March 14th, 1007 ALB (After Lunar Banishment)
Rottendedam, Feathisia, Griffonian Empire
The sea breeze always blew in warm and gentle from Sky Bay this time of year, carrying the salt smell over the port city. Rottendedam was one of the primary ports of the Griffonian Empire left in the current day. White and tan houses hugged the waterfront, an abundance of bridges, docks and quays let the entire city access the port as griffons went about their day. Rottendedam was a center of commerce, tourism and colonial power, which to contrast also bloomed the gardens it was so proud of, primarily tulips but also other flowers as well. Griffons didn’t usually carry such a reputation of being good gardeners, but Feathisians were proud of this niche part of their heritage. The old city held onto its charm compared to many other griffon towns of similar age or more, and a large part of that was the color and vibrancy of these flower gardens. Another part was the bright and chipper character of the residents as well.
Cyril had to admit, compared to many other places in the Empire, Feathisia certainly felt a step and above more cheerful. The young griffon compared the lanes of cheerful market-goers and happy gossip to Griffenheim, and the difference was startling. Even in the grips of an economic crisis, the Rottendedam locals seemed optimistic, hopeful. He passed a police officer in his blue uniform, the lawgriff tipping his helmet in greeting before going on down the street at an easy amble, whistling casually. A shopkeeper haggled with a customer, and after only a few seconds of easy conversation, the two parted on good terms. A cluster of chicks poured past, chasing a wooden hoop down the cobblestone lane. Quite a scene.
Much as he liked taking in the sights here, Cyril sighed and continued onwards. He had a reason for being here, and while there was no rush the sooner he got it over with, the better. He liked touring Rottendedam, and as such the fact he had to be here for unpleasant business left a bad taste in his beak. So, he squared his shoulders, flicked his wings and continued down the boulevard towards the harbor.
This opened into a plaza of sorts, where tables and chairs were assembled towards a rope barrier, overlooking the ships in port, a cruiser from the Ducal Fleet anchored further out overshadowing the fishing boats and cargo trawlers. Here the sea breeze was especially prominent, the salt air a constant to his senses so he had to struggle to smell the cafe nearby, busy serving girls rushing platters back and forth, taking orders while fending off the advances and flirtatious nature of the unruly sailor griffs mixed into the common crowd here. The smell of roasted fish and salted pretzels rolled over Cyril, and he considered stopping to get a bite to eat. His unpleasant task might be easier with a full stomach, after all.
It was then that, for just a moment, the crowd enjoying their lunch parted a quick moment, and he got a rare look through the griffons in his way to the other side. In another story, Cyril might have rolled his eyes, insisting there was never a storybook moment like this in real life, cynical griffon that he was.
But there she was. On the other side of the plaza, studying a book in front of her with rapt attention, a plate of pretzels in front of her as well as what looked like some sort of sandwich. Cyril knew Rottendedam had a pony minority from across the sea, but he still hadn’t seen or met many personally in his life. She drew his curiosity for a moment in that base manner of spotting something new and different, a break from the banal of his life. Her coat was a pleasant off-white shade, her curly mane a light grey with a single purple stripe. The wings on her back fluttered idly as she studied whatever was in front of her, and that emblem the ponies called a ‘Cutie Mark’ was an open book with a quill. Her colors seemed to shoot out in the mostly tan and brown city, surrounded by griffons in ordinary drab clothing, and Cyril’s eye was caught by her stark coloration. Something drew him in, and he began to press into the crowd.
But then the cruiser in the harbor blew her horn, a sign of departure, and Cyril started at the noise, looking first to the warship, then to the tall structure across the bay. The Vlootacadamie stood tall and imposing, a sign of Imperial glory in the city. What was he doing? He had a goal here, one he needed to accomplish today. He sighed, shaking his head as he began exiting the crowd again. No reason for him to get sidetracked just because of a mare that caught his eye. He glanced over her way, then stopped again. He couldn’t hear from across the plaza with so much noise, but three griffons had stepped towards her, townies who were approaching. And Cyril didn’t like the look on their faces.
