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// Gile Romp, Journey log, Day 0 
// Story: Stormgate: The Coronation of Galient and Thessia 
// by Glorious Birb Leader 
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Out of retirement again, it'd seem. It would be remiss of me to say that I am not excited at least, as it's come to my understanding that a far-flung region of the world has remained undiscovered. I happened by a typically unusual sight on my vacation to the small town of Ponyville when I bore witness to a giant of a creature. A griffon, no doubts about it in all but the sheer size of the being. For a visual idea of the beast, he stands clean over double my height. It'd be rude to ask, but I am an average 4'5'' for mare standards. Even holding back what rude questions I'd normally poise, I postured a joke about it. He seemed an agreeable sort, having pulled a chuckle from him. 

"Ain't noth'n to it, s'typical size for my folk." He'd state with a simplicity and honesty I couldn't contest. His accent sounded nothin unheard of at the apple acres, though deep and matured. It was then I took notice of him better, having been able to address him. He was etched all over in what I had mistaken as stretch marks initially but were, in fact, scars, all sorts of shapes and sizes too, coating every part of his body from head to tail. Parts where you'd scarcely imagine what could cause such things, were it not for the growth of his feathers and fur to lightly cover up all the marks you'd think it a-typical of fur patterning, or welts from working on hard labor or matted patching from tight clothing. He must've caught me staring a bit at that since he'd chuckle again and wave a claw in my face. Despite my embarrassment, I'd settle myself with a proper apology and a less proper introduction.

"Gile Romp, expeditionary extraordinaire!" He'd take quite a positive response to that with a firm grip that nearly crushed my hoof! The shake was quite rough too, might I add. Oh, if anyone else is reading this, HANDS OFF MY JOURNAL! Unless you give it a good review and afford proper royalties. Mama's gotta eat.

"Draneth Isle, retired adventurer!" This piqued my interest, as nothing is quite as intriguing as a like-minded individual. So much so it was enough to ignore the pinching pain in my wrist from his rather energetic, even by my standards, introduction. Unfortunately for me, he was quite busy at the time but managed to find a time to talk after his 'duties' as he called it. Could've sworn I hear someone snicker from nearby at that too. Did a bit of sleuthing while I waited, heard around town he isn't exactly scarce, but only arrives to work on the local farms during harvest season. Gossip says that he's definitely an outlander, and not just Griffonstone far, but beyond known regions. This would certainly come up often when next we met. 

He had invited me to his home, and upon entering it was rather surreal, a large, bustling home, enough to fit a full family of six, but given his size thinking back now it makes a lot more sense. Despite this, it was empty of all other people than just the two of us. It was obvious he had a big family, a score of three hippogriff kids, and a rather bulky earth pony wife. Then again, I doubt any other creature of somewhat normal stature can even manage the big guy. I asked if anybody else was around. That pulled a familiar look of pained joy, and I knew the moment what his next words were.

"Kids're living their own lives now." An off-steady breath betrayed his attempted calm. It was more than obvious he missed them greatly, and I dared not to ask of the misses. Pulling away from that sour topic, I'd instead reengage with the one of interest before, trying to pry in on his previous exploits. That breathed life into the older gent as he opened right up with a smile and a challenging chuckle.

"Swappin' stories already? That's tavern talk." Despite those words, he couldn't help but regale an old tale he himself took part in, even gesturing to a suit of metal plate armor he claimed to have worn, still upkept and shiny in its glass. Said he used to tell it to his kids when they were young and still argued about who got top bunk that night. It was far more mature than I was expecting, and I've taken its entirety as told to pen in another section for review later, much to his annoyance, might I add. Wasn't exactly something I'd tell my kids about, but, according to him, it was their favorite tale of his. I asked him about this Stormgate, as it was something I'd never heard of.

"It's where I was born, though it ain't a friendly neighborhood, I'll tell ya that much. Nothin' like the sheer quiet of Equestria, even when those weird'n crazy folk come 'round, but it does have its moments." Holding back, he expressed discomfort talking about his old homeland. "Ain't for normal pony folk," what a joke. Made it clear I wasn't taking no for an answer either, so I got him to finally spill.

"It's a warzone, ever and always. While you may think that story ends with peace, it never does." A cold sternness in his voice startled me, his accent dropping entirely, taking the time to speak clearly, deliberately. "It's a death land, beguiling onlookers to entice them to enter, and never to leave." To point out the hypocrisy in that statement, I addressed him being here with me at the time. "Am I? Sometimes I have trouble believing I ever did. Like it still has a grip on me, always pulling me back. Perhaps I should." Against the chill up my spine, I prodded for a bit more information about it, offering that maybe I will attempt an official hearing for an expedition. "You'll never make it by foot, I'm afraid. Took me five years to make it to Equestria, and I only made it here alone. If by traditional means, you'll need naval and land transport. Such a trip could take... a year I'd estimate one way. If by airship and good weather, maybe two or three months, assuming it can transport enough food and water to survive such a trip." 

"Airship it is." Reminder to self to pull that favor from Fancy Pants. 

"Still not possible. Not without me, anyway." He put a pause between, trying to sound dramatic. It was apparent he was correct, seeing as though he's the only one I've known about to talk about this place. I questioned him about the validity of this place finally, for if I was going to commit to a full commission, I'd need some kind of proof for the sponsor I'd be needing. He'd offer me a single item to prove it true.

"The battle standard of Clan Isle." He'd present with pride, staking it into the floor of his front yard. As it did so a small wave of magical energy rushed out from it, making my heart rush in my chest, not of my means either, as a sort of adrenaline rush overcame me. The fabric of hardened, reinforced threading the likes I've never seen, presenting an emblem of three feathers upon a small knife or dagger. Retracting the banner from the punctured floor, I've since taken it for appraisal. Three historians, a tailor, a local mage, and a close colleague of mine all agree it to be of unique creation. I've since taken their written accounts and signatures for proof and validity. 

This has got to be my most hastily written excerpt to date. I haven't even finished paying for this new damned journal, and already I've filled three pages. That concludes day zero, at least. Tomorrow I make for Canterlot to present my case to the Princesses. No doubt I'll be given a handsome sponsor, just need to work out a team now.