//------------------------------// // While in Griffonia... More specifically, Zaphzia // Story: The Scramble for Equestria (A Pre-EAW Story) // by Radical Centrist //------------------------------// The scene seemed staged. Two griffons that wore what was considered 'noble apparel' in Zaphazia lay prostrated, their beaks narrowly missing contact from the dirt below. While the last of similar clothing stood holdfast between them, his form expanded, as if to prepare for an immediate confrontation. Across of them were five pompous figures of Herzlander stock, two clearly guards from their still-adorned armour despite the presumed safety guaranteed inside the golden tent of the crown prince of the Empire. "Better safe than sorry." The only seated griffon reasoned. He wouldn't take any chances with these barbarians. A whisper came from his right, "I'm all for diplomacy, but I'm telling you again, these cunts are just tryna buy time." The seated griffon glanced briefly at the source of the agreeable opinion. He was, of course, Walter Griffy; capable battle commander, baron and most importantly, a trusted friend. He seemed awkward without his armour. Far too thin. For wasn't it the same griffon that had always been on the front with his knights, first to crash into the enemy positions and match blow-to-blow with even the most fiercest warriors in all of Griffonia? "Pay attention sire, there may be a chance to not shed blood this day. Families of both sides would be grateful to you for even a single griffon to return back to their cubs." An elderly voice gruffed from his left. Caring little to whisper, less so in humiliating his grace's heir before the rebel ambassadors. Würt Swabia he resisted a frown from manifesting. The old duke, as always, held a permanent scowl on his face, which somehow, had deepened after his failure in Sicameon. No wonder! For his eyes are always slit, closed and blind to the goings' around him! He exaggerated. Though, most of his annoyance was aimed at his father, "As why attach me, a brilliant commander, with a failure like Duke Swabia?!" He could only hope incompetency wasn't contagious. "Yes! Listen to reason most gracious prince, you need not soil our beautiful lands with the blood of innocents!" One of the prostrating griffons all but pleaded, as well as one could when they were muffled by the dirt they inadvertently swallowed from lowering their heads further. "You mean MY lands." Grover II boomed, not concealing the clenching of his claws on the arms of his decorated seat. "Also how rich of you to call your soldiers a bunch of 'innocents', because we sure as Tartarus did not burn those villages we crossed while arriving here!" The only standing ambassador scoffed, "They were all safely evacuated, so spare us your attmept in accusation, we all know what would've happened to them if you Herzlanders had your claws on them." Then he omninoisly stepped forward, "Need I remind you what happened to those villages in the Riverlands? Your griffon's 'chevauchèe?" It was Grover II's turn to scoff, as he leaned back, caring little of the shadow casting over the ambassador's face. "Why would you lot care? Your citizens have no care for those ponies, so much is clear from your near-daily raids, OF WHICH, I must remind you, we have continuously advised to hold off on." "So what? So that you Herzlanders can reap the loot while we starve?" He spat back. "NO, it's because we have a brain unlike you savages." Grover II could smile when he spotted the ambassador's mouth open wide with indignation. But before he could give him the satisfaction with a rebuttal, he swiftly turned to his friend, "Griffy, what happenes to a field after a good-year's harvest?" Unexpecting such a question, his friend briefly sputtered, or at least seemed to him, as to an outsider Walter would have seemed composed throughout. "You... Till the soil and resow, and reap the rewards sire." "What happens the next season?" "You... Repeat?" Griffy hoped he was answering these questions correctly. "And again?" Ah, so that was his angle. Griffy barely resisted a smirk, "The soil dies eventually. Then you must move." Grover II smiled with pride, "Exactly. Heed the words of the baron clearly ambassador. With how proud and tied you Zaphzians are with your lands, I wonder how you all would feel when forced to move after the ponies on the border all but die or flee inland." He smiled imperiously at the fuming ambassador. "How fitting for a buncha barbarians, to form another horde and migrate eastward." Griffy chuckled openly. "Watch your mouth! The Zaphzians are subjects of the Empire! And no subjects will be demeaned to barbaric terms!" The Duke reprimanded the uncouth baron, evidently blind and deaf of the heir's insults. "Well, they're clearly not anymore." Grover II glared