//------------------------------// // 38 - I’ll Huff and I’ll Puff and I’ll Burn Your House Down! // Story: An Extended Holiday // by Commander_Pensword //------------------------------// Extended Holiday Chp 38: I’ll Huff and I’ll Puff and I’ll Burn Your House Down! Act 4 “Lieutenant Sergeant Gracefall of the Gryphonian army.” Grif stood before the gryphon with both blades drawn. Not that it was necessary. The bodies of dead Gryphon officers littered the floor and the one still living looked far worse. His body lay beaten and broken, his front and back feet tied together, forcing him into an awkward sitting position. Blood painted his once pristine yellow fur into an almost sunset orange. The sound of the mercenaries carrying out the executions of the last gryphons in the base could be heard in the distance. “You led the recon team that attacked close to nineteen separate pony villages, most of which you picked out simply for their lack of ability to defend themselves. You wiped out mares, stallions, and foals indiscriminately and fed on their flesh. You proved yourself with cowardice and savagery. And these are all things I wIll not ... no, I cannot forgive!” Grif measured his pace, slow and terrifying, like death approaching, hovering, just waiting to bring horrors one could not even begin to imagine. “One of my friends lost his entire family in Mountainside Falls. I didn’t have the heart to inform him the reports say you never bothered to send any ponies from that settlement into the empire. But I’m rambling. You're just another name on my list. So let me dispense with the pleasantries.” The two blades swung with a cold, calculated accuracy as the wings were severed. The Gryphon cried in agony. “I hereby, in the name of justice, sentence you to walk the earth for your sins. Send the others my regards, will you?” Before the gryphon could respond, Grif slashed his throat and turned away as he waited for the inevitable. It had been a month since the wedding. Four days later, Grif made for Gryphonia with nothing more than his two ponies, shrial, and enough Equestrian promissory notes to bankrupt Manehattan. Before officially crossing the border he had entered the first tavern he could find and hired as many non-gryphon mercenaries he could get his talons on. All in all it had turned out to be quite a company. Diamond dogs, minotaurs, zebras, a few horses and much to Grif's surprise, even a kangaroo. With his own little army assembled, Grif had begun his hunting along the border. He had already managed to find three names on the list. Mind you, they were low level soldiers, and as such, neither hard to take care of nor significant. This had been his first major name on the list and the first time he had led an attack on an entire camp to reach his target. The battle had been brutal. A few mercenaries would doubtless be mourning their comrades over the rations tonight. But lives had been saved. Nearly a dozen live ponies would be sent back to equestria with the next neutral caravan they found. Celestia had been notably shocked at Grif’s adamant refusal to take any equestrian troops. No ponies or thestrals. Just enough bits to hire the muscle he needed. Grif respected mercenaries. They were professionals. Quick, effective, and they didn’t doubt orders. Provided the money was good, they were pretty self sustaining. Grif had been very careful in his selections. Everyone in the group had some reason to hate gryphons. Grif was drawn from his reflections by a loud thump as the gryphon behind him finally bled out. sheathing his blades, he drew his knife. Now he just needed to decide which feathers were the comfiest. Hammer Strike cracked his neck as he shifted his great hammer onto his back. Looking around, he casually counted the bodies of the Gryphons that were strewn across the room. Many looked more like a tender pulpy mass than they did creatures.  Little, if anything, remained of their original forms. Blood coated the floor. He sighed. A month and a week had passed since Pensword’s wedding and now he found himself on the front lines. Or somewhere very near it at least. Adjusting the hammer again, he began to take his journey back to the nearest pony controlled fort. He would let these corpses rot for a time; let the Gryphons remember why they fear his hammer and why they should fear the ponies. Over the course of the month Hammer Strike had been working mainly on weapons and armor. The second part of his time had been spent fighting in these occasional missions when he got bored and wanted to get out. By now he had gone a full week without rest. Not that he didn’t try, but he never really felt secure. Or perhaps it was something else that was disturbing him. For whatever reason, he felt … paranoid, afraid.  He knew he could trust Pensword and Grif on their decisions, but at the same time he couldn’t help but feel off about their actions. Like it or not, this adventure, these lives, had changed them. All three of them.  And Hammer instinctively knew they would never be the same. Blinking his eyes, the outside world came into focus again as he left the realms of his fears behind for a time. He shook his head, his mane shifting out of place with bits of hay and blood clinging as he pushed those fears back into the dark corner of his mind where they belonged. He knew his mane stylist would faint from his lack of upkeep when he got back to Unity. But for now, he had a war to win. A mane didn’t matter much when lives were at stake. Coming out of his musings, Hammer Strike raised an eyebrow in surprise. Apparently he had been walking without realising it. Thick forest surrounded him, filling the mountain air with the scents of pine, moss, and fern. Darkness filled the expanse, giving the impression of intimidation and anger as the shadows loomed above in the ancient boughs. Searching for a point of reference, Hammer Strike spotted a small glow in the distance, hinting at the presence of a campfire. Sighing, he headed in the direction of the camp, or at least what he hoped was a camp. If he was lucky, perhaps he could get some directions out of the forest, or at the very least they would let him stay the night until he could get his bearings in the morning. At worst it would be a Gryphon camp and he would get a little more entertainment before taking a rest for the night. He approached silently, the blanket of needles masking his hoofsteps. As he drew near, his ears swiveled, picking up on the conversation. “So why are ponies so scared of this Hammer Strike fellow? Is just earth pony, no? We take Hammer, we hit him, and then we collect monies, yes?” The accent was thick, the voice deep and rough. “Not so simple, brother. He is favorite of their princess. They no want anyone to know when they behind his pain. Princess find out, things go to…” The sentence ended with a word Hammer Strike could neither identify nor replicate. “I could teach you the reason why they fear me.” Hammer Strike said aloud as he entered the ring of firelight. A large pot stood hanging over the flames, held by some sort of portable tripod with a swinging arm and hook attachment. Two massive tents stood nearby, covered in patches and shoddy camouflage. Lastly, he noted the two massive creatures whose backs were turned to him, staring into the flames. They sat on a couple of boulders, their meaty fingers tipped by thick, dark nails. Two rope-like protrusions whipped around as the creatures turned to face the intruder. “Huh, little pony has found our camp,” The larger of the two minotaurs noted. His coat was an earthy brown and a large silver ring hung from his nose. His left horn was notably broken in half. His brother, who sat beside him, was a dull grey. He wore no nose ring, but both horns remained intact. The older brother hefted his axe. “Be saving us a lot of time.” Then he charged. Hammer Strike smirked. “Thank you, Captain obvious.” Fifteen minutes later Hammer Strike stood victorious over the two bodies, the grey minotaur’s warhammer still in his hooves, his broken face stained red. Hammer Strike’s would-be assassins had proven to be skilled combatants, but all in all they didn’t have the experience Hammer Strike did. Searching through their bags, he came across a note calling for his own head, offering a bounty of near one thousand bits for it. The faded seal of house flame stood in wax on the note. The scent of Eau du Prancé wafted faintly, mingled with incense and spice.  Only one hoof could have written and sealed this letter. “Well, then. At least he is being more creative about it now,” Hammer Strike commented, tucking the scroll in his saddlebag. Taking one last look around, he shrugged and gave the warhammer a quick look to determine what it was made out of. Crouching in the dimming firelight, Hammer Strike began his examination. To say the hammer was crude would be a vast understatement. As far as Hammer Strike could tell it consisted of a very large stone that had been broken apart by crude blows, hacked to vaguely resemble the shape of a hammer, and tied to a large stick using leather straps. The battle axe wasn’t even worth the smith master’s time. With a shrug Hammer Strike put the hammer down and continued on his path out of the forest, the flames disappearing into nothingness with a sound of whooshing air as the cool night rushed in to fill the suddenly empty space of the fire pit where dim embers glowed, then sputtered, then died. Lunar Fang glared from the command tower that had been added to Hammer Strike’s wall. She could easily see the smaller Gryphon Army marching through another of the passes in the mountain Range between the Gryphon nation on their continent and Equestria. It would have to be resealed. She looked to her guards from the doorway facing the city. As she did so she was reminded of that one snow ball fight from so long ago as she looked to the soldiers and volunteer home guard. She felt a pang of sadness, missing her mate. But they were needed on different fronts. “Pull forward the Trebuchets. Let’s hit them a little harder from the get go,” She ordered. As she heard the shouts of acknowledgement, she turned back to face the enemy camp. Hopefully, they would be within range of the massive engines. “Let’s hope that Lead Weight’s little toy hobby works.” She knew it would work, yet she was still nervous seeing this happening for the “First time.” Her ears pivoted in her helmet as she heard the creaking sound of wood shifting and the whoosh of wind as eight boulders were hurtled over the walls. Four found their target, landing right in the middle of the Gryphon encampment. Already her ears were picking up the calls for adjustments from Lead Weight and the cries of terror from the Gryphon camp. A rather ill attempt was made on the Gryphons’ part to take out these new weapons, only to be repelled from enclosed sections of the wall. The Gryphons were sorely angered by the fact that Fillydelphia was not falling, and had not fallen to their previous General. It was an eyesore on their so called perfect record. What worried Lunar Fang’s troops were the numbers of Gryphons that could fight and were here on the Continent. She, however, had faith and foreknowledge that they would win. She would not waver. She knew she would hold the city that Hammer Strike saved. She shook her head as the Gryphon armies began to pull back out of range. She wondered just how far they could throw. She continued to wonder as a long bolder was launched and landed on the far reach of the Gryphon camp, causing severe damage and several more casualties. It even struck five gryphons from the sky. She sat down and continued her observation. They were quickly abandoning equipment, gear, even a few colors which she knew her fellow brothers and sister of the night would soon have for her own collection of war trophies. This brought a happy smile to her muzzle. She would have her own trophies as her mate had his. Then she smiled inwardly, knowing that very soon her armor would be too small for her. Pensword stared at the pile of scrolls that he had to go through. Now he was Commander Pensword, Leader of the entire military of Equestria. And so, he had to place the needs of the forces and safety of Equestria first. He had been the one to approve Grif’s Mission, the deployment of Lord Hammer Strike to the North Eastern front, which was showing the most buildup, and finally the reassignment of his own mate back to Fillydelphia to protect the city from falling to a second attack. He had a slightly worrying thought. “It’s like the mongol horde,” He uttered to the empty room. He sat down and heaved a sigh. He missed the feeling of Lunar Fang next to him. It had been one month, two weeks, and a day since their wedding. Lunar fang had left two weeks ago. During the customary two weeks of working holiday, the two had never left each other’s side for long. He reached and opened the first scroll, pausing to say a silent prayer as he read the casualty report. Sighing, he rolled it up and placed it to the side for an aide to take care of and to delegate a means to compensate the families affected. He was the first Commander in the Equestrian Military after all. While he could not write personally to each soldier’s family, he would make sure that the families knew that at least he was mourning with them in their loss. He paused as he heard a knock at his door. A moment later, Sergeant Blueblood walked in holding a scroll in his telekinetic grasp. He dropped it neatly on the desk and left. Pensword soon realized why he left so quickly and without any comment. The mark on the scroll clearly identified the author. It was an update from Grif. He broke the seal and quickly read it. As he did so he took out another scroll and slowly crossed out a few lines, letting the ink dry. Then he rolled the two scrolls back up and placed them into one of the drawers of the desk he had commandeered for his office. He continued with the reports for the rest of morning and into midday when another knock at the door interrupted him just after he’d finished writing some more instructions for Commandante Supreme Sunrise and Colonel Hurricane on their front. Major Hurricane, promoted due to Celestia’s orders, was currently stationed at a defensive position in the now renamed town of Gryphon Falls. Sadly, it seemed the closest Pony controlled area near Hammer Strike was Promethean’s camp. While the idea of walking another several miles to the next camp sounded like a wonderful idea, he decided it best to stay at least for a moment to relax. The camp had plenty of expensive tents, each one offering lavish comforts at a very high price. Hammer Strike snorted derisively. As if a tent had any defensive value to it… Shaking his head, Hammer Strike found himself wandering around the camp for a bit. Meanwhile, a personal guard made a beeline for Promethean's tent. Within a minute he reached the tent and flung open the flaps. “Sir,” The guard said “Speak,” Promethean Flame replied. “Hammer Strike lives, sir.” “I should have guessed.” Promethean Flame sighed. “Send him to my tent, but tell no one else where he has gone. Am I clear?” “Yes, sir.” The guard saluted smartly, heading out of the tent in the general location he last saw Hammer Strike. Much to his surprise, the Lord hadn’t moved far. “Lord Hammer Strike,” The guard called out to him. Hammer Strike turned, his brow raised. “Yes?” “My Lord, Promethean Flame, requests your presence at his tent.” “Very well.” Hammer Strike sighed. “Which direction is his tent?” He asked. The guard pointed and Hammer Strike gave a weary nod of annoyance before starting on his way. The first thing he noted as he entered the tent was that it was surprisingly devoid of Promethean Flame. “Wonderful. Did I find the wrong tent…?” He muttered to himself. A multitude of pinpricks crawled across his legs and back. Looking down he noticed his legs and flanks were lined with what appeared to be darts of some kind. From the other side of the tent several familiar black cloaked figures entered. Hammer Strike managed to cut two of them down before the world began to swim, and a third before everything went black. Grif sighed while looking out from his cell, attempting to look distraught and possibly broken. Such a hard thing to do. His men had managed to find information regarding another name on the list at a small outpost nearby. They had scoped the place out, noted troop movements, even possible alternate venues for entrance or escape. But when the time came for the attack things had quickly gone south. The gryphon numbers had been near double what they had suspected and they were soon overwhelmed. Grif had managed to make an escape route for Little Willow, Tall Oak, and Shrial with a fair portion of his men, but he and a few others had been captured in the process. It was a small price to pay. Grif had been informed that the emperor wanted his execution to be as public and humiliating as possible. So they had been instructed not to seriously harm or kill him unless they had no other choice. He had been thrown in a stone cell with nothing more than straw for a bed. The gryphons where sure they had captured the gryphon who hunted his own kind and now all trouble from that end would die down. Oh how wrong they were. He allowed himself a small smirk before catching himself and returning to the act. Grif did not see things their way. He bided his time through the day, not making any major movements, acting cowardly and meek. The act had, for the most part, left the guard unassuming, and this was much more dangerous, and fatal, than he would ever realize. As said guard made his way down the hall and out of sight to switch for the night, Grif took his chance. The gryphons were sure a stone cell with nothing but straw would keep anyone at bay. Grif smiled, collecting up some of the old straw. “Thank you, MacGyver,” he said. Several moments later the night guard approached to find the cell door completely off its hinges, laying on the ground. Grif was gone. The guard entered the cell, looking desperately for any sign of the missing prisoner. He never heard Grif drop form the roof, but he did feel as the gryphon grabbed his neck and snapped it. Grif checked the body. Finding the keys and a knife, he searched the other cells. Finding none of his men, he snuck through the prison as stealthily as possible. Fortunately, he found and retrieved his gear in the process. It was tempting to hunt for the gryphon on his list. However, discretion was the better part of valor, and Grif decided it was more necessary to escape. keeping to the shadows and moving swiftly, the gryphon managed to make his way through the outpost up and over the walls, alive to fight another day. He would avenge the lives of the fallen mercenaries. Hammer Strike opened his eyes weakly, looking around as he tried to figure out where he was. The memory of his fight and the darts flashed into his mind and as much as he tried, he couldn’t find the energy to do much of anything. He shook his head lightly and studied the room around him. Looking to his hooves, he discovered chains wrapped around him, connecting from the ceiling to hold his front hooves. A similar set of chains held his back hooves to the floor. The room was cylindrical in design. There were no real corners that he could perceive. A very unusual form of architecture, indeed. Looking back to the cuff around his hoof, he gave the chain a pull, though he had next to no ability to move his legs. He felt strangely sluggish in all his attempts. “Oh good, you’re awake.”A voice spoke up as a large, rust red colored gryphon stepped into view. “I am Senior Torturer Grimbeak,” he said wth a bow. “I will be your … host during your stay with us.” The gryphon smiled smugly. “So, this is the infamous ‘Celestia’s Ghost.’ You do not seem so ghostly now.” The Gryphon sneered over the captive pony, eying him carefully, sizing him up. “The titles I receive, I have for a reason,” Hammer Strike responded. His mind raced, trying to find a solution, any solution to his current situation. “And yet you seem unable to break through these chains.” The gryphon smiled as he rattled one of them, making Hammer’s body shake as well. “Give me a bit and I shall show you a way around that.” He responded. “I do not think so.” The gryphon leered. “I am not so self confident as to face you on even ground. Those chains are made from dragon bones and this entire room is lined with drake scales. You would have a better chance of burning through the moon than you would have putting so much as a single mark on this chamber.” “Alright then,” Hammer Strike said. “You got me. Now what? Do you want a congratulations?” “No, we want information,” The gryphon said, sneering, a look of dreadful eagerness transforming his face into a ghastly sycophantic image. “I hope you do not give it to us easily,” He purred. “You would count yourself lucky to get anything from me,” Hammer responded matter of factly. “We shall see about that.” The gryphon smiled, rolling in a wrack laden with all manner of weapons. “You have a favorite?” The gryphon asked. “Surprise me.” Grif stared at the document for the seventh time. They had…. procured it from a gryphon messenger flying by. The message seemed to be flying all over the gryphon empire. The contents sent a chill through him every time he read it. It claimed that Lord Hammer Strike, Celestia’s ghost, had been procured and was being held for information. Scouring the message for what had to have been the twentieth time, Grif let out of shriek of frustration, tearing the note to shreds with his talons. The location was not stated. Grif wanted to help his friend desperately, but there were too many outposts along the border, all with their own prisons. Where would they have taken him? There had been no record of Hammer Strike’s capture in the history books. No indication where they would hold a prisoner like that. Realization hit Grif quite suddenly and his breast was filled with a desperate hope. He didn’t know. But maybe, just maybe, someone else did. “Shrial?” Grif called out. “Yes, sir?” Shrial asked, meeting his gaze, though shifting her eyes every once in a while.  She had mastered her trembling and was making rather remarkable progress in her growth.  The training had been brutal, but the effects were well worth it.  Toned muscle streamlined her body, granting a feral sort of elegance to her gait as they bunched and relaxed with every stride. “The last few weeks, you’ve fought with me. You’ve spilled the blood of your brothers when you had no reason to. Now I am confronted by a situation I cannot solve on my own. If you can honestly, truly help me, there will no longer be any reason for me not to trust you. Did your father ever speak of any high security dungeons or jails near the border?” Grif asked, his expression grim. “My lord has been captured and I need to locate him before the worst happens.” His eyes seemed to swirl, shifting in eddies like two whirlpools. Shrial gasped. “Celestia’s Ghost captured? Impossible.” She shook her head in disbelief. She had learned from painful experience just how strong Lord Hammer Strike really was. And though she had been trained to hate and view ponies as inferior, she had to admit that this particular pony was worthy of honor and respect. As a servant to his servant, she knew her duty. Her father would turn in his grave, but he was no longer here to haunt her and she was no longer of that clan. The time had come for her to decide where her new loyalties would truly lie. “I know I have not been the kindest to you, but I like to think I’ve been fair. Now I’m asking you to be fair to me. My oath is at stake.” Grif looked her in the eye. Shrial began to tremble. To give this information to Grif would mean betraying everything and everyone she had once known and loved.  And yet … Grif had shown her there was so much more to the world than what her Father had ever revealed.  And he was right.  While the training had hurt, Grif had indeed been kind, only taking her as far as she could bear, gradually helping her to grow strong. After all, it is not an easy thing to shove several years worth of training into two months.  She took a deep breath, remembering her hunt with the Thestrals.  “A mare must choose their own path to walk by the moonlight. But remember, while our paths may differ, we are all family. Our hearts beat as one.” Those words had been told her by a particularly wise Thestral named Piercing Roar.  She closed her eyes, remembering how she felt when they had accepted her, forgiven her, treated her as one of their own.  These ponies truly did have far more honor and respect than any Gryphon she had known in the empire.  Her eyes snapped open, her look determined. A new fire burned within. “There can be only one. My father spoke of it often. It is a place where we take prisoners of war who are of political significance and traitors. They are systematically tortured and beaten mentally and physically until they are completely broken.  Then the Emperor comes to pass judgement upon them.” She shuddered. “Father used to threaten me as a child that he would put me there if I dared to question his orders … and I knew he meant it.” A single tear streamed down her cheek as she recalled both the good and the bad of her father, Jorund. “Shertugal: The Fortress of Desolation. Some call it the pit of despair. None escape those halls unless they are dead or a hollow husk, mindless and broken, cast out to wander the lands until the manticores take them. If there is any place they would take your … our lord, it would be there.” “Thank you, Shrial,” Grif said with relief and gravity. He moved back to a trunk in the corner and fetched something. Walking back to her, he laid a new longsword in front of her. It was far more elegant than the one she had been assigned by her father, smaller and thinner with a wiry handguard that would protect her entire claw. “Here. The sword you had on you was trash. I had this commissioned before we left the fort. Get used to it. Name it. Carry it with you at all times. You are a warrior. This weapon is as good as your soul. And anyone who loses track of their soul is a poor person indeed.” “You … you made this … for me?” Shrial took up the blade, testing the balance in her talons. She performed a few experimental swipes. The light danced across the blade and through the antechamber as she sliced through the air. “In as much as I paid the blacksmith who made it, yes. It’s admittedly not hammerstrike class weaponry, but it will keep you alive. And now that I know I won’t be looking at the tip as it’s protruding from the front of my chest, I think it’s time you began to keep it as a warrior should.” Grif looked her in the eye. “Take care of it and it will take care of you.” “I will.” For the first time, Shrial looked at Grif, really looked at him. And within those eyes she could see so much more than she ever thought she could know about another Gryphon. She saw kindness, honor, valor, concern, intelligence, and deeper still, a gnawing fear and rage.  Remembering the first time she met Grif and the following weeks, it was almost as if he were two Gryphons in one body.  But that would be ridiculous.  She shook her head and smiled grimly. “When do we start?” “Go. Tell everyone that we’re marching at dawn.” He paused, placing a talon to his beak in thought. “We don’t have the numbers to take on a fortress by ourselves. Hurricane’s base is just across the border. I’ll send a message to him informing the others of the situation. I want the watch lifted tonight. I’ll stay up and keep it myself. Double everyone’s rations, but make sure they get to bed early. This may be the last full night’s sleep they get in a while.” Grif pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, quickly making a quill by plucking one of his own feathers. “I just hope pensword still has that dragon.” “Hammers, daggers, swords, axes, maces, balls and chains, spears,” Senior Torturer Grimbeak looked at the table of bent or broken weapons in sheer disbelief, his face almost as red as his coat in his frustration. The bladed weapons had been dulled to the point of uselessness. They had cut the pony or punctured him, but the damage was shallow before the blade dulled and the wounds healed or simply cauterized themselves shut before the gryphons could exploit them. “What have the ponies done to you? Cast some sort of augmentation spell?” “No spells,” Hammer Strike responded, trying to ignore the slight pain running through him. “Well nevertheless, we have proven you can be cut. And where metal and craft could do little ...” he smiled cruelly as a trolley laden with numerous powders and liquids rolled in. “Perhaps mother nature can do more.” The smile twisted into a maniacal grin. Hammer Strike didn’t respond, keeping his gaze on the gryphon in front of him. He looked bored, but something stirred in those hazel eyes, flickering like embers. “I have been told that the iceberg ivy plant produces a toxin that makes one feel like their insides are frozen. It is non-lethal, but extraordinarily painful. Grimbeak kept grinning as he took a handful of azure coloured powder and threw it in Hammer Strike’s face. “Maybe you will be able to give me a better description.” Hammer Strike didn’t speak as he gritted his teeth. His eyelids twitched slightly, these two signs the only indication of the poison taking effect as he kept his unbroken gaze on the Gryphon. “You are not a very fun torture subject, are you?” The gryphon shrugged amiably. Grabbing a broken mace, he began to use it as a club, beating savagely on the pony’s head. Pensword looked up from his desk as a strange sensation washed over him, prickling his fur. A moment later a scroll materialized out of the air, plopping onto his new Mahogany desk. He started as he noticed the seal. Intricately carved into the dollop of wax, a pair of crossed feathers stood with sword handles on the edges where the nubs would normally be. The hand guards circled prominently to act as protection to their would be wielders. “Bladefeathers …” Grif must have used the lighter Hammer Strike had returned. He took a moment to admire the craftsmanship before switching his attention to a second seal.  His heart froze. Hammer Strike’s personal seal lay in all its glory. There was but one problem. A gaping crack in the mold had marred the surface. Pensword knew the seal’s meaning and quickly moved to the door. With a turn of his hoof the bolt was thrown. Satisfied that he was alone and would not be disturbed, Pensword raced to his desk, sat down, and broke open the scroll, his heart racing. Pensword, I intercepted a message recently. It claimed that Hammerstrike has been captured. I don’t have all the details, but I have a reliable source telling me he is being held at the Fortress of Desolation, also known as Shertugal. I am getting reinforcements from Hurricane’s camp, but I need something with the power of a siege weapon and the ability to move on it’s own. Can you supply the heavy weaponry? Grif Bladefeather Pensword stood silently before he spun around and hit the wall with a hoof. “Dummkopf.” He hit the wall again. “BAKA!” he yelled. “I told him to keep guards with him.” he yelled to no one. “But no, he had to wave it off. This is not Equestria, or even home for that matter. Nobles have plots for and against thee.” He sighed and his face darkened. “Heaven above if he gets hurt I shall go ballistic on him and that entire Fortress!” He stomped around the room, his mood foul as he kicked the desk aside, sending it sliding a few feet across the floor. Not an easy feat considering the sheer weight and bulk the desk had.  It was solid oak. “I should have stayed with him. I don’t give a flying rat’s care for what history says. I should have protected him.” He trotted to the newly shifted desk, angrily taking parchment and quill. Breaking the pen, he let out a roar of rage and tore up the blank parchment before flinging it away and grabbing a new sheet and quill. Grif, I am sending you my best weapon. I am not sending anything that can be broken and should give the greatest warriors of all cause for pause and pain. You should get my gift for the fight soon. Use him wisely. Let him take anything of value from the Fortress first and then pay the merchs. I think the Merchs will agree with that. Otherwise, those that disagree can be eaten for all I care. May you never know the anger I Feel at myself, at Gryphons, and finally, at Hammer Strike. When he gets back, I demand to see him as Commander of the Equestrian Military. At least with that title, I have the right to chew him out. And I will. Pensword. The ink spread in a spatter as Pensword stabbed the pen home on the final period. Snorting, he left it to dry as he took a Crystal from the drawer and put a hoof on it. Following the dragon’s instructions, he channeled his emotions into it. A moment later he got a response. The Dragon would be at his location in three days, at which point he would direct it to Grif’s location. He returned to the parchment. Postscript: The weaponry shall arrive at the Fortress in three days, at which point I am sending it directly to the Colonel Hurricane’s camp. Give the word and I shall march out there myself and lay siege to that fortress if needed. Your friend for eternity, Matthias He let the new ink dry before rolling up the paper, sealing it in his new seal. He turned to a lamp with a glowing blue flame. It licked gently from its wick. A mysterious blue liquid glowed in the crystal chamber below the lamp. He took off the glass chimney and held the scroll to the flame, watching as it become smoke and sparkles moving with all speed toward his friend. Pensword sighed as he watched the cloud vanish from his office. He felt so tired now that the surge of anger slowly ebbed away. He was furious at Hammer Strike, but he was even more angered by the Gryphons. He narrowed his eyes as he moved to another part of his office where he held the table he had first seen back in the Hurricanes’ manor a lifetime ago. He quickly set a few controls and security protocols and promptly had a clean map laid upon it for planning. He narrowed his eyes as he focused the magical map upon the location. Fort Desolation was far into the Equestrian land mass’ Gryphon territory. His keen tactical mind immediately picked up on at least ten outposts and three more fortresses they could take to act as decoys thanks to the captured maps they had taken from enemy troops. Finally, he saw the icons of at least three normal Army groups. He paused and pondered if they were still there, or if they were currently being used to back up the front lines. He quickly split the map to show a scenario of the two main concerns within and without. He quickly placed Grif’s icon at Colonel Hurricane’s camp and then placed a Dragon icon. He watched as they marched and played out the two different scenarios based on the information that he had fed into the magical construct. He frowned. If the Armies were there, Grif would suffer heavy losses and this scenario warned the possible death of Colonel Hurricane and Grif in the assault. On the plus side, according to the map, the dragon would cause a few fear modifiers to effect the enemy troops. In the second scenario, he had removed the troops due to reinforcements and pushing the incursions into Equestria through the other passes. It was a little better. The only places that would hang up the plan of attack would be the outposts. He quickly turned to his desk and wrote another letter that would be mailed to Colonel Hurricane. It had a simple command. Colonel Hurricane, I want all outposts razed to the ground. I am sending my special weapon north. I wish to inform you as well that Lord Hammer Strike, in some manner, was captured by the Forces of Gryphonia. I want thee to make all due speed to Fort Desolation. Battle Captain Grif shall have the details of the plan. Listen to him. That is an order, if needed, from your Commander. Pensword. He sealed the letter once it was dry and sent it on its way via a purple fire lamp, rather than the blue. Then he closed his eyes as he moved to the map. He quickly opened up another scenario, setting the time moving forward as he began to move troops around in an imaginary incursion into the area. He paused and quickly sent a message to the linked table in Major Hurricane’s office in Gryphon Falls. He was to start organizing search and destroy missions for any remaining pockets of Gryphons in this area of the mountains. He hoped their actions would allow them to close off other smaller valleys, or even tunnels that were being used in desperation. He closed his eyes. “This is why I never move. It is a campaign just to keep the enemy out of Equestria.” He let out a sigh before returning the map to the current situation and moved to a wall with a large map written in the Gryphic tongue. Under the names, translations stood boldly in Equis. He shook his head. He would aim for the King of this area’s capital if needed. Come to think of it, he always wondered why the war ended so suddenly ... The last few weeks had been hard on Little Willow and Tall Oak, the two earth ponies had made it clear that whether it was Grif’s wish or not, they would be following him into Gryphonia. The earth pony mare had been more than a little angry when she spotted the gryphoness following Grif around and the two had been at odds ever since. Tall Oak, for his part, had been distant, but respectful to the gryphoness in their few interactions. The big earth pony stallion carrying the large sword across his back had been a bit hard for her to get used to, but over time she had settled into her own quiet accord with him. Currently the pair of ponies were working on dismantling Little Willow’s medical equipment for travel in preparation for the oncoming march. Neither seemed to notice the gryphoness entering the tent from behind. Shrial cleared her throat, eying the two ponies carefully.  “I, um … I came to see what I could do to help.” “We’re quite fine here, thank you,” Little Willow responded without even looking at her, her tone sharp as a knife. Tall Oak turned his head and nodded respectfully to shrial. “The beds need dismantling yet.” Little Willow glared at him, but let it pass, immersing herself in her duties as she Packaged the bandages and other pieces of her kits. Shrial nodded, quickly moving to take down the cots. For a military girl like her, it was easy enough to take care of.  After placing them with the others that lay in a pile nearby to load for transport, she came back in. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. If she was going to go into battle, she needed to clear a few things up. She hardened her eyes and nodded in apology to Tall Oak before she began in earnest.  “Just what is your problem, Little Willow? You have done nothing but stare daggers at my wings since I was brought into this camp.  I want to know why.” Little Willow glared at her hard. “Why don’t you ask my parents? Oh wait, that’s right, I watched them get skinned and flayed by your emperor's soldiers for supper,” she said. “I don’t know what trick you pulled on Grif to make him spare you, but it’s not working on us.” Shrial smirked. “You care for him deeply, do you not? Why else would you use what he calls contractions? He has had a great impact upon you, I can see.  It is no wonder considering the honor he bears. It weighs heavily upon him. Sometimes a little too heavily, I think.” Her countenance softened as she recalled that brief glimpse of what she had seen when she overcame her fear and looked on Grif as an equal for the first time. Her sword lay waiting in its scabbard, the symbol of Grif’s trust. She would not betray it.  Looking on Little Willow, she could see the hurt, the sorrow, the fear. But more importantly, she could see the evil lurking beneath, feeding upon those emotions. It had to be cut off. Shrial’s face hardened again.“With regards to your other accusations, I can say nothing to defend myself. I am what I am. I was raised a Gryphon general’s daughter in the Emperor's reign. I was raised on a variety of meats, most particularly pony meats after the manner of our clan’s tradition. I was bred to be a trembling, shivering wretch who would do whatever any man commanded.  And when your Pensword and Grif came to our fort, they killed my father. I was upset, angry, and most of all, lost. Everything I held dear was taken from me in an instant. Pensword showed me the loss you have faced, and that he faced. I did not feel that I could bear it, so I begged them to kill me. They would not. “From there, Grif took me in and forced me to change. It was hard. I have received many hurts, many bruises. But given time, he succeeded. I have been changed by him, just as you have. One of his greatest lessons to me was to never back down and always let myself be heard. I have nothing to prove to you and your judgement means nothing to me. I cannot control the actions of other Gryphons, only my own. I have lived among your kind, learned from them, laughed with them, hunted with them, fought with them, served with them. And like Grif, and as a member of the Bladefeather clan, I have sworn to never again partake of the meat of an intelligent creature.” Little Willow flinched, each sentence a heavy blow as Shrial told her tale, so like her own, and yet, so vastly different. “You may hold on to your hatred and your anger if you wish, but know this. It will lead to your destruction if you do.  It will consume you, Little Willow, Nature Child. And it will warp your gift of healing into something ugly and dark. Let it go and judge me by my current deeds, not on the things I could not control. Your brother has likely already told you this. Think about it, Little Willow. And should you truly desire a reckoning, my tent is always open. I ask only one thing. Never, never, question my loyalty to Grif. He saved me just as he saved you.” Shrial’s gaze was cold, but respectful, her fury kept in check by well built discipline. “I apologize for taking up so much of your time. Tall Oak.” She bowed her head in respect and farewell as she turned to leave. “W...wait!” Little Willow’s voice had changed, the scathing tone was gone and the mare spoke over somewhat choked sobs. “I, I’m sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this … that I wouldn’t do what they did to him.” She continued to sob as she tried to get ahold of herself. Shrial waited as requested, halting in her exit. But she did not turn around just yet. Her gaze pierced to the horizon as she contemplated the setting sun in its course, a symbol of endings and death, and yet, the possibility of a new beginning and a new light to rise. It reminded her much of herself over the last two months and the changes she’d had to face. Tall Oak spoke up, surprising both females. “My sister and I saw just a small piece of how Grif was treated among other gryphons. It isn’t a pleasant memory.” “Many believe orphans to be weak creatures who have no right to live. Grif has proven that to be false. I believe he will help many people to see what true strength is one day. Though in our day and age he will face ridicule and pain, he is paving a way for a better future. I admire him for that strength.” A gentle breeze played through the camp, brushing Shrial’s primaries as the golden sunlight danced on her pristine white crown feathers, causing them to practically glow. “His village gave him nothing but glares and insults.” Little Willow spoke as calmly as she could. “He gave meat to the families that needed extra during the plague without asking for anything and all he received were complaints because the meat was cold, or salty, or that they don’t like bear meat, or moose meat. He saved us and he wouldn’t accept anything in return. How many gryphons must have known we were in that cage waiting till our turn came to die and did nothing? Yet he turned to help us. Even now, he hunts down names on some list because he feels guilty for what the gryphons have done. I-I fear it will be the death of him.” “I won’t let it.” Shrial’s words cut through the atmosphere like a lightning bolt, speaking volumes. “I won’t let it,” she said again, the gold darkening to a bloody red as she turned to face the ponies. “I won’t.” Celestia sat inside her personal quarters sorting through letters. That is, until a wisp of smoke entered the room and began to solidify itself into a scroll, landing on her desk. With a questioning gaze she grabbed the scroll and opened it, reading its contents. Princess Celestia, It has come to my attention that Lord Hammer Strike has been captured by the Gryphons. We will be leading an attack against the fortress holding him in attempt to rescue him. Grif Bladefeather Celestia questioned the letter. Why would they need to send a rescue for Hammer Strike? Her teacher could easily make his way out, crushing any who got in his way. She had half a mind to reply and tell Grif to simply wait it out, but she decided the gryphon needed to learn not to doubt Hammer Strike. Should he chose to, he would break free in a day, two at most. She took a quill and some parchment in her magical grasp and quickly wrote a reply. Dear Grif, Do whatever you feel is necessary, though I see this more as an unneeded use of resources. Hammer Strike will be fine. The Gryphons will learn that he cannot be held. If he wishes to walk away, he will walk away. If, for some reason, he is still in captivity it is most likely because he is planning something large that will shake the Gryphon arrogance to their foundation. HRH Princess Celestia Princess Celestia rolled up the scroll and sent it off to Grif without further thought. Then, turning to look at the wall and the map of Equestria, her brow furrowed. Something felt off, yet what worried her the most was that her sister was off in the Eastern Front leading troops against any Gryphons still inside the borders. She frowned at how many small and large parties of Gryphons could sneak about in her lands so easily. “Be safe, Sister.” She whispered to the air. She was worried how much more of this Fires of Tartarus poison might still be around. “Well, you are quite the specimen of earth pony strength are you not?” The gryphon noted. “Usually the strongest ponies break after a small blast of sensory deprivation powder. And I have used up my entire supply on you.” Grimbeak twisted his head to the side quizzically, his eyes calculating. “You seem to have no natural reaction to anything.” The gryphon lashed out with a talon and a burning pain lanced through Hammer Strike’s ear. “Not even a wince.” “However, physical pain is not our only means of making prisoners talk. If we cannot make you speak through pain, then perhaps you will talk to save another?” The gryphon looked forward and signalled, motioning with a talon to some unseen individual. An armed gryphon private came into Hammer Strike’s view holding a young mare with a knife to her throat. “Don’t you dare.” Hammer Strike’s tone shifted for the first time in the two weeks he had been held captive. His normally unamused tone had been replaced by one far more ominous in nature. “Then tell us about Equestria’s current defenses.” The gryphon said. “I can not do that.” “Very well.” Grimbeak gave a curt nod to the guard and Hammer Strike heard the gargled scream as the gryphon soldier slowly slit the pony’s throat. “Bring in the next one,” Grimbeak said. A fury had been building in Hammer Strike since the day of his capture. But this ... this was much more. An innocent life had just been taken in front of him. And they were planning to steal more. He pulled on the chains, his mind coming back to life as he felt his body fill with energy. The next was a stallion just barely out of his foal years. “Talk.” The gryphon said. “We know Celestia trusts you with everything.” The next sound heard was not the voice of Hammer Strike, but of chains creaking as they strained against the sudden force he put out. The gryphon signalled someone behind Hammer Strike and several more pricks covered his skin, telling him he had received more drugs. He felt his muscles relax against his will, his eyes drooping as he lost the energy he had, his thoughts slowing. “Can’t have you getting out of those chains now, can we?” Gimbeak sneered, signalling the hostage keeper again. This time a choking gasp strained its way to Hammer Strike’s ears as the hostage was slowly strangled to death, his windpipe crushed with exquisite slowness. With his last ounce of energy, Hammer Strike looked up to his gryphon captors, a dull fire burning in his eyes. “Pray that I never break free, or else that I die first. For if ever I find release, I will bring hell to your doorstep when I do…” Lunar Fang slowly rose from her prayer to Faust and turned around at the altar in the front of the congregational area. She opened her eyes and began to walk back down the aisle to the entrance. She paused as Promethean Flame entered the cathedral. He walked to the donation box and dropped a few coins in before smiling smugly at her.  He walked slowly and deliberately towards her before bowing his head. “Dame Lunar Fang.” “Lord Flame,” Lunar Fang replied civilly. “I thank you for your donation.” She moved to continue on her way. “I must admit, you thestrals performed adequately in protecting the city. Soon you will be able to return to your cave with your bear stews and let the sensible ponies handle things, hmm?” he said. “Well, it might be a cave in your backyard.” She replied with a smirk. “Princess Luna has granted us citizenship. So you shall be seeing us more often. And I have plans to become a member of this herd.” She moved a wing to indicate the cathedral. “Or I might just join the herd in Unity.” she added with a smirk. “Oh, I don’t think Princess Luna has the influence to get her bill to pass,” promethean flame noted. “The lords can be very fickle, after all.” She raised an eyebrow. “So the Lords risk losing the Princess that controls the night? One that has become a master battle tactician and master who has an entire nation loyal to her and could become some of Equestria’s most loyal subjects? Here is something else to consider as well. Thestrals would provide some new tax revenue for your coffers,” She added with a look of annoyance. “Oh, the only thing we needed you for was the gryphon threat. And considering that their main base fell to a bat bird, they can’t be that much of a threat now, can they?” promethean flame snorted. “Last I heard, your husband is staying nice and safe up there in Fort Triumph while other ponies do the work for him.” Lunar Fang bristled her mane. “He is not a Bat Bird.” her voice lowered and held a slight growl to it. “He is an Equestrian Citizen and the Commander of Equestria’s forces. Do you think he wants to be cooped up in that fortress all day? He would want to fight and win. But what would it mean if the Gryphons were to learn of his promotions and then see that he is leading the battle? It would be too much of a risk.” She moved to walk past him. “I am proud to serve him both as a Leader of the Troops, as well as his Mate and Wife.”  “Well then, I suppose you will be happy to know that you’ll be seeing him soon,” Promethean Flame said. She paused and turned her head. “What do you mean?” She asked. “As the military leader here I am, by rules and traditions, able to ask that question and receive an answer.” “Well, as soon as Celestia sees reason, the command will of course be placed in proper hooves.” “Oh, you mean the Hurricane house?” She paused and looked to Promethean Flame. “Do you know also what happened a month ago? Or did you just gloss over the facts? Because if you think only a Hurricane can or should wield Commander status. He is a Hurricane, and by marriage, so. am. I.” “Yes, but you are not nobility,” Promethean Flame pointed out. “There is no noble to watch over this land currently.” “I am the Military commander.” She shot back. “If you feel that a noble is supposed to be an overseer to do all the fancy dinner parties and the like, by all means submit a list of names for me to peruse while we await Lord Hammer Strike’s return from the field of battle.” She looked to the noble with disdain. “Now if there is nothing else to discuss, I have military matters to deal with. This city will not defend itself.” “I would not count on lord Hammer Strike’s return,” Promethean Flame said casually.“Ugly things, battles,” he said, trotting away. Lunar Fang jerked to a halt, looking at the back of Promethian’s head as he trotted to the altar and knelt to pray. She turned and walked out of the finely carved doors, not caring to look anymore at the artwork. She felt something in pit of her stomach and she didn’t like it. She quickly made her way to military headquarters:  one of the old manors left by the now desolate Hooves house. She shook her head. Lord Promethean Flame was poised to inherit the houses. She wondered if she could petition Princess Luna to grant the Hooves home as her own Dame land in Fillydelphia, seeing as landed nobility was of such importance at the moment. She paused as she was handed a sack of scrolls with updates. She walked to her office and sat down, smiling as she took off her helmet to look at the letters and quickly pulled out two scrolls she instantly knew by sight. She always enjoyed getting letters from Pensword and Grif. She opened Pensword’s letter first, only to frown as she read on. The introduction was not his usual one. Colonel Lunar Fang, I write with a heavy in heart to state the following. Lord Hammer Strike has been imprisoned by the Gryphons and taken to their Fortress, Shertugal. Lunar Fang, I hereby require thee to be ready to march at a moment’s notice as Fillydelphia is on the southern edge of the passes that would lead directly into the region. Three army groups already await you there. I pray that thou shalt continue to build up the defenses. Continue the wall and trench building and continue the tower construction, but be ready to march if needed. I also sent our Heavy Friend to help Grif. Break the siege if thou canst and drive the Gryphons away. I need a clear path of retreat if such tactics should prove necessary. Commander Pensword She paused and moved a wing to open Grif’s scroll, both nervous and worried at what might be waiting inside. She had a bad feeling already. Now she had some new suspicions. She knew that gossip would spread through the ranks. And if her feeling as right, Promethian Flame would be spreading rumors like a pegasus spreading storms. It might be best to let them know about Promethean Flame’s words from before she received the letters to guard them against his baitings and doubtless, future slander. Lunar Fang, First off, whatever Pensword may have said about coming here, belay that. I have things handled here and Fillydelphia is much safer than anything out here. Pensword’s a little worried right now and he probably sent you a letter based on his worry and didn’t think anything through. Second, breathe deep breaths, in and out. There we go! You got more than yourself to think about out there and I don’t think Pensword could take it if something happened to the two of you. I promise. I will get our friend back. Keep your ear to the ground, will you? Hammer Strike was at a base on the edge but he’s no fool. Something feels off, but I can’t put the pieces together. So yeah, that’s it. Stay there, be safe, breathe, ear to the ground. Tell the godbaby I said hi! Grif Bladefeather P.S. It’s still awkward using that name, by the way. Luna Fang slowly put the scrolls down as she looked dumbly at the two for a moment. Then she smiled a little and put a hoof to her belly. “Yes, I shouldn’t do anything too rash,” She muttered before getting up, walking to her door and opening it. “I am not to be disturbed for the next two hours, or until I come out. Whichever comes first,” She instructed her guard at the door. She acknowledged the order with a curt nod before returning to a rigid stance, her eyes alert and aware. Lunar Fang shut the door, went back to her desk, and sat down. Pulling a scroll to her, she began to write a letter of her own. To my dearest husband and Commander, Even when times are tough and you are writing on your emotions, please remember to at least greet me with love. Also, I know you are emotional as your writing is not as smooth or nice as usual, I assume due to your anger. I shall await your verification orders when a calmer head is present, my dear. Or would you rather have me keeping an eye on Promethean Flame? He arrived just three days ago. I spoke with him today and not only did he call you a Bat Bird. He also was suggesting that we Thestrals shall return to our caves and the former status quo. Also, Flame mentioned something about Hammer Strike being missing in a roundabout way before either yours or Grif’s letter arrived. We need to keep an eye on him. When the times comes, we must present anything we find to the courts, or else act on our own. My dear, this is the day when wars between houses is common and it is normal to come against those that dishonor others. My dear, please be calm. And remember that your orders do not only affect me, but our future child as well. I love you, and look forward to the day we can be together again. Your wife and Mate, Lunar Fang Colonel Hurricane looked to the sky from his outpost on the border between Equestrian and Gryphonian territory as the shadow of a dragon flew overhead, spiraling three times before landing out in the open fields near the outpost. Any Gryphon scouts were hopefully already turning back with the news that a Dragon was in the region and landing near the Equestrian forces. The ponies and the mercenaries in Grif’s group were immediately intimidated by the large beast. Even the minotaurs looked on the beast with a mixture of fear and grudging respect. Only Grif seemed to keep his cool as he approached. “You must be the dragon Pensword made a contract with. I was not given your name,” Grif said, keeping his tone level and respectful, yet challenging. “I am Grif, friend of ponies, traitor to my kind.” Grif did not bow, but kept his eyes on the dragon. “So, you are the one I was sent to help... ” The dragon said, pausing. “I am called Haymin.” “My Lord