The Girokon Incident: A Living the Dream Side Story

by Corah Il Cappo

The Dented Helmet

The anchor dropped, the Volonté de Celestia parked on the airstrip, and the ponies set hoof on foreign soil for the first time. Blueblood had told them that they would meet up with his liaison in Kleinkrieg once they were in the city proper, and so they entered the mountain flanked by marching soldiers who bore bayonetted muskets over their shoulders. Lance’s eyes went wide as they set foot in the Rookery.

The light poured in through various inlets in the roof and the walls, making it surprisingly easy to see in the cavernous interior. It was packed densely as they made their way along the main road, their hooves clip-clopping on the granite cobblestone. Shops and stalls were carved directly into the mountain, with elaborate statues, engravings, and mosaics lining the walls. Wooden ramps stretched upwards, allowing access to a second level just above the main street, filled with small, cozy-looking warrens where gryphons reclined alongside vented fireplaces. They passed by a tavern, a cooper, a blacksmith, a cobbler, a butcher, and two bakeries whose owners were bickering in the middle of the street about their bread recipes. The whole place buzzed with activity and conversation, while the wind gibbered and raved as it wound through the structure.

They all tried to give friendly nods and smiles to the gryphons they passed on the way, and despite the tension between their countries, they mostly received courteous waves and greetings in reply. More than once Lance was pulled aside by a particularly friendly gryphon who tried to talk him into buying something from a nearby shop, or coming into a local tavern for a beer. Peter stopped to stare into an artisan store where three tan gryphons were putting together the wooden frame of some unknown stringed instrument. Frederic was entranced by the familiar glow of a forge as an ancient-looking gryphon put the finishing touches on a curved sabre. Greg struck up a conversation with a girl who took a tentative drag on his joint. She coughed but laughed as she passed it back to him. Blueblood tried to hurry them on, but even he couldn’t escape the crowds. He was constantly being yanked into conversation, which he handled deftly with fluid responses in High Gryphonic. Lance couldn’t help but be reminded of his visits to Manehattan, where crowds pressed him on all sides and everypony was shouting to be heard.

Yet simmering just beneath the friendly atmosphere Lance could see glimpses of the war already beginning to brew. Soldiers were marching in formation here and there, bearing muskets, pikes, or sabres that glittered menacingly in the slanted shafts of sunlight. A newspaper that one Gryphon was reading had a rather unflattering caricature of Celestia on the cover, spilling a wineglass over a map of the world. Another featured the silhouette of a gallow and noose with a Gryphonic word that Lance was sure was Brony. He gulped and subconsciously rubbed his throat at that one.

Blueblood motioned for them to follow as he ducked into a tavern at the corner of an intersection. The name of the establishment was etched into the stone above its door. The Dented Helmet. As they stepped through the doorway, the sound from outside seemed to fade away. Lance felt it was almost eerily quiet, with only hushed conversation and the occasional squeak of a wooden chair leg. The reason for the name was clear after one glance. Rusted and dented suits of armor were set into the painted stone walls, relics from ancient wars that still bore the scars of long-forgotten battles. The floor was heated, though Lance couldn’t figure out how, and the whole room smelled of greasy cooking, woodsmoke, and sour, spilled beer.

“Y’know for royalty, I was expecting something fancier,” Frederic whispered as they entered and took seats at the bar. “Maybe like a statue garden or a bar with one of those ice tops like they have in Canterlot.”

“Maybe Vlad is just a cheapskate,” Lance mumbled as he settled into a wobbly stool.

Greg and Peter both slid into their seats without a word, aside from Greg blowing a few smoke rings as he reclined against the counter. Peter leafed through a nearby menu.

“Anything good?” Lance inquired.

Peter frowned. “It’s all in Gryphonspeak. I’ve got no idea.”

“Do they take bits here?” Greg spoke up. “Lance, my guy, spot me for a drink or two?”

“No way! You still owe me for the apple fritter at the dodgeball tournament!”

“But I get real thirsty whenever I smoke! C’mon, dude!”

“Use your own bits!”

“You know I’m broke, man!” Greg gesticulated with the stub of his smoke. “This shit ain’t cheap!”

