//------------------------------// // 1. Payday // Story: Das Leben ist kein Ponyhof // by Staleprate //------------------------------// “Well Putzi, have we got enough in the ol’ account for a wild night out?” rumbled out the griffon with a wide, liquored up smile. Fleidgling recoiled back as he caught a whiff of the drink in the griffon’s breath, mumbling to himself as he worked. “Soldat, plus extra pay for location. None in escrow. Thirty Idols due.” He counted out the drunken soldier’s pay at a steady tempo, tapping the Idols out in a neat stack on the empty ration crates that were his “desk.” Several smaller crates made the “chair” he sat on. This peculiar furniture was due to the fact that it would have been quite strange to haul a desk outside. The local commander lacked Fliedgling’s conviction for an orderly “pay parade” and refused his office for the duty. This left the disgruntled Paymaster subject to not only drunken soldiers, but to the dissident mosquito population. Not one seemed to care though, despite how many times he had submitted reports to rectify this. Fleidgling looked up at the griffon. The soldier’s anticipation for the coins wracked his body, from head to swishing tail. The lack of propriety, of respect to be found in these parts was disgraceful, a far cry from the discipline expected of the Empire’s soldiers. Fleidgling conceded though, that it was preferable to the draconian nature of service in the Heartlands, where his fellow graduates from the esteemed Löwburg Academy served. Even so, his posting in the hostile jungles of the south had to have been a mistake. One of many the Empire made. “Accc-H-tung!” barked a voice from behind with the sweet dulcet tone of a talon tearing through drywall. It was hard to not straighten up when Korporal Guntram started to crack the whip. “Is that the way you ah-dress a suh-perior officer?” Guntram seethed, as he strolled into view displaying an immaculately pressed uniform. Korporal Guntram was an exception. A bastion of Herzlander discipline among these animals. Guntram was assigned to escort Fleidgling wherever they went, but how that griffon never choked on his spittle left Fleidgling in wonder. “Welllll Puht-zi, have we got enough in the oolllll’ account for a wild night out?“ Guntram mocked, lowering his face close to the Soldat’s own. He whipped back up and puffed his breast out with a salute towards the sky. “The proper address is ‘Soldat Berggreif! Reporting for pay, sir!’” Fleidgling rolled his eyes at the spectacle. “Zealot...”. As much as Fleidgling enjoyed the treatment befitting of an officer he wasn’t fond of the army nor the Empire. Any notion of imperial glory had been long dispelled by the numerous failures of the throne: the loss of the Idol of Boreas, the cession of territories to upstart nobility, and the rise of radical thought undermined any confidence that remained. “Eh? What’re you?” slurred the Soldat. His eyes swirled circles in their sockets as he tried to track Guntram’s movement. He would have toppled over if Guntram wasn’t in his path. “Bah!” Guntram caught him in his talons, and threw him back up with disgust.“Come to attention!” The Korporal’s words snapped the soldier out of it. He stiffened immediately and flew up to his feet. “Eyes front! Salute!” Fleidgling watched with idle curiosity but sat up and schooled his face into a neutral expression. On cue, the soldier's head leveled forward to meet Fleidgling’s gaze as he shot an arm up in salute. It was done with such vigor that he punched his own helmet with a clang, sending it spinning around on his head. “Address the officer as told!” Guntram’s voice boomed. “Soldat Berggreif! Reporting for pay, sir!” The griffon stood at attention, breathing heavily. “Mhm. Sign here please,” Fleidgling said pointing to an empty spot in the paybook on the desk. Berggreif scrawled a barely comprehensible signature, but technically valid nonetheless. Fleidgling stamped another empty spot in the booklet and handed Berggreif the Idols. Fleidgling returned the salute with a grunt and the soldier turned about to march off with the transfer done. Guntram, ultimately satisfied that order was restored, moved back to his position behind the desk. And the next griffon in line moved up. “Good day Sir, Zugsführer Branchstatter. I have come to collect my pay.” Fleidgling already heard Guntram huffing and puffing behind him. He released a silent groan, tipping his sun helmet down over his eyes and began counting out the Idols… --- The sun hung low. Stamp. The line was at its end. Stamp. Guntram’s voice had not given out. Stamp. “Halt! You do not dismiss yourself, you will wait until the Hauptgreif returns your salute!” Fleidgling dragged his talon up in salute, exhausted. It was hardly proper but it counted, allowing the last soldier to leave. He hung his head over the desk, eyes trying to close for a few moments to rest, but finally began tying up the sack of remaining coins. It was nearly empty; this was his and Guntram’s final distribution on the islands. They were due to board a transport back to the mainland in just a few hours, where they would rest several days, restock their Idols, and take a tour around the islands once more. The whole affair typically lasted three weeks, start to finish. “Permission to speak freely, sir?” Guntram came up to the desk and began taking the crates forming it to a nearby stockpile. Fleidgling lamented the Korporal’s formality as he packed up his station. “Yes, yes, permission granted. At ease, Korporal.” “These Schweinkatzen must learn proper procedure. I tell you, such insolence should be punished severely!” Guntram set another cluster of crates down, dropping them from higher above the ground than he should have. “Indeed. No matter how many complaints I may send to their officers, nothing will happen. It is truly a disgrace.” Fleidgling added with similar annoyance. “Hmph! I should hope that once the Kaiser finally takes to the throne, we will see a golden era, the likes of which will surpass even the reign of Grover I” the Korporal said, looking in the direction of Griffenheim. “If one griffon is all it takes to bring an Empire to its knees, one griffon is all it takes to stand that Empire back on its legs.” “Maybe somebody like that would recognize the work we’re doing here. If only they had more dedicated griffons like us,” Fleidgling replied. His mind conjured up images of himself as a wealthy, decorated general going to parties and enjoying himself without a care. But he shook such thoughts from his head as he returned to the present. “Right. That’s another trip done, let's get down to the docks and ferry ourselves back to Thymíaustadt for our own pay.” Fleidgling checked his uniform and bags to make sure that nothing was forgotten or stolen. “Check your pockets, Guntram. You can never be too careful around these types.” Satisfied with his own item-check, he waited for Guntram to finish and shoulder his musket before striding down towards the docks. The Korporal marched with his head held high behind him. “Ein-zwei-drei-vier! Ein-zwei-drei-vier!” Guntram sounded out his own march for the rest of the trip, in the absence of anybody else willing to do so.