Hammer Strike has been taken into a nearby fortress and is likely being tortured. I plan to lead a charge to save him. I need your power to cause panic and give us an opening. In return, I offer you a tenth of the loot of your choosing.” Grif said, laying the contract out verbally for the dragon. “A simple task.” The dragon said, rolling his eyes. “A tenth will do ... This time.” “Good.” Grif nodded. “As a sign of good faith between us,” Grif pulled out a large golden gryphon statue from his bag. The dragon’s eyes sparkled with hoard lust. “A piece from an earlier conquest. I offer it as a gift to cement this deal between us.” The dragon quickly snatched the statue in his claws, giving a small nod. “Why are we rescuing this lord anyways?” “He is my lord.” Grif said. “He is the one who I gave my oath and the one who I trust completely. I would sooner charge down your throat to save his life than any other pony in this world save for five others,” Grif said. “And if not for my lord’s sake, remember what these gryphons almost did to your people. Surely getting paid to end their lives is worth it for you?” The dragon shrugged. “Seems fine enough.” “Wait here while we prepare. I will let you know when to head out. If you need anything, the minotaur over there will get it for you.” Grif motioned to one of the mercs who stood uneasily nearby. “Well, we are out of our toxins, we have broken all our spare weapons, and the prison keepers tell me we are dangerously short on our food supply. I guess we won’t be getting anything out of you, will we?” The gryphon sighed as he pulled out a small container holding a murky black liquid. “I suppose there is no point in keeping you alive any longer then, is there?” Hammer Strike only glared back at the gryphon. “Let us start with Gorgon's Blood. It is admittedly faster then I would like, but it is easy to get ahold of and very effective,” Grimbeak said as he poured the liquid onto a knife he had retrieved from the trolley. Then, he stabbed Hammer Strike. The poison administered to  Hammer Strike’s system was supposed to take effect instantly. But as time ticked on, no signs of death came. Only that continued fixed glare. “Huh. Well I guess that is to be expected...” The gryphon said. Over the next three hours, he exposed Hammer Strike to poison after poison. Manticore venom, Black Lotus Flower, Ogre Drool, not even basilisk venom could hurt this pony from legend. The gryphon grew more and more desperate with each failed attempt. finally, when all else had been exhausted, Grimbeak took out a small vial of bright orange fluid and gave it to the gryphon who had been drugging Hammer Strike with his darts. “I will admit, I am surprised. By all accounts you should be dead many times over by now. However, it is time for this game to come to an end. The poison my underling is about to administer to you is known as the Flames of Tartarus. It is a rare poison my people can only make so much of every century. Fortunately, we have enough with us to easily kill an alicorn. A third of that should be enough to bring down an earth pony.” And with that he signaled the gryphon and Hammer Strike felt the pin prick into his leg. He could feel the poison as it entered his body, raging through his veins and quickly filtering through his system. His insides felt like they were being set alight, melting, burning to the point he wanted to scream. But nothing came from his mouth when he tried. The gryphons looked on with fascination as they bore witness to the pain on Hammer Strike’s face. Soon he felt his vision fade. His energy sapped, and his head fell forward. “Well, it was faster than I would have thought, but obviously we are finished. Take him to the crematory. With the toxins in his blood he wouldn’t be safe to eat...” Grimbeak instructed. He wiped some sweat off his feathered brow. That torture session must have taken more out of him than he thought. But as he looked to his underling, he noticed the same problem. At first it seemed like nothing, a mere inconvenience. But slowly, it rose. The private cried out in pain, dropping the corpse and backing away. Burns covered his hands, turning them an ugly blistered red. The end of the trolley that was meant to bear the body away slowly turned a warm cherry red. Sweat glistened on both gryphons now, not only from heat, but fear as it began evaporate from their bodies, wicked away by the heat of the great kiln the prison had become. “There is a reason for titles…” They heard Hammer Strike say aloud, his voice warped and distorted. “Celestia’s… Ghost…” Horror dawned on their faces as they turned to the corpse. The soldier with the blow pipe attempted to pump drugged darts into Hammer Strike only for them to burn to ash before they reached him. “I am called that ... Not for the reason of being dead, not transparent… I am called that because-” The sound of grating stone and shrieking metal filled the room before the chain holding his right foreleg broke. “-You...” He continued, breaking the chains holding his left foreleg up. Orbs of fire began to form, hovering around him as they grew hotter and hotter. “-CAN NOT. KILL. ME.” He broke the last two chains holding him in place as he glared at his captors, his would be murderers. Hammer Strike’s eyes glowed white with fury, a trail of fire burned within them, streaking back into the air in a vaporous form. The room’s temperature took another jump, the hue of the flame orbs shifting around him to a blue. “But I ... can make you ... Suffer.” He chuckled darkly, his voice echoing, distorted by a cacophony of whispers. Grimclaw raced for the door, throwing it open and locking it behind him in an act of true cowardice, leaving his fellow soldiers to die there as they faced the inevitable fury of Celestia’s Ghost. The gryphon who had been manning the blowpipe was not so lucky. Hammer Strike swung his forehoof and the broken chain wrapped around the gryphon’s throat, choking him. With a yank, Hammer Strike pulled him towards the hovering flames, the chain links burning the gryphon’s throat as it clutched to his feathers and skin, searing them together. However, with the ever climbing heat, before Hammer Strike could get any closer, the gryphon’s body exploded into flame. He didn’t even have the chance to scream before it was over and nothing but ash remained sifting to the ground at Hammer Strike’s feet. He spat at the pile that had been the murderous aspiring private before kicking it into the air with a furious snort. He wanted to make them suffer for what they had done. This death was too quick for them.  He smiled evilly as he recalled that one last gryphon yet remained unaccounted for. Turning to the door, he no longer felt a desire to stay in the room. His mind was burning as he felt the fury surging through him. Moving forward, he figured it would be locked. So, rearing back with his right foreleg wreathed in flame, he slammed the door, punching with all his might. The bolt hadn’t even offered resistance and it snapped in two from the impact before swinging outwards. Then the hinges tore off the wall, taking two large chunks of stone with them as the heavy metal door crashed into the opposing wall, imprinting itself there and fusing to the stone as the semi-molten metal cooled against it. “Oh Grimbeak,” He called, his voice echoing like the toll of death. “I am coming for you. And oh, you are going to pay.”  A dark smile passed over his muzzle as an almost maniacal laugh issued from his throat. They would all pay. The flames wreathed his body, surging into the stones around him as he walked, leaving melted hoof prints in the stone as the walls slowly turned to slag around him. Celestia rubbed her hooves together as she sat in her throne. She had been quick to pass off Grif’s message as a minor problem before, but it had been over a week and there had still been no word from Hammer Strike. The solar princess was beginning to contemplate sending the royal army to assist the gryphon when she felt ... herself speaking from within the gryphon borders. “Madre de mio!” Celestia cried, feeling the energy as she stared out in the direction of it’s source. Shertugal lay less than a mile ahead of them. Grif looked behind him at the assembled mercenaries and pony soldiers. He was about to address them when a pony pointed to the military location. “Should it be smoking that much?” Grif looked back to the fortress to see a giant pillar of smoke coming from the fortress, a pillar that had not been present a few moments ago. Grif paused a moment as he watched the oily black column billow to the skies. It was enough even to make Haymin pause and admire its size. Throwing all caution to the winds, Grif cried aloud. “Screw it. CHARGE!” He signalled the troops, taking to the air and B-lining for the fortress. Haymin, being the larger and faster of the two, flew off ahead of him only to circle around the fortress and return. “What are you doing? We need you to get them in a panic!” Grif shouted. “There are none to panic. I see no resistance,” Haymin said in response. “That shouldn’t be possible. That’s a high security fortress.” Grif let out a shrill cry, trying to signal Shrial. Far in the distance, an answering eagle’s call came back as a small speck appeared along the horizon, gradually drawing closer.  Shrial, in full battle armor, her short sword gleaming, came soaring in, looking for all the world like a valkyrie. “What is it? Why have you given the signal to stop?” “Shrial, the dragon says there are no gryphons along the outer walls, nor the inner courtyard. He claims there's no resistance.” Grif said. “That is not possible. This fortress is stronger even than Fort Triumph. The Gryphons would not abandon their posts so easily. To do so would mean death at the hands of the Emperor, himself.” “Shrial, I want you to get me four pegasi and return here. Tell the rest to approach the fort, but keep a safe distance until I call. Something isn’t right here,” Grif said. “Haymin, I wIll honor our deal, but i require you to keep flying around the fortress, lest something happens” “I will get the four you have requested, and relay your orders. But you had better not try to enter that fortress without me. I am not letting you enter that place alone.” She fixed him with a determined gaze before launching herself into the air, streaking like a bolt from its crossbow back to the camp. If there was one thing that could be said about her, she was one Tartarus of a flyer. A few minutes later, she streaked back. Four pegasi trailed behind her, panting as they tried to catch up. They eyed Haymin warily as he circled the perimeter of the fort. “I hope you colts had a good breakfast, cause we might just be dining in Tartarus tonight,” Grif said. Ten minutes later they landed in the inner courtyard of the fortress. Grif had his blades out and looked around carefully. “There are an awful lot of burn marks here,” he noted, Eying the hoof prints burnt into the ground and the warped stone and piles of slag dotting the courtyard. There were no bodies, but plenty of ash piles lay stacked randomly within the base. Some lay lines, others in rows. “What did this?” Shrial asked in awe. “It looks like a dragon ran through here. But not even dragon fire can melt solid stone.” “Dragonfire can’t disintegrate bone either,” Grif said, bending to an ash pile and scooping some up he sniffed it. “This was a gryphon.” Shrial stared in horror, her beak agape. “What creature could possibly have such power?” She nearly trembled, but barely held it off, remembering her training. She must not show weakness. “In order? Ra, Amaterasu, Bahamut, Faust, Celestia, and… Hammer Strike,” Grif noted the last name with hesitation. “And only one of those is mortal.” “This … this came from him?” She took in the damage. “It is no wonder he is called Celestia’s Ghost.” Grif looked to the pegasi. “Fly back and tell them there will be no battle. Send the unicorns in to get this place cooled down and then tell the mercs they can start searching for loot,” Grif ordered. The pegasi sped away as fast as their wings could take them. He turned to shrial “You should go back too. I honestly don’t know what I’ll find in there, but Hammer Strike would never hurt me.” “I am not leaving you without backup,” She said, glaring stubbornly. “Fair enough,” Grif said, sheathing his sword. He removed his weapon harness and his stilettos. “Might not want to have too much metal on you in there. Things could get hot,” he said, removing his chestplate and putting it beside his weapons. “Very well.” Shrial nodded, following her teacher’s example. The two entered the fortress following the hoofprints. Much like Grif had predicted, it grew steadily hotter the further in they went. Grif’s pace began to slow as his breathing became slightly erratic, wringing his talons nervously. In his mind, fire flashed before his eyes in the wood stove in front of him, the match book still held in his smoking hands. The stinging pain crawled into his hands and his face, his eyebrows and mustache singed by the sudden blast. Grif stopped for a moment to try and get a bearing on himself. “Are you alright?” Shrial asked, concern on her face. She knew these signs, but to see them in a mighty warrior like Grif … it did not seem possible. “I… I’ll be fine,” he said, taking several deep breaths. The gryphon eventually managed to stand up straight. “I had a bad experience with heat,” he said. “That’s all I need to say right now.” Grif breathed deeply and began pushing forward again. “I hear breathing. There is someone alive down there.” “Then thats where we’re headed,” Grif said. “Cause there will only be one person alive in this base unless they had children here. But if your description was right, any children that were here found death to be a mercy,” He said, following the sound. They came to a thick oak door lying partially open. A great hoofprint lay burned deep into the wood at the center like an ugly brand.. Carefully opening the door, they found ash scattered about the room before them. But the thing that they focused on most was Hammer Strike. He sat there in the middle of the room, orbs of blue fire hovering in the air around him. His gaze shifted towards them, but they saw no focus in those eyes. They were empty, partially glazed over. Numerous scars and lacerations crisscrossed in a morbid patchwork along his body. Even part of his ear was missing, the blood still flowing and clotting down the side of his muzzle. Grif winced as he took a step towards his friend. The heat was so intense. So… no, there was no time to think about that. He took another step forward. “Hammer Strike?” he spoke in a clam, level tone. Hammer Strike turned his gaze over to Grif, his eyes still still unfocused, but a glimmer of something shone briefly. “Grif?” He weakly questioned, squinting his eyes slightly. “I’m here.” Grif spoke softly. “I came to help you.” “That is… good. I do not have the energy to fight…” He exhaled in one explosive breath, the orbs of fire surrounding him dimming as if they were being starved of oxygen. Soon they extinguished themselves entirely and all that remained was the light of day filtering through the windows as particles of ash floated like dust motes through the room. As the heat let up, Grif pushed forward bit by bit until he managed to reach Hammer Strike’s side. Bending down, he stretched out a wing to guide the pony. When Hammer Strike did not respond, Grif looked sternly at his companion, his eyes hard as agates. “Shrial, get him on my back.” Resolutely, she took the pony in her claws. She hissed. “He is red hot. He needs a physician.”  She pulled him up, gritting through the pain, and placed him on Grif’s back. “He’d do the same for me. I will bear the pain,” Grif said. He winced, but held his ground as he began to move towards the door. “Get the unicorns and Little Willow. And ask the scouts where the nearest hospice is,” Grif ordered as he walked. “Tell the mercenaries to bring everything they find to the courtyard and we will split it up fairly.” He winced again, but kept walking. “And get a message through to Celestia.” Finally, they made their way up the steps and into the courtyard. A moment later Princess Luna appeared with her war hammer at the ready, words already leaving her muzzle. “Sister, we are here to help…” She paused and widened her eyes. “Grif!” She took in the situation immediately, tears forming in her eyes as she beheld the limp, unseeing form of Hammer Strike before her eyes hardened. “To me. Now. I shall teleport all to Unity for medical treatment.” She turned to face the Dragon. “We shall give thee a portion of our treasure if thou carriest this loot and amy supplies to Unity for the payment of Grif’s Mercenaries.” She closed her eyes, doing her best to remove the images of the blue flames in the courtyard and the magic of Celestia surrounding Hammer Strike. At the moment, she had to focus fully on her task. Once she was in Unity, then she would have time to wonder just what had taken place here. “Thank you, Princess Luna,” Grif said. “Thou art welcome,” She responded. “Now be ready. A teleportation of this magnitude might be a little disturbing to mortals. There is no time to waste,” She spoke, eyes still closed. Her horn lit up as a strange, almost indescribable feeling pressed down upon all present. A moment later a dark blue flash lit up the skies like a beacon. When it cleared, the courtyard was devoid of life and a field was suddenly down one army. Haymin shrugged, groaned, complained about the lack of a down payment, then finally got to work. The Unity hospice was a blur with activity from the moment the group had arrived. Even as ponies moved to work on Lord Hammer Strike, Grif was forced to stay on a cot, his entire back wrapped in bandages and poultice. The gryphon twitched anxiously, attempting to rise to his feet. “I should go check what they think is wrong,” Grif said, moving to stand. “You are staying right where you belong until those wounds heal.” Shrial said, her eyes like steel as she pushed him back down. “They’re just second degree burns,” Grif grumbled. “All over your back. You need to rest or else you’ll scar. I can check on Lord Hammer Strike. You need to get some sleep.” “We both know the nurses will never say anything to you,” Grif said. “Have you contacted pensword? Lunar Fang?” Grif asked. “I’ll convince them,” She said darkly. “As for the others, they’re on their way. “Two days,” Grif said. “Then we head out again. We still got more names to hunt.” “You will not be doing any combat until those burns heal properly. The names can wait until then. Besides, your Lord needs you now more than ever before.” “I made a promise,” Grif said. “I can’t break it.” “You are not. I will take over your duties if I must. You must rest.” “Of all the gryphons, I had to let you live,” Grif grumbled, defeated. It would take two days before Grif was allowed to get to his feet. He was just going for his first walk in that time to stretch his sore and stiff legs when Luna teleported Pensword and Lunar Fang into his room. Pensword looked around the room and made a grimace at the conditions of the Hospice. “Not sterile.” He muttered in Dragonic. “Not clean.” He looked to Grif and his expression turned to one of worry as he saw the bandages. “Can I walk with thee?” he asked. He looked him in the eyes as they made their way down the halls. “I hereby give you verbal orders. Rest. The lives on