He glanced up at the Vlootacadamie in the distance, then back to the pegasus. She might not be in trouble. For all he knew, the mare was more than capable of handling herself. But the situation still bothered him. He looked up at the structure once more, then down to his uniform and back up to the mare, who had just realized the three griffons were making a ring around her.
“Boreas dammit,” he cursed, pushing through the crowd more forcefully now. He was across the plaza in seconds, leaving many griffons in startled protest and annoyed at the rough treatment. But he finally could hear what they were saying.
“Listen darling,” one said, leaning over close to her, an arm around her back as his talons lightly scraped the table. “You shouldn’t be out and about by yourself. Ponies in Feathisia aren’t very liked, ja? You could be in danger.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” the pegasus replied cautiously, glancing back and forth between the griffs around her. Her Herzlandisch had an accent, clipped and refined, from someplace definitely not within the Empire. “Please, I’m just trying to eat some lunch.”
“Don’t be so rude, schatje,” said a second griffon. These drakes looked like merchant marine sailors, griffs who manned the cargo ships and came into port only once every few months. So, of course they were the type to come let off some steam by looking for a good time. Or a bad one. “We’re just trying to have some fun.”
“Listen, I should go,” the mare said, standing from her seat and slipping beneath the arm of the first griffon. But the third one, easily the largest of the group, planted himself in her way, leering down.
“Who said you could leave?” he rumbled. The pegasus grit her teeth, glancing around nervously.
Abruptly, the second griffon was yanked back by his shirt collar, dumped to the cobblestones of the plaza. The first whirled around at the noise, only to be shoved back into a table, sent tumbling over steins. Cyril turned to look up at the burly griffon, who was just as flummoxed by the young soldier suddenly appearing in their midst.
“How about you back off, before I claw your eyes out?” he hissed, tail whipping in agitation.
“Piss off, Herzlander,” the burly griff growled back. “This has got nothing to do with you. Don’t care if you’re Reichsarmee, I’ll dump your corpse in the harbor if I have to. No love lost here.”
“She already said she’s not interested,” Cyril glared, not flinching a step back, even as he could hear the other two getting to their feet behind him. “So step. Back.”
Cyril was under no illusions. He wore his grey Imperial Guard uniform and nothing else. No enchanted knight’s plate, no flak jacket, nothing but cloth. But finally faced with somegriff that appeared to be an actual threat, and drawing the stares of the entire plaza, the three sailors’ courage dried up.
“Let’s go,” burly griff muttered, turning to shove through the crowd. His companions, now without their heavy hitter, turned and ran after him, one giving a last glance at Cyril and flaring his wings as a threat. But the soldier stood strong, and held his position as the attackers retreated. Only once they were out of sight and the crowd filled back in behind them did he let a breath out of his beak, one he didn’t even realize he’d been holding.
“Good riddance,” he muttered as the adrenaline bled off him, leaving him shakey as he turned back to check on his would-be victim. “Fraulein, are you-“
But instead of finding her a quivering mess, on the ground trying to cope with the situation as he’d expected, the Pegasus was instead seated back at her table, chewing on a pretzel thoughtfully, watching him carefully. Her eyes were purple, he saw. A very odd shade that reminded him of a cluster of crystals he’d seen used in making enchanted metals. He blinked, surprised in more ways than one.
“...alright?” he finished, though his question was certainly answered.
Fortunately, she smiled back, finishing her bite of pretzel. “My hero,” she replied in that accented voice, and he couldn’t help but feel she was teasing him a little. She gestured to the chair across from her. “Do you have a moment for your damsel in distress?”
He scoffed, rubbing his beak before he grunted, taking the seat she offered. Suddenly feeling very foolish, he shifted awkwardly. All his bravado, stolen by a simple gesture.
“It’s alright,” the mare said again, holding up a hoof to the passing server. “Can I get a Braufenweisen for my rescuer?” She glanced over at him once more. “I assumed that would be alright? You look like a Braufen griff.”
“It’s fine,” he muttered, watching her carefully. It was true that Braufenweisen was his favored drink, but how did she know that?
“Most Herzlanders, especially Imperial military, drink Braufenweisen just out of tradition,” she explained as if she could read his mind. “Not to my taste personally, but I understand the appeal.” She held a hoof across the table to him. “Paige Turner.”