“You grow it yourself, don’t you?” Peter said over the top of his menu.

“Okay, but don’t get me started on growing costs. I gotta pay for the lights, the water, the fertilizer, plus rent on the house and shit!”

Frederic shook his head with a resigned sigh. “I’ll open a tab. Since nopony else here has a job.”

“I had a job!” Lance protested with a huff.

“For two weeks!”

“Being a waiter was freaking hard, Fred! Not all of us can get a cushy job like metalworking.”

Their argument was cut short by a high-pitched cry from behind them. “Ah! Blueblood! You bastard! You should have told me you were coming sooner! I’d have prepared a welcome fit for a prince!”

They turned to see a Gryphon with pale feathers and pinkish eyes stalking across the tavern. Slender and small compared to the other patrons, he was clad in a long, flowing black robe studded with flecks of sparkling pyrite. It looked like he wore a portion of the night sky. He bore a broad smile as he approached the prince and wrapped him in a tight hug. Blueblood returned it with an excited gasp, spinning him round and laughing.

“And miss out on surprising you? Never!” Blueblood’s eyes glinted as he rested a hoof on the Gryphon’s shoulder. “Gath, it’s been too long.”

“Hey, Gath!” Frederic spun in his stool, pounding his chest in the customary salute he’d practiced. “It’s a pleasure to-”

His words trailed off as he watched Blueblood and Gath share a knowing smile before they embraced with a passionate, open-mouthed kiss.

All four bronies fell silent as they watched, jaws on the floor.

“That’s a traditional Gryphonic greeting, right?” Dawn questioned. “Right?”

“Nah that’s a lover’s kiss if I’ve ever seen one.” Break chortled.

The pair broke off their embrace with a flustered inhalation. Gath’s cheeks burned red as rubies as he wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “It’s good to see you again, mein liebling”

“And you as well, mein schätzchen.” Blueblood said with a demure incline of his head. “Everypony, this is our contact. I’d like to introduce you to Lord Occultist Gath of Kleinkrieg.”

Gath bowed low, sweeping the ground in front of him with his robes. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Equestrians have always been fine partners in the magical arts. I've learned much from your libraries in years past. I only wish the circumstances of our meeting were less dire.”

“If only.” Blueblood sighed, gesturing towards the bar. “Will you join us for a drink? I’ve been craving a sip of Golden Plum Wine since I embarked in Equestria.”

“Ah, I wish I could! And I promise we will! But first, I must speak with you privately, mein liebling.” He jerked his head towards the stairs. “Come, I’ve already paid for your rooms. The rest of you are free to order from the menu if you like. I highly recommend the onion and apple soup!”

“Frederic, you’re in charge until I get back.” The Prince said as he headed up the stairs.

“What?!” Lance called after him. “But-”

“He’s an alicorn, Lance. That gives him seniority. Now don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

The pair vanished around a bend at the top of the stairs, and Lance promptly collapsed back into his seat. “So, is no one gonna talk about that?”

“About what?” Frederic said as he scanned the menu, trying to make sense of the language.

“Did you not just see Blueblood make out with that guy?!”

“Oh, yeah. Kinda weird.” Peter shrugged.

“Kinda weird?!” Lance’s voice rose to a shout. “Am I the only one with questions here?! Was this whole trip just an excuse to see his boyfriend?!”

“Oh, that’s not his boyfriend,” Peter replied. “Blueblood went over that with us already.”

“What do you mean he went over it with us? When?”

“He told us he’d had a ‘fling’ with Gath during dinner last night.”

Lance opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Greg lifted a hoof and motioned to the bartender. The griffon working the bar, a burly fellow with a bushy mustache and a patch over one eye, approached with an eyebrow raised. Greg proceeded to rattle off an order in High Gryphonic like it was nothing. The barkeep nodded and replied with a wry smile and what sounded like a joke, to which Greg laughed and rattled off a wisecrack of his own.

“Greg, what the hell?” Lance stared in confusion.

“What?” Greg glanced over his shoulder.

“Since when do you speak… Whatever the hell that was?!”

“Oh! Haha, so Blueblood had a book of Gryphon phrases and stuff that he left in the smoking room. I was gonna roll some of the pages to smoke ‘em, but I started reading it and I guess I picked up a few things.”

