//------------------------------// // Chapter Twenty Four- Landfall // Story: Horn and Hammer // by Lancer //------------------------------// Chapter Twenty Four Landfall Stalliongrad, Equestria The sky reverberated with the sounds of gruffly accented ponies yelling and the ground trembled under the clatter of hooves. A middle aged mare with a light brown coat and silvery stone mane, cut short and tied up, stretched out her limbs. She wore heavy furs, mottled grey with a fluffy white ruff to keep out the wind. Across her back there was a crossbow strapped and a quiver full of bolts set against her left side. In a pair of sheaths on both forelegs curved hunting daggers rested. A knock on the door was quickly followed by a worried looking stallion in similar attire to her own. His face was covered up with a woollen balaclava revealing just his bright orange eyes. “Commander” he said breathlessly, quickly scanning the barren room for any other ponies. “Their camp’s stirring, we can’t tell if it’s an attack, the dogs don’t move in any form of order.” “Da, thank you Borsch, get back on the wall with the others I’ll be out shortly” she replied, her own accent almost as gruff and earthy as the male’s. He quickly bolted, running towards the riotous noise. “Right” she muttered to herself, “You can do this Granite. It’s only an army of dogs, you’re the huntsmarshal it’s your job to look after your hunters. All you have to do is hold the walls and stop their miners. If they can’t get in they’ll have to move on. Oh Celestia give me strength.” She muttered her last sentence as if praying, because in reality she was even if she did not realise. With a rough shake of her head to clear it and a swig from her flask she strengthened her resolve and charged out of the room. Instantly the sensation of biting wind nipped at her exposed muzzle and the overcast grey sky was bright enough to cause her to squint as they adjusted. She was out in an industrial complex converted into a barracks. The room she had just exited was a storeroom before, converted for her as commander so that she was closer to headquarters. The giant stone buildings formed a ring with a tent in the middle held firmly in place by a myriad of ropes and pegs. None of this was of any concern to her however as she rushed towards the exit. A number of ponies galloped in the opposite direction, hunters and militia racing to reclaim their weapons. She got a few nods and shouts of recognition on her way; they helped buoy up her spirits at any rate. Thankfully the wall already loomed before her, a giant ten metre tall granite curtain encompassing the entirety of the city. The figures of many ponies, their pastel coats covered up by warm clothing, were arrayed on the battlements. It was unusual for Equestrian cities to have walls. Indeed few settlements across the country did; examples such as Canterlot Castle and Tartarus town being the most prominent. Fact of the matter was life in the Frozen North was harsh and uncompromising. Stalliongrad was nestled in the widest valley leading into Equestria, on the very edge of the country’s border, a sprawling mining town grown into a city over the course of a century. The walls protected it from the beasts of the frozen wild and it was the hunter’s jobs to patrol the border using their waystations as stopping points. The preconception amongst southerners, and Stalliongrad ponies considered everypony southerners, was that this gruff northern settlement was an unsavoury place both dangerous and dour. Of course there was something to that notion but as one of Equestria’s primary industrial sectors and the highest consumer of alcohol ‘Grad’ers’ found pride in their unique way of life. By the time she was halfway up the wall’s stairs she overtook the stallion from before, her steel tramplers ringing loudly even over the din of the dog horde beyond as she rushed to the top. Cresting the top her breath was practically swept from her lungs at the sight across in the valley’s basin. Granite had seen the horde when it arrived during the night, a sea of blinking yellow torches streaming in. Now though she could really see the extent of the army before her. The sheer scale seemed to be beyond counting, they filled the basin! “Oh Celestia, how many are there?” she asked, striding up beside her comrade, a scout from the eastern waystations. The scout, a young mare with alabaster fur and piercing grey eyes stood to attention at the commanding voice of her superior. It was pretty lax as salutes went but the Hunter Corps was a fairly laid back institution. “We’ve been counting repeatedly for the last hour or so commander. Basing estimates off of the number of fires and an average of dogs per campfire there’s anywhere between 150,000 and 170,000. There’s a lot of them out there Commander Granite, more than the population of Stalliongrad when it’s full by far. I would add though that some of them are clearly non-combatants, there are pups, elderly and servants; couldn’t guess at the combatants though it’s hard to distinguish at this range.” The mare finished her exposition with a grim glance back at Granite before turning despondently to the Mongrel Horde. Granite peered down the line at her own motley array of troops. The decision to stay had been a dividing one. In the end just five thousand ponies, eight hundred of which were hunters, stayed behind