that list can wait. I want you to fly and live and become strong again. Once you are discharged from the hospital and are fighting fit, then you may hunt again.” He sighed and his expression saddened. “It hurts to see my friends like this. Have you thought of a destination for your first walk?” “Only one place to go,” Grif said as he walked. Stopping before a sectioned off room, he placed a claw on the door. “This won’t be pretty,” he warned. “It was not pretty looking at my post op pictures,” He reminded his friend. “Nor the pictures they took of the operation itself.” He nodded to Lunar Fang who had remained silent and worried, unsure of what to say. “I wasn’t referring to his physical pain.” Grif pushed the door open gently and entered. They found Hammer Strike sitting in a bed looking forward out the window in front of him, though they couldn’t tell if he was actually looking or not. His eyes were glazed over. His body was wrapped in bandages from his forehooves to his chests. His right ear was bandaged at the tip, but it was obvious that a piece of his ear was missing. Anything below his chest was covered by a blanket, even though the room was plenty warm. “Hammer Strike?” Grif spoke softly. When he got no response, he tried again, this time in Draconic. “Shawn?” Hammer Strike started, then slowly turned to face the door, his eyes still unfocused. Despite his appearance, his friends could still tell he was paying attention. “Yes?” he asked softly. Pensword stood rigidly in the doorway as Lunar Fang snuck into the room by his side. She was starting to show a little around the belly. She paused at the venom she heard in Pensword’s voice struck her still. “If any Gryphons escaped your wrath, so help them, I shall hunt them down myself.” His eyes narrowed and sharpened, revealing more of his thestral heritage as he snorted in rage. “They shall pay for what they did to my friend.” Grif smiled a bit. “How’s my godbaby?” he asked, not turning to look at Lunar Fang. Lunar Fang turned to look at Grif, shaken from Pensword’s words. “The baby is doing well. I have a few more months left of being able to fight. At least till the end of the year.” “The gryphons…” Hammer Strike said, trailing slightly at the end before he paused. “They were all gone.” Grif said. “You got them all.” Hammer Strike nodded slowly. “Yeah…” “How did they get you?” Grif asked. “It was…” Hammer paused. “A trap...” The temperature in the room began to rise as Hammer Strike’s eyes focused, a glow starting up as blue fire trailed from his eyes. A snarl took shape on his muzzle as he spoke his next words. “Promethean Flame.” He growled, starting to move forward before his eyes flickered back to normal. He sighed and fell back into the bed, taking a few breaths as his eyes lost focus again. Grif’s eyes flashed light blue, then dark blue, then for a moment, completely white. “I am going to unalive him very, very, VERY slowly,” Grif’s tone was darker than ever. Pensword looked stricken and terrified as he saw the flames. He moved on instinct to stand between Hammer Strike and his wife. When his Lord had fallen back in bed and the fires died, he paused and growled. “I shall see what I can do about him. I shall make sure he meets his downfall.” Lunar Fang moved a wing to protect her mate and husband. “Hammer Strike, may we look at your gear? I believe your words, but we need evidence for this. Thou art… one could say addled.” “...Letter. In left bag...” Hammer Strike sighed. Pensword looked to Hammer Strike and stepped to his side. “Get better, my friend. We shall not act till you are well.” He chuckled a little. “He shall be getting a visit from all of us soon. Is that acceptable to you, my friend?” “Not if I get to him…” He sighed again, trying to contain his anger. “First…” A moment later, many muffled shouts echoed down the corridor with clopping hooves running at breakneck speed. In mere moments Celestia burst into the room, panting, her mane askew. “Is it true? Is he …?” “Oh look, everybody,” Grif turned on her instantly. “The mighty princess Sunbutt graces us with her presence now! She took time from her high and mighty duties to visit Hammer Strike after he’s been through everything. Tell me, Sunbutt, does he look fine too you? Is this how you remember Lord Hammer Strike being? IS THIS THE PICTURE OF FINE?” Grif’s breathing was heavy as he glared at her with an anger that would be spoken of in the whispers of legend for centuries to come. Pensword stood frozen in shock at his friend’s actions. He moved a wing to try and do something to protect Princess Celestia, but he knew that if anything to harm her was going to happen, it would have already been done. He was more worried now that he had failed as commander of the armed forces. Fire sparked in Celestia’s eyes, but one look at Hammer Strike and she slumped in defeat, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her voice was hollow and ragged. “How could this have happened? Nothing could defeat Hammer Strike … nothing. Even as foals, he … he ...” She lost all composure at this point, rushing to where Hammer Strike sat, taking his hoof in hers and weeping openly. Grif made his way to the door. “Sometimes the world isn’t the same as when you're a foal. Maybe you need to grow up and rule this country rather than counting on him to save you when something goes wrong.” The gryphon slammed the door behind him as he left. Celestia turned, tears still standing in her eyes, the streaks darkening her pristine fur. Her horn ignited with rage, alicorn magic streaming forth, her eyes glowing white. Her body glowed brightly as she fought to contain the canterlot voice that ached to fly. “Who did this to you? What did they use? For this crime, I will not rest until the ones responsible are in ashes.” Heat rolled off of her body and into the room. Pensword shuffled nervously. “From what I gathered, they are already ash,” he responded. “The entire Gryphon fortress is empty and nothing but ash remains of those that were inside.” He paused and looked to Lunar Fang, nodding as she moved to grab the letter that Hammer Strike mentioned for them to look at. As she did so, Pensword moved to speak to his princess. “There is one other thing, however. Considering the situation, it would do poorly if thou wert to be involved in vengeance. We need to do this ourselves. Thou hast a war to run, and an enemy that should feel that rage a little more. Even now we are working to purge the enemy from the land. Next week we shall have three armies march into Gryphon territory to capture and siege towns, Castles, and Outposts. We shall move forward.” “Peace!” Celestia snapped. “He is saying something.” Hammer Strike mumbled softly, barely above a whisper. Lunar Fang leaned close to Hammer Strike, her ears turned towards his mouth to pick up his words. “...Daggers, maces, swords, cut my ear, killed ponies in front of me, used toxins, Iceberg Ivy, Nershock Powder, Blind Root, Mute Shroom, Sensory Deprivation Powder. Poisons:  Gorgon's Blood, Black Lotus Flower, Manticore Venom, Ogre Drool, Flames of Tartarus.” He stopped after the last one, the room darkening as Lunar Fang turned pale. A rumble filled the room as Celestia began to tremble in rage. Pensword paused as a uniformed soldier entered and whispered a few words into his ear and pulled away. “Princess, Milord, I am sorry but I have some meetings that must be taken care of at the moment at the House of Nobles. Seems that Commander of the Military means a few meetings with some of the forces in Unity. I am sorry. I shall visit when I am done with them.” He gave a salute to those present and left the room, but not before giving a kiss on Lunar Fang’s cheek. Lunar Fang had gone silent from repeating the poisons when she heard the last name. She looked at Celestia. “The Flames of Tartarus.” She said. “The poison they used to try and kill Luna.” Celestia turned, stricken as she made her way to the window.  With a mighty cry, she let loose a bolt of pure alicorn magic to the sky, detonating it with the force of a solar flare.  It didn’t make her feel any better, but at least the room would not have to bear the brunt of her fury. No, that would be channelled in a better way. She whirled violently back, her tail smacking the wall. Tiny cracks webbed out from the point of impact.“We must expunge the toxins immediately. Everyone, get out.” Lunar Fang moved to respond. “Get … out.” Celestia said through gritted teeth. “And take the bags with you. It is going to get very, very hot in here.” Lunar Fang moved quickly to retrieve the bags before making her way out of the room. “Lunar Fang!” Shrial came flying down the corridor, her wings fully extended. “We have a problem. Grif has left the compound. He’s out there alone!” Grif bee-lined for the border, not stopping for anything. His back itched a bit under the bandages, but he would live with it. Right now something needed to die. Fortunately, thermals and winds in his favor were common and the gryphon found himself gliding over the border in less than three hours.  With a single minded charge he corrected his course for the fortress of desolation. Most likely his mercenaries were still assembled there and little willow would be able to patch him up fine. He never bothered to check his distance between the outposts or forts as he went, and as such, never realised the danger he was in till several pricks stabbed through his neck. Grif attempted to hold himself steady as the drugs kicked into his system, but eventually the darkness claimed him. Pensword sat at the desk, taking a breath in and out before any of the nobles could arrive. He did not like the fact that he was being pulled in different directions back in Unity. He was, as a saying back home went, chomping at the bit to get back to Triumph. He paused and pondered if he should rename it. He almost didn’t want to change it. He looked at the walls of the meeting hall. On one end of the rectangular room a painting of Princess Celestia stood proudly. On the other end Princess Luna stood hovering with her mace aloft before the full moon. Both wore their Royal regalia and along with their weapons, they bore the symbols of their power and reign. The table in the middle of the room was set out so that Pensword could sit at the head of the table, being the Commander. Pensword impatiently tapped his hoof against the table. Once again he looked to the pocket watch that had been given to him and eyed the time. He groaned in consternation. “Fifteen minutes late. Are they trying to waste my time?” Shaking his head, he was at last rewarded for his patience as a grand fanfare of trumpets echoed from within the halls. The great double doors of the hall slowly flung open as the heads of houses Pansy, Cookie, Ruby, Sapphire, Blade, and Flame walked in at a stately pace, their robes billowing behind them magically for added effect. Pensword rolled his eyes as they each strolled to their appointed seats, their eyes shifting. Some glared at the commander, others looked nervously back to Promethean Flame. Promethean Flame, himself, stood smirking with a look of absolute confidence and superiority on his face. As one, they sat down as Pensword banged his hoof on the gavel. “Very well, what is this? I received word from thee that you have grave news and information that would concern the entire Military. I hope you have your information in order because I shall not take wasted time kindly. My wife is with child and I would like to spend the little time we have while our business seems to have landed up in Unity at this point in time.” He looked to the hourglass in the middle of the table. “Colonel Jade Sphere, please set the timer.” The colonel did so, flipping the hourglass while holding the sand with his magic. Pensword nodded his thanks, then glared at the assemblage. “If you have not gotten to the point by the time the sand runs out I shall end this meeting under my authority and you may try again the day after tomorrow.” He focused his glare on each noble as the sand was released. “Now, begin.” “Well, commander pensword,” Shortbread Cookie started. The cookie house probably would be the one pensword had to fear the least at the moment. “It has come to our attention that you are currently in control of the pass leading to Equestria’s coasts, which was formerly controlled by the gryphons. I am sure you are aware that past these mountains is the currently disputed border, as well as the ports in the south where our trade with Zebrica is handled.” Pensword’s ear twitched. “Is this what this meeting is about? Trade agreements?” He looked to each lord, his eyes sparking with anger. “If you did not read my letter, I shall say it right here. The pass, when we win the war, shall remain open to all noble houses and Merchants to use. I have no plans to exclude any from its use. The fortress shall most likely become a trading hub. I shall not favor any noble over another. Let the market decide that. My forces are to protect against bandits in the passes and that is all. Am I understood? That is one warning. Three warnings shall end the meeting no matter what time is left.” “We have heard some rather disturbing rumors, Commander Pensword.” Jade Sphere said, switching to another tack as he choked through the title, glaring at the pegasus. He still smarted from being put in the stocks by Grif. “And we desire to hear clarification. Word has reached our ears that something has happened to Lord Hammer Strike. Is this true? And if so, what has occurred?” Pensword furrowed his brow. “Yes.” He said heavily. He eyed each pony gravely, then spoke. “This news is not to leave the room. Do you understand?” The lords nodded. They all knew just how dangerous the wrong information could be if it reached the common populace. “We have reason to believe that the Gryphons somehow caught Lord Hammer Strike on the front lines.” Pensword shifted a little in his place. Many of the Lords were about to speak, but he beat them to the punch, pounding the silver plate for attention. “However,” Pensword said plainly, a defensive look covering his muzzle, “before any plan on challenging my land and legal claims due to inheritance of titles is begun, let me state this now. I am considered fully a member of House Hurricane by adoption. This adoption is final and bears the seal of approval from both Princess Celestia and Princess Luna.” He looked at each of the Nobles individually to ensure that information had sunk in properly. Many ponies exhaled, dropping whatever it was they were about to say. Pensword smiled in satisfaction. “Now then, with that said, let us return to the matter at hand. Lord Flame? You wished to comment?” Promethean looked indignantly at the upstart bat bird, but held his tongue. Instead, he let the thought of Hammer Strike in Gryphon hands lift his spirits. He barely kept the smug smile from crossing his muzzle as he spoke. “That would explain his failure to rendezvous with me when I requested a meeting in my tent.” Flawless. The stupid brute from the caves would never suspect a thing. “I am sorry that he failed to meet, as thou knowest, Lord Hammer Strike is very punctual in his own manner.” He looked at the group. “I am going to guess you have a problem with Lord Hammer Strike missing? Please note that I am currently shifting resources around to not only find him, but ensure his swift return to Equestria.” “What are we to do without him? If he truly is captured, the Gryphons will grow more bold, desiring to conquer and destroy our nation. They will begin hunting our subjects again.” Jade spoke, slamming his hoof on the table. “I will not have it!” “Or the Gryphons shall find that they have picked off more than they can swallow.” Pensword paused and chuckled. “Do you know what they call Lord Hammer Strike?” he asked them as he noticed the sands about to run out. He cocked his head inquisitively, debated, then nodded his head as if he were deciding something. “Seems that this is more of a question session than an emergency meet, but I shall stay and hear thee out. So, tell me. Does any noble know what the Gryphons call Lord Hammer Strike?” Each of the nobles looked to one another, confused as they shook their heads.  At last, Jade Sphere and Noble Sharp nodded, looking to Promethean Flame. He gave a brief nod and the two spoke. “We have heard of a certain name from Hammer Strike’s pet …” Noble Sharp said. “After being exposed to indecencies no lord should face,” Jade Sphere added. “He is called Celestia’s Ghost, is he not?” Pensword smiled and nodded his head. “Yes, Celestia’s Ghost. Tell me, what is something a ghost cannot do?” He asked before waving a hoof. “To save time, I shall answer my own question. A Ghost cannot die.” He narrowed his eyes. “Lord Hammer Strike shall be found and till then I shall lead the troops as bestowed by Princess Celestia and Princess High Chieftess Luna.” He placed both hooves together and peered over them. Anyone from earth would recognize a pony attempting to steeple one’s hands and glare over the peak formed by the fingers. It did not work very well for Pensword, but he attempted it all the same. “Tell me. There is something else here that is bothering you. I am in a good mood; I have been helping to dispel myths and give facts. Please, speak.” “We just want to make sure the stability of equestria and it’s trade in the time of this…” prometheans tone almost made pensword shiver in disgust “horrible crisis.” “I assure thee that as long as I draw breath in my lungs, Equestria’s stability is at the forefront of my mind.” Pensword’s expression darkened. “At the moment, even my wife’s safety comes second to that of us surviving this war.” He mentally chuckled. He already knew that his wife would remain safe and alive till the very end. She would vanish mysteriously, no body found. He had a pretty good idea what that meant. “Do you question my ability?” Pensword asked, pulling out of his thoughts and back into the meeting. “I took the Fortress Triumph without a single casualty. I only lost three lives due to accidents after the fall of the Fortress.” “We acknowledge your feats of strength, which are many indeed, young Pensword. You are a formidable warrior and have proven yourself. What we fear is that with Hammer Strike missing, the command structure of his house will fall apart along with that of his soldiers. A steward must be appointed immediately to ensure chaos is kept at bay.” Ruby said gruffly, his battle scars eminent on his golden coat, ugly red crosses scattered along his flanks the color of blood. “And what with Hammer Strike’s pet gryphon behind enemy lines likely doing who knows what, there is no way he can be a viable steward for the house. I suppose Hammer Strike’s aid could have been, but you married her. And now she is ineligible as a member of house hurricane.” Promethean sat back, smirking. “Who was his steward during his last leave?” Pensword asked coolly, perfectly composed. “Has it not been said that a Strike has been seen in history before? That the two sisters see Lord Hammer Strike differently than any noble in Equestria?” “The house went dormant for hundreds of years,” shortbread cookie said in earnest. “It is the only house that is even as remotley as old as the founders. We must be sure to keep it safe for future generations.” “Who kept it safe this last time?” Pensword pressed again, this time more forcefully. “Come now, surely that knowledge would be known by the high nobles of this table.” He said, allowing himself a small smirk. “The last line of stewards was the line of Ore. They died out a hundred and ninety years ago when Iron Ore died childless,” shortbread spoke up finally. “So, I would assume that as I am, or was, his military leader,” he pulled a scroll from his satchel and placed it on the table. “That I shall be the next steward. And should I die and my wife be unable to inherit, or my children, the holdings shall be managed by Lord Duke Hurricane,” he spoke, invoking his new adoptive father’s title. He preferred and respected military ranks, but in this case, he knew that the situation required a title the Lords would respect more. “Lord Hammer Strike’s house is in good order.” He spoke, striking the gavel with a hoof. “Any other matters to bring to my attention?” The room burst into loud uproars as the lords began shouting about Pensword’s attempted coup d'etat of House Strike. Promethean sat smugly across from Pensword, smiling victoriously. Pensword’s left ear twitched as the noise rose. He distinctly heard several of the lords questioning if he was even worthy to hold the rank of Commander. He rose to his hooves, unnoticed by all but Promethean Flame. He barely managed to contain his rage as he coldly eyed the lords in their arguments. A second later his hoof crashed upon the metal disk with a clap of thunder as his voice echoed across the room, shaking the very paintings on their mounts. “SILENCE!”  