“Does everypony just know everything except for me?!” Lance threw up his hooves in frustration and slammed his skull against the varnished bar. His face squeaked as he turned towards Frederic. “Fred, please. Please tell me you didn’t get some kinda weird knowledge when I wasn’t looking.”

“Oh no! I’m still the same pony I was when we left Canterlot!” Frederic responded with a smile. “All I got was the new uniform.”

“Thank God.” Lance exhaled, running a hoof through his mane.

“Wait, Greg!” Frederic pointed to the menu, tapping a specific name. “You’re gonna want the blonde ale, not the porter. It’s lighter and it’ll go better with your soup. Porter is better when you're just drinking it alone, doesn't blend well, y'know?”

“Oh shit, thanks, man!” Greg rephrased his order to account for that. Lance stared at Frederic with barely contained hostility as the Alicorn scratched the side of his neck.

“I mean, Blueblood did show me a guide to Gryphon ale while you were delivering that letter, but other than that-”

“Hey, Fred? Hold that thought.” Lance grinned, planted his face against the counter, and screamed as loud as he could into the wood grain.

Gath pulled Blueblood into a room at the end of the hall, his tail flicking nervously behind him as he closed the door. He scanned the room before removing a small bottle of ochre liquid from his robe. This he smeared around the edges of the door, muttering incantations under his breath as the sigils he drew shimmered with arcane potency. In the same motion, he removed a sack of powder and scattered it on the floor. With another word of power, smoke began to rise as the powder sizzled and sparked.

“Do you trust me so little that you need two spells of protection?” Blueblood wafted a hoof past his snout to disperse some of the smog.

“I’m sorry,” Gath spoke in a hushed voice. “Things have changed since your last visit, Prince.”

“Believe me, I’m aware. I need to hold council with King Egil immediately to-”

“I don’t think you understand, Blueblood. Do you know what these spells are for?” Gath hissed. “They’re not to protect us. Not directly. They’re to keep us from being watched. There are eyes everywhere, and none of them are friendly.”

Blueblood fumbled in the dim light until he found the bed, taking a seat on the squeaky spring mattress. “Who would be listening in?”

Gath winced, twisting his claws in his robe. “Prince, I don’t know how to put this.”

“Bluntly, if you please.”

“King Egil is dead.”

The room was blanketed in a deathly silence. Neither quite knew what to say after that. Blueblood’s mind was moving at a hundred miles per minute, so many of his potential plans had hinged on playing to Egil’s ego, and now they were all dust. “How did he pass?”

“Screaming,” Gath replied solemnly. “I heard him from my room crying out as a usurper tore him to shreds. The one who sits on the throne now…” Gath trailed off, his pale complexion frail with worry. “Blueblood, he terrifies me.”

“Who is he?” Blueblood inclined his head, unwilling to raise his voice above a whisper.

“That’s what scares me. No one seems to know. Black rumors are circulating about him. They say that he was a dead man drawn back to life by an unfinished battle. A fatal revenant here for one purpose.”

“Revenge.” The prince breathed. “And the court simply goes along with him? No one dared to challenge him?”

Gath’s pupils went wide. “He showed the court what he had done with the king’s corpse the next day. I pray you never have to look a flayed man in the eyes, Blueblood. No one would dare challenge him after that. Now he marches singlemindedly towards a war with Equestria, and the skirmish on the border gave him the perfect excuse. I don’t see what we can do to stop this. It’s like standing in the path of an avalanche.”

“We have to at least try damn it!”

“He’ll kill us if we oppose him, Blueblood!”

“He can try.”

Gath leaned in close, his beak near enough to Blueblood’s snout that he could feel the heat of his breath. “You didn’t see what he did to them, Prince. I watched it all. Don’t insult me by doubting.”

“No insult intended,” Blueblood replied, exhaling low. “You don’t see much hope in changing the king’s mind about the war then?”

“He would pursue war even if he was the last Gryphon alive in Kleinkrieg.”

“It doesn’t sound like there’s much hope in stopping the war before it starts then.” Blueblood crossed his legs. “Unless of course, we invoke the Ehrenkampf.”

