//------------------------------// // Die Kleine Säuberung // Story: EaW: From Front to Front - The Great War // by Warpony72 //------------------------------// July 1st, 1010 Rimau-Griffenheim Rail Line Leutnant-General Ferdinand Dawnclaw sat in one of the many seats of his personal train car, watching the countryside he knew so well roll by. From the windows of the train, he could see several of the small villages and hamlets that surrounded Griffenheim, the capital of the Griffonian Empire. And the seat of the Regency council. Dawnclaw frowned, and put his right talon on his forehead in a thinking pose. The Regency Council. He snorted. The damn nobles couldn’t keep the Empire together the first time, and what did that cause, in 978? Now everygriff was wondering what had gone wrong when the war with Greifenmarschen and now with the Holy League happened. He knew what had happened both times, of course. The Revolution. He was still a teenage griffon back then, a sick albino trying to figure out his place in the world. Waiting to be ordained as a priest for the Church of Arcturius – it was position he would have gone into if wasn’t for what…happened. He respected Archon Proteus, and he still did, even with the war against the Holy League. Kemerskai, that damned traitor (along with the Nobles and the other Archons) was probably one of the biggest causes of all the poverty, conflict and misery Griffonia suffered today. Perhaps it was a calling, he thought. That all the death, destruction and battles of the Revolution was the motivation that made him leave his Arcturian priesthood training and instead join the Reichsarmee. On the other claw, the consequences of the war against the Holy League he could hear right now, see right now. The sounds of the train masked them somewhat, but it was hard to ignore the fighter planes in the sky, patrolling for any Holy League aircraft. There were also several small craters near the railway line, and he could even see a destroyed house.  To the south, he knew lines of wounded griffons were being rushed to field hospitals, wings broken, bleeding out. Many would not last the night. Dawnclaw once again snorted. Griffons were dying, on the field and in the cities, because the Nobles and the Archons couldn’t keep the Empire together, instead engaging in petty fighting for what remained of it. Then, he made his decision. No more. If it was necessary for a third party to step in with force to save the Empire, he was determined to do it. Ferdinand stood up from his seat, and opened the door that led to the rest of the train, to the car that held most of his most loyal guards and officers. July 13th, 1010 Griffenheim, the Imperial Palace “Where is Grover?” Gabriela’s face screwed up, clearing her throat as she and her husband descended the stairs.  The air in the palace could not be any different to that fateful night he proposed. The plush carpeting under their talons and paws muffled their steps, and the stone walls were alight with electric lamps displaying the ancient tapestries, paintings and portraits of kaisers, nobles, archons and various scenes of glory and wondrous landscapes.  The palace was looking much better under her care (their care, she reminded herself for the hundredth time) and she noticed both its defenders and its staff moved with more defined purpose these days, motivated by the Empire’s resurgence. Well, more motivated than some. “He didn’t feel like coming out. This time, I let him stay,” she replied, turning down the hall that would lead them to the Council Chamber, four Knights from the Ducal Guard falling in on all corners for their protection.  Before she could proceed, a claw gently took her shoulder, pulling her to a halt. She knew what she would find behind her, and was not surprised to see Gerlach watching her carefully, an eyebrow raised. She huffed in irritation. “Do you find something interesting, Husband?” “Only that you would allow our young charge to duck out on this. You normally ignore his reluctance and seat him on the throne for all occasions.  What was it you said…’getting him used to unpleasant tasks?’” “Don’t try me, Gerlach. I’m not in the mood.” He blinked in surprise. “You’re really bothered about this.” “You’re not?” she asked, eyebrows raised.  “I thought one as bound to the laws of chivalry as you would be -deeply- disturbed by what the Reformisten has done.” “I never said I wasn’t,” he countered, glancing over one armored shoulder at a group of ministers passing on the level below, chatting quietly having not noticed the Regents above them.  His wings flared slightly, and she realized his anxiety existed, but was buried deep. That armor, she’d learned, wasn’t just physical. Once the ministers were gone, he took a deep breath, his wings settling against his back once more.  “But whatever the reasoning, Conrad Silvertalon mended ranks with them willingly. And we know how hard he and the soldiers of Longsword fought to bring down Pallas.” Count Pallas Dusktalon had ruled the Longsword territories for some time, and had taken the worst aspects of the Reformisten ideology to heart, committing crimes not even Hellquill would resort to, sanctioning actual genocide in their attempts to stamp out the ponies of the Griffking Basin area.  When he had ordered one too many purges, both the regular army and a socialist uprising took him down, and the civil war had not been pretty by all accounts. The Count’s fate had been to rot in the custody of his own army before they escorted him north to face the same knightley Grandmaster he had claimed to serve, only to be sentenced with a summary rifle volley. “That doesn’t mean anything.  Wingfried could have forced him with military intimidation.” “Did you ever -meet- Silvertalon?  The griff could take a bullet and not blink.  Besides, he -handed- Pallas back to Wingfried, and they shot him.  There’s something else going on here, Gabriela. Why else would Grandmaster Cyrod step back?” Urlach ap Cyrod, an infamous traditionalist and Empire supporter, had taken over when Siegfried Trappenfeld had retired from the position of Grandmaster, ruling over the knights of the northeast frontier.  It had been his decision to start hunting down the Blackcloaks of the Reformisten, though it appears that Wingfried had convinced the Grandmaster to integrate the moderates, and to also make the unified territory formally known as ‘Hellsword’ out of the frontier on the Riverlands border. Gabriela scoffed. “Just because Silvertalon and Cyrod follow him doesn’t mean he’s suddenly a saint,” she hissed.  “You honestly expect me to believe he had no idea his griffs were murdering thousands in the foothills?  Ponies or griffons, makes no difference in the end. Butchers are butchers. Even if he never ordered the purges, he had to know it was happening.  And I will -not- expose Grover to such a griffon who stands by and lets his soldiers commit such atrocities.” “Speaking of committing atrocities,” said a nearby voice, much deeper than Gerlach’s. The two turned to see Captain Benito standing there patiently, his white armored helm held calmly under one arm. Descended from Bronze dogs who had settled up north, Benito was the commander of the Barkginian Guard, the Kaiser’s personal bodyguards. Considered the best soldiers in the Empire, they had guarded Grover V with their lives, averting several assassination attempts and Republican agents. In the end, the one enemy they could not fight had taken the Kaiser, a black day for the Guard. Benito shifted, his armor clattering quietly.  