The room stared, hushed at his figure. He stood there, a tower of fury and strength. “Dost thou wish to see my authority? Did I not just use the Royal Canterlot Voice? Would one not worthy of this rank be able to command the voice itself?” He asked. “I know the legends as well as thee. That while a Commander may be called by the nobles, it is truly one as rare as the First Hurricane that can use that voice.” He mentally was thankful that the two sisters had shown him the trick. He watched them all. “I do not wish to be steward in this time of absence. I have enough trouble running the nation’s military as it is. That is why I have already asked one of the Hurricanes’ lesser soldiers to help manage it. Once we find Lord Hammer Strike, he shall receive a small plot of land on the coastal region already promised to the Hurricane House. Sergeant Blueblood will be the Steward of the House. Not I, nor my wife, nor my unborn child. Not even any of the Hurricanes proper will run the house in Lord Hammer Strike’s absence. It is to be a Military soldier from Hurricane’s forces that proved himself worthy of this task.” He looked angrily at the nobles. “Any other objections?” He snorted steam into the cool air of the castle. The nobles stood, dumbfounded. “Good. If not, this meeting is over. You are dismissed.” He glared at each lord as they filed out the room, the hot air having thoroughly been let out of them.  Their capes draped over their forms and dragged along the floor, no longer so grand as bits of straw and dust clung to the edges. Only Promethean Flame dared to meet his gaze as he left, giving a glare of his own. “This is not over, bat bird.” “Perhaps. But it will be.” Pensword returned. “Good day, Promethean.” He motioned with a hoof and two unicorn guards appeared. “Noble Mane, Shining Horn, I would like you two to escort his Lordship home. It is unwise for such a high ranking lord to be unguarded, especially now of all times.” Promethean tried to protest, but Pensword cut him off, raising a hoof. “No, no, I insist, Lord Promethean. It is the least I can do. You are a high ranking individual after all. I am certain the Gryphons will likely target you next. I would recommend keeping a detachment of soldiers nearby and out of sight from now on. For your own protection, of course. You never know what enemies might be lurking in the shadows, waiting for revenge.” Promethean’s eyes widened. His lips twitched, but he said nothing as he walked out with the guards. He had no choice but to leave the castle immediately. Pensword smirked at the look of indignation. But more delicious yet was the spark of fear behind the arrogant lord’s eyes. A few minutes later, Pensword stood looking out the window. He could see a small dust cloud billowing from the gates, a smudge of red occasionally emerging from it. Two unicorns lagged behind, struggling to keep up as the figure ran. “Well now, I would say that went rather well, wouldn’t you?.” Pensword said to Jade Sphere as the pony guard joined him at the window. The two stared at one another a few minutes, their expressions blank as they watched the retreating form. A few seconds later the halls of Unity echoed with laughter. Grif awoke slowly. His talons were chained above his head and his wings were weighted. His vision swam slowly, but as he recovered, he made out a large grey gryphon standing before him. This gryphon was not dressed in armor, nor was he carrying any weapons. Rather, a green robe covered his body. A large wooden talisman hung from his neck, decorated with runic symbols carved deeply into the wood in a spiral pattern around the center, linking to a circular chain of runes. Closer examination revealed a chunk of green glass at the core with an eagle feather suspended inside. Grif’s blood ran cold as he stared at the figure, realizing just who he was up against. Gryphons on their own were unable to cast magic as unicorns could. But this did not mean their society was without magic itself. All creatures on equis held a field of magic inside them. Through careful study, the gryphons had figured out how to draw out and influence this energy via talismans made from the embodiments of elemental qualities. The eagle’s feather, for example, represented the winds which the bird ruled over. Gryphon evokers where fearsome in their own right, if a little weak on the direct battle field. But all Gryphondom, whether of the Northern Isles, or the empire itself, knew just how dangerous these evokers could be. As Grif came to full consciousness he could see many more gryphons surrounding him dressed similarly, but in large hooded robes that concealed their faces. He clenched talons, longing to wield his twin blades. “It must be said that I am surprised, but not unhappy with this opportunity.” The old evoker smiled. “I am Veilfire, lead evoker for the Gryphonian military.” The Gryphon bowed his head. “I am sure you are a bit confused as to why you are here, seeing as the emperor has ordered your live capture to be a first priority. But, you see my stupid brutish friend, that is exactly why you are here. Tell me, do you know what happens when one's internal magical field is destroyed?” Grif opened his beak, but was cut off. “No, no, of course you don’t. I will try to dumb this down as much as possible for you.” Grif glared at the insult, but Veilfire continued without noticing or caring, circling the captive gryphon like a schoolmaster teaching a hatchling how to pull his crossbow. “Inside everyone is an energy we call the magical field. When this magical field gets filled too far, it shatters, much like a goblet whose water has frozen.” The old gryphon smiled. “When that happens, the subject loses their will, their ambitions, their dreams. It is very much like a waking coma from what I am told. Now, what we plan to do here is to break your magical field so we may march you into the capital and present you to the emperor without chains or any other form of bond. The disgrace that would be engendered for appearing to simply give up so easily will make the perfect touch for your execution.” Veilfire sneered as he looked on his captive. “Now, I do not believe in lying about this sort of thing. The process will be excruciating and the extra energy surging through your body will not allow you to pass out. On the plus side, I do hope the knowledge you are contributing to the field of magical study will bring you some comfort. Though I seriously doubt it.” He chuckled darkly as the green eagle feather core of his talisman began to glow. Grif said nothing, only glaring at the gryphon in front of him. The wind began to pick up around him. “For this process, we are going to be using wind magic, as it will take the longest to fill your field. We shall then get to see just how much you can take before your field shatters like glass.” The gryphon set his talons onto the talisman on his neck. Grif could just make out the sixth talon on his right hand. The wind picked up around Grif and began to evolve into a swirling vortex with him at its center. It became hard to breathe. The pressure became intense and for a few moments he felt like something was pushing back against it. But as the pressure increased, this invisible barrier began to crack. And with that cracking, pain began to enter Grif’s body. As the barrier finally shattered, every nerve in Grif’s body cried out in agonizing pain. To his credit, he managed not to scream for a whole ten minutes. Pensword sat in his private office and glared at his report. “Grif, you idiot.” He growled. “Am I surrounded by death eaters?” he asked the empty room. “Hammer Strike comes back from capture and now Grif is out there, missing, and I assume also captured.” He sat down and looked at the desk. “I wonder if I can militarily order them to stay put?” He paused and sighed. “Then I would have to court martial them for disobeying direct orders.” He sighed again and put his head into a hoof. “I do not want to look up and see them like Mom and Dad.” He looked up as an aid walked in. “If you are here to report that Lunar Fang is missing, Hammer Strike has left the hospital without discharge, or that some other member of my military has gone off on their own to do Luna knows what, I do not want to hear it.” The aid shuffled and moved to the side as Hammer Strike walked in. This time normal clothing donned his barrel. Bandages still wrapped him like a mini mummy in the more sensitive parts as the salves and potions continued their work. Pensword looked at his friend. “Couch. Sit down. NOW. Then we can talk while I get you some tea.” He turned around and prepared a hot pot of water, taking the kettle from where it hung over the open flame on its tripod. He looked up. “You will not leave this room unless I am with you. I am not losing you again. You came to find me. Let me do the same for you.” He finished as he pulled a drawer open and pulled out a stick. He picked up a knife, cut some of the bark, and stuck it in his mouth. He chewed it a little before pausing to speak. “Cane Sugar. It was either pick this up or finally accept a tobacco pipe from Zebrica.” “The better choice...” He heard Hammer Strike say. “Yeah, I would agree, I never could stand the smell of smoke on Earth.” He sighed. “However, I have picked up a habit I have trouble keeping away from.” He nodded his head to the tea set being delivered. “Tea.” He moved to sit on the couch and looked to his friend. “What blend do you want, my friend?” he asked as he talked around his cane sugar, looking for all the world like a soldier with a cigar. “Any.” “Very well, some nice Camomile tea would do you well. Amazing how it is called the same here and back home,” he replied with a chuckle as he pulled a small tea box out and put the tea together before placing it into the hot water to let it steep. “Now, I would not be surprised if you could drink that all in a couple of gulps. Heat does not bother you, it seems.” He paused and frowned as he saw his friend’s glazed expression. Pensword’s left hoof shook. “He will pay. Once we are together, we shall request a personal war, house to house.” “House Flame…” Hammer Strike muttered, pausing. “Shall fall.” “Agreed.” Pensword muttered around his cane sugar. “Would you like any?” he asked his friend, moving a hoof to the cane sugar stalk. “I can get you some.” “Nyet.” “Da.” Pensword muttered in response. He chuckled a little. “Where is my equipment...?” Hammer Strike asked. “Secure in our shared quarters.” He replied. “Which you shall be sharing. From what I have seen, I do not know what will come next. If thou wantest, I shall get some of your gear you have left in Unity to thee quickly. However, I ask thee to stay put and let us help.” “Defense is a step to take.” Hammer muttered. “To feel safe.” “We shall do so.” Pensword replied. “It shall be defensive. However, it shall not be to the point of paranoia. I cannot fully cut myself off from others, and there shall be times when we shall have meetings, do not worry my friend. Also, I have heard a nice rumor.” He leaned in as he waited for the tea to be ready. “Sergeant Blueblood has been seen near a certain mare Thestral recently, same one that Grif mentioned teaching him to beat a drum.” He leaned back. “I wonder how they would react to us knowing this?” “In an amusing way.” “I agree.” Pensword replied as he paused and whittled away at his cane sugar before returning to chewing on it. “I look forward to when this war is finished. We can return to our lives.” He shook his head. “However, I doubt I could return to my old life.” He looked at a hoof. “Strike… can you and the Princess look into making a magic guise of my old body for this body?” he asked. “I miss fingers, yet I have spent almost the same amount of time on four legs as on two.” A slight chuckle escaped his mouth. “I wonder what a dentist would say about my teeth when we return.” “Question your eating habits.” “How so?” Pensword shot back with a blanked confused look. “Only dentist I know is an herbivore.” That brought a hearty laugh from Pensword that lasted a good three minutes. He couldn’t even tell if it was Pensword or Matthew laughing. “Where is Lunar Fang?” Hammer Strike asked. “She is currently reviewing the City defenses. Celestia is wishing to use what you made for Fillydelphia and have it replicated for the other cities as well. So she is helping oversee the dissemination of that information to the rest of the messengers to be sent to the other cities. And before you say anything else, she is using your blueprints. You gave her permission to look into your bag.” “Celestia and Luna?” “They are both currently meeting at their castle. I do not know what about,” he admitted. “I may be the Commander, but I am not privy to all the conversations of the Princesses. They deserve some privacy.” “And where ... is Grif?” Pensword sighed as he looked out the window at the night sky. He turned to his desk and the final reports. He was hoping to be done soon, to go home and snuggle with his wife. He smirked, realizing that when they got back to the Present they would only be needing one bed and not two, or else having a mattress at the base of the bed like it was at the tavern. He sat down and picked up a quill pen to finish the report. He looked up at the painting of Luna and Celestia on the other side of the room before looking back down at the parchment to finish his work. “Boy!” a voice called, breaking the stillness of the night. It sounded heavily of years and experience and had an inviting, gravelly tone to it. “If you can hear me then look at me.” Pensword looked up, startled, and then a little concerned. The room was empty. That could mean only one thing. “Who are you? Identify yourself!” His voice rang out as his eyes roved the room. It was moments like this that he was thankful that two Dream Stalkers guarded his office at night. He smirked, recalling the uproar that he had caused among the noble families when they learned that he was employing Thestrals in the very heart of the military. The night was his brothers’ domain and his own in a way. So he felt it only wise to give them a post that suited them best. Unlike prior visitations, the figure which appeared to him started out very vague. A surprisingly large male gryphon covered in aged grey feathers materialized out of the air, growing more solid as he walked toward the desk. A large crude looking axe lay strapped to his back. His body was riddled with scars from battles past. Pensword shook his head before standing up. “Yes. I see you now.” He looked suspiciously at the Gryphon. “You are not a Gryphon I recognize from my campaigns. Who are you? And what is your purpose?” He asked. Then realized he was being a little rude. “Forgive me. I am short because I am looking forward to a night with my wife. My apologies.” He took a breath in and held it before letting it out slowly. “Pay attention, boy.” The Gyphon snapped. “I may not have long. And Grif’s life may be at stake.” He growled. “You are the one they call pensword, aren’t you?” “Yes, I am Pensword.” He replied. “How can I help?” His expression changed to one of worry and concern. “What do I need to do?” “A mile north past the border and east by north east seven miles from that spot is the fortress of the arcanium, or the evokers as the residents are called. The gryphon spell casters have captured my son and they intend to break him.” His head drooped. “They are breaking him. I don’t know how long he will last. Grif is strong and stubborn, but he is not unshakable. You must go to him.” “May I bring a team with me? Or shall I go alone?” Pensword asked. “You’re supposed to be a commander, boy. Use some sense! Bring your men; bring your army. Just save my son!” “Good.” Pensword muttered under his breath. “A Sensible Ghost this time.” “And when you have taken the fortress,” the gryphon spoke as his form began to fade, “Underneath you will find a tomb. Take the treasure for your men. But there will be two blades embedded at the coffin’s feet. When they are reforged, give them to Grif as a gift from the North East Wind.” With that, Graf’s body wholly vanished and a stiff breeze blew out the window into the night air. Pensword sighed and growled. He quickly cleared his desk and opened the doors to the hallway. “North Star, Night Wind!” The thestrals snapped immediately to attention. “Gather the Thestral Chiefs who remain in the city. Contact High Chieftess Luna. Sound the drums of war. We march.” He turned around and moved to a Green flame lantern. He wrote out a quick message and lit it. He sighed and turned to the open door. “I am bringing my wife this time. We go to save Grif. We shall campaign together. Then she is going straight back to Fillydelphia under the strictest guard.” He quickly marched out the door, already placing his war helm upon his head, the flames of love and rage blazing side by side in his eyes. Outside, the hallways began to fill with the buzz of conversation. Pensword paid it no heed. He was too busy memorizing the directions given by the ghost. Luna entered Hammer Strike’s study as carefully as she could. Taking a deep breath she began her approach. “Hammer Strike?” she asked, her voice shaking. She heard him hum as he looked towards her, his eyes still unfocused. She approached him slowly. This was the first time she had gotten to see the damage up close. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked in his eyes. “Oh, teacher.” she said approaching him slowly. In her younger years Hammer Strike had always been this commanding presence for her. Now here he stood, practically hollow. “Hello, Luna.” He said softly, a tiny smile on his face. “How goes?” “F...Fine.” She smiled at him as best she could. “The war is going smoothly. It seems the gryphons were not prepared for our strategies.” “That is good...” He nodded lightly. “What about you?” “I am fine,” She said. “In truth, I am probably better than I have been in a while. I have missed combat and the battlefield.” “It does not sound that way...” Hammer Strike commented as he blinked a couple of times. “I can never hide from you, can I?” She asked. “What was done to you, it ... it worries me. You are the very best of us and look what they did to you,” she said, then continued, her voice nearly a whisper. “And what you did to them. What if I were to crack?” “There are differences, Luna. I try to teach all I can, but there is one thing you both have yet to think on.” “I am listening. As I always have, teacher.” Tears stood in her eyes. “You and your sister have lasted throughout the years. Some would consider you both immortal.” He sighed. “I am not. I can still perish. And some day, I will not be there to help with problems that may arrive. One day, I will pass. For I am only mortal.” “I…” Luna found herself unable to respond. She gaped in open mouthed disbelief. moment. “I hate to say it, but I will not be here forever. However, I still have time on my side… I am not old yet.” A few hours later Luna left the room with much to think about, her eyes resolutely determined. She and her sister had much to discuss. With that thought complete, she disappeared in a flash of moonlight. Pensword entered Hammer Strike’s room, guards flanking him on either side. He was wearing full battle armor decorated not just with the colors of Equestria, nor the Dream Clan. He wore the colors and ribbons of the captured Gryphon forces as well. It was time to return to active duty once more and he needed Hammer with him. He bowed his head as he approached the stallion. “Last night, I had a visitor. Grif’s father. He told me Grif has been captured and I need all the hooves I can get. Please, save your rage for the fortress. We march in three days.” Pensword turned around and spoke to the guards, his eyes slitted. “You are to accompany him everywhere. You two shall be outside any restroom he uses. Do not leave his sight, but do not get in his way. You answer to me only. No Noble can order you to leave. Is that understood?” A slight smirk appeared on Hammer Strike’s muzzle. “Yes, Sir.” The two guards replied sharply with a salute. As Pensword turned and left, the two immediately took up their new posts. The one on the left spoke. “I am Lost Shield and this is my brother, Strike Shield. We shall be of as much assistance as we can to you.” Strike Shield nodded his head in acknowledgment, a sly smirk on his muzzle. Hammer Strike only nodded before heading out a side door that led into his private study:  a study that had one way in, and no windows. They looked to each other, confused. “Why did he go in there?” Strike Shield asked his brother. “Maybe to get one of his weapons?” Lost Shield answered with a raised eyebrow. “We are moving out in three days.” He looked to the other side where Pensword left. “I feel almost sorry for the Gryphons. They have no idea what is marching toward them.” A moment later they heard the sound of heavy hoofsteps and the familiar clink of metal shifting around. Soon after, the door opened to reveal Hammer Strike. The two guards paused and turned to look at their charge. They gaped, not even turning away as he continued to walk towards them. “And I just thought he was stomping around in anger in there,” Lost Shield muttered. The armor Hammer Strike wore was larger than anything they had ever seen, raising him to a height above that of Celestia herself.  He looked like some creature that had been carved out of molten steel and cooled rapidly. The torso was covered by large interlocked, overlapping plates that flowed up to a massive metal collar around the neck. His shoulders were covered by pauldrons comprised by three overlapping plates, allowing them to bend downwards to fully cover the joint while still granting free movement. The plates covering his back carried two large spike-like mounds. Bits of chainmail hung around his body in odd places. The battle skirt was made of two sets of overlapping plates that covered the flanks. Hanging off of these plates were chains as large as a pony’s hoof in width and thickness. More plates stretched over his flanks and barrel. Each plate had Hammer Strike’s cutie mark inscribed above where his would normally show were he not dressed for battle. Where the plates stopped, thick, heavy chainmail continued. Neither his fore nor back legs could be seen under the steel curtain covering them down to the hoof. A plate of steel covered the area above and below the knee with a third plate covering the knee itself. Hammer Strike’s tail was also protected under the chainmail coating his flanks. His hooves were covered by large boots, his forehooves being able to move freely through intricately placed interlocking plates. His helmet covered his head entirely. The front held a reinforced gem visor, giving him a clear line of sight while still protecting his eyes. Hammer Strike looked down at the two guards, his eyes showing clarity for the first time as he waited for their response. “You are a walking battering ram with those hooves.” Strike Shield muttered. He let a small laugh out of his muzzle. “Well, we might have to call you Body Shield or something.” He quickly stiffened, remembering who he was addressing. “Sir,” he added more formally. Lost Shield shook his head. “If we built more rams like that, our sieges would be over in seconds.” He looked to his brother. “He is the laid back leader. We can be informal in private.” He looked to Hammer Strike. “Out in public we still have to call you Sir, though.” “Where is Pensword?” Hammer Strike asked. “Military Parade grounds at the Castle. He is meeting Princess Luna there,” Lost Shield answered. “From there neither of us know where he is going. In three days he is going to be marching with three separate forces lead by you, Princess Luna, and himself with Colonel Lunar Fang at his side.” “Lead me to Pensword. My mind is foggy at best.” He sighed. “Still recovering.” “Of course,” They answered. “If thou wilt follow us.” They walked at a brisk trot towards the front door of Hammer’s manor and out into the noble walkways that lead to the castle. They did not hesitate stepping onto the causeway. Lost Shield looked to Hammer Strike. “We feel that this can take the weight. We have seen statues moved on this causeway, so it should work.” Under their hooves they heard the sound of flowing water. They walked quickly and Hammer Strike found that the few nobles or artisans using the pathway were quick to move out of their way. Many staring at him in open mouthed amazement, others deathly pale. Most likely they were reacting to the amount of armor he was wearing. The trio paused at the palace doors and Celestia’s personal guards stood waiting. They stared at Hammer Strike in shock and wordlessly opened the gates to let him through into the castle proper. Inside the hallways his hoof steps echoed about the stone walls as they continued towards a meeting room under the Castle. They all paused in front of a door that held Luna’s crest on a blue banner, a three pronged crown with the middle prong taller than the two outer prongs. Under that a light purple blue diamond that held her cutie mark stood prominently. Around the diamond a feathered scrollwork circled symmetrically. Jutting out over the two top sides of the Diamond were two feathered wings, the same color as her coat. The other side held an incomplete banner that just bore Pensword’s cutie mark. The cloth remained undyed. It was quite clear that Pensword still had some work to do on his new family crest. There was no ceremony. Hammer Strike simply opened the doors, looking around slowly before setting his eyes on the ponies that sat before him. Pensword, Lunar Fang, High Chieftess Luna, a certain Crescent Mane of the Wolf Tribe, and one Gryphoness, Shrial, all paused as they all stared at Hammer Strike and the two Guards. Not a soul spoke or moved as he stepped into the room. Finally, one of them worked up the courage to speak. “Lord Hammer Strike?” Pensword muttered with a raised eyebrow. He turned to the map and papers on the table. “This changes a few parameters.” He paused and looked to Hammer Strike. “How do you feel about using that armor to scare the enemy? Also, can it take the force needed for a battering ram?” “Nothing has brought me down in this yet.” Hammer Strike said. “They used to fear me. But after my capture, I question that fear. I need to fix that.” “Very well,” Lunar Fang looked to her Chieftess. “Do you mind if we have Hammer Strike in our forces?” She looked to the earth pony in armor that made him as big as an Alicorn. “I think it would be a frightful sight indeed if the Gryphons were to see him attack the front gates in that thing.” “What I don’t understand is how you gained this information,” Shrial said. “If what you say is true, you should not even be standing here. The Emperor would have sent assassins to kill you and then killed the assassins. Only he and the Kings know the location of that tower.” “Classified. But I do perceive that thou art an intelligent Gryphoness. Connect the dots. Start from the rumors of me around the camps.” he stated, smiling a little  as he looked to the map. “Right. Chieftess Luna and the Thestral Tribes shall work on slowly encircling the fortress. While my and my mate’s forces with Shrial and Hammer Strike shall assault the main gates.” He looked up with a smirk. “That should bring out the warriors for High Chieftess Luna to have her fun.” She looked down, blushing as he smiled at the map. “Simple tactics, perhaps, but easier to change on the fly.” He looked to each one in the room. “Are the tactics agreeable to all?” Shrial remained pensive and quiet as she analyzed the plans. “The attack does have merit. Include a gryphon traitor and they’ll be all the gladder. But you do need to remember, we are going against magic users here, not your typical warrior gryphons. We will have to anticipate what spells they may attempt to cast, most of which, I might add, will be highly experimental.” “High Chieftess Luna, you have fought these magic using Gryphons in the past. What are your suggestions and tips on how to fight them?” Pensword asked as he looked to Luna. “Gryphon magic is powerful, but it is neither fast nor easy for them,” luna explained, conjuring up the image of a talisman. “Gryphons create these talismans to focus the magical field inside them. They have no other way to access their magic and the process of some rather simple spells can be taxing for them. If we manage to rush them en masse, they will not be able to compensate for it and we will likely  be able to disable them before they can cast anything too damaging.” “Right. So we charge the fortress and hope that the armor works. Maybe he can charge the door? Would that work?” Pensword asked aloud. He spoke the next part almost absently, too engrossed in strategem. “Thank you, Princess Luna.” He looked at each of the ponies and the Gryphoness in the room, waiting for any other last minute suggestions. After a justifiable period, he spoke yet again, this time decisively. “Very well. the plans are set. We shall sleep and prepare. The day after tomorrow, we march on Grif’s prison.” it had been days. Or hours. Was it minutes? Grif couldn’t tell anymore. Time had become inconsequential. All there was, was the pain. Every nerve, every neuron in his body fired to the point where it was a fight not to go mad. worse yet was the fact that the vortex the constant forcing of wind magic into his body created was making it intensively harder to breathe. What little air Grif managed to draw into his lungs was thin at best. His lungs burned from the lack of oxygen, further increasing his pain. Grif was sure he should have lost consciousness, but the constant flow of energy kept his body from being able to let go of his conscious mind. Finally, though his vision began to swim, somewhere inside the Gryphon an abyss opened and he eagerly let himself fall to the darkness. outside the evokers started with alarm as the prisoner’s body convulsed a few times, eyes rolling back into his head before all movement ceased. “Veilfire,” another evoker spoke up as the gryphons let the magic cease. “We went too far. Look, he is dead. He must have suffocated.” The gryphon walked over and poked the body experimentally. “What will we tell the emperor?” His voice showed a hint of fear. Veilfire stayed quiet for a moment, pensive. Finally, the old evoker spoke.“We will leave him here tonight. We must give the manna time to dissipate lest he detonate from the sheer volume,” he said. “In this time, let us feed, drink, and rest. Tomorrow, we will prepare the body to be brought to the emperor. We will think of a proper story by then.” The evokers hurried to the door. There had been several post-death detonations from corpses in similar circumstances and they did not wish to be caught in it. Veilfire locked the door behind him, shaking his head with a disappointed click of his tongue. The body lay there in the dark, feathers and fur ragged around him. wings hung limply at his sides as feathers slowly began to detach and fall to the ground. No one was around to feel as a light breeze started to blow through the room. Feathers taken by the slowly began to dance around the shackles. In the quiet no one could hear the lungs refill themselves with air as the unconscious figure breathed deeply. Hanging there in the shadows, Grif slept in a dark, dreamless sleep:  broken, but alive. Pensword was in the air, glaring at the horizon as they marched into Gryphon Territory. He watched as the broken Gryphon army retreated from the massive troops that were marching with a purpose in their lands. This was the third army to have tried to face them. In his mind an Army now was nothing less than a thousand souls. He looked around him, taking in statistics with a single glance. The forces under his own command stretched upwards to three thousand strong. The majority were Thestrals and Pensword’s heart ached knowing that with the combat to come, they were to lose a good number of the warriors. He looked to the Horizon and began to move forward as he landed. He made no attempts to hide that this army contained the Commander of the Equestrian Forces, nor did Princess Luna hide her own presence. This was a war machine out on a purpose. Marching. Marching towards a destination that only a few warriors and military units on the Gryphon side knew or would even dare to guess was in, what to normal Gryphon society, were considered empty plains. Having seen enough, Pensword dove down to Hammer Strike, concerned for the well being of his friend. He alighted gracefully, sheathing his wing-blades with the sound of hissing metal. “Are you holding up okay? That is hot, surely, and with no cloud cover and our fast marching pace...” he paused and shook his head. “We are about to make the turn. We are maybe another thirteen hours away from our destination. If you need to, we shall rest. I shall not have you going down from the heat.” “I am fine.” Hammer Strike replied, looking down on Pensword. “Heat does not bother me.” “You surely are Celestia’s Ghost.” Pensword muttered. “Still, you need to. You shall rest.” He turned and began to look. He could see his Gryphon Slayers marching towards the middle of the force, bearing captured colors of the Gryphon forces that they had fought against proudly. They were to display them in the coming battle in hopes of demoralizing the enemy forces. They had gathered three new banners from the last few battles. He shook his head, it had been two days since they had entered Gryphon Territory and he felt a terrible sense of urgency. He looked to the sky and to the machine that Hammer Strike had built. It was measuring how far they had traveled. Soon they would turn and march towards the fortress, and to Grif. “Veilfire. Veilfire! A Pony army is marching our way. They have broken through the outermost perimeter and show no signs of slowing down. They are making a beeline toward us.” A young initiate called out with the message none of the older Gryphons wanted to report to him. “Impossible. No one even knows we are here,” veilfire said. “Did you inform the guards? The gatekeepers?” “Yes. We have seen the banners of three border forces also marching towards us in a retreat. The gates are shut and sealed and some of us who know war magic are preparing to fire back. They,” he gulped. “I have heard rumors that the personal flag of the Moon is in the army. And the sigil of the Commander,” He reported, fearing for his own life. “We have food enough to last for months. Send a messenger to the nearest fort and request reinforcements. We can wait it out if necessary,” Veilfire ordered. “Our gates are strong. They can hold.” “Uh…” He shuffled a little. “They bear the flag of Celestia’s Ghost as well.” He muttered in concern. “Another of the Initiates has been ordered to get reinforcements from the two authorized forts that know of our location.” “Shore the gates up, then. Steel. And maybe some earth to keep them from burning it,” veilfire said. “I will be at the wall tops soon to take charge.” The old gryphon opened his dresser. Inside, several nigh identical talismans stood, glinting in the light. The only difference between them was the focus in the center of the glass. Veilfire switched the wind talisman for one holding a chunk of volcanic ash. Putting it on, he turned to the door. “well, get moving boy!” The Initiate nodded, relieved to still be alive. He left the room as fast as possible, not really noticing the sound of slight drafts coming from the lower parts of the fortress. Such things were normal in a building like this. Pensword looked to the fortress. It appeared to be a stereotypical medieval castle. A wall with towers on the corners stood several stories high, imposing might and authority over the planes. In the middle a large keep stood at the ready. Guards flocked within, milling about nervously behind the reinforced gate. What looked like pillars of iron and stalactites of earth braced against the gate. Clearly they underestimated Hammer Strike’s strength if they thought that was going to keep him out. Pensword smiled. He was going to enjoy this battle. He paused and wondered who would control this castle once the war was over. An odd thought to be sure, but he was going to enjoy this battle all the same. At some unseen signal the unicorns released a volley of spells at the fortress. The magical energy blasts ended up hitting a few of the upper initiates, but for the most part the gryphons were able to neutralize or repel the spells. “You are wasting your time, Princess, Commander,” an aged voice ground like gravel from over the wall. “All this way to retrieve a traitor’s corpse?” Pensword’s voice cut through the din, ringing clearly as he let loose the canterlot voice. “THEN LET IT BE YOUR HEADS THAT ROLL BY DAYS END!” His eyes blazed with anger at the thought that Grif would not have visited him already if dead. “TODAY THEN, SHALL BE THE DAY THAT ALL GRYPHON MAGIC SHALL DIE!” Princess Luna let loose with a battle cry as a magic blast erupted from her horn at the fortress only to hit a shield that flickered and died as Princess Luna panted and growled. “Distract them. We shall recharge and fire again. We should be able to open a hole large enough for all to march through.” Pensword paused and looked to the Princess, then to the others. “Belay that. It would seem Hammer Strike is already heading to the gate.” He smiled. “I would rather