“The honor duel?” Gath recoiled. “Blueblood you can’t be serious!”

“It might be our only chance at preventing this! What other options do we have?”

Gath paced, his claws clicking against the wood as his tail whipped from side to side. “I’m thinking, I’m thinking!” He suddenly stopped, his eyes going wide. “I have an idea.”

“Let’s hope it's a good one.”

“The council meets early tomorrow morning. It’s a mere formality, a discussion on budgetary approval. But there’s a new clause in there approving of military spending.” Gath grinned triumphantly. “The law, according to section twenty, article five, revision B of the Civil Conduct for Monetary Law, explicitly states that anyone with an objection may raise it.”

Blueblood nodded slowly. “I follow so far.”

“Note that the law does not state the objections must be to the law being discussed.” He strung his claws together for emphasis. “You can object to the budget, but your objection doesn’t need to concern it. Use it to speak out against the war. If you can sway the council and get a vote against the war, then the King cannot overrule it.”

“And you’re certain that the law would be on our side?”

“Positive! The King can veto decisions, but only when present. If he isn’t present for a meeting, the decisions are codified into law. The process for revoking it covers 45 pages in the civil code and can take months to go through. Even if he did, it would give us ample time to set other plans into motion.” Gath crossed his arms over his chest. “Of course, that’s all provided you can convince the council.”

“Ah, the one thing I do best,” Blueblood replied with a broad smile. “And if all else fails, there’s always the Ehrenkampf.”

“Please, Star's sake, don’t challenge the king to Ehrenkampf.” Gath put a claw on Blueblood’s shoulder, his eyes soft. “I don’t want to be the one to burn your remains.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone else to do so.” Blueblood managed a hint of a smile. “I presume you’ll be there in the morning?”

“I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

“Y’know, I gotta be honest,” Lance said as he slurped soup from his spoon. “When they told me that they were serving an apple and onion soup, I thought it would be disgusting. But this is pretty good!”

Greg belched loudly as he finished his second mug of thick, frothy, honey-scented ale. “Dude, gotta be real. I think we picked the wrong place to spawn in for our second lives. Equestrian cider's got nothin’ on this ale!”

“The dessert is even better!” Peter was rubbing his hooves together as he was served a second helping of plum pie topped with a dollop of fresh ice cream. He hovered over it for a moment, before a smirk overtook his features. Carefully, he lifted the plate and balanced it squarely in the center of his hoof. “Hey Lance? Wanna taste?”

“Yeah sure, do you have an extra spoon so-” Before Lance could finish, Peter hurled the pie at him with a baseball pitch. Lance managed to duck just in time, only for the projectile pie to slam into Frederic’s snout.

“Ah! Hey!” Frederic nearly fell off his stool as the dessert splattered against his face. “Peter what the hell!”

“Sorry! I was aiming for Lance!” Peter rubbed the back of his neck.

“How does that make it any better?” Lance chimed in from his position under the bar.

Peter shrugged and held up his hooves. “They gave me pie! You should have seen it coming!”

“Not cool, Peter!” Frederic said as he pawed at his face with a napkin. “You got crumbs everywhere!”

“It’s a prank! Jeez! Did everypony lose their sense of humor?!”

Greg looked up from his ale, blinked blankly then laughed uproariously. “Dude! Nice one Peter! That’s funny as fuck!”

“Well, at least somepony gets the joke.” Peter rolled his eyes.

“Hey, I’ve got an even funnier prank.” Greg lifted his half-empty mug of ale and dumped it over Lance’s head. “Ha!”

Lance yelped, jumping up and bumping his skull against the wooden counter. “Greg! Asshole!”

“C’mon dude, lighten up! It’s a joke!” Greg ordered another mug of ale with a slightly slurred snicker.

“Yeah, Lance! It’s just a prank, bro!” Peter quickly added.

“Your pranks are just throwing pies at people!”

Greg frowned. “Hey now, I spilled a beer on your head.”

“All you did was replace the pie with a beer!”

“Shit, you’re right. Lemme fix that.” Greg promptly grabbed an empty plate and promptly smashed it over Lance’s skull with a shattering crack. “Opa!”