at the duke while flashing an approving smile at Griffy, "But enough of this. Tell me what you lot want, and it better not be the same with the last five envoys." He boredly groaned. The only ambassador to have not talked so far finally lifted his head high enough to not be muffled by the dirt, but still low enough to please any Herzlander superior. At closer inspection of his face, Grover noted his lack of a right eye. And seniority... His voice was shaky, as if his life depended on the heir's approval of whatever deal he proposed. Maybe it did, considering the sheer fear laced in his voice. "W-we simply ask for a replacement of the Zaphzian tax collectors! They collect more than they are owed! Beat those that they cannot extort! They are bleeding us dry while hiding behind the imperial banner! They are a disgrace to us all, surely you will unders-" The senile ambassador abruptly stopped and snapped upwards, reaching a claw into the inner parts of his coat to retrieve a hidden implement. This promptly caused the ever-vigilant guards into action, immediately closing the gap from the flanks of the three Herzland notables towards the ambassadors, bracing the edge of their halberds on the neck of the individual that activated them. Their tensed muscles, poised to push the blades further, though relaxed when they heard the high-pitched "eep!" from their impending victim. Assassins don't usually 'eep!'... At least, not good ones. "Halt!" Grover II casually ordered the guards, caring little of how close the ambassador had evaded death. He absently pointed at the claw of the ambassador that was now exposed, a claw that was holding a roll of paper. With the same energy, he waggled his extended digit to gesture the ambassador over, much to the perceivable worry of his guards. Thankfully, he defused them with a face that boisterously announced: 'You think they can hurt me? ME? An assassin shines a blade and you think out of me?! No, I AM THE ONE WHO STABS!" The guards hesitantly withdrew their halberds, allowing the ambassador to deeply exhale. He sheepishly looked side to side, scanning the expressions of the undecipherable guards before swiftly shifting over to the grand heir, leaning deliberately wide to hand over the paper so as to not contact the royal with his tainted, mortal claws. Grover II unamusedly grasped the roll, before unceremoniously flicking his wrists to unfurl it. To have his eyes meet... A list of signatures? "What is this?" Grover II did not mask his impatience. "It is the signatures of all the citizens of Zaphzia that know how to read and write sire, all having signed to plea for our case sire." The ambassador managed to say with some hidden courage. Grover II made no impressions of being moved, instead lazily dangling the petition with two unfolded digits. "...And why wasn't this presented earlier by the previous envoys?" "M-my deepest apologies your grace, for it took some time for me to go around the cities, farms and castles to collect them! Please show leniency!" The ambassador once again dove for the floor, displaying great humility. A single brow of Grover II's rose in surprise, "You mean to tell you, on your lonesome, collected all of these signatures?" Grover II grew impressed, "How idiotic is your Hetman* to make one cub do all that?!" Impressed, of their leader's stupidity, it seemed. *Hetman - A title of cossack leaders "The grand Hetman did not order it, your liege." The ambassador raised his head, "I did it out of my own initiative." Grover II abruptly shut his mouth, deathly quiet and silently staring at the ambassador now. Once again, the ambassador failed the guage a Herzlander's expressions. Relief to him, the guards flanking him and the two other commanders beside him didn't seem to be able to gauge him as well. Or maybe it was a bad thing, especially considering the unexpectable reputation the heir of the Empire held, and let's be honest, cultivated for political purposes. To support that hypothesis, Grover II promptly affirmed said reputation with a sudden jump from his seat, and an enthusiastic declaration of: "I like you!" ... The silence was palpable. The awkwardness? It had solidified into a solid state of matter. "You're now part of my inner circle! Congratulations. Your first job? Escort your 'friends' out of here." Grover II deadpanned the last bit. The recently 'befriended' ambassador sputtered, his claws opening and closing sporadically with squeaks of exasperation. The fiery ambassador among them yelled with indignation, "WHAT?! You can't just poach one of us!" "-We serve the Hetman!" The other prostrating ambassador added, "-And he serves my father, and in extension, me, by blood. What he owns is actually mine, and the griffons in the land is mine aswell, and he-," Grover II pointed at his new friend, "Is