//------------------------------//
// Chapter Four: Springtime 
// Story: Ballad of Knights and Peasants 
// by FeldmarschallTwiggs 
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In a beautifully bright and clear day in March. The sky was a lovely blue. Griffons were going about their day, doing business, and having nice chats. Sounds of factories roared in the distance. And in this day, the weekly military parade was conducted. The sounds of griffons going about their lives was rudely interrupted by the loud and bombastic marching music, with massive artillery guns and tanks being driven down the main street, and the black clad soldiers marching in tune. Their faces were stone cold and showed little to no emotion. There was a difference from professionalism, and excellent programming. Griffons, every single time the weekly parade happened, always cheered. Never were they tired of their lives constantly being interrupted, harassed, and even ruined, because of what the Reformisten had done. Gunther had always attended these parades. And cheered along. Not because he wanted to.



Every griffon was forced to take a purity test, as is new policy. No matter if you were a child coming straight from the womb, or a near death griff on death's door, you had to take one. As in the words of the Führer, "Any proper griff should be completely pure. From the mind, the body, and even to your very genetics. And if you're not pure, well then that explains everything, now does it?" Gunther took his purity test, and was expectedly, "a pure enough griffon". He was completely griffon until he reached his great-great-great-great-grandfather who was a Longswordian pony. Gunther still received a nasty glare from the chief tester. At least he wasn't "perverted by pony magic, rotting his brain and soul."



The traditional Temples that worshipped the old griffonian gods like Boreas, and Maar had been abolished. Replaced by the Sturmgreife propped up Ogledd society. Their teachings state, in short, that the griffons are not only the master race, but were meant to be gods amongst all creatures. And that the only reason they haven't reached their potential, is because of the disgusting pony magic, like from the tyrannical sisters in Equestria itself. All schools have required young chicks to be taught this as well. And any old Temple naysayer who disagrees, quickly goes away. Gunther makes sure to tune in to his daily bread every day.



In order to prevent any further naysayers from propping up and disrupting the regime, the Abwehr was formed. Made up of the most clever, ingenious, and sadistic Waffen-S.G. members alive, they fight the good fight against the secret seditious elements of the great Hellquillian society, and make sure to expose traitors who didn't even know they were traitors. Gunther used to remember the sly shop owner who sold him gems. Now he doesn't. The tailor did have a plan for that though. He knew full well he could not keep up a lie for long, or even attempt to hide an earth pony. So, he just had to prevent it from happening at all. The Abwehr was just a subdivision of the Sturmgreife, and Quill had recently been promoted to Oberführer of the Swordsson region in the long-ago integrated Longsword. Both him and Gunther were a little confused as to why he even got it in the first place, but he soon realized after the constant pipe bombs received in his mail by pony partisan remnants. He surprisingly didn't mind though, and was just glad to be away from the obnoxious fools in the capital. So Gunther decided to write him a letter, requesting immunity. Obviously, he couldn't just say he was hiding a pony in his home, so he made up another crime that he "committed". "Illegal Nimbusian silk imports, perfect!" The tailor thought. As horrid as it sounds being tortured by sadistic griffs who enjoy seeing you squirm, it's quite easy to avoid it entirely if you know the right people.



But by no means was living a normal life easy in anyway. There was still the matter of keeping Hazel away from the outside at all times. Being wary of the constant stream of curious Sturmgreife troops, who disregard boundaries. The feeling you're being watched. "Praising", all the gross propaganda spewed, and making sure that one keeps up the façade of a nationalistic, party loving citizen. And then the hardest obstacle of all, the mental strain. The stress, of trying to do all these and more. The paranoia, the nightmares, and the feeling of dread and horror that one day, Gunther and Hazel may be found out. Even with his new found wealth, the tailor had to save it. One, it was unwise to recklessly spend money, and one must always be content. And two, because that would draw more attention. But no matter what, Gunther could not abandon a friend, and he had to remain brave and diligent.



Though, all of that could not prepare the two for when the Führer called for the Grand Crusade. And released the Purple Plague.