that we only have to build another gate than an entire wall. The titanic mound of steel was indeed charging, his form wreathed in flames as the metal took on a cherry red glow which quickly escalated into white as steam and smoke flowed from the ground wherever he stepped, leaving scorched earth in it’s wake. A second before impact Hammer Strike turned and slammed both rear hooves into the gate, the heat immediately spreading through the metal, weakening it beyond endurance, spreading to the welding joints and the chain which held it in place. The gate trembled, then shrieked as its weld points withered. Then, with a final crash, the gates fell like a mighty tree, issuing a death rattle on impact with its braces as its fragments clattered on the stones of the keep. Large stone fragments mixed with shrapnel jettisoned into the enemy lines, decimating their forces as they ripped through their flesh. To their credit the Gryphons did try to fight, but their magic could not touch Hammer Strike no matter how hard they tried. A strange field, some magic unlike any they had felt before, swarmed about him, defending against any magic they conjured against him. Moments after, the Pegasi and Thestrals charged, taking to the air and dive bombing the distracted Gryphons on the wall. Unicorns teleported closer, bringing themselves and others with them to the gate’s walls. Meanwhile, Hammer Strike forced himself forward resolutely. The Gryphons quite suddenly found themselves fighting for their very lives. By fighting, of course, it meant running while shoving other gryphons in the way to block his advance. Pensword, for once, stayed and directed forces to move up and forward instead of charging into the battle himself. He was still mortal and if he charged in, it might do poorly. The Gryphons might die but they could just as easily kill him if they tried anything risky. He hated to do it, but he kept himself back. Still armed, his ears swiveled as he picked up something on the wind. “Troops, turn around.” He ordered. What troops remained outside the castle walls turned as one to face the largest Gryphon Force yet. Quick on his hooves, Pensword turned to a Pegasus Mare. Her coat shone a bright pink with a blue mane. Three bright blue lightning bolts stood out boldly on her flank. “Recall Hammer Strike. Inform him that an enemy is coming from behind and he can go after them to protect those hunting for Grif. She saluted and charged away. “And so, I see Firefly’s military career start.” Pensword muttered to himself, remembering when she reported to him in the Crystal Empire as part of Luna’s forces. He shook his head, snapping back to the situation at hand. Silently, he made a mental note to look up Firefly’s career after they got back to the present. A moment later a large patch of Gryphons were simply wiped out as Princess Luna fired another of her uber beams, this time at the approaching army. Grif woke with a start as the gate fell. He looked around, confused about his surroundings as the memories slowly came back to him. He rubbed his head as the events flooded his mind. Then he stopped and looked down in amazement. His talons were free and unchained. He had been laying flat on the stone floor. But ... how had he been released? The gryphon’s eyes picked up on several feathers worn down to the spine surrounded by small piles of what, from his best guess, could be some kind of metal dust. Curiosity held his mind for a moment before something else began to bowl through. Pain. Immeasurable pain washed through his memory. What he had been made to endure, what hammerstrike had been through before that, even what had happened to Pensword flashed before his eyes in a great show of carnage and agony. His anger mounted. The small eddy grew and grew into a full blown tempest of rage. As Grif’s anger mounted, the air around him began to whistle as a small wind began to blow. The speed and power of the winds gradually increased and the metal dust began to be swept up in spiraling columns. As the winds reached a higher level of  intensity, these dust devils combined, merging to form a large vortex that flowed around the Gryphon’s form. Grif made for the door as his fury hardened, feeding the tempest that flooded the air around him. He reached the locked door, pausing momentarily as the wood resisted him. Grif’s blue eye’s turned black. How dare this pathetic excuse for a prison seek to hold him? How dare those Gryphons try to murder him, to break him. He would make them pay. A thousand steel splinters pelted the door at gale force speed, having the same effect as a diamond edged saw on tissue paper. Sparks and sawdust flew through the air as the door disintegrated  before him. The gryphon kept walking, his body now veiled in the silver of more metal dust as well as the yellowish brown of the sawdust. As Grif continued his implacable march, he ran into an initiate searching for anyone who was not at the gate. The poor soul never stood a chance as the metal and wood ripped through him, adding a fine red mist to the growing storm. Still, the gale grew. And Grif moved on. He reached the steps and began to climb as the wind howled and echoed through the halls. Two Gryphon mages peeked around a corner and down the stairwell. They could see nothing. Then they felt the pricks. Grif entered the new hallway alone. Six more Gryphons witnessed the barbarous sight and promptly ran away. Preparing to pursue them, Grif jerked to a halt as he heard the sound of war coming from the open window to his left. He smiled a wicked grin as he pounced through it and into the open air, spreading his wings. Shards of glass, sawdust, and metal instantly joined with the storm as he landed outside. For a split second the battle stopped as all eyes turned on him. Grif was quite a sight, painted with blood and surrounded by an ominous cloud of red swirls, wood, metal, and glass. His pupils shone like black pearls, his eyes bloodshot with rage. He approached the nearest combatants with the same malevolent grin. “In the shadows, I have mended.” Walking past, the first gryphon he engaged looked on in horror and pain. There was a buzzing sound. The cloud consumed him. Then, quite suddenly, there was nothing left but a bloodstain. The pony who had engaged the victim in battle shook with fear as Grif approached and passed. Yet the breeze simply passed by. Grif did not even bother to look at him as he continued his relentless advance. “Think but this and be offended.” One gryphon had made an attempt to attack his opponent in confusion. He had just enough time to scream as yet another pony turned back to see blood and feathers fall to the ground. Grif was nearly unseeable now, the vortex around him swarming with debris. Grif turned as another gryphon attempted to take to the air in fear. He “borrowed” a pony’s dagger, holding it into the gale as he he focused his anger. “That you will soon be dead right here.” He released the knife and the gale took it.  The knife shot like a rocket and the fleeing gryphon fell, dead. “Screaming in your mortal fear.” Grif outright charged the next gryphon, the wind aiding his steps till he was right behind the enemy. “Pain will be your death’s theme.” He smiled as the gryphon died, screaming in agony. “And as you yield, you’ll never dream.” A spear flew through the air, true to its target, but was caught by the wind before it could make contact. Before it could be ground down to add to his defensive wall of debris, Grif grabbed it and looked to the thrower, his eyes those of a berserker in his element. “Harshly, I will reprimand.” He turned and threw the spear, impaling the gryphon’s abdomen. “I will not pardon. I will end.” He growled, his voice carrying along the wind as his gale continued to rage around him. He grabbed one gryphon, watching with predatory delight as the creature writhed in agony. “And, as I am an honest Grif, I will send you through the rift.” The winds sped up and devoured the gryphon as bloody mist rained on the combatants. He turned to see Veilfire, the center of his rage, reeling to run into a gate house. Grif smiled, walking slowly and implacably in his direction. “You will not ‘scape with your serpent’s tongue.” The door was shut and barred as the gryphon approached. Grif could smell the fear in his pray from the other side of the door. He slowed the wind, letting the saw tear through at an agonizingly slow pace. Meanwhile, he continued his fearsome soliloquy. “You will find your end ere long, else the Grif a liar be.” The door was wearing thin, the hinges already falling apart. “So this night your end will be. You’ve harmed me! You’ve harmed my friends!” The winds grew now, the vortex tearing the remains of the door off, bar and all, devouring them. In the dark within the vortex, Veilfire could see Grifs beak glistening. His tone was low, dark, vengeful, practically demonic. “Now come, now come, and meet your end” Those final words rolled on the wind like boulders grinding to dust. And just as Veilfire was about to scream, Grif pounced. Outside both pony and gryphon alike could only wretch in horror at the sounds Veilfire made as he died. When the dreadful deed was done, Grif slumped before falling into blissful unconsciousness. The wind around him abated. The blood, wood, metal, and glass dust fell in piles around him as he lay there in the carnage, his savage rage, his bloodlust, his vengeance, finally sated.  The gryphons surrendered quietly after that. The haunted look in their eyes showed they had received punishment enough just watching. They threw down their weapons. Some wet themselves. Some babbled incoherently. Others collapsed into a gibbering mass of feathers and tears. The battle to take the fortress was over. Pensword did not know what was going on in the Fortress as he was currently fighting for his own life against the Gryphons coming in to attack his forces. Princess Luna had to rise into the air and was using a toned down beam of magic to try and cut down the enemy forces from the rear before having to quickly duck and use a magic sword construct to defend herself from the rising Gryphon warriors. Pensword looked around him. He gulped. Hammer Strike was an island in a sea of Gryphons as they tried to kill him only to find his armor impenetrable. Pensword looked to his wife with concern as she fought at his side. He closed his eyes. He felt at this moment that they would die. They were being surrounded and the battling from the Fort was dying down. He opened his eyes. “KEEP FIGHTING!” Pensword shouted as he continued tearing through the enemy ranks with his wing blades. The morale of the Equestrian army was still holding up. Then, suddenly the forces seemed to strengthen and fight harder against them. He could just make out a voice somewhere in the battle field. “The fort has fallen to the ponies!” he did not know who spoke those words, but they gave him the strength he needed to continue the fight. He sounded a tactical retreat, fighting like a mad pony as he started to fall back. Soon the pony forces were against the fortress walls, hoping desperately for refuge and to stem the loss of life from the forces outside. The fight lasted another hour before the Gryphon forces were forced to camp out around the Fortress as Hammer Strike used his body and armor to wedge the doors shut as Crafts Ponies worked hard to repair the gate from the inside. Pensword was busy taking a tally of the dead, most of whom he knew would not be able to be buried. The Gryphons would surely feed on those they left in the field of battle. It made him sick, but he felt a little better knowing that they held the Fort. He just hoped they would be able to fight out of it. He paused as he noticed how a few of the doors had been almost torn apart, their holdings worn completely smooth. Blood stains spattered the ground almost as if it had drizzled blood instead of water, giving a fine speckled coating of red to the dull grey stones. He paused and looked at one of the guards, his head tilted. “What, happened here?” Inside Grif’s mind, quite another clean up job was taking place as the individual pieces of the torn consciousness began to reassemble. In one corner lay a taller dirty blond human wearing a black hoodie with a red inner lining for the hood. His blue jeans were torn and tattered at the knees and cuffs. As he came to, he looked around the tattered space, taking in the damage. Books and weapons lay scattered everywhere. It looked almost like a tornado had run through. Taze had taken to keeping his mental space like a reading room:  mostly books with a few victorian easy chairs with high backs and big, poofy arms, and a fireplace. A few weapons stood hanging in disarray on the wall. He originally had put them there for looks, but it was nothing like it had been since getting his full memories back. Grif had set his space, unknowingly, like an armory. Weapons of different types mentally representing different aspects of his personality hung askew on racks all over the place. A particularly large catapult lay smoking on the floor, fresh out of ammo. A few drips of naptha and pitch lay burning, licking weakly against the frame of the weapon as they were consumed and slowly died. When taze had managed to gain some standing, he slowly, but surely, began restoring the books. With a sigh the human concentrated, trying to sort his mind as they began to fly to and fro, shelving themselves. Gazing over the carnage, he shook his head. “For the love of-” on the wall, deadpool lay pinned, skewered in several places by weapons. “Oh, you’re awake. A little help here?” he asked as a yellow box appeared next to him ‘If you’re not too busy.’ “... Why do i keep you around?” Taze asked, moving to pull a sword out. “I thought I was your muse?” he asked, another yellow box proclaiming “muse” appeared. “I thought we were some sort of mental flaw compressed into a conscious state?” another yellow box appeared with comic fans writing “Really? I just figured we were some twisted imaginary friend sort of thing.” “Will you three just shut up?” Taze’s voice was mirrored by his all too familiar tennent. He turned to Grif to behold the gryphon pulling himself up. “what ... just happened?” Grif asked, rising to all fours. “As far as i can tell? Something got you so angry that it got me angry. Without my subtle-ish hold on you, our anger combined. And since we’re supposedly the same person, our minds tried to recombine.” Grif picked up a copy of Hannibal. It was empty. Taze had never read the book, but it looked good on the shelves. “And then our psychotic self, you know, personal pain? offense? pride? All that good stuff. Yeah, they all got out with no controller and went trigger happy with a power trip,” He said, pointing to the smoking Catapult. “Ok, now say it in draconic” Grif said. “We lost it.” Taze sighed. “Well, there goes eight years of non-violent outbursts down the drain.” “I don’t even get why that bothers you. They were our enemies. This is a war. Enemies kill each other,” Grif growled. “Listen.” Taze snapped. “In canterlot and the empire it was live or die, ok? It was live or die. I am not a violent person. I don’t hurt people! That is not who I am! I used to be a violent person. I told myself I wouldn’t be that again. I wouldn’t sink that low. I am a thinker. I read. I am smarter than people who would hurt me. There is fighting for self defense, fighting to protect others, and then … then there is slaughter.” “So thats why you started us on this path? Saving the gryphoness? Starting a clan? You hope that you can make peace and we can all live happily ever after? Wake up! Life isn’t like that. You live or you die,” the gryphon growled. “So you’re saying that we’re so valuable that other families should have to suffer for us? We’re so valuable that some cub in the higher kingdoms gets to find out daddy died screaming in fear by our hand?” Taze asked. “What about hammer strike? Look what they did to him! What about Pensword? His whole family died in that attack!” Grif’s voice rose. “The gryphons who hurt Hammerstrike? They’re ash now. They’re dead! According to your faith, they spend the rest of their existence trying to collect up their own pieces. As for Pensword, I haven’t forgotten my promise. I want to hunt down those bastards and give them what they deserve. But you are imagining genocide. Of your own species! Where is the profit in that? What do you have to gain from spilling the blood of your fellows?” The gryphon couldn’t speak. “Look. I think it’s time we redefined just who the hell we think we are. We’re not waking up until we know who we want to be, what our goals are, and our motivations. My family wouldn’t want this for me and we both know Graf would be disgusted with the thoughts running through your skull right now.” Taze sighed as grif’s hackles rose. A throaty growl filled the room. “Don’t you dare,” Grif said through his gritted beak. “You don’t know…” “I know everything. Your memories are mine. Your feelings are mine. I know it all and I loved him too. I miss him too!” taze trailed off for a moment, then brought his head back up again, his eyes set and his look determined. “But I want to do something that would bring his name pride, not shame.” Taze looked to a mirror that appeared out of thin air. With a wave of his hand its surface clouded over. When it cleared, it revealed a reflection of how Grif had been during the fight. It was only an instant frozen in time, but the reflection was there. The monster that stared at them caused both to recoil. “This,” taze said, his voice trembling. “This can’t happen again.” Grif nodded his head solemnly. “I guess it’s time we sat down and talked this through.” Taze nodded. He turned his head to a blank space and a table with two comfy chairs materialized. On it sat a kettle of tea and two glasses. “Come on, lets become a better person.” And with that the two took their seats and began to talk. Deadpool still hovered skewered to the other wall. “Uh, guys? Guys? Little help here?” They ignored him. Pensword sat in the banquet hall and looked at the papers. He frowned. Of the troops he had marched to take Grif back home he was down to two thousand twelve troops total, counting those wounded and unable to move or fight. He was happy that his wife made it along with his bodyguard. It seemed somewhere along the battle the Gryphon Slayers became his bodyguard unit. He sighed as he looked at the Ponies that were in the fort when Grif had attacked. He had been told what had happened and was now addressing his troops to reassure them. “Grif … went mad,” he stated bluntly. “Tell me. You said a Gryphon was torn apart right in front of you. That means that the vortex that you described was right there around you as well. If Grif was not in full control, that means you all would be giving me this report as ghosts! Grif is, no matter what, loyal to the ponies. And I will not let you do anything that might change his mind. He passed over you like a destroying angel and spared all of your lives because you deserved it. He is in a coma now in the medical wing of this fort and only Thestrals are going to be allowed near him at the moment, seeing as you are all so scared of him.” He looked at them, appraising their mood and morale. “If nothing else, we can send him into the enemy army and cut a path through them. We face a siege of four thousand Gryphons. They are too scared to assault us just yet, but if we