mine." "He's a griffon isn't he?" Griffy helpfully added, The fiery one sputtered, trying to find words, "He- Wha-, You-!... You don't even know his name!" Grover II faced the still-broken ambassador, flashing a toothy smile "What's your name?" "Danilo Apostole, sire." He automatically replied. Grover II faced the other two ambassadors with sudden seriousness, "His name is Danny! And how dare you presume such things! He is one of my closest friends!" Griffy tried not to look jealous. Swabia's scowl simply became scowl-ier. The guards had seen this already. They wished the tent didn't have more filler. The ambassadors? They were too confused, or more like dumbfounded to reply to somegriff that was intentionally being un-reply-able. Grover II turned towards the non-existent opening of the tent to determine the lateness, "Oh my, it seems to be the time of the day 'where only friends are allowed in the tent', much shame! Guards?" The ambassadors, minus the new 'friend' were immediately dragged out, thankfully without any screaming or resistance. Another victory for the 'battering ram of the empire'! "Hey, they forgot this one, eh?" Griffy playfully slapped the back of the Duke of Swabia, much to the latter's annoyance... I think. Can't really tell from that permanent scowl of his. "I am most certainly a friend of the Empire's heir! ..." He rebuffed dryly, "...The same cannot be said... Of 'friend' Apostle here..." He clicked his tongue disapprovingly of the heir's choice of followers. But not directly, instead making the nervous griffon, still splayed on the dirt the victim of his sour, disapproving glare. "None of that!" Grover II waved with indignation, "As you said it yourself duke, aren't we ALL friends here?" The heir moved to raise 'Danny' off the dirt, much to the latter's hesitance for the risks of dirtying his new master. "I said we are all subjects of the Empire, sire." The duke swore the heir intentionally ignored or misconstrued his words to deliberately annoy him. But why? He could never cipher. "No time to speak of the past duke! We march now! -So ready your contingents!" Grover II shouted into the face of the 'friend' he had just helped up and dusted off, definitely a display of dominance, Danilo thought, as he cringed at the volume. Griffy swiftly saluted as he dashed out of the tent, always eager to be of service. In contrast, Duke Swabia leisurely trotted out, careful not to show an inch of respect to the Zaphzan by ensuring his eyes did not even lay on the shadows of the 'lower being'. Conveniently, this had made him not notice Grover II's scorching stare at the back of his head. A scorching, sweat-inducing stare that snapped unto Danilo. "eep!" Did he just think that or say that aloud?! He would never realise, since his master showed no reactions. "You will be inserted into my duke's army and you will correspond to me of his exact movements, intent and location daily. Understood?" He wasn't asking. Nay, DEMANDING. Attached with consequences of refusal, which he was not dying to find out. Literally. "Who'll be my messenger?" Danilo did not waste breath objecting. Grover II gave a sadistic grin, "You will be messenger." Before Danilo could even contort his face into one of abject horror and denial, Grover II added on, "You said you got all them signatures by yourself right? You must be faster than any of my messengers! Tartarus! Maybe even the fastest in all Griffonia! -What would be the point?!" Danilo had to stop him. He had to stop him now. How could he have been such a fool?! He was dead the second he entered the tent. He was sure of it now, and before the guards would come back, he would attempt to be a kingslayer. Since this was his first go, he had much doubt, but the alternative was certain death so-, "Unless..." A hope was sparked. "You lied." Nope! He was freaking Grogar-incarnate. Whatever he was planning to do would surely fail against this monstrosity and being tortured alive in a sweltering pit of needles and lemon squizzings would be preferable for whatever wrath he would incur if he even touched his master wrongly right now. Grover Ii smiled soothingly, probably once he realised he sent his message across; as if he hadn't just unleashed a vision of damnation against a 'friend' just before flashing the most innocent of smiles that would make puppies blush in embarrassment of their own inadequacies. "Great! I'm counting on you, Danny!" Grover II tapped his soldier heartedly. The heir of the Empire joyfully bounced out of his tent, rubbing shoulders against the two guards that, by now, returned and stood outside the entrace. They both held knowing faces based on the atmosphere exuding out of the golden tent. The ambassador inside had by now had fallen back onto the dirt floor. Danilo felt bad for this 'Danny' character.