It was all over the papers, and all over the propaganda films. A once unknown plague, lost to time, now revived by this madgriff and his horrid regime. This finally made Hellquill noticed by the many global powers, and none were glad about this recent development. The fascists in Wingbardy, while not wanting the Riverponies to become a dominant power, couldn't stand for the barbarism and sheer genocide committed by Wingenberg. The theocratic Griffonian Empire to the west similarly looked in disgust, for they were an empire of all races, and didn't care to cause more divide. But, one of the bigger concerns was over the abolishment of the Temples, which the Imperial Regent, Archon Eros personally condemned with fiery tenacity. And to the Equestrians fighting their own war for survival against the Changelings, quickly grew even more ferocious as now they saw that ponykind in the east was being exterminated, and deemed that this was the final battle between their own existence, and their extinction. And to the River Coalition, words on paper couldn't express what they felt when hundreds of thousands of their people, in every nation, perished to the plague. Newborns, coming into life, and then simultaneously having it taken away from them. The once healthiest pony, now being reduced to a mere sickly mass. And such an outbreak was not contained. Infection rates were astonishingly high, and all the Coalition could do was watch their people die. And all the madgriff in Hellquill could do was laugh. This was Hellquill's Endsieg, their great revenge, their final victory. The lights in Ost-Griffonia were beginning to wither away, and in this lifetime, none may see them shine again.



All griffons had been mobilized for this long prepared war. Even Gunther. Not all of it was for frontline combat. Gunther had been "contracted", by the gracious quartermaster who "requested", that he design a new elite uniform, that specializes in the the mountainous terrain of several Coalition nations. In fact, most businesses had been "contracted", by the government to contribute in the war effort. Females had been made to work in the factories, since they were not allowed to fight in the frontlines. The thing that scared both Hazel and Gunther, was that the screams in the ghetto had stopped. They hadn't heard them in a long while. In fact, no pony was seen for a while. Gradually, they became less and less apparent, until one day, they were no more.



Letters from Johanne became more frequent, and each time, Gunther became more and more worried. Being a commander of one of the frontline regions, he got the brunt of all the resistance, and authorized the ultimate destruction of it. Not only was resistance a problem, bombing raids were also incredibly frequent. Hellquill had been heavily militarized and was surrounded by the many AA guns, but Longsword was not. While integrated, it was always absurdly difficult to get anything done, or built there. "The bombing raids happen so often. Every time I hear any sort of loud noise, I instinctually run to the bunker near my office. Everyone laughs whenever it happens, in fact, they are the source of the more recent noises. Bastards, I've been thinking of having them all court martialed for gross negligence. But I can't. The velvet suit, remember that? Well, I decided to add some little touchups to it myself. And I must say, this might be some of my finest work. All thanks to you of course. This might be my last letter in a while, because I am going to be transfered closer to the Lake City front. Many victories there, the filth have been running away whenever our boys in black come in. But I will try to keep in contact. And someday we may meet again. Provided, the newest pipe bomb doesn't blow me up that is." That was Johanne's most recent letter. It scared Gunther, because his friend is constantly at the risk of death, and his transfer makes that chance even greater. And, because Hellquill was winning.



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"Hazel, Hazel, where have you gone to?" Gunther shouted, not too loud though. "I'm over here, Gunther, on the bed." The pony said. It was barely audible, so the griff went to check. "What are you doing?" He asked. "I'm lying down. Doing nothing. Because we can't do nothing. *I*, can't do nothing. Gunther, we need to realize, that Hellquill will win. We will be found. And we will die. Why, do we have to extend the inevitable, staying in that damned shop, doing the same routine, over and over? Is this what you want? I know you like your consistency, but we might as well be dead already." The tailor always knew she was unhappy, so this came to no surprise. He explained his reasoning. "Hazel, I can't just leave my shop, this is my life. It's what my purpose is. Just because these times are bad, doesn't mean they will never end. We have survived in peacetime, and we continue to do so in wartime. Who's to say the madgriff won't fall?" Hazel quickly chipped in and gave her reasoning. "Gunther, I love you and your optimism, but you need to wake up! Who's to say the Sturmgreife won't crack down on their corruption? Who's to say your little damn 'friend', won't blow himself up and in turn remove your immunity? Anything can go wrong, you naïve griffon! We need to get out of this place! We have to risk it! Because I will not live a pathetic life, and die a pathetic death!" The tailor stared blankly at the pony. She had to be wrong, she just had to. There is always hope for the future. He cannot abandon that. He could feel his frustration and stress rising to great levels, and knew this was not good for his being. When he began to speak, to offer one more rebuttal, the griff's breathing became labored. Both of them noticed, and she got up to get him some water. He sat down to collect himself, and breathe in. And out. The water was from the tap, and very poorly filtered. But he still drank it all down. "Calm yourself Gunther, we will speak of this later. I don't want to further damage you." The earth pony said. He stared at her. Her eyes were so kind, so confident. They reassured him of some hope. Gunther couldn't lose Hazel. But he couldn't abandon his life either. It was what kept him sane. And, at the same time, kept him insane.



