//------------------------------//
// SAVAGE SWORD 
// Story: THE SAVAGE SWORD 
// by anarchywolf18 
//------------------------------//

The still blades of grass on the plains were rustled by the gentle stir of a western wind. In the midst of that forgotten land, the bodies of the fallen peppered the landscape. Remnants of a fierce battle that scarred the once pristine grounds.

A crow swooped from the sky, and hopped among the many dead. It stood upon the remains of a defeated pony. The scavenging bird tilted its head, examining what was once a mighty spectacle, reduced to nothing but fodder for itself. Caring nothing more for the corpse, the crow began pecking the eyes from it.

Long before the rooster called the morn, a light shone in the east. Not the radiant light of a new dawn, but the vicious light of roaring flames.

As the crow pecked away at the dead pony, loud shouts were heard, drowned out by the clattering of steel.

An errant arrow flew across the battlefield, and the crow was impaled to the ground. The land was not for a weak-willed scavenger. A truth known to the creatures of the fiery stronghold.

The ponies who occupied shouted loudly to one another, trying to organize an impromptu counter to the mercenaries who had shown up out of nowhere.

The captain of the stronghold fought bravely against two of the barbarians at once. Though fierce, they were no match for his mighty steel.

With a single swing of his gilded sword, the captain’s sparkling armor was dulled by the spray of blood. Both his enemies fell before him, giving sight to a new threat.

Staring down the captain was a one-winged griffin. Clad beak to talon in black armor, and carrying a sword nearly twice the size of his own, the pony could feel an ominous aura emanating from his new opponent.

The captain knew there was nothing ordinary, or seemingly natural about the griffin. Who or whatever he was, he was going to die.

The griffin charged first, raising his shield as he ran.

The pony deftly dodged the charge and the followup strike, both in one movement.

The griffin swung his massive sword over and over, missing the captain with every attack, but cutting through everything else.

Two of the stronghold guards were caught in the path of their duel, and were cleanly sliced in two.

The captain charged the griffin, angered by the sight of his mens’ demise.

The griffin swung his massive sword again, cutting through the legs of a scaffold.

The captain thrusted his sword at his enemy’s throat.

The griffin backpedaled, and parried the blow.

With the pony stunned, the griffin was able to land a glancing blow on his opponent’s helmet.

The griffin’s blow followed through and sliced apart the legs of a scaffold, sending many archers plummeting to the ground and impaling themselves on the broken wood.

Death was a luscious aroma to the griffin. Every taste of it was like the sweetest fruit. And the sight of a mass casualty was more satisfying than a night with the finest whore.

Ecstasy surged through the griffin. The kind that would never be satiated by a weapon.

Before the captain could recover from the blow, he felt his head grasped in a gigantic talon. His head was twisted around almost completely, and cut through by the griffin’s claws.

With a powerful slash, the flesh was rent from the captain’s head, as swiftly as the rind was peeled from an orange.

One last scream escaped the skull-headed pony’s throat, and the griffin ended the fight by throwing the captain onto the broken scaffold.

The captain landed with his fallen comrades, the shattered wood impaling his body and contorting it to grotesque angles.

The griffin continued his rampage, killing ponies with his bare talons. It didn’t matter how many blows landed on him, or what arrows hit him. It seemed the more he was attacked, the more vital and murderous he became.

One archer drew his daggers an leapt from the tower he was on, to drive his blades into the back of the griffin’s neck.

Before he was even partway, he was dropped upon in midair by a falling spear.

The griffin turned to attack when he heard the impact next to him, only to see a pony already impaled to the ground by a black spear.

With a flap of leathery wings, a bat-pony landed on the ground and collected his weapon.

The griffin twitched his eyebrow to the bat-pony, who smirked back. A subtle nod to one another, and they knew what was to happen next.

The bat-pony powerfully flapped his wings and took to the sky, while the griffin fought his way through the stronghold guards.

With every successive kill, the griffin’s mind was entrenched deeper in the ways he would impart his wrath upon the world. The horrible ways he would spread fear and slaughter to the creatures that walked the land, if only for the sake of knowing he was alive for it. And with every hit landed on him, that wrath grew.

The bat-pony dropped from the sky, impaling three consecutive guards on his weapon.

His griffin companion shook the dead from the black spear, tossing them all at the approaching guards.

Back to back, the two started fighting the encroaching horde, until they were pushed to the stronghold’s smithy.

The bat-pony was herded between two large furnaces, and dashed forward with his spear, cutting down the enemy directly before him.

Using his spear, he raked the blazing coals at his opponents, burning and blinding them all.

With his spear held laterally, the bat-pony flapped his wings and dashed forward again. He caught at least five of his opponents on his weapon’s length, and pushed them all into the roaring fires of the forge.

The griffin deflected the blows of his opponents with his shield, until he was able to push them back.

Taking the smithy’s anvil in his talons, the griffin impaled one guard on the massive horn of the tool, and smashed a second completely.