The Captain of the Guard was accustomed to their outbursts, but today of all days, he was visibly uneasy. “Your Graces, if you continue to argue out here on the steps, I may need to set up a perimeter, lest our guests think a brawl has broken out.” Then again, Captain Benito certainly had no reservations speaking his mind. Loyal as he was, he considered it his duty to make sure his charges didn’t embarrass themselves.  For this reason only, he had made his opinion known to every noble around Kaiser Grover V, including some high ranking generals. He glanced between the two of them, his annoyance and disappointment written across his muzzle. “Watch yourself, Captain. You still speak to your Regents,” Gabriela said curtly, but they all knew it was with little heat. Out here in the open, if she was seen openly taking criticism from a mere Captain, even the Kaiser’s bodyguard, it would do poorly for her image.  So regardless of Benito’s job, she had to audibly rebuke him. Benito rolled his eyes but simply came to attention, nodding crisply. “Yes, milady. I merely came to inform you, Your Graces, that your guests are arriving, as has the Regency Council. They are awaiting you in the Chamber.” “Our thanks, Captain,” Gerlach replied smoothly, gently taking his wife by the shoulder. “I assume you are taking up your post?” “My place is with the Kaiser as always, Your Grand Grace,” Benito replied matter of factly, as if there could be no other truth.  “But I must warn you...General Dawnclaw has also arrived. He’s already gotten into an argument with General Speer.” Gabriela grimaced anew. “What does he want? Bad enough he’s got his gas mask goons stamping around, now he has to pick fights?” “He insists on being in the Chamber, for security. He feels we need to keep a close eye on Wingfried.” “He’s not the only one,” she muttered, and they both caught on to her double meaning. As if summoned by the conversation, a pair of Stormtroopers from Dawnclaw’s detachment strolled down the hall below them silently. They were dressed as other Sturmdivisione soldiers were, clad in dark blue trench coats, black helms and gas masks, but those who had come with Dawnclaw felt less like Imperial soldiers, and more like the General’s own. They were spread around the palace, and at first the Nobles had been glad for the extra protection after the scare of the Katerin bombers. Gabriela hadn’t been worried herself, but the rest of the Council had panicked, and insisted Dawnclaw stay with his griffs, despite the need for troops on the League Front to the south.  That had been days ago, and every time the Regents saw these soldiers or the General, they regretted it more and more. The two Stormtroopers strolled (almost stalked really) by, never deviating or looking around, though with those masks you never knew. As soon as they were out of sight, Benito sighed, shaking his head. “Personally, I say let him go back with his truppen. Let them keep fighting for Romau, do something useful.” “Hang on now,” Gerlach intervened. “What, are we going to start keeping generals out of the Chamber now? The Kaiser’s already absent, we can’t just tell military commanders to leave because they’re unpleasant.” “No, we’re going to keep Dawnclaw out because he’s a tax-evader, a political meddler, definitely an Archon supporter, -and- a generally very unpleasant griff.” Leutnant-General Dawnclaw represented a lot of things wrong with the Imperial General Staff. As well as being corrupt, tied to politics and blatantly disrespectful of the Council, he had arisen to Oberst-Leutnant via suspicious circumstances in 1004, when he had been ‘battlefield promoted’ during a skirmish with Republican troops. Seeing as how the commander who had awarded him said promotion had turned up dead in the snow before anygriff could confirm, many remained suspicious of the true circumstances of that day. As such, his subsequent climb up the ladder to general the past six years had been watched with suspicion, and had not turned up good news. Not to mention, the griff was an albino, and always seemed to wear a smirk that caused discomfort to many around him.  Many of the rumors surrounding him may have only been that, rumors, but his blatant gathering of toadie officers, personal wealth, and loyal soldiers were certainly enough for MfÖS to label him a significant risk. Gerlach sighed, relenting to the point. Nogriff liked Dawnclaw, to an even greater degree than Wingfried, who at least had a cause other than personal power. “Fine. We’ll dismiss Dawnclaw. He goes back to the front today. I don’t think even Katerin is crazy enough to sacrifice more troops for Griffenheim anyways.” The Council Chamber was circular in construction, with benches reaching high into the far corners, wrapping around in two half-moons to ring around the podiums in the center, where the speakers would debate or present topics of national interest.  Three thrones were set at the head of the Chamber, one taller than the other two, which were moderate and humble and had been moved forward to a lower step than the Kaiser’s seat. The room was massive, partially to allow anxious griffs to take flight when agitated but also to accommodate the titanic size of the Regency Council, which in its day had sized almost a thousand nobles, ministers and clergygriffs.  While today that number only reached six-hundred, it had been padded by the agreement to let influential commoners into the Regency as well. Wealthy business leaders, political advocates and those members of certain government offices who, despite their work, were denied from the vote for their common blood. These were the best in their fields of politics and economics, and while many of them were from well-off families, the fact that they had not been part of the Old Guard as it were had meant they were long closed off despite their wealth and influence.  No longer. Griffons, dogs, ponies, who would they let in next was the question whispered behind corners. Commoners now. Military next? Minotaurs? Zebras? The chatter went on and on. As the two Regents entered the chamber, buzzing and full of the low energy of hundreds of creatures conversing, they were met by two griffons quietly discussing something near the entrance. Both looked up immediately as the Regents and their guards entered, glancing to each other once they saw who had come in.  They were familiar to the Grand Duke and Duchess of course. Major-General Cornello Galluzzo was commander of the Imperial Spezial Kommando Korps, and was in charge of developing a symmetric and atypical warfare with the Reich Militärakadamie in Vinnin and the Reichsarmee training grounds in Crona. While others on the general staff had scoffed had his theories and methods, Galluzzo’s work reforming the Gebirgsjager was legendary, and had gained him the support of influential commanders such as General Silverplume. With the backing he’d received, he was now pioneering tactics in amphibious warfare and what he called “aerial insertion” tactics.  