When he heard the radio begin to speak, he thought he was hallucinating sounds. Reality was already broken. Only small fragments remained, and they scattered and few. When he heard that Hellquill had won the Crusade, he laughed. It was incredibly funny. He kept laughing and laughing. The voice in the radio kept going on, and spoke about a "formation of the Ost-Griffonian Empire." Gunther couldn't stop, it was so comical. Why wasn't Hazel laughing? She had to, this was the most nonsense they've both heard in a while. Absolutely no way. What was once a few minutes became a few hours. There some pauses in between laughter but he kept on. It was the best medicine after all, yes? It was only until the moment he heard air raid sirens that he snapped back to reality. "What's going on?!" Gunther asked Hazel. She was scared, terrified even. No words came from her mouth. "What happened? Why are you shaking?" He stepped closer, and she stepped back. The griffon didn't remember a thing that happened. It was suddenly darker out, all of a sudden. Why were there troops out? What's happening? The sirens were still blaring, and he had no idea why.



Someone was banging on the door. Very loud. And it went on for a long while. Gunther raced to it to find that it was Johanne. And he two Sturmgreife troops with him. They all were armed with submachine guns, and were wearing their combat uniform. Even Johanne, except it was the version the both of them worked on. The velvet suit was covered completely in medals. A lot of them weren't even related to his role, and were most likely stolen. His peaked cap had the symbol of the S.G. on it, and had many signatures of different names. The lad even put some fake wings on the back, as if he was some Prywhenian hussar. "Gunther! Hahahah, it's so good to see you again!" Quill hugged him, and he had an astonishing hold. "I know, these aren't really the best conditions, the assholes to the west like to invade when were weak, but I'm sure we'll get out of this a-ok." Gunther tried very hard to comprehend and respond. "We're... at war? With the Empire?" "Oh yes, we just finished wiping out the east, and since we're pretty tired, they decided to go after us. Don't worry, me and my boys will defend the city real good." Gunther stood there. Johanne saw, and sighed before he began to speak once more. "Actually, I came to say goodbye, my friend. I don't wish to involve you in this fight. I'm aware it's affected you greatly. And frankly, I think it's about time I go and be an actual soldier for once. Couldn't hurt, right? Hehe." Gunther had many emotions at that moment. While his friend was part of a terrible organization, he knew he was good inside. He knew that he wasn't a bad griff. Tears fell from them both. The velvet clad griffon and tailor embraced each other, one last time. Before Johanne noticed Hazel peeking out the kitchen. The moment of solidarity quickly dissolved, and the Oberführer marched heavily towards the now stunned equine. He pushed her to the ground, and proceeded to place his paw right on her chest, pinning the pony down. "What is this, THING, doing here? WHO ARE YOU, VERMIN?" The Sturmgreife yelled. The two of his accompanied troops pointed their guns at her, and Gunther. "NO! Johanne please! Do not harm her!" Gunther yelped. "What, you mean, you know this filth? You?!" The voice of Quill was filled with rage, and hate. "Yes, she's my friend. Just like how you are mine as well." When the tailor said that, the look on Johanne went from anger, to shock. His squinted eyes widened, and his dark grey feathers flared. Just like how Gunther's did when they first met. "How can you tell me, you treat this thing, with the same treatment you give me? How could you? Please, oh please don't tell me you're not lying. Please just tell me you're messing with me. I cannot have my friend be a degenerate!" The hurt look in his eyes were genuine. The griff couldn't believe it. "Johanne, I know you're beliefs. I know how you feel. All the bombs, all the lies, all the war, it has hurt you and me. But if you respected me, as your friend, you would understand why I have Hazel with me. I plead to you, don't hurt her." Quill began to tear up, and shout. "You lied to me! For that damned immunity, you said it was for that damn Nimbusian silk!" He laughed after that. But he began again. "You never told me! Am I nothing more than a burden? Another obstacle in this, fucking game?" The tailor stood his ground. "NO! You are my friend Quill. But she is my friend as well. I did and said what I did to protect her. Just how I would do the same for you. I could've extorted you, I could've easily reported you for the slander against Wingenberg. You're big mouth could've gotten you killed if I was the kind of griffon you accuse me of. But I never did. You're secrets were kept with me. Friends have to protect each other. And thus, I had to protect Hazel." The S.G. troops pointed their guns further, but the defeated looking Johanne raised his talon. He frowned, his eyes were full of sadness. The playful attitude withered away. "Gunther. I cannot forgive you. I trusted you, and I'm afraid it has been broken, no matter how much you convince me other wise. But I, as a griffon, respect you enough to let this vermin go. And as a friend, I respect you enough to leave you alone." Then, he began to walk to the door. And as he opened it, he said a few last words. "Thanks for the suit, Gunther. A shame we couldn't settle for some silk instead."