to hold the city. It was a pitifully small force but they just about had enough ponies to man all sections of the wall at once, not enough for a reserve, but Granite did not expect an attack on all fronts. She had the majority of her forces, such as they were, arrayed around the north wall. Her hunters were spaced in units of forty between mobs of one hundred or so volunteers, their crossbows braced on the parapet. Some fifty meters down the curtain wall there was a tower, one of eight spaced around the city. Placed atop it, after considerable effort in the days before, was a pair of ballista. These were one of the few the Hunters Corps had access to, used to take down anything big enough to scale the walls or threaten way stations. They could occasionally mount them on wagons when the need was dire. A similar tower lay in the opposite direction. Looking down on the enemy she could not help but think defeat was but a terrifying, short, brutal fight away. She had been one of the main advocates of resisting too; she had stood before city council and proclaimed her love for the city, urging those able to stand and fight for their homes. Now she stood on the precipice of disaster, surrounded by scared and outmatched ponies that she had helped convince into following her. A shiver completely unrelated to the biting cold of the early morning gripped her. It felt like a pit had opened in her stomach, dragging her down in abyssal terror. Spurred by her fear Granite twitched her head, realising her eyes were wide and ears flat against her head. “Commander?” asked a stallion from behind, the same one that had been sent to bring her to the battlements before. “It’s fine comrade, just worried about the dog’s mining capacity is all. There’s no way they could assault the walls directly” she claimed, as much to convince herself as the ponies around her. The other ponies nodded along with the same stallion as before speaking yet again to the commander’s ire. “But we can stop them mining right?” he asked drawing worried looks from those around him, evidently it was something that preyed on the militia’s minds; it preyed on hers too. “We have our own miners waiting underground for counter-tunnelling. It’s their special talent, if anypony can stop them it is the miners of Stalliongrad. Remember!” she called her voice rising above the mutterings of the ponies around her, “we are the hardiest of ponies. Our hunters are experienced, look to them to lead the way. Our miners are the best of Equestria, rely on them to guard the ground beneath your hooves. Most of all trust in each other, we are the northern wall of Equestria, we do not ask for help from the south; we will not take a step back. If we can live and prosper on the edge of the world we can stand this mewling horde of southern dogs!” Before she realised, she was roaring out to her ponies and even more surprisingly they cheered back, the raucous noise rippled down the wall earning looks from the dogs, noticeable from even this far away. With her adrenaline driving off despair she stood a little easier, content to watch the dogs movements alongside her ponies. It was strangely mesmerising, the swirling patterns of the glittering horde as they milled about. It looked as if they were preparing for a mass mobilisation; tents were coming down across the breadth of the army. All except their left flank. A small number of dogs, comparatively speaking, were advancing towards the wall. They fanned out to just three loose ranks but stretched across the centre of the mob, a screening force. “What are they doing?” whispered one pony from behind Granite. As a commander though Granite thought it prudent not to answer, she had her suspicions and discussing every event with every pony that happened to have an opinion was a sure fire way to undermine her authority. Besides she had enough problems in the mining department as it was, the frozen ground of Stalliongrad was by no means impenetrable. A few more minutes went by and slowly, inexorably, the horde began to move off circling around the city and heading for the south. The few thousand screening troops and notably their tents remained where they were. These dogs looked like runts compared to certain sections in the Mongrel Horde. Their armour barely glinted under the minimal sunlight and the motley array of weaponry was admittedly on par with the improvised weapons of the militia although ranged weaponry looked thankfully non-existent. Granite’s hunters used the best crossbows available, they were millennia old weapons but the newest designs were lightweight, easy to maintain and weatherproof. For the first time in a long while Granite found herself wondering how a thousand years had barely enhanced the capacity of basic projectile weapons. “Looks like the bulk of the army is moving off, how many are left?” asked Granite of the scout beside her. The same scout she had asked before. “Erm, well looks like most of the non-combatants moved on so I’d guess at ten thousand down there, definitely a lot more of them than us though commander.” Granite sighed; she had hoped they would be bypassed. ‘I guess this will have to do, at least this is just a fraction of what the Mongrel’s could bring to bear. Besides if the documents from the human were worth their salt then sieges need a three to one number ratio for the attackers, she prayed to Celestia they were but the word of a fellow hunter was good enough for her.’ Bringing the flask up to her mouth Granite took a swig. “Pass the word around” she called, “we’re outnumbered two to one, those are as good an odds as we could ask for. We’re digging in. Comrade Pick, have a pegasus send word to Canterlot, tell them the dogs are moving on and that we will hold the rearguard.” Canterlot, Equestria Twilight’s route through the castle was slower than she had been accustomed to. Ponies galloped up and down corridors with expressions ranging from determined to frightful. She blew her mane from her eyes with a huff of irritation as another orderly leapt past her, forcing her to duck into a doorway. Even in the living quarters the atmosphere of frantic action was palpable. The days seemed to be passing faster now. She was on her way to visit Rarity since she had missed breakfast on their very first day staying in the castle, considering they were ‘confined’ to the castle grounds her absence was worrying to Twilight. They were all staying on the same floor of the castle, the third storey on the east wing. The princesses themselves slept on the fourth so at the very least they felt secure given the terrifying factor that a monster that had been sent to kill them was on the loose, two of which had already succeeded in killing officers in the Equestrian and human forces. At a brisk trot down the dazzlingly well-lit hallway she approached her friend’s room. Two swift raps on the door gained a call to enter from Rarity. Twilight emerged into a similarly enlightened chamber as outside. The vaulted ceilings, soft white walls and large open spaces made it feel like the room was larger than Twilight’s own house. Within there was a large pale blue bed with drapes around it front and centre. To the left there was a set of desks and drawers with a large mirror suspended above. To the right was the en suite bathroom, it’s wooden door closed. “Good morning Twilight!” called Rarity from Twilight’s left. The mare pulled her head from a cupboard, her horn aglow as she pulled a garment from within. “Morning Rarity, how’s it going?” replied Twilight, trotting into the room jauntily. “Surprising darling, definitely surprisingly.” Rarity glanced over at the toilet door. “Oh while you’re here Twilight I brought these.” With a flourish she whisked the bed curtains apart and pulled a number of trunks from under the bed. “Remember I asked you all for your armour sets? The ones we received in the Everfree? Well instead of sending them back I had a little experiment and well I think I did an amazing job dear.” Rarity brought out a suit of armour, it was a two tone lavender and pink set. The segmented plate was lavender with the outline a pink highlighted to match Twilight’s mane, more than that though it seemed smaller than before, the lines more feminine. With a twitch of her muzzle Twilight saw the streak of pink in her mane was copied in the purple crest, that twitch turned to an involuntary smile. “Wow Rarity that’s amazing, really. You did this for all of us?” she asked viewing five more boxes that were under the bed. “Of course. I’m afraid it was a rushed affair. We only had a few hours to gather our things and all said I’m rather burnt out, it took a surprising amount of magic.” “Well if you altered the size on all of our armour then rightfully so Rarity. Metalshifting is difficult, processed metal is refined from masses of iron ore and the earth around us soaks up ambient magic, metals and gems absorb this magic.” Rarity’s quaint little smile passed right over Twilight’s head in the middle of her monologue. “We can utilise gems and crystals as they allow that magic to be manipulated but metal is naturally resistant. It’s why most unicorns can barely manage more than telekinesis in full armour for a time and the Royal Guard undergo extensive training to operate in harmony with their armour, likewise enchanting armour and weapons is supposed to be a rare skill.” “That’s nice dear” replied Rarity, still wearing that endeared smile. “Hey, why weren’t you at breakfast by the way?” asked Twilight, remembering her reason for coming by. “Oh well, that was the other surprise Twilight. Trixie, come out dear! She was just cleaning herself up Twilight, poor thing.” “Trixie’s here?” “That is what I just said darling, yes.” With a huff Twilight fixed her friend with a stern look. “Rarity you do realise I’m not entirely oblivious.” Across the room the bathroom door opened and Trixie stepped out. She looked as she had in Canterbury; her demeanour was similar to when they last met, timid. Strangely though her old customary attire, the star specked cape and hat was nowhere to be seen. Trixie looked pleasantly surprised to see Twilight. “Hello, nice to see you again Twilight.” “Erm, you too Trixie, I forgot you were staying in Canterlot with the princesses. How are things?” Rarity went about looking through her clothes while the other two unicorns caught up, holding items up to her and then casting them off towards the bed before turning back to the wardrobe. She hummed a merry tune, the newest sapphire shores tune by Twilight’s admittedly limited assumption. Trixie took a seat by the desk between bouts of hurled clothing. “Well, it has been pretty horrible lately in all honesty. I haven’t left the castle and spent the last few days looking after Nightshade’s