Hard, stoic and not given to kowtowing to anyone, Galluzzo had the attitude of a grizzled outdoorsgriff more than a hard-willed Kommando officer. His companion was Ela Grimwing. Unlike Galluzzo, with his cap and pins and clearly military demeanor, she had no sign of her true station. She wore a simple suit, dark brown with a red shirt, a pair of goggles strapped to her forehead as if she’d forgotten they were there. When she spoke, it was often at high speed and energy, with smiles and laughter sprinkled in. But her appearance was a deception. This was the head of the Ministrierium für Öffentliche Sicherheit, the Empire’s espionage center and secret police established by the Regency to keep order across the Empire. Everygriff knew who they were, and feared their agents. They censored letters, gathered intelligence on enemy activity and (most terrifyingly of all) kept tabs on ‘citizens of interest’.  Both Gabriela and Gerlach had learned that meant a wide array of details, and methods to control those griffons under observation. For example, General Anicetus Mudbeak, the commander of the Imperial Guard, was a good, loyal soldier. But the unfortunate combination of a disappointing career and an opium addiction picked up after sustaining injuries during the Revolution in 978 had turned him into a nervous, depressed wreck. While his military skills were still intact, he avoided other griffons like the plague, and it was obvious he was waiting to retire so he could disappear from society. Grimwing’s solution to securing his loyalty? Quietly slip him packets of opium to keep his addiction under control, thus ensuring nogriff could persuade him away with drugs. Galluzzo glanced back to Grimwing before bowing to the Regents. “Your Graces,” he said stiffly before he rose, adjusting the beret he wore.  Knowing he was a griff of few words, and clearly seeing he was trying to leave respectfully, Gerlach nodded in reply, allowing the general his leave. They'd find out just what the disagreement was about later. Grimwing, meanwhile, simply beamed at Gabriela, executing a short and rather sloppy bow before she excitedly launched into her statement. “My Lady, you’re going to love what I’ve been digging up!” Given that Gabriela Eagleclaw and Ela Grimwing were thick as thieves, it was little surprise that the Duchess grinned back, setting a claw on Grimwing’s shoulder to calm the secret agency chief. “Is it urgent, or can it wait until after the ceremony?” Grimwing’s faced screwed up in thought for a moment before she simply shrugged.   “Well, I’ve been doing digging mostly on Wingfried and his officers.  So its relevant. But I also have stuff on Dawnclaw, Dusktalon and a few tips from out of the Riverlands.” This perked up both Gabriela and Gerlach.  Not one given to intimidation and force, Gerlach relied on a quiet network of merchants, traders, ship captains and travellers to get his information from abroad, so whatever Gabriela’s methods turned up were always laid over the data he’d acquired, however distasteful he found the methods used. Gerlach nodded.  “I think we have time for the first one.  Seeing how we’ll be giving him a medal and all.”  Gabriela shot him a venomous glare, and he shrugged.  She had to get over this, honestly. Grimwing didn’t notice, or pretended not to notice.  “Okay, so Archon Hephaestus mentioned to me that Wingfried and the Reformisten had a shady past not too long ago during one of our talks.”  That, of course, was code for her grilling the poor griff to get incriminating information out of him. Puppet or no, the Archon of Eyr they had elevated had still enjoyed a good relationship with the other Archons and the rest of they clergy before half of them had turned traitor and gone south with the Holy League.  This meant Hephaestus I, Archon of Eyr, had been forced to work twice as hard to ensure his innocence was believed. “So I started looking into what Wingfrid was doing -after- he took power. Everygriff focuses on what he was doing before. And you know what? Turns out -he- was the one who convinced Silvertalon and Cyrod to purge the Blackcloaks.” “So the leader of the Reformisten decided it was time to smash the bad eggs,” Gerlach noted quietly, eyes on the crowd as they continued filtering in and filling the stands.  Not long now. They had to speed this up. He made a claw gesture, and fortunately Grimwing caught on. “So, ever since then Hellquill was focused on building the Frontier to both resist eastern attack and set up for settlers to move into towns. Apparently, Wingfried starts arguing with Grandmaster Cyrod about pony rights and this new “Integralist” idea. Thing is, anygriff in his ranks disagrees, they wind up having a small ‘accident’ or disappearing. So something changed his mentality compared to what we’ve seen the past few years.  A lot of griffs think Hellquill is bound for civil war too. Then, Silvertalon hands Palles over to them. After its all said and done, they welcome the general in as a war hero. Talks move to integration. Thing is, none of them can agree on what to do, they’re all so different in the mentality. But eventually, Silvertalon and Wingfried convince Cyrod that protecting Griffonian culture is the most important thing at all cost. Apparently, they found a few ponies that assimilated so well, you wouldn’t even know they weren’t griffons.” “To the point, Grimwing,” Gabriela stated, realizing the time limitation as well.  They both looked to where the stands were now beginning to fill with ministers and representatives.  At this point, they were beginning to draw eyes. “Right, the point,” Grimwing concluded, claws raised.  “From what my agents tell me, and believe me they worked HARD to get this.  You can’t bribe those Hellquill guys for some reason...anyway, -something- happened to change Wingfried’s whole mentality.  How else do you go from the second-string leader of an extremist movement to suddenly purging your organization -of those- extremists and becoming king of the east?” “That’s all you’ve got?  That -something- has changed?” Gabriela gawked, not quite understanding how her chief of intelligence had led them down this path just to end in such an anti-climax.  Grimwing pondered, then shrugged, looking unsure. Gerlach sighed, taking Gabriela’s shoulder and tugging her forward so the speaker of the Council could announce their entrance. “We might be missing something in the context of the rest of your information.  We’ll listen to the rest of it after this, alright?” “But what about Dawnclaw?” Grimwing asked, looking a bit concerned as her Regents moved towards their seats. “Please, knowing him he’s probably sulking on his train all the way back to Rimau by now.  Dawnclaw’s the army’s problem now.” The Imperial Guardsgriff unfortunate enough to be posted defending the palace armory lay to the side, his throat sliced with such precision and savage strength that he was nearly decapitated.  His partner lay further down the hall, her neck snapped and twisted. Capable and loyal they may have been, they were no comparison to battle-hardened veterans. There should have been double the number of guards here, but the other two had been pulled to keep watch on the Council Chamber and the treacherous Reformisten within.  