He discarded his anvil by heaving it at an approaching pony, smashing them against a wall. With the anvil gone, he took his shield and used the edge to bludgeon another pony nearly in two.

With the fires of the forge fueled by the bodies of his enemies, the griffin spread his single wing and shouted loudly. His dark armor glowed with the light of a thousand hellfires, sending fear through the ranks of the stronghold guards.

Every one of the guards knew they would not live to see the light of the next day, so long as the griffin was in their midst.

The cadaverous flames of the forge flew higher, until they engulfed the entirety of the stronghold. Any corpse and any object not consumed by the fire was looted. Anything else was left to the fire.

The griffin took his respite from the battle by sifting through the remains of the scaffold. He drove his talons into the still glowing pile of cinders, until he found what he was looking for.

The faceless remains of the stronghold captain were extracted from the ruin, and thrown to the ground.

Using only his bare talons, the griffin removed every jewel and gold plating from the dead captain’s armor, until it was rendered down to its bolts.

The griffin’s eye caught something else glimmering within the glowing ashes. With no regard to the intense heat of the embers, the griffin reached his talon in, and extracted the captain’s sword.

The bat-pony dropped from the sky, and landed with a thump.

The griffin sensed the presence behind him, and reached out a talon to the side. Without even looking, he caught the jar that was tossed to him.

“Wine. I figure we earned it after that brush at the furnace,” the bat-pony said.

The griffin answered by taking a sip of the wine, as he contemplatively examined the captain’s sword.

“It’s a bit sour. But, that was all I could find that wasn’t used to fuel the fire,” the bat-pony continued.

“Hm…” the griffin said.

“That’s one hell of a sword there. Never saw one made of gold before.”

“It’s a fake,” the griffin finally answered in any articulate way.

“How’s that?”

“It’s only painted gold. See?” the griffin said, as he scratched the blade with his talon, revealing the silvery steel beneath.

“Painted? Damn. For a second, I thought we’d make an easy few thousand bits fencing that thing,” the bat-pony said.

“It’s only to be expected, Fang,” the griffin said, as he held the sword so that the light of the fires reflected onto the dead bodies before him. “A warrior’s weapon is a reflection of themselves. This perfectly ordinary specimen was only made to appear special with a layer of glamor. The very example of the average noble.”

“You got all that from a sword, did you? What’s old Rose here say about me, Captain?” the bat-pony asked, as he held his spear beside him.

“A single stallion who overcompensates for his shortcomings,” the griffin said.

“Those are big words, coming from a griffin with a half ton of steel on his back,” Fang said, pointing to the oversized sword his friend was carrying.

“It’s my vocabulary I like to emphasize,” the captain retorted. He sheathed the sword, placed it on his belt, and turned to leave. “Let’s go. That fat noble will be wanting to hear about our victory.”

Before Fang could ask why the captain was taking the worthless sword with him, a voice suddenly called out.

“Captain!!”

One of the band of mercenaries hurried to face the griffin.

“What are you so flustered about?” the captain asked.

“Trouble approaching from the north! A windigo! And a big one!” the soldier said.

The captain exhaled quietly.

“It would seem we have to delay our appointment,” he said.

Knowing the drill, Fang flapped his wings and took to the sky, while his griffin friend calmly followed the soldier.

From his vantage point in the sky, Fang saw the approaching threat.

Lanky, shaggy, and emaciated nearly to bones, the beast was peppered with scars and arrows that pierced its hide. And it was racing to devour all that was left in the dead
stronghold.

Fang took his spear, ready to spill the blood of the beast at the captain’s signal.

Down below, the captain stood at the front of his assembled men, each one of them hungry for more battle.

In the distance, the sound of the windigo’s roar filled the plains. One moment, it was seen. The next, it was gone.

Windigos were known for two things. The first was their insatiable appetite, which only grew the more it ate. The other was its blinding speed. Some rumors said that they could turn into a gust of wind to catch anything they set their eyes on.

Whether that was true or not, the company was suddenly faced with the fanged mouth and branched horns of the beast.

Before the first soldier was bit, the captain clasped his talons around the monster’s horns and pushed it back.

The griffin glared harshly at the monster, twice his size and with a face like a deer’s skull.

The windigo growled fiercly and snapped again.

The captain blocked by placing his massive blade in the monster’s mouth.

Taking their cue, the other mercenaries surrounded the windigo, and began viciously attacking it from all sides.

Quicker than the blink of an eye, the windigo thrashed about, knocking aside all of the mercenaries. One unfortunate soldier was pounced upon and eaten alive.

As the monster feasted, the griffin attacked again.

The windigo was ready. It quickly brandished its horns and tried to impale the griffin.

The captain’s armor was all that saved him from an untimely end.

Fang dropped from above, and impaled the beast through the shoulder, making it bellow in pain.

Seeing the body of his fallen comrade gave the captain an idea.

“Get more corpses out here! Feed this beast!” the captain shouted.

Quickly as they could, the other soldiers ran to collect the bodies of the stronghold that had not been burned yet.

Fang and the windigo rushed at one another.