orphans poor little things. Luna’s been so busy lately and I always had a way for entertaining foals so I asked to help, it’s about all I’m good for really at the moment.” “Oh Trixie.” Twilight sighed, patting the pale blue mare on the shoulder. The sight of the broken unicorn filled her with pity. With a sniffle the mare gave Twilight a strained smile. “Seriously, it’ll be okay. Just seeing you all arrive and bumping into Rarity this morning brought it all back, that and the stupid petty feud from before. Enough, Trixie would like to know what Twilight Sparkle is doing here since you’re staying in Canterlot?” asked Trixie, slapping a hoof on the desk in a show of bravado. Twilight matched her smile. “Well it’s for our safety really, what with that assassin on the loose. That and I think the princesses want us around in case the war progresses too badly. Not that they expect it to understand?” she added quickly. “Please Twilight, I read the papers, we’re outnumbered massively by actual soldiers. Still, I have faith in the princesses; they’ve always done what’s best for Equestria in the past. Times will just be hard for a while, Equestria has been through worse.” Not particularly wanting to disagree for the sake of it Twilight let the point go. “So any plans now you’re safe and secure here? Are you going to restart your show?” The other unicorn visibly wilted at the thought of that question, scraping her hoof up and down the desk whilst Rarity compared stacks of clothes all the while paying astute attention to the conversation. Twilight did not begrudge Rarity’s eavesdropping since it was hardly a private talk. There was not much she could do, nor would do. Stopping a fashionista from hearing gossip, even if she had no intention to actually tell it to others, was next to impossible in Twilight’s experience. “Erm, well I guess I don’t know. My stage show seems so trivial now and everything I own was in that wagon in Canterbury, I don’t think I could face going in that wagon again. What about you girls? Any plans while you’re here, or after for that matter?” “Unfortunately we’re confined to the castle unless we have an escort; even then it has to be somepony who can handle themselves. Realistically if it’s not the princesses or the human officers we’re stuck here, nopony else could survive those monsters Chrysalis created. I guess we’ll just have to find a way to help out. I was going to help the unicorn guards and Canterlot mages train recruits in using their magic inside armour and any powerful enough to act as mages outside of armour. Now though I can’t really go into camp anymore so I guess we’re stuck here too.” “Wait a second” interjected Rarity, momentarily casting aside a delicate black dress. “We can’t leave the castle?” she asked, mouth agape. “Well no” answered Twilight. “It’s the whole reason we’re here Rarity. This isn’t some formal event, we’re the bearers of the most potent magical artefacts in the world, we’re here because otherwise we’d be at the mercy of the assassin that killed Captain Nightshade and the others.” “But, but I have clients to visit! The last fashion show in Canterlot is tomorrow, every other one was cancelled now the nobles are committed to the war as well. Oh this is just horrible, of all the things that could possibly happen, this is the. Worst. Possible. Thing!” A red velvet couch appeared just in time for Rarity to swoon on it, a manicured hoof held to her forehead. A very real look of anger crossed Twilight’s features at the outlandish display, twirling around fully she rounded on her friend. “Rarity, by Celestia are you blind!” she bit back, barely below yelling. “People are dying, ponies, humans, dogs and griffons. You remember Kaslain? The man who looked after the crusaders, your own sister! When they snuck into the Everfree? He’s dead Rarity, he died fighting that assassin. This is so much bigger than us, putting our interests above our safety is selfish, it’s stealing from all of Equestria!” “I, I didn’t mean it like that! Oh Twilight don’t be mad, I just didn’t think . . .” Rarity looked close to tears under the seething expression Twilight wore, her muzzle pouting in a completely unladylike manner. Mere seconds later Twilight broke her frown, visibly deflating with a sigh. “I know Rarity, you didn’t mean it and I’m sorry.” Laying a hoof on the white unicorns shoulder they stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before looking away. “It’s ok.” A soft cough broke the silence and Trixie stood beside the two of them. “I can help” she said, hesitation lacing her voice at intruding on their private moment. “What?” they responded in time. “Rarity, you want to liaise with your clients’ right? I can do it for you. I’ll attend the fashion show and use my magic to take image prints, one of the only practical uses my special talent has. Twilight, if you want to have unicorns come to the castle to train then I’ll help you with that too.” Trixie blushed at the sudden attention, backing off a step and her ears wilted slightly. The two friends looked to each other for a moment before breaking into modest grins. “That sounds grand Trixie” replied Rarity warmly. “Yeah, who says you’re not great and powerful” added Twilight in kind. Manehattan, Equestria A lone figure in dark gold armour soared high above the clouds on thermals. Before him loomed the giant city of Manehattan