A mistake they’d surely pay for. The armory door lay open, and inside came the sounds of cabinets and crates being wrenched open, ammunition spilling out and metal sliding smoothly on metal.  They weren’t taking any chances. Machine guns, shotguns and SMGs were quickly being handed out, loaded swiftly and then passed back down the line, stick grenades taken up and tucked into satchels, pistols in holsters, battle rifles loaded and tipped with bayonets.  When they had first arrived, they’d been forced to give up their heavier armaments in the interest of ‘security’. But now, they’d get this one single chance to strike, and they were seizing it with both claws. “Sir,” says one to him quietly.  “We just got word. The Kaiser’s not in the Council Chamber.” “Dammit,” the leader grunts, glancing around.  “Dammit! Gods-dammit! We need to do this -now-.” “Sir, strike teams are moving into position.  Should I recall-” “Absolutely not.  Split off killteams.  We’ll search every inch of this palace if we have to, but we need to act fast.  Clear the halls. Once the first shots are fired, they’ll seal him up in the most fortified bunker they’ve got and wait us out after.” “But sir, to search the whole palace we’ll need to split the strike force almost in half.” “Please, Major.  I think we’re more than ready to deal with a few Guardsgriffs.” The leader hefted another piece from the weapon rack.  It was large, inelegant and heavy. It wasn’t ideal, but he’d have armored soldiers to deal with.  He grabbed a belt of rounds, feeding them into the machine gun. “Give me two.  I’ll take the Kaiser’s room.” “Aye, sir.” Gerlach and Gabriela seated themselves in their Regency thrones.  In normal times, after Grover took the throne, these would be removed and they would take their seats in the Council as the rulers of Feathisia and Strawberry respectively.  But now, they were above the Regency, at the head of the room. For the next decade, that is. Many Regents had attempted to hold onto their power once their Emperor came of age, some more successful than others.  The fact that the Grover line remained unbroken spoke of how those attempts had fared. Gerlach glanced to Gabriela, who smiled back before the two faced forward, faces set and ready.  All eyes in the Chamber were focused on them, but Gerlach took note of his surroundings. The light filtering in through the stained glass window behind him, the empty podiums, the sea of faces before him, the Knights of the Order of the White Lion standing sentry at all entrances, their faces obscured by their leonine helms.  They’d been here dozens of times, and yet being sat in front of all these griffs intimidated him far more than consulting his own Parliament in Feathisia ever had. Gabriela was more comfortable in these circumstances, she’d practically grown up in the palace with Grover V. Fortunately, his reputation for silent fairness came in handy here, and he largely let her handle the talking most days. To prove his silent point, Gabriela straightened up.  The small gesture may not have meant much, but any buzz in the crowd that remained died as she gathered herself to speak.  She did indeed have quite a presence in a room. “Send them in,” she called out simply. A moment later, and the doors at the end of the chamber opened, admitting a squad of Imperial Guardsgriffs, their spiked black pickelhaube shining in the chamber’s light, their Specht guns held at the ready as they cleared the room for a moment, parting to allow their charges in.  Behind them came a smaller party than Gerlach was expecting, only three individuals surrounded by four personnel in black uniforms. The armed guards and guests had been stripped of everything save their pistols, and all they had left afterwards was their black uniforms. Of true interest, especially to Gerlach, was that two of these soldiers were of all things unicorn ponies, one a mare, her coat a mint green and an Imperial C78 holstered at her belt and the other a stallion with a coat black as his uniform. Wingfried held the center of course, the Black King of the East as they were calling him.  His face was stoic, hardly a feather out of place as he approached, eyes locked dead on the Duke and Duchess ahead as he stepped around the podium towards the chairs that had been left for him.  Beside him was Conrad Silvertalon, the Hero of Longsword. His scarred visage suggested a long life of war and strife. Though expressionless, Silvertalon proved not quite as unflappable, eyes moving and head tilting slightly to take in the grandeur of the chamber.  His cap still bore the rose of the Longswordian Army, though his grey uniform had been handed in for a black one with appropriate pins and insignias. On Wingfried’s other side was a white griffon that Gerlach didn’t quite recognize, with purple plumage, and red eyes that hinted at some far deeper purpose than suggested.  Most disconcerting of all, upon closer inspection Gerlach realized that the white griffon had something even more disturbing. He lacked any wings! He looked to Gabriela, who seemed nonplussed by the deformity. Perhaps Gerlach was getting too ahead of himself. Rumors of those unfortunate to be born as demigryphs persisted, but it was fairly uncommon, almost to the point of it being an old wives’ tale.  Still, perhaps this griff only suffered an unfortunate accident, was all. The trio moved to the chairs set out for them before the Duke and Duchess as their guards took up position behind them, all looking to the two Regents.  Gerlach, upon realizing his wife was content to leave their guests standing, gestured with a claw for them to sit. The three Reformisten officials did so without preamble, watching the thrones quietly.  The chamber was now silent as a tomb, as everygriff, pony and dog watched carefully, those in the front leaning as far as they could forward and those in back standing to get the best angle, a few anxious wings flaring but not daring to take off. “King Wingfried von Katerinburg,” Gabriela started, folding her claws before her.  “You have been asked to this Council to be congratulated for the valor you and your soldiers have shown in meeting the Holy League on the field of battle.  For your stalwart efforts, we thank you.” Wingfried nodded, his head descending to his chest before returning. “I am honored.  Thank -you-, Your Grace,” he replied, his voice low and smooth, not what was expected of a frontier dictator. “In particular, you yourself were personally mentioned many times participating in the field of battle.  I believe there was one about using a satchel charge on a Katerin panzer?” “We were hard pressed, Your Grace.  As you know, the Reformisten does not possess our own panzerkorps.  My knights were forced to give ground under assault. I was simply doing what had to be done.  Lacking Imperial resources, we had to rely on our skill at arms instead.” Gabriela twitched, her talons tightening.  Gerlach recognized the slight as well as she had.  A subtle point to the Black King. “Well,” the Duchess continued, her voice only just strained a hair above normal.  “A true testament to your fighting prowess then. And we are here to show our appreciation.” “Is that so, Your Grace?” Wingfried asked, an eyebrow moving a centimeter up.  “Then why does this feel more like a trial than an award ceremony?” Straight to the point, Gerlach mused.  Wingfried didn’t have the markings of a true political animal anyway, and bandying around was likely not his way.  He decided to take a risk and defuse this potential situation before it got out of claw. Immediately, all the Reformisten officers turned to look at him, and he once more found himself looking into the demigryph’s unnatural red eyes.  Lucky him, he’d prepared for that, and his experience in politics came back to him once more. “We’re trying to get a better measure of you, Lord Wingfried.  You do carry a reputation, after all.” “King. Wingfried,” the demigryph corrected coolly.  “He -was- coronated as one, after all.” Gerlach raised an eyebrow, considering the white-feathered griff carefully, inspecting as best he could.  He’d always considered himself a good judge of character, able to spot telling characteristics from a single glance.  It had helped him in being a Regent, since he had to be the more approachable half of the two where Gabriela was firm and uncompromising.  This white griffon gave him the same chills that General Dawnclaw did, while those eyes told of the same hidden intelligence as Grimwing. But the unnatural air didn’t stop there.  He swore he could almost taste arcane power in the air, something he’d picked up from meeting unicorns from the west. “And you are?” Gabriela asked, her voice curt and her body tense, one claw on her armrest, talons dug into the wood with her firm grip.  Her smile was all superficial, and she stared at the demigryph with the air of one sizing up a target for a strike. “Grand Inquisitor Erlinger,” Wingfried stated.  “My trusted head of internal security. Without him, we would not have been nearly so successful hunting down our Blackcloak problem.” “Well,” Gerlach cut in smoothly.  “Herr Inquisitor. We are of course glad to have an Imperial territory such as Hellsword return to us.  The loss of the frontier was a tragic one.” “And should never have occurred,” Erlinger agreed, nodding.  “It was a short-sighted error in judgement that we have come to atone for.” “And we appreciate such loyalty,” Gerlach responded.  Gabriela herself nodded, her intense expression still etched across her face as she continued glancing between the three.  On that, Gerlach and Gabriela could both agree on. With so many provinces rebelling and split away, those that willingly returned were rare and certainly could not be turned away, making this current situation even more complicated.  “We are merely making sure that what we get is the genuine article. With all the news from the east, you cannot blame our caution.” “If you mistrust our loyalty, need I only state that we came to you, Your Grace,” Wingfried stated.  “If you mistrust our motivations, I only need to indicate our thorough purges and how we dealt with the Count.  He and several officers in Longsword took our dedication to protecting griffon culture too far. Fortunately, they are now dead, as they deserve.” “So that’s your reasoning?” Gabriela scoffed, looking thoroughly unconvinced.  “Your followers and confederates took it too far? Not you?” “Well Your Grace...aside from a Count having far more political sway than a knight, there’s a bit more to it than just a change of heart,” Wingfried replied.  Gerlach could have sworn he saw the smallest of smiles on his beak. Before Wingfried could go into the details of his miraculous transformation, the double doors leading into the chamber flew open, drawing dozens of eyes at the sound, including Gerlach and Gabriela’s.  The Regency was in session, only the most critical of news was supposed to allow interruption. But the Imperial Guardsgriffs outside the doors were supposed to halt any intrusions. None of these were happening.  Instead, griffons in blue trenchcoats and gasmasks, wielding battle rifles, SMGs and machine guns charged in. Over their heads, Gerlach could not see any Guards attempting to stop them. Something was wrong. “Get down!” he ordered, throwing himself over at Gabriela. As he did this, the side entrances flew open as well, and as the Knights posted there moved to intercept whoever had rudely entered, gunshots rang out.  Knights and Guardsgriffs died where they stood, only a few able to retaliate in surprise. The entire exchange only lasted a split second. One Stormtrooper officer blew a Guardsgriff’s head off with his pistol before pointing towards the thrones. “There!  Kill them!” Pandemonium broke out in the Council Chamber.  Griffons either fled from the armed troopers or tried to force their way past to the doors.  Those unfortunate enough to get in the way of a Stormtrooper were swiftly cut down by barking rifles and the rat-tat-tat of automatic weapons.  The Guards and Knights remaining finally responded, attempting to fire back but blocked several times by the fleeing crowd. A bullet rang off Gerlach’s plate, and he knew that if he had not thrown himself in front of his wife, the round would have ended her life.  He shielded her as best he could, looking down at her face in concern. Like always, she was immediately over her fear and shock, instead trying to peer past his arm to gauge the situation. “Are you alright?” he asked, half-yelling over the chaos of screaming and gunfire behind him.  She nodded, frowning as she heard more bullets ricocheting off the Grand Duke’s plate armor. “Get us to cover, you oaf!” she snapped.  “You’re not invincible!” He pulled her over behind the throne as more pullets chased after them.  The Council Chamber had turned into a battlefield, the bodies of dead Councilors, Guards, Knights and Stormtroopers littering the floor, splinters and chunks of wood everywhere in splashed puddles of blood on both hardwood floor and elegant rug. “It must be Wingfried!” she hollered.  “That treacherous snake!” “While he’s in the line of fire? I don’t think so!” Gerlach yelled back.  “Those are Dawnclaw’s griffs!” “Isn’t he supposed to be gone?” “I suppose he decided to stick around!” the Grand Duke snarked back. He reached under Gabriela’s throne, tearing up the secret compartment she had installed and pulling out the twin P01 pistols, checking both chambers to ensure they were loaded before handing her one and peeking out with the other.  Before he could act, a Dawnclaw Stormtrooper, this one an officer by his peaked cap and major’s pins, looked over in his direction and spotted him, calling for his soldiers as he raised his Gerund rifle. Gerlach ducked only just in time, hearing the first shot blast through the wood of the seat before the second buzzed by. PING! The Gerund rifle had a unique en-bloc clip system, where when the last shot in the ten round capacity was fired, it ejected the clip up into the air.  This sound was infamously tied to the rifle, and Gerlach’s ears perked up immediately upon realizing the Stormtrooper officer had just fired his last shot. Gerlach was up on his feet immediately, leveling his pistol to bring the cursing major in his sights when the griff’s head suddenly exploded in a spray of blood and brain matter, falling to the floor.  