at Hagley in bemusement. “Why? You know I wasn’t doing it for you.”
“That might be true―” Hagley shrugged “―but it doesn’t change the fact that you saved our hides, Gobrend. We’ll call it even.”
“...The gesture is… noted…” Gobrend muttered, looking to the floor. "...Hagley."
Hagley smiled, tail wagging.
“But you’re not off the hook yet, Gobrend. You still are meeting the Alpha, whatever that entails. From what I’ve heard, he’s a cruel, spiteful little freak.” Brocarius frowned. “This set-back couldn’t be more inconvenient.”
“Very well,” Gobrend said. “I can weather this out. If you two get Green Springs and I out of here in one piece, I will be in your debt.”
A calculating look crossed Brocarius’ eyes, almost hidden beneath his spectacles. “I’ll hold you to that, Gobrend. Maybe you won’t be able to run from this one.”
The world spun as Gobrend was tossed bodily past the door. Shaking away some of his dizziness, he glanced around to find he was in an office. A very shiny office. There was an ostentatious display of wealth in the form of gold, sparkling gems, vintage Equestrian portraits of obscure aristocrats, ornamental weapons—diamond-studded gryphonic maces; savage knobkerries; curved Saddle Arabian daggers forged from sleek steel—and, of course, sapphires, all neatly tucked away on weapon racks or chests so that none touched the floor.
Gobrend was born into fortune once upon a time, but he never saw such a bizarre collection of riches in his life, let alone in one place. These goods, ill-begotten though they were, could purchase a small country. Seated behind a desk at the far end of the room was a Diamond Dog with a crossbow in his paws.. As he toyed with the contraption, delicately smoothing his hands over the intricately embellished, yet worn down and dirtied, surface, it dawned upon the gryphon that that was no ordinary crossbow. It belonged to him, and this mangy mutt's dirty paws were sullying everything it represented!
Never did it occur to him that he charged so foolishly toward the preoccupied dog; so intent was he on ripping from its paws his birthright, the fearsome screech of a bird of prey fell deaf upon even his own ears. He leapt through the air, claws extended, tears streaming down his face, bloody murder in every cell of his body as like to Nature's machines, before his world came crashing down.
Pain erupted throughout his body like a dry wave of molten heat. He felt as though someone lit him on fire. He screamed and struggled against the flame, but its hold on him pressed down even harder in response. The dog's attention was on him now, his face betraying his amusement. He said something and the weight of the fire licking at his back lessened, yet Gobrend could feel that it was just a command away from breaking him.
"Eager to be sent back to Refrigeration, are we?" said the dog in a conversational tone.
Gobrend, upon regaining his senses, turned his gaze upward to find the dog he targeted sitting on the desk above him idly kicking his feet. He was a diminutive, slim thing with pretty features beneath a well-tended coat of white fur. He had rings with gems of every color on each finger of each paw, a diamond collar and a vest of red leather.
"That's my crossbow, you bastard!" Gobrend exclaimed.
The dog raised his brow as the flame enclosed around Gobrend. "Finders keepers. This is mine now. You'd do well to remember that, featherbrain." He looked above Gobrend, at the flame.
It wasn't until then that Gobrend came to realize that it wasn't fire holding him down, but a monstrously sized paw. A monstrously sized paw connected to an even more monstrously sized guard dog who glowered at him. Gobrend would have shrank into himself if it was possible.
"Flint, let him go." Immediately the vice grip on Gobrend disappeared. He could feel himself breathe again, but the aches from being slammed into the floor by such a behemoth still flared, making so simple a task as pushing oneself from a prone position become an exercise in agonizing frustration. "Since we're making introductions, this massive slab of muscle here, as I've mentioned before, is Flint, my bodyguard. Flint, open your mouth." The mountain obeyed, revealing he had no tongue.
"He's not very talkative. He used to be a family dog, one with an annoying habit of asking too many questions. So I took his taster. What use does dumb muscle have for one anyway? Then I sicced him on those closest to him to see who he valued most: his Alpha, who provides for him in every way he can, or his family, the weaklings keeping the Sapphires from achieving greatness." Gobrend balked. "I'm happy to say he chose the Pack over the individual. And he did it without question. Nowadays, he does everything I tell him to without complaint. He's my number two, after all."