“Cyril Duskwing,” he replied, taking her hoof uncertainly and giving it an awkward shake, unsure of himself again. She was unlike most ponies he’d heard of, who were so brimming with overwhelming ‘positive’ energy and feelings of ‘harmony’. Then again, most of those stories were about Equestria. Was she a Riverlands pony?
The confidence in her face suddenly shifted, and now she was the one looking awkward. “Right, sorry. You did do me a favor with that rescue, I shouldn't be making you uncomfortable.”
Cyril chuckled, reaching over and toying with a pretzel. “Something tells me you might have at least had it under control, right?”
Paige smirked again, some of her confidence coming back. “I grew up in Rijekograd. Socialist protests every other week. Not my first time in a bad situation, sorry to say.”
“Sounds like my intervention was...unnecessary, then,” Cyril replied, taking the offered bottle as the server returned, smacking the cap off on the edge of the table. “Cheers.”
She lifted her own tankard, and the two clinked a quick toast before taking large gulps. At the end, she smacked her lips, closing up her book to make sure it didn’t get stained.
“No, I -am- very grateful. Three on one is never good, and no matter the race a female can’t say she doesn’t like being rescued by a male in uniform.”
She smiled again, the good kind that he liked that made him buzz at the base of his hind paws, and he was certain he hadn’t drank enough for it to be the beer. He took another sip, trying to distract himself a moment.
She gave him a quick up and down, checking his lapels for a rank pin and the state of his uniform, while inspecting his face once more. Young, barely enlistment age, black feathers with a strong axebeak. The poster child of an Imperial soldier.
“What’s a Herzlander Guardsgriff doing out in Feathisia? You’re a ways from home.”
“Military business. Of a family matter,” he replied, shrugging as he knew it made little sense.
“Military family then? Old tradition?” Paige asked, idly blowing a lock of grey and purple mane out of her eyes, her attention locked in on him. Truthfully, Cyril hadn’t felt this much like the object of such intense focus since Reichsarmee training, when the instructors were looking for any fault to punish, harshly.
“You could say that,” Cyril replied dryly, taking another gulp of the beer. “You’re very observant.”
“I recognized the name. I learned Herzlandisch by reading newspapers. A LOT of newspapers.
“Oh, then you saw my name all the time,” Cyril said, chortling before taking another drink. “Not that it's done me any favors. Suddenly, just because I’m a Duskwing I'm supposed to be an ubergriff, or I can get favors or a hundred other things.”
“Sounds rough…” Paige replied, frowning as she went from studying Cyril to her drink. “My family’s all noponies. My mother works with clocks while my father mans a riverbarge hauling freight.”
“Rijekograd, right?” Now it was Cyril’s turn to arch an eyebrow. “So what are -you- doing on the other side of Griffonia?”
“Ah, you’re smarter than you look, Herr Duskwing,” Paige chuckled, pleased to have her own game turned on her out of the blue for once.
“Nah, just a little snap reasoning,” Cyril replied, smiling back. ”Now c’mon, out with it. What’s the story?”
She smiled back, pointing down next to her seat, where he finally spotted a single suitcase, up on its side with the handle folded and wheels sticking out.
“I’ve been accepted for a scholarship at the Luna Nova Academy. It's an amazing opportunity, and the best place to study advanced magical theory.”
“Magical theory? But you’re-”
“A Pegasus? Yes, I'm aware -I- can’t cast magic, but there’s far more to study than practical usage! According to Star Swirl’s theory of manativity, for example, the energies of both magic and life can be said to run parallel with each other, rather than one dominating over the other! And I'm going to be looking into that!” Paige was practically giddy in her seat, bouncing with glee as she chartered off obscure knowledge of magics that were of little use to Cyril himself. “Isn’t that amazing? Imagine the kind of work I can do!”
Cyril blinked slowly, not sure what to say, and the off-white mare began spinning down from her intellectual enthusiasm, realizing she may be speaking over his head. Now a bit sheepish, she merely shrugged.
“It's an amazing opportunity, is all. And my boat leaves tonight.”