Gerlach blinked, unsure of what had just happened before Wingfried stepped into his view, brandishing an older C78 pistol, the infamous broomhandle weapon. The would-be assassin dealt with, the Black King approached the huddling Regents, gesturing a few Imperial Guardsgriffs over. “Your Grace! You are unharmed?” “For now!” Gerlach replied. Now able to get a free shot, Gabriela rose up next to him, squeezing off careful pairs as if she were back on the range. She’d always put in more pistol time than he had, and right now the Grand Duke was pleased for it. “Where is Kaiser Grover?” Wingfried demanded over the noise. Gabriela visibly flinched. “His room!” Gerlach shook a claw to reassure her, firing a round into the scuffle, more to do something than because he thought he could hit something. “Benito would never let anything happen to him! We have time!” A grenade detonated nearby, sending several Guardsgriffs and a Knight flying. “Less every second!” Wingfried called back. “Come! We must find him!” If the Council Chamber had turned into a battlefield, the halls had become a close quarters nightmare. Spread out as they’d been, the skirmishes that broke out between the Loyalist forces and Dawnclaw’s troops were in isolated pockets, individual struggles to take and hold a part of the palace. A shootout would be won, only for the victors to be gunned down by another group from their own battle. Order had broken down.  But it wasn't a complete disaster for the Loyalists. They had secured both the entrance hall and Grand ballroom as well as another palace arsenal, handing out their own heavy weapons. Now it was a matter of maneuver and attrition, Knights swamping through storms of fire to close with entrenched Stormtroopers, Imperial Guardsgriffs clustering around choke points to hold safe passages for evac and Dawnclaw’s griffs resorting to using explosives to close off hallways as they tried to form a working perimeter. Having emerged from the corpse-strewn Council Chamber, Gerlach and Gabriela, now joined by their bodyguards, moved into the hallway towards the Grand staircase, only to run into a barricade made from tipped over furniture, Guardsgriffs firing up at the next landing. With them was General Anicetus Mudbeak, normally a wreck of a griff, firing his weapon blindly while howling out orders. Beside him were General Silvertalon, snapping off precision shots with a Gerund battle rifle, Ela Grimwing with a Krahe SMG and Grand Inquisitor Erlinger, who held a C78 but appeared to not be using it. Instead, as the Regents approached, his red eyes glowed crimson, and two Stormtroopers on the landing above were surrounded by a similarly colored aura.  Their rifles snapped up and they lurched towards each other, firing at the same time and blowing each other away. “What are you, a mage?” Gerlach yelled over the storm, his face in awe. Griffon magic was long proven impossible, a part of nature inaccessible to the race as a whole aside from the enchanters who used captured magic energy to work their craft. But Erlinger merely laughed, the glow gone from his eyes. “Ask the Barrodians, Your Grace! Even I am unsure what I am.” “I’m good at asking questions!” Grimwing piped up, the machine pistol rattling in her claw as she sprayed the landing above. “Could I interest you in a ‘talk’ when this is over?” Erlinger laughed again. “My dear, many have tried. Most do not remain intact.” “Oh I LIKE you!” the secret police chief replied, grinning. “FOCUS!” barked the Duchess, having traded her pistol for a fallen Barkginian Guard’s shotgun, racking the pump and blowing a Stormtrooper’s masked head off. “We need to reach Grover! At all cost!” An MMG began stuttering above them, carving out wood, feathers and flesh on the Loyalists below. “The enemy holds this staircase and many others, Your Grace!” Mudbeak hollered, fumbling his next reload.  “I’ve sent griffs to fly up the outside and breach from above!” “Where’s the army?!” Gabriela howled, thumbing shells into her weapon as she shook off one of her Ducal Guards trying to pull her out of the line of fire. “Word from the city! Galluzzo’s sending a battalion of Fallschirmjager from the 82nd! We’re expecting them in forty minutes!” “Forty minutes?!” she snapped, picking up a fallen clawful of brass casings and chucking them at the general, who clumsily tried to block the rain of metal. “Forty minutes?! All it takes to kill a child is a second, Mudbeak!” She whipped around to Gerlach, who was carefully reloading his pistol again. He saw the fire in her eyes and knew, for a fact, there’d be no stopping her. He nodded back, then turned, pointing to the Ducal Guards and several other Loyalists nearby. “Alright! You, you, you and you! We’re assaulting this staircase! You’re coming with us! Erlinger, cause as much disruption in their line as you can! Grimwing!” “Smoke out!” she cried, lobbying the mentioned explosive as far as she could. White clouds immediately began billowing out from the canister, and Gerlach nodded before wheeling back to face their soldiers, all of whom were checking their magazines and bracing for the suicidal charge. “Follow us, Loyal Griffs of the Empire! For the Regent! For the Empire! FÜR DEN KAISER!” “FÜR DEN KAISER!” came the return, and the motley force attacked as one, charging up the stairs or taking flight, soaring over the balcony. Duchess Gabriela led these, her shotgun booming. Below, Erlinger glanced around, a frown on his face as he realized something. “King Wingfried?” Then, after a moment, the Inquisitor smiled in realization. General Ferdinand Dawnclaw stood before the entrance of the Child-Kaiser’s room, the bullet-ridden corpses of the fanatically loyal Barkginian Guards lay where they’d fallen, the machine gun he’d hosed the hallway down with smoking and empty on the floor.  He knew what he had to do, the terrible act that he would commit to secure his power. The Kaiser had no real authority, he was merely a figurehead, a pawn to be used by the various political factions that infested the rotting corpse of the Once-Great Empire.  The Generals, the Nobles, the Archons and more. All of them whispering in the boy’s ear, guiding him this way and that, gaining his puppeted voice to give themselves legitimacy. The child had to be removed if the Empire was to survive. And yet, he found himself unable to open the door, something deep in the back of his mind preventing him from doing so.  Would this unforgivable act really be worth it? Absently, he could still hear the shots ring out, his stormtroopers pounding down the halls bolting doors and sealing entrances to hold off the Imperial Guard, the Barkginian Guard, the Knights of both the White Lions and the Black Knights, the nobles’ own various bodyguards, by Arcturius it felt like the whole Empire was coming down on them.  They were badly outnumbered here, and while he had control of this section of the palace for now, it would not last forever. Committing such an act would surely anger the entire Empire.  Even the gods themselves would despise him for his actions. Was taking…-saving- the Empire truly worth it?  Would it be worth the weight of such an evil act? He struggled with himself for a minute, and every second that passed by, he felt as if a noose was tightening around his neck.  Finally, after what felt like hours to the self-proclaimed “Lord Protector” of the Empire, he made up his mind. As he reached for the door, a small part of him prayed for forgiveness.  