Avarice turned to Flint, hopping up on his desk. "Jump, boy!"
He jumped.
"Now, sit!"
He sat.
"Squash the bird to paste!"
Flint lifted a paw, muscles tensing.
As Gobrend's death came plummeting down upon him, he closed his eyes, waiting for the end. "Halt!" He opened his eyes, mystified, to discover his doom had stopped a feather away from grinding him to bonemeal.
"You see that, wormeater? Flint is mine. And like I said, you'll soon be mine, too. Until I get bored of you, of course." He set down Gobrend's crossbow, pulling out a dagger and picking his teeth with it. "And while we're at it," he grumbled, "Name's Avar Th'lyuum Chalypto, or Avarice for short. Easier to remember, easier to sign, easier to make strangers feel smart for making not-so-subtle connections.
"But you," he said, pointing to Gobrend, "may call me Master." The bird stared in stunned silence. "So, what's your name? Is it something exciting? If not, I'll give you a better one, one I think most suits you." Gobrend gulped, not wanting to upset the unhinged lunatic smiling down at him in childish glee. He opened his mouth to— "Oh oh! Is it Sir Featherhead?" Again, he tried to— "Or is it Krankenbeak? Crow Bar? Horus!"
"Gobrend! My name is Gobrend."
"...You're sure it isn't Krankenbeak?"
"Yes!"
"Well, 'Gobrend', we're going to have to work on your manners. Otherwise Flint over there is going to have to twist off your working wing." Gobrend trembled at the sound of knuckles cracking. "Now, what do you say?"
"Y-Yes, master?" he said shamefully, seething.
"Good. Now, kiss your master's paw." He presented his rear paws to Gobrend's beak. Gobrend stepped back, repulsed and infuriated, ready to take this mutt's head off his shoulders before a breath down his neck reminded him of the murderous, elephant-sized bodyguard in the room. Swallowing his pride, Gobrend reached to grab Avarice's paw. "Don't touch me with your filthy talons or you'll regret it," the small sadistic sociopath said, uncharacteristically serious. "Use only your beak, pet."
Gobrend bit his tongue. "Of course, master.”
Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Gobrend leaned in to quickly kiss the fiend's paw as he requested, disgusted in his own actions.
"Again, slave. Longer this time." He wanted desperately to kill Avarice, but he knew he'd be killed in turn. Tears welled within his eyes as the dregs of his shattered pride warred with his wish to survive. This situation, on top of his week in Refrigeration, was quickly becoming more than he could handle. His breathing became irregular as he fought off a sob, the sound coming muffled as he pressed his mouth against Avarice's paw once more, keeping it there until the Diamond Dog decided he had humiliated him enough.
Avarice, for his part, was swimming in ecstasy. How he cherished those sobs, how he loved the sight of tears on the face of a member of such a proud race, how he relished in reducing this gryphon to nothing.
"That's enough, bird." Gobrend silently pulled his face from Avarice's paw, looking pitifully away. "Now, Gobrend," he said, again taking hold of the crossbow, "Tell me about my new toy. I like to know the history of the things I possess."
Gobrend seemed to debate something with himself as he gazed at the ground. "I-It is—was—a family heirloom. It underwent many redesigns outwardly but functionally it has remained the same for over three centuries. It uses the same loading mechanism after all that time, and it has seen many hunts. It is passed down to the eldest son whenever he becomes the head of the estate... Master," he added hurriedly.
Avarice smiled, nodding to Flint. The mountain of a dog dragged over a worn saddlebag that was close to falling apart at the seams and placed it on the table. Undoing the buckles securing it, Avarice rummaged through the inside, tossing aside knives, preserved plants, beakers and rope before something piqued his interest.