“Tonight?” Cyril tried to keep the disappointment out of his tone. After all this time, and pretzels and beer, he’d started giving a bit more thought to the idea of asking to spend more time with her. But if she was leaving… “Well, good for you. I’m uh...certain you’ll do well.”
Paige gave him an odd look there, tilting her head to the side. “You really mean it?”
Now even more confused, Cyril went with it. After all, she was leaving, what could a little unfounded positivity hurt? “Well, yeah sure. You seem like a smart filly. Way smarter than me, anyway.”
“You’re not as dumb as you think Cyril,” Paige returned, continuing to fix him with that odd expression before she smiled and asked “Hey, weird question; do you want to keep in touch?”
“Keep in touch?”
“Okay, are you a griffon or a parrot now?” She giggled, and he coughed, no obvious response coming to mind. “By letter. I...kinda feel like I want to keep talking to you. But if you have to head east, and I’m going west, that's going to complicate things, yeah?”
She pulled a piece of paper and a quill from her bag, rummaging for ink. “I can’t say when I’ll be set up, but I know the Academy’s address.”
Abruptly, he was reaching across the table, tearing the paper in half and picking up the quill. “Then you should send me a letter first, Ja? After all, my mother's address isn’t changing. You can let me know when you’re set up.”
He smiled at her, and she smiled back, delighting at the practical genius of the seemingly small detail that had shot over her head.
“Okay. I think I'd like that.”
With that, reluctant to part, the two ordered another round of pretzels and beer, spending the next hour talking about Griffonia, Equestria, arguing about history, pointing out things in the harbor, ignoring the stares sent their way by the crowd. By the time the two finally rose and moved away, they were speaking like old friends who would dearly miss the other’s company.
Little did they know as they went their separate ways, the two would not meet in person again for ten years.
Vlootacadamie
“You’re looking good, Cyril.” General August Duskwing, member of the Imperial general staff, glanced up from his paperwork, looking over the young griffon in his fresh Reichsarmee uniform before returning to his work. “Hope you’re not here asking favors already.”
“No, Uncle.” Cyril fidgeted awkwardly, glancing around the general’s office. Temporary though it had been, this place was General Duskwing’s for several weeks, and it showed from the handful of certifications and novels he’d brought, a couple of them being ones he had authored on modern infantry tactics. “Mother said you wanted to speak with me?”
“And you came out to Feathisia to do it?” Duskwing’s tone was both humored and a bit dumbfounded at that.
“I assumed you’d be too busy once you returned to your duties.”
Duskwing thought that over for a moment, then nodded slowly, understanding. “I suppose I have little time for home life these days. I apologize, Nephew.”
The general shut his current book before looking up at his nephew more carefully, more studiously.
“You’re going to embark on a great journey, Cyril. Things in the world are changing, and the Empire must change with it. Before your father died, I promised him I'd look out for you. But Duskwings don’t ride off each other, we make our own glory. So I let you go through training, alone. And you did outstanding. But now comes the part where I step in.”
The general tapped his talons on the desk, pondering a moment as Cyril watched carefully, wondering where August was going with this line of reasoning.
“General Synovial believes we are ready to field our own separate panzerwaffen formations. I’ve been working with him during exercises, and we have a new prototype landship to replace the Airbender. Nephew...I can pull a few strings, and get you assigned to the first panzer division in training. You’ll literally be making history for the Empire. And it's much better than being some grunt in the trenches. So...what do you say?”
SS Jolly Sea Jewel
As the passenger liner finally pulled far enough away that Griffonia disappeared over the horizon, Paige felt a pang in her chest, her wings ruffling anxiously. Even before she left Rijekograd, she’d been experiencing apprehension, homesickness and a little paranoia. The River Union was unstable, risky territory, but Equestria wasn’t entirely safe either as the Changelings over the border proved. What if she wasn’t good enough for the Academy? What if she got deported?
She wished she’d had more time to talk to Cyril about things. They were just getting to know each other and now they were going to be half a world apart.
Well, they had their letters to look forward to, and she’d have to simply work towards getting a ticket back to the Empire during a break when she could manage it. That was still entirely feasible.
The world couldn’t change that much before then, right?