//------------------------------// // Intermission: Last words of Boreas. // Story: DOOM of Griffonstone! // by ShadowStar_IMHP //------------------------------// Written on the walls of the grand chamber (throne room). I am Boreas the last sage of the Griffons. With my last breath, I record these words for you, our descendants. We were greedy, selfish, and cruel. Our lands have few fields to grow crops. Farmland is a prime territory. What meat we get is fish, goats, and sheep, grazing animals that can survive in the harsh rocky hills. In those early days we fought over our food supply, so much fighting we perhaps destroyed more food then we ate. Our fields were bathed in blood. There are five great tribes. The mysterious and cunning Ravens, The swift and savage Falcons, The sharp and territorial Eagles, The high flying Hawks, and the silent stalkers of the night the Owls. All share in our guilt; all our talons are coated in the blood of those we slew. Because of the fighting, the different griffon types grouped together. Our community homes were our dens. Dug into the great hills, we don’t know who started this practice, nor how it began. We believe it was a group of griffons that hid in a cave, then expanded the cave into the first Den. The Dens had only three openings. A chimney so smoke from our fires could escape, a waste shute to dump our trash and wastewater. There was only one entrance large enough for a Griffon to enter or exit. The opening was guarded at all times by the strongest of us. Strong doors of wood protected the young from raiders. Those same doors doomed the young. Our sin… greed. Our punishment, our cubs. The bright sky turned dark as the moon moved unnaturally over the sun. The day became night in an instant, and the ground shook and rolled with its anger. We all made mistakes, and we all suffered. The Ravens in a rare moment fled into their den perhaps knowing what was happening, they went to get their young. They were not fast enough as the very den collapsed crushing all within. Those that died instantly were the lucky ones. Owls reacted flew out of their Den thinking they were under attack. The strongest and bravest, none were strong enough to dig open the doorway once the tunnel collapsed. Boulders block the passageway. Those on the outside could hear the screams and cries of those trapped within. Until they couldn’t. Similar events happened at the other Dens. Not one cub, hatchling, or fledgling escaped. The Eagles even saw some cubs were shoved down the waste shute in an attempt to save them. Grover confessed that he broke down seeing a young talon hand sticking out of the dirt. So close to safety, the shute collapsed on those within. Grover in his grief, he lead a group of surviving Eagles to the Hawks. He didn’t attack he commanded the others to try to help dig out those trapped within. He took charge and commanded others to the other dens. For the first time in our known history, no one cared to fight. We were one group fighting against dread with nothing but our faint hope to save some of the young no matter what blood they were. All were Griffons, and all were lost. Four days, we dug, four days we heard the cries, four days our talons bled with our struggles. Till the crying stopped. We still tried, but we knew it was too late. One day Grover leads the survivors to the Shattered Hill. Together we shared our food, together we grieved. Together we planned. I am the last of the sages. My magical learning was plant craft. Growing the food faster then the crops would grow normally. I was not taught magic to affect the ground. All my power, all my spells, and they were useless. I was helpless nothing I tried could move the rocks trapping the others. The protective enchantments to stop casters from blasting into the den with spells stopped my attempts to save the trapped. Magic was hoarded. Without magic in our bodies, we couldn’t fly, we spell casters were always careful not to waste a single spell. I gave everything I had for the grand project. All my power all my knowledge, and here at the end of my very life. A great tree grew to provide shelter to our kind. A new city all tied to a magical artifact crafted by the best metalsmiths we had. Every enchantment tied to the Idol, it just needs one last thing. The enchantments will fade without an offering. So here in the great chamber of the new castle, I give everything I have, using my own life force to make these enchantments permanent. Griffon magic casters are rare. Only few times in our history were our numbers higher than five to a den. The others died in the great quake. Griffon spell casters need there magic awakened, without me there no one who would know the signs of a caster. I hope one day when there are enough griffons a caster’s magic is reawakened. If you are this caster I’m sorry I would not be there to see you cast your first spell and let the magic dance among your talons. Griffons do not forget. Greed and hate are easy, we instinctively seek to hunt alone. We are not animals slaves to our instincts. Please with this my dying wishes never forget we are more than savages WE ARE ALL GRIFFONS!