wreathed in early morning mist. It hung heavily over the city so that just the taller buildings could be seen. Without weather ponies to manage the flux of coastal weather mist had returned to the Manehattan coast for the first time in centuries. Forlorn Wind was staggered by the epic scale and beauty of the sight. The giant steel structures buildings erupting from the fog seemed otherworldly, it had parallels to Cloudsdale but the ancient architecture was replaced by hyper modern, multi storey, glass sided buildings. What he was currently doing there was perhaps not the best choice he had ever made in his career all things considered. However he had been given no orders to countermand this and his intentions were reasonable enough. To be safe though he travelled alone, his guardsponies and the regular soldiers under his command were busy with the Scorched Earth policy, destroying the railway lines behind them as they travelled back to Canterlot. The purpose for all this, for the many hours of travel alone in what would quickly become enemy lines was the desire to see the griffons landing in Manehattan. Word had quickly trickled down that this was their chosen beach head and so Forlorn took the chance to see the army with his own eyes. It was a vain desire in all honesty but one which had stolen Forlorn’s imagination, once that happened there was very little that could hold him back. As he grew closer more of the city came into view. Mere minutes away he could make out the peaks of the smaller structures, the domed top of city hall, the oval sports arena and the early morning sun continued to burn away the haze. There were still ponies in Manehattan, those too stubborn or afraid to leave. Their reasons ranged from being too ill to travel to wanting to simply stay in their homes rather than refugee accommodation. As a safety precaution though the hospital was well adorned with white flags and banners proclaiming its neutrality, many of the staff had likewise chosen to stay behind. Their dedication to their craft and their patients was admirable. Forlorn drifted over the city, going into a controlled spiral and allowing his hooves to clop faintly against the roof of one of the taller buildings. He flexed his wings, making sure to cool down after such a long flight so that he was ready to fly when it became necessary. He was alone in an eerily quiet city, the calm before the metaphorical storm. From the lip of the building he looked out towards the sea, making out the blips on the horizon that signified the coming fleet. They were still too far out to be more than a dark blur but it caused Forlorn’s heart to jump in his chest a little. Anger swelled within him, the invaders were coming and the war was real and inevitable, at least it felt that way now. Below, the mist was beginning to dissipate and he could make out the long straight roads at last. Forlorn settled on top of an air conditioning unit, the technomagical generator still warm despite being deactivated, it looked like little more than a grey box with two tubes protruding from the back but the simplicity belayed the fact it was state of the art technology. Over the next hour or so he ate some fruit from a bag he had brought with him, watching the fleet materialise and separate from a blob on the horizon to a forest of sails. The ships were a uniform selection of caravels, large, triple sail, wooden ships. They were wide and sunk low in the water, troop carriers. Forlorn’s eyes narrowed, strange that the griffon king could call on so many troop carriers so soon, a motley array of fishing vessels, merchant ships and warships yes but dedicated transports appeared strange. All of a sudden a cloud that appeared to be made of specks of dust erupted from the foremost ships. They rose high into the air shooting towards the clouds and forming into wedges. One unit in particular rose through the cloud cover covering the formations below. The griffons had assembled scouts ahead of their arrival. 'Smart’ mused Forlorn with a smirk. Watching the various units form up was definitely interesting. They weren’t a patch on the royal guard, the wedges were lopsided until an officer herded them into line and the spacing between formations left wide gaps where they should not be. Truth be told he had not been sure what to expect from the griffon army but seeing this early problem gave Forlorn a sense of hope. It was not to last though. When the formations accelerated towards the city Forlorn realised to his panic that he was out in the open in conspicuously bright armour and officer markings. More than that the high altitude formations gave them excellent line of sight if he tried to fly away, he had essentially trapped himself. The ever present image of his father’s disappointed gaze washed over him. He had made a stupid mistake, of course the griffons would use scouts and of course they would seize the heights to survey the area. Forlorn scanned the area. The griffons were already high enough to see over the building; if he stayed in the open any longer he would be seen. Kicking off from the generator and with a single flap of his wings he barrelled through the fire escape door, breaking the glass as he went head first through and very much glad he had plate armour to protect him from the shards, even so he felt a nick along his wing but nothing bad. He moved quickly from