A larger part salivated at the thought of the power he would soon possess. He paused, his claw about to grasp the ornate knob.  Dawnclaw’s ear twitched, and he slowly turned back. Had he missed one of Benito’s dogs?  No, the Kaiser’s chambers had been protected by a half-dozen Barkginian Guards, and his soldiers had cut this area off from reinforcements.  He took a half-step away from the door, leveling his revolver and slowly thumbing back the hammer, eyes narrowed. For a moment, all he could hear was the background gunfire of the struggle in progress, the yells of wounded griffons and howl of dogs as fighting raged through the halls of the palace.  His Sturmtruppen would prevail, he knew. But something else had him on edge. He could have sworn he’d heard… Wingfried swung out from behind the statue when Dawnclaw scanned the opposite direction.  For a split second, the two were staring each other down a thirty foot hallway, pistols up and ready, moving in to the kill.  Dawnclaw fired first, his bullet soaring past Wingfried’s head and impacting in the stone wall behind the king. Wingfried fired next, but his first shot was also a miss, blowing the head off another statue nearby in a shower of stone and dust.  Dawnclaw fired again, this round coming close and taking a piece of Wingfried’s coat with it. Wingfried’s next bullet, the last in his current magazine, finally landed in the rogue general’s chest. Dawnclaw coughed, hacking up a globule of blood as he looked down, his shaking claw moving from where he’d automatically clapped it to. His talons were crimson and sticky and wet, and his vest was already soaking through. “No…” the general whimpered, grunting as he refused to accept the reality in front of him, struggling for the door to the Kaiser’s room in one final, last ditch effort to accomplish his task. “No! Not like this! I was chosen by the Gods!” his talon scrabbles on the doorknob, trying to find purchase and maybe, just maybe save himself. He heard boots behind him on the carpeted floor as Wingfried slowly advanced, stepping over the bodies of the dog Guards in his way. Dawnclaw tried one more time, lunging for the knob before flopping to the floor in a bloody, undignified heap, loose feathers flying.  He toes over and tried to raise his revolver, only to find his arm too weak. Instead, the claw holding the weapon fell aside, slippery talons unable to grip it. “Dammit, it’s my destiny!” he howled, still unwilling to accept his fate. After reaching the spot where the treasonous general lay drowning in his own blood the Black King reloaded his weapon and leveled it to Ferdinand's head before saying, “Your destiny did not account for me,” as he unceremoniously pulled the trigger. He wasn’t prepared for the silence that followed. Having fought his way through the battle below, his ears still rang.  The final shot after all the bellowing, shooting and blood rushing through his skull still seemed to hold in the air.  Among all the corpses, loyal and traitor, Wingfried stood alone, staring down his gunsight at Dawnclaw’s ruined head, the blood splattered over the Kaiser’s bedroom door.  He paused a moment, taking in the scene before he slowly turned the pistol over, inspecting it before his eyes flitted up to the door itself. Dawnclaw had not yet entered.  There was still a chance, though, that a stray round had pierced the wood. Slowly, he moved for the door.   Given he was still underage, the young Kaiser still slept in his childhood room.  The old Kaiser’s grander quarters sat empty, unused. They would do so until Grover VI was older, and things normalized.  The door swung open to reveal a child’s room, one of an heir apparent of course but still a child. A box full of toys sat off to one side, a low table with chairs in the middle with a play tea set.  A low bookshelf with children's books and a few for older ones, as Grover VI had shown potential in scholarly pursuits. A four-poster bed graced the center, where the finest sheets were laid out and made by the servants.  But the room was dark. No Child-Kaiser inside. He was surprised. Maybe Grover was hiding under the bed, or in the closet. He paused, listening closely.  No sound. Wait. That wasn’t true.  He turned, stepping back into the hallway.  There, again. A sniffle. Muffled, but present.  He moved down the hall, ears perked, pistol up in case any of Dawnclaw’s other traitors came rushing in.  He paused, listening closer. One of the servants, maybe? They must have fled to escape the carnage. But he reached the end of the hallway, peering around the corner.  Nothing. He should be right on top of the noise, but he couldn’t see anygriff, and there were no doors nearby for a creature to be hiding. Then he looked down.  He stood over the body of a Barkginian Guard, white armor and sturdy helmet prominent in the dark hallway.  A puddle of blood leaked into the carpet. The Guard had been shot in the back. But this dog had been at the end of the hallway.  He would have been the furthest from Dawnclaw when the General and his goons had opened fire. Why had he not turned to return fire? And then he saw a small ripple in the blood, just up under the muzzle.  And heard the whimper again. Immediately, he holstered the pistol, claws grabbing at the dog’s armor.  He was a big one alright, but Wingfried was strong from years as a Knight of Hellquill. He hefted, and as the helmet came away, the body of Captain Benito finally rolled over. Underneath, feathers and clothes all askew, covered in the blood of the dog who had saved his life, was Kaiser Grover VI.  A sniffling wreck, clearly having been sobbing under his protector while trying to remain silent lest Dawnclaw find him and kill him.  The boy stared up at Wingfried, eyes wide and claws clasped over his beak as he frantically tried to inch away. At a different time, Wingfried might have found himself ridiculing the child for crying and showing such weakness from one of such high station. Another time, he may have just left the boy to his tears. Time had changed Wingfried, changed Hellquill too.  Lowering himself down to comfort the young Kaiser he spoke softly to him. "You are safe now, Your Excellency. Its okay.  Everything will be okay now." Grover still shook, glancing from Wingfried to Dawnclaw’s corpse and back again, blinking as if trying to clear his eyes.  Wingfried took the chance, gently grasping the Kaiser’s shoulder. For a moment, the boy calmed, his shaking pausing. A clatter rang out behind them, startling the boy as the king looked back. An entire entourage poured out of the stairwell, into the hallway. Barkginian Guards, Imperial Guardsgriffs, Ducal Guards and Knights of the White Lion, surging up like a battered, bleeding tide. At the head was Conrad Silvertalon, his cap missing and his face smeared in blood as he lowered his rifle, confused at the scene before him. “Your Highness?” he asked, more to work it out in his head than to ask a question.  