“I presume you were something of a researcher, pet,” he noted, tracing a paw over the untitled, leather-bound notebook he held. Within were journal entries… “‘I cannot return home without a cure. I must find the cure. My world depends on it.’ ” On top of this, myriad scrambled notes and sketches of strange flora and observed behavior of wildlife filled the pages; later entries were written in a messy, frenzied crimson scrawl that greatly juxtaposed the neatness of the earlier records. Everything was dated up to approximately three or so months before the dates were completely disregarded. In addition, more than half of the pages which were written on forever lost whatever information they held; water damage which had long since dried irreversibly destroyed the original text beyond legibility in the tattered journal, and desperate claw marks shredded these pages into further obscurity. Held between the text was a single flower which emitted a small glow, its color constantly shifting.
Avarice’s eyes widened as he looked over one particular entry which described the common hunting techniques of the Manticore. Lowering the tome, he spoke to no one in particular. “You crazy bastard. You’ve survived the Everfree…”
Gobrend’s face was absent of expression. Yet, if one were to gaze into his eyes one would see flashes of horror and feel the terrible weight of inevitability. It would be like staring into the lethal edge of a dagger.
“You’ve survived the Everfree,” he repeated. The wonderment in his voice was still present, but gone was the shock. Now, with a shark-like grin warping his face into a cruel, ghoulish parody, the wonderment was tainted by the lustful veins of conniving. This was a declaration of intent. “Oh, you just became a hundred times more interesting, pet! You’re a gift that keeps on giving!” he laughed drunkenly, falling to his back. “Finally, a challenge.” He rolled over, placing his forepaws under his chin as he absentmindedly kicked his hind paws through the air. “Tell you what, bird,” he began, “If you can choke back your pride and endure being mine for a month, you’re free to go. No hassle. However, if I win, and you still see fit to continue your insubordination…” he pulled out a knife from his pocket, jabbing it forward at the gryphon. “...I’ll have your working wing to show for it.”
“And if I refuse to accept these terms?” asked Gobrend, unconsciously pulling his wing tighter against his back.
“Well, you’d make an excellent statue after I send you back down to Refrigeration.”
Gobrend grimaced. “Why do you so badly wish to... own me?”
“Because breaking in living, breathing creatures is so much more rewarding than taking their trinkets.” The gryphon seemed to pale at that. “So whaddya say, bird?” said Avarice, extending a paw. “Deal?”
Hesitating, Gobrend slowly reached forward and met the Diamond Dog’s hand with his own. Avarice smiled, pulling Gobrend up closer to him with surprising strength to look him in the eye. “Don’t count on winning.” With that, Gobrend was released. “Now, tell me, pet, why you attacked one of my dogs. I don’t much like it when others break my things.”
Gobrend remained stoic despite his heart crashing madly against everything in his chest. “I attacked him because I saw a pony being harassed by him. I was worried he’d hurt him.”
Evidently, Avarice did not like that answer. He scowled at Gobrend for a moment, sizing him up, before stabbing his knife into the table. The gryphon again found himself in the same situation as when he’d first tried charging the little dog, on his belly with a gargantuan paw pressing him down so hard into the ground that his ribs threatened to cave under the pressure. He struggled fruitlessly, fighting for freedom and the chance to breathe.
Avarice jumped down in front of Gobrend and slid the knife slowly up his beak, stopping just shy of his eye. “We can call the deal off and I’ll simply take your looker as a trophy before having Flint toss your broken body into Refrigeration.” Gobrend couldn’t do anything but shudder in abject terror. “I’m quite good at detecting deceit, and you’re not as clever as you think. So tell me the honest truth as to why you attacked Ren!”
“I-I did it because I could! I wanted to hurt him and the opportunity was there! That’s why I attacked him!”
The knife drew closer to his eye before tearing away. Gobrend was left a sputtering, whimpering mess. “I’m s-sorry! I won’t do it again! I just―” His begging was interrupted by a slap across the face. He questioningly looked up at Avarice, who sat crouched in front of him.
“Don’t gutter the respect I have for you with such a pitiful display, pet. We haven’t even begun!” With a snap, Flint let Gobrend go, but he didn’t dare move from his spot on the floor. “Don’t you see how much easier life is when you’re honest? Sure, the truth may hurt at times, but I can guarantee you that a lie is positively crippling! Let this be an ‘eye-opener’ for you, yeah?” he said, laughing at his on cruel attempt at humor.
“...You’re a monster,” Gobrend declared.
“And you, bird, are my pet.”