The bat-pony dropped and slid along the ground, holding his spear to cut the underside of the monster.

The captain took his sword, and thrusted hard.

The beast was only glanced by the attack, and bit the wingless part of the griffin’s back.

Pain surged through the captain’s body, making his desire to destroy the windigo grow tenfold.

Swinging his shield, the griffin struck the teeth of the monster, knocking several of them loose. When the monster recoiled, the griffin escaped its jaws and landed on the ground.

The first soldier returned with his corpse, and threw it to the ground before the windigo.

Not about to pass up the easy meal, the monster stopped battling the griffin and bat-pony, and collected the dead body in its mouth. It ran toward the other soldiers and viciously took their bodies from them.

Once its massive mouth was filled to capacity, the monster stopped running to quickly chew its food.

This was their chance.

With the beast distracted, the griffin rushed forth and tackled the beast to the ground.

Claws and talons lashed out and scratched opposing bodies, threatening to tear one another apart.

The griffin took his talons, and dragged them across the ragged flesh of the windigo, nearly exposing the skeleton beneath.

The two rolled back and forth, until the griffin was able to get the windigo in a shoulder lock.

With its chest exposed, Fang dropped from the sky with his spear at the ready, and shattered the monster’s icy heart.

With one last bellow, the windigo’s life began slipping away, and the soldiers all started hacking the beast to bits.

There was one less windigo in the world, and that made it a better place in the minds of every living soul present.

“Fang,” the captain said, “Get some more of that wine. We’re going to all need it after this.”






The sun had barely risen into the sky, when they reached the camp of the stallion who had hired them.

The banners were the first things they noticed when they approached. The guards at the front greeted them with the usual wary looks, ready to take them out in case they tried anything drastic.

The one-winged captain led his band to the noble’s tent, with Fang at his side. They passed by each one of the knights of the camp, in their polished armor and sharpened weapons, all seemingly unused.

Once they were inside the noble stallion’s tent, they were greeted by the fat, pompous veneer of their client.

Standing from the strategist’s table he was at, the full plate armor of the unicorn stallion quietly clattered beneath his rustling cape.

The noble and the captain locked eyes. The griffin presented the golden sword of the stronghold’s captain.

The noble nodded slightly, and glanced to one of his own knights.

The knight who was standing by retrieved a small chest, placed it on the table, and opened it to reveal the golden contents within.

It was just as they agreed. For their work, they were given their payment in exchange for proof of the stronghold’s defeat.

The knight watched as the griffin approached to collect his money. With a loud slam, the box was closed, drawing the knight’s gaze. When the pony looked up, he saw the griffin’s beak only inches from his own.

“Boo…” the griffin deadpanned.

The knight jumped backwards, nearly taking the tent down when he bumped into the side.

Each one of the mercenaries laughed at the sight, as the captain took their money and passed it off to Fang.

“I suppose your king will be pleased,” the captain said to the noble.

“The king is always pleased by successes and victories,” the noble stallion answered.

“Even if they weren’t earned by their own men?”

“The king does not have to know how his victories are won. Only that it was the expediency of myself and my company that won the day.”

The griffin rolled his eyes. Nobles were all the same. Each one wanted more glory to their name than the others around them. And always without getting their hooves dirty.

Not wanting to spend any more time at the knights’ camp than he needed, the griffin signalled for his company to leave.

“One more thing, griffin,” the noble said.

The captain paused.

“I don’t want to hear any word spreading about a band of mercenaries taking the stronghold in these lands. Do you hear?”

“Don’t worry. You won’t,” the griffin said.

“Indeed,” the noble answered.

The sound of metal unsheathing under the table sent the griffin to high alert.

Fang was the first to attack, by throwing his spear and impaling two knights right through their armor.

More knights appeared to attack, and were either easily killed, or dismembered.

The captain sliced one guard’s head off, took the severed head, and threw it at the noble’s face.

The noble’s horn broke under the pressure of the blow, and the dagger he magically held dropped into the griffin’s waiting talon.

The captain took the dagger, and stuck it through the noble’s hoof, pinning him to the table.

The only sound left was the screaming of the noble, which was quickly silenced by the griffin digging his talons into his throat.

“Listen well, because this will be the only time I tell you,” the griffin began, “I don’t give a parasprite’s shit about taking a stronghold, or slaughtering a windigo, or working with a company of knights. I do nothing for the glory, for the fame, or for the prestige it would bestow upon me. I do it, because I am a fucking mercenary! Not some spoiled brat who cries when someone else put on a pedestal. Your petulance has cost you dearly today. And I can only hope that your remaining soldiers have taken my words to heart.”

With one strong pull, the noble’s throat was torn from his body and thrown to the ground. With one last gurgle, the stallion was dead.

The griffin led his band past the remaining knights, who all stared dumbfounded at the creature who had done away so easily with their leader.

The mercenaries were led south, toward a new land of raid and plunder. Seeking nothing more than the thrill of the battle and the comfort of gold, ale and whores.