“Ow! Greg! What the hell?!” Lance screamed, forcing himself to stand as he clutched a hoof to the top of his head. He could already feel it starting to swell up. “That’s not even a joke! What’s the punchline?!”

“Oh, that comes later.”

“The hell do you mean it comes la-” The wind was knocked out of Lance’s lungs as Greg threw a punch to his midsection. He wheezed out a string of expletives as he sank into his seat and gasped for air. Greg and Peter shared a brohoof and a laugh as Frederic rolled his eyes.

“Okay, real funny guys, but can we try and focus?” He said as he drained the last of his soup. “Greg, stop punching Lance, Peter, save the pranks for later, Lance, quit being so punchable.”

“What did I do?!” Lance whined.

“I dunno man, you just kinda look punchable.” Frederic shrugged. “I think it’s the cutie mark.”

“You guys are such dicks.” Lance huffed as he scooped a spoonful of soup into his mouth. As he ate, he felt a distinct sensation of being watched. Glancing over his shoulder, he looked around the bar at the other patrons. A few female Gryphons were munching on sandwiches at a table in the corner, a couple was discussing books over glasses of wine, and a nervous-looking young one sipping his beer with a shaky claw. As Lance’s eyes fell on him, his head drooped and he averted his gaze. Lance felt a pang of pity for him. He was shy! Probably he had seen them all laughing and hanging out and wished that he could be a part of the fun. “Hey guys, you see the lonely dude in the corner there?”

The others turned in their stools to see the Gryphon, who was now bashfully holding his menu in front of his beak.

“Yeah?” Peter nodded. “Why?”

“I think we oughta help him out! We’re supposed to be doing diplomacy work, right? So let’s mingle with some locals and show ‘em a good time!” Lance flashed a roguish smile and waved a hoof to the Gryphon, who returned it with a weak twitch of his claw. “Let’s show them that bronies aren’t all dumb mobs picking fights on the border!”

“Good idea, Lance!” Frederic clapped him on the back. “Greg, can you translate for us?”

Greg sucked down the last of his third ale, slamming the mug on the counter. “Uh, yeah. I can try.”

“Peter, can you give us some music?”

“Already on it!” Peter removed his guitar from its case and strummed out a jaunty-sounding tune.

Lance jumped to his hooves. “Bartender! Another round of drinks for everyone! Let ‘em know it was on us!”

“Ja, ja.” The barkeep nodded as he pulled out a cluster of fresh mugs from beneath the counter and began to fill them.

“Everypony, let’s roll!” Lance spread his wings and crossed the bar in a flurry of feathers, landing across the table from the shy Gryphon. “Hey! How’s it going? The name’s Lance Greenfield!” He thrust a hoof across the table for a shake.

The gryphon looked at it with a flicker in his eyes. He clutched the hoof with a touch so gentle it might as well have been nonexistent. “Igor.”

“Hey, Igor, nice to meet you!” Frederic said as he sidled up to the table, using his magic to draw more chairs around it. “I’m Frederic, this is Greg.”

Greg nodded and said something in Gryphonic that sounded polite enough to the others.

“And this is Peter.” Frederic gestured to Peter, who announced himself with a strum of his guitar strings. “We’re visiting from Equestria, and we saw you were a little lonely over here, so we figured we’d give you a visit!”

The bartender dropped off five massive mugs of golden, frothy ale and each of the bronies took one. Igor stared at his drink with eyes the size of dinner plates until Greg gently slid it over to him and muttered something vaguely reassuring. Frederic raised his glass with a cheer. “Prost!”

Echoes of “Prost!” reverberated around the bar as everyone clanked their glasses together and took a drink. Igor took a small sip while the bronies downed nearly half their mugs with a steady chug. It was at that moment that Igor suddenly sprang to life and launched himself across the table. Lance was the first to react, falling backward out of his chair as Igor’s claws narrowly missed raking his cheek. Frederic jerked to action and tried to grab the gryphon, only to be rewarded with a mug of beer being thrown against his face.