The tailor looked on as Johanne Quill left the shop, with a broken heart, knowing his friend betrayed him. Gunther looked, and hung his head. His talons were filthy. The floor was as well. Things were not the same. When the bombers soared through the skies, eradicating the city slowly, Gunther could only stare. He used his eyes so much, yet had such poor perception of reality. Hazel slowly trotted to him. "Thank you. You saved my life. Thank you." The griffon looked at the pony, and stated. "And I lost one of my only friends. Maybe I was meant to be alone." "Don't say that Gunther. Sometimes, people leave you in life. But don't let it grieve you, no one leaves for good. You are not alone." The griffon saw the pony's eyes once more, her reassuring gaze, her kind nature. She meant it. And he knew she meant it.



Anti-air guns fired and brought the war back to the two creatures. "Come with me, there is a cellar outside we can go to!" The two ran to the outside and saw the bombed, war-torn city. The market in the distance was burning to ashes, and left nothing standing. Gunther could see even young chicks fighting against the monarchists. Not even children, but the elderly, and women too. No one was spared to fight. All had to commit against the violent call of the Fatherland. Artillery shells blasted, and shots were constantly fired. The sound was too much, and the ringing began. Gunther covered his ears, but could still hear the accursed ringing. It was awful. His paws felt as if they constantly were being stabbed through. It was unbearable. This was the most pain he felt in his life. A few feet more, the griffon and equine reached the cellar and bunkered there.



In the cellar, the two waited out the fighting. It was horrible. The ringing continued, and once the adrenaline went away, the injuries became noticed. Shrapnel had tore through Gunther's hindleg, and was bleeding heavily. It wasn't severe, but the griff's pain told him otherwise. He looked to Hazel, she was scared. Anyone would, but her expression seemed as though she had accepted the fate that would come to her. "Gunther, if we don't make it. I love you. Even if I die an agonizing death, know I still do." The grey-feathered griffon embraced her tightly, and said the same. "I love you too Hazel. If Maar takes my soul, I hope he takes yours too. Or maybe that wouldn't be the best thing to happen." They laughed. It seems they've found friendship within each other. And with that, they both passed out.



The sky was finally clear. The fires had stopped, and the sounds of tanks driving loudly down the street intensified. Soldiers could be heard singing several marching songs, and quite off tune as well. The fighters in the air were accompanied by screams of victory. The two friends had risen up from a lengthy nap, and went to open the cellar door to the outside. Outside, they see a truck with several soldiers in it waving the flag of the Griffonian Empire. Signifying, that the Ost-Griffonian Empire had fallen. The war was lost. They got on their paws and hooves to see the damage fully. Prisoners of war were being dragged out of hiding places, and gunshots could be heard. Several Sturmgreife officers and troops were seen being marched by the victorious Empire's soldiers to Boreas knows where. And among that crowd, Johanne Quill was seen. His velvet uniform was torn up, and riddled with the blood of his comrades, and with with shrapnel. His face was not spared. He had several recent scars on on the sides, and was smothered in dirt and grime. The griff had noticed the gazing of the two, and saw them himself. Both Johanne and Gunther looked at each other. It seemed that the officer would be angry, but simply looked tired. He had accepted the fate of both him and his friend. While he was being escorted, he nodded his head to Gunther, with the tailor doing the same. They smiled.



The shop was gone. As is to be expected with bombers, they didn't hold any love for any enemy building. Gunther looked upon his livelihood with sadness. But his stages of grief were short, and quickly came to accept it. His passion, was gone. His country, conquered. His friend, taken away. It seemed that it was all gone. But, he could begin again. It will be hard, but entirely possible. And with a friend by his side, it was even more likely. "Well Hazel," Said Gunther Schneider. "This was one long day. Let's go to the pub in the barracks, drinks on me."