Behind him, several of the Black Knights accompanying him moved to secure the hallway, pausing at the carnage of the scene. Wingfried pointed to Benito. “I believe the Captain yet lives. He put himself between the Kaiser and Dawnclaw’s bullets.” “I need a medic up here!” Silvertalon, ever the soldier, hollered back down the hall, finally able to react. Several Barkginian Guards immediately moved, dragging their captain up and hauling him away for treatment. The dog soldiers paused, looking cautiously on as Wingfried comforted the child, unsure if they should intervene or not. “Is it over?” Grover asked quietly, head turning away from all his loyal soldiers around him back to Wingfried.  The Black King looked to Silvertalon, who shrugged but nodded. More or less done, then. The coup had failed. He turned back to the Child-Kaiser. “Yes. There will be some left to flush out, but they must know by now their leader is dead.” “Sir,” Conrad warned quietly. “The Regents are coming. They know we have him.” Wingfried nodded, standing and holstering his pistol, offering a claw to Grover. The boy appeared to be recovering himself, as he only needed a second to take the offer, pulling up as his wings fluttered, stretching out after being pinned under Benito’s bulk. “Why?” Grover asked quietly, his gaze turning back to Dawnclaw. “Why did he do all this? I did nothing wrong.” “Because you represent strength. A strength he never possessed, but craved terribly,” Wingfried explained. “You are the Kaiser, Your Excellency. One day, you will lead griffonkind to our future.” “Am -I- strong?” Grover asked quietly, looking up to Wingfried. Judging by the noise from the stairs, he would only have a few more moments to speak with the Kaiser, before he was whisked away to safety.  He considered his words carefully before squeezing Grover’s shoulder. “No,” he answered honestly. “You are still a child. A boy, unfamiliar with the world. But…” He knelt down, looking the Kaiser in his watery eyes as Wingfried removed his cap. “You have the potential to become the most powerful griff on the continent. Perhaps even the world. You will command great armies, millions of creatures’ souls and the destiny of the world. On that day, you will be strong. But for now, you must survive.” With that, the dam of tears young Grover had been holding back finally burst, and he threw his arms around his savior, burying his face in Wingfried’s feathers and sobbing.  Though a little caught off guard, the Black King cleared his throat, recovered and reached up, gently patting Grover on the back, letting the Kaiser vent his emotions. Finally, fighting through the parting crowd, Gabriela and Gerlach broke through from the staircase, wings flared wide in agitation. Upon seeing Grover safe and sound, Gabriela's fury evaporated, and she dropped her gun as with one powerful stroke of her wings she cleared the king hallway and landed next to the two of them. “Grover!” she cried, arms outstretched. Relaxing his grip, the Black King released the Kaiser, taking a half step back, his wings fluttering in apprehension.  Still overcome, Grover immediately latched onto his aunt and cried into her neck as she cradled him like he was her own child. She looked up at Wingfried, her expression unreadable as she comforted her nephew. Then, after a moment, she appeared to make a decision, and nodded silently before she returned to shushing Grover gently, stroking his fuzzy plumage gently. A claw fell on Wingfried's shoulder as Grand Duke Gerlach stepped up next to him. “In the nick of time. Thank you, Wingfried. We cannot thank you enough.” “I did what I had to,” the blue griffon replied, his face impassive. “For the Empire.” “Yes, indeed…” Gerlach appeared lost in thought for a moment, watching his wife and young Kaiser with intensity before glancing around at the hallway, packed with soldiers and Imperial officers, watching the event carefully, many of them looking awkward in the bloody hall, watching several powerful figures in such an emotional state.  Then, as if inspired, the Grand Duke turned back. “King Wingfried von Katerinburg, of the Hellsword Territories. We brought you here to both decorate you and judge your intentions. Though this incident was unfortunate, it allowed you an opportunity to prove your mettle, and your loyalty. I am ashamed to say a mere medal is not enough to reflect our appreciation for the tremendous act of rescuing not only the Kaiser, but the Captain of the Barkginian Guard, and perhaps the Empire itself. Here and now before these witnesses, as a reward for your actions abroad and at home, I name you Lord Protector of the Kaiserreich.” The entire hallway was stunned. Duchess Gabriela stared up at her husband, flabbergasted, while Grover (who had recovered) sniffled and watched on, eyes flitting back and forth between the adults, all of them trying to understand what was happening. Fortunately, Wingfried seemed the first to comprehend, and he bowed his head. “Thank you, Your Grace.  This is a great honor.” “Don’t be too pleased yet,” Gerlach quipped, smirking a bit.  “This is a great responsibility. I’m putting under your charge the former Imperial territories to the east and south.  This war against the League will end, and soon. And when it does, our eyes will turn west. Must turn west. Our enemies will come for us.  Soon. But I need eyes on the east. Cyanolisia has already fallen. Prywhen is in the communists’ claws. Blackrock is...well, you know. But we can still save all of these.”  He raised an eyebrow. “You understand what I’m charging you with.” Wingfried nodded without hesitation, the cap back on his blue plumage.  “Yes, Your Grand Grace.” “Then go.  Gather your griffs.  I’ll contact you with the plans.  In the meantime, we need to fix...well, this.”  He gestured to the ruination they were standing in, wincing as his eyes set on Dawnclaw again.  “It’s just more proof we need to clear our own ranks first. Then the League.” He looked to Gabriela, who looked displeased, but still had said nothing, eyes flitting from Gerlach to Wingfried to Silvertalon.  In her arms, Grover watched Wingfried carefully, his blue eyes wide and fixated. Suddenly a little uneasy, Wingfried bowed once more. “Your Excellency.”  He began to turn away, pausing to look back at Grover one last time.  “Remember...survive. There will be many more trials ahead.” And with that, the Black King, now Lord Protector of the Griffonian Empire, gathered his Black Knights and set out.  There was no time to waste, after all. Operation Tartarus was about to begin. The Celestial Sea Mayday, mayday.  This is SS Sunny Hauler.  We’re drastically off-course, our navigation equipment is malfunctioning and the fog is preventing us from seeing the stars.  According to our charts, we should be in the middle of the ocean, but we’re seeing reefs and rocks coming out of the water. Last known coordinates were two-five degrees north, negative seven-one degrees east.  We’ve seen shapes moving in the water, suspect sea serpents in the area. Any station receiving, please respond. I say again, we are- Wait...is that...singing?  What is… (The voice gets quieter, as if the sender has moved away from the radio but forgotten he’s set something on the ‘Talk’ button) Thorn, what in Celestia’s tits is that?...That noise?...The singing? Island?  What island?  We’re in the middle of the ocean you bucking idiot.  Wha-...wait, I think I see it... Tirek’s balls...shit, get us away from there!  Hard to starboard, hard to- Thorn, what in Tartarus are you- (The radio squeals before falling silent)