Igor’s claw flashed as he reached into his jacket and drew a snubnosed flintlock pistol. He leveled it at Frederic and squeezed the trigger. Greg jerked his claw aside at the last second and the gunshot rang in their ears. The bullet struck the floorboards and sent up a cloud of splinters. Lance rolled to his hooves and threw himself at the attacker with a furious flurry of jabs. Igor wove between his punches and slashed across Lance’s chest, ripping through his uniform and rending flesh. Greg jumped onto the table and grappled with Igor, pulling him off of Lance and hammering his skull with two punches. Peter threw himself into the fray a second later, cracking Igor’s cheek with a swing of his guitar.

Yowling in pain, Igor writhed beneath them. His claw groped for something up his sleeve, and a brutal crooked dagger slid into his palm. He thrust upward at Peter, his attack only cut short as Frederic threw out a spell to shatter the metal. The gryphon headbutted Greg to break his hold, making the stoner stumble as he clutched his snout. With an ear-splitting shriek like an eagle cry, Igor threw off his coat and revealed something he’d hastily lashed to his body. The faint whiff of gunpowder immediately told them all what they were dealing with.

“Fred! Shield, now!” Lance screamed as he threw a sharp kick into Igor’s chest and sent him sprawling. Gritting his teeth, Frederic surrounded the gryphon with a field of shimmering magic. The makeshift bomb went off only a split second later, sending sharp tremors through the floor of the tavern. When he dropped the shield, all that was left was a smoking crater and the faint smell of burned feathers.

“What the hell was that?!” Peter said, his face pale. “We just tried to buy him a beer and he…” Peter gestured to the reeking hole in the floor.

Greg was panting, leaning against the table as he caught his breath. “Right before he tried to blow himself up, he yelled something.”

“Did you know what it was?” Frederic couldn’t take his eyes off the spot where Igor had once stood.

“For the King,” Greg muttered. “That’s what it was. I’m fucking positive.”

Blueblood and Gath rushed down the staircase, practically stumbling over each other to reach the bar.

“What was that?” Blueblood shouted. “Is anyone hurt?”

“Some dude tried to bucking kill us!” Lance said, clutching the shallow wounds he’d taken.

Gath’s pupils shrank. “Assassin! The King knows you’re here.”

“We’re all still alive,” Frederic said as he finally tore his gaze away from the smoldering hole. “Lance got hurt, but nothing we can’t bandage up.”

“You can’t stay here,” Gath said in hushed tones. “Come, I’ll find another place for you to spend the night. I’ll explain on the way.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Lance held up a bloodstained hoof. “I need an explanation now! I didn’t nearly get blown to smithereens to not know who did it and why!”

The pale gryphon exhaled slowly. “The king is bound and determined to have his war. He must have heard you were on your way to try and end it, so he sent someone to try to stop the negotiations before they started. There are forces at work in this city that are beyond you or I. We’re going to get your wounds looked at, get you all to safety, and keep you hidden until tomorrow.”

“And tomorrow, we stop this,” Blueblood added. Lance could see the tightness in the Prince’s muscles. “But we can’t if we’re all dead.”

“Now, follow me.” Gath turned abruptly and headed to exit the tavern.

“Wait!” Lance held up a hoof again. Everypony froze and stared back at him from the threshold. “We should clean things up here first. I don’t want to leave this bar all messed up. If we’re trying to make a good impression, then we can’t go leaving craters in people’s floors!”

Something clicked in Blueblood’s eyes as he looked at Lance. His gaze drifted down to the wounds on the pegasus’ midsection, then to the hole in the floor. “You’re sure you don’t want us to get you patched up first?”

“Nah.” Lance shook his head. “I’ll be fine. C’mon, if all of us work on it, we can get it fixed in just a minute!”

Gath looked impatient as he rapped his claws against his arm, raising an eyebrow at the prince.

“Alright Lance, let’s get to work then.” Blueblood shed his jacket and tossed it to Gath, who caught it with a huff.

“Let's go!” Lance pumped his hoof. “Peter, sweep up the dust and broken glass! Greg and Blueblood, break down those empty beer barrels and get some planks to fix the floor! Frederic, nail those boards back down! I’m gonna grab some polish so we can really make it shine!”

“You’re aware you’re very much still in danger.” Gath exhaled into Blueblood’s ear.

“I’m very aware,” Blueblood whispered. “But good publicity usually carries at least a little risk.”