there, gliding down the stairs for the full twenty levels of the building before emerging into the foyer. The front of the building was much like he had expected, a wall of glass gave him clear view to the street outside. He felt much more secure knowing it was tinted though. Darting between cream coloured pillars and over a reception desk Forlorn galloped down hallways and corridors, following signs for the exit. If he could get into an alleyway and take the back routes then the cover should allow him to make it to the suburbs and out through Beachwood Forest. After that it would be a sprint to the rail tunnel through the mountains to catch up with the rear-guard. The mental plan was good in theory however in practice he had to escape a city during its occupation, he definitely had good prospects but as his heart would attest, he was most assuredly worried. Ahead of him the back door loomed and Forlorn skidded to a halt. The entire door was made of strong hardwood with iron bars laced across. With a sense of panic he whirled around, there was no breaking through that. Forlorn burst into the nearest doorway hoping to find a management or security office and instead finding storage space. He galloped back down the hall towards the reception desk. On his way back through the cream corridors he could not help but think about his prospects if he was captured. It was a grim thought, one that his mind rebelled against addressing all told. Still, judging by Chrysalis’ current standards he could expect torture, even being turned into one of those abominations that killed Silver Streak. Death was preferable. He had to slow down coming back into the foyer so that his hooves would not ring out so loudly against the hard stone floor. Moving into a gentle trot he approached the reception desk and stopped dead, his eyes wide and his body tense. Beyond the desk and on the other side of the window a griffon unit prowled the barren street. There were three of them walking through the street, their heads spun around as they grasped their weapons in readiness. Two of them wore lamellar armour with chainmail protecting their limbs; they also carried a spear and a sword between them. The third griffon had a bow with a quiver of arrows strapped to its back and barely any armour past a leather jerkin and pot helmet. They were all male and laughed lightly as they meandered through the city at the archer’s comment. Forlorn approached the desk quietly, hoping to Celestia they could not see through the tinted glass. He started pulling open draws and searching for keys, the first two were just documents and stationary, a little picture of a happy family left at the top of the pile. The third though contained a set of keys which he snatched up and put in his saddlebag before moving on to the other drawers just in case. A wrap on the window caused his heart to literally skip a beat. Slowly, inexorably, he raised his head to look up. There with his claws cupped against the window and a lone beady eye pressed up to it was the archer. With horrifying clarity the griffon’s eye focused on him, narrowing and then popping wide open in realisation. A harsh squawk erupted from the grey beak of the griffon, shocking Forlorn into action. He bolted for the alleyway to the rear, running at full speed back through the corridors he reached the exit quicker than he thought possible. Snatching at his saddlebag he pulled the ring of keys out and frantically pushed the first into the lock, nothing. The crashing of smashed glass rang out down the corridor. Forlorn fumbled with the keys, transferring them from his wing to his hooves. With a curse stolen from a human soldier which would make Luna blush he threw the second key in and was again rewarded with the lock’s stiff opposition. The third and fourth were just as bad. The sound of claws raking floorboards signalled the griffons were into the corridors. It was too late; there were another twenty or so keys on the ring. Forlorn smacked a metal shod hoof into the doorframe, letting out an angry growl. With a sigh and a wince he turned on the spot. Three against one, he had the experience, the equipment and the corridor funnelled his enemies. On the other hoof they had an archer and Forlorn had nowhere to hide, his hoof swords were intended for aerial warfare, he could not fly in the corridor so using blades would be difficult when they unsheathed downwards into the ground when extended. Dropping the keys to gallop he ran for an open door some three doors down from the exit. With what little time he had he threw the doors open which were not already before ducking out of the corridor and into a darkened room. Steady breathing and keeping his hooves still were vital now; he needed to stay quiet until the last possible moment. Griffons had excellent hearing. ‘Come on Forlorn, you can do this.’ He recited this over in his head and began to crouch. The yelling of the griffons became palpable and the sound of skidding claws on wooden floors signalled the griffon trio had rounded the corner. “The door!” yelled one in a raking voice with a hint of youthfulness. The voice was only seconds away, Forlorn tensed. “Hey Grex! Wait you fucker!” squawked another much deeper sounding griffon over the clinking of weapons and armour. “Why are the other doors open? Wait why are the keys on the floor!? Grex!” The warning yells came too late and as soon as the first griffon emerged into Forlorn’s view he leapt forward using his wings to propel him towards the wide eyed enemy. It was the archer, the one named Grex who Forlorn barrelled into, extending his hoof blade and tucking his wings in while he sped through the doorway to plant his sword squarely in the feathery neck of the enemy. With a juddering crash the force of Forlorn’s attack drove the blade clean through Grex’s tough, muscled neck, the bone of the spinal column and cut even into the plaster of the wall when the corpse was hurled against it. Sliding the blade out released an awful squelch, the muted sound of broken bone grinding down the blade and escaping gas made Forlorn wince. By now with numerous such gory details having assailed him in the past he could bite back his revulsion and quickly spin around. Hurling the body with him he used his momentum to throw it towards the two warrior griffons behind. They instinctively tried to extend their wings futilely in the cramped corridor while bracing their weapons. The sword bearing griffon was in the lead and behind him the spear armed comrade ducked and dived looking for a way to get into the fight. The look of surprise and fear was evident; they were not expecting a guard, much less one in as elaborate and all-encompassing armour as Forlorn. “Bastard!” screeched the first, bringing the sword in his right claw swooping down while powering over the fallen Grex with his hind legs. Forlorn leapt back, forcing the wild swipe to be wasted on thin air. He countered quickly with a determined sneer on his face, barely concealing his hatred and driving his foe back until a back paw tripped on the body beneath. Seizing his chance he pressed the attack and thrust while the griffon’s guard was broken. From above the form of the second soldier appeared, reared on his hind legs and thrusting with the spear. Forlorn saw it too late, was too far committed to his own strike to react. The spear tip impacted square on the barrel of his chest with enough force to stop Forlorn in his tracks. His own killing blow fell short and slashed down, narrowly missing the brown furred leg of the lead griffon. Silently cursing and repressing the urge to take flight and wield both his hoofswords Forlorn settled into a three legged pose, keeping the right sword on guard. It was clear these two did not fight as a unit. They were soldiers but individuals, a stark comparison to the way the Royal Guard or much more prominently the Empire soldiers fought. Trying to play on that Forlorn let the lead warrior come to him rather than let the spear armed foe behind get a decent chance. A squawk of rage heralded the initial blow. Having already stepped back to entice an attack Forlorn then powered forward off his hind legs and swept his left forehoof, clad in a steel sabaton, into the falling sword strike. Again he countered, angled directly at the griffon’s midriff his own sword plunged forward into the defenceless foe. The rapid sound of clashing steel then crunching metal rang out. Forlorn had parried the sword and embedded his own deep in the warrior’s gut, cleaving through the lamellar armour. The sudden pained squeal turned to ragged breaths and Forlorn pushed forward, ignoring the second claw that raked across his cheek guard desperately searching for his eye. With a leap he tore into the remaining griffon, slapping the release on his second sword and moving well within the warrior’s spear range. Standing on his hind legs, he hammered the blades into the chest armour relying on the heavy swords to pierce the lamellar like they had before. Most of his blows connected, shearing the thin plates of his opponent's armour and drawing shuddering gasps from the punctured lungs. The last griffon fell with barely a mewling whimper but the spear clattered loudly against the floor. Between ragged breaths Forlorn paused on top of a pile of griffon corpses. They had fallen in a rough heap, the first two on the floor and the third sprawled across the two. While his heart returned to normal Forlorn tried to listen for any more noise, if any other griffons had heard the fight, with his heart still hammering he felt confident that he was truly alone. Exhaling a deep shuddering breath he got off the bodies and backed up, unable to stop himself from staring at the morbid scene. Blood was already pooling from several wounds, it dripped from his forehooves and off the points of the hoof blades. Working quickly he wiped the gore from him while braced against the wall. He did not want to retract the swords into their sheaths and soak them in blood so leaving them out and with his back to the wall he cleaned them hurriedly. Satisfied, he ran a rag over his head, helm and legs but he felt dirty all the same. Once he retracted the swords he moved quickly back towards the exit, scooping up the keys with a wing and getting back to work. He had wasted enough time, taken too many chances. Forlorn set his mind on getting out of the city, it would be much easier from the alleyway where he could dart from cover to cover easily and quickly. On the seventh key the door clicked open and he tentatively eased it a jar, letting the sun shine in and allowing his eyes time to adjust. With an exhale of relief he trotted outside, closing and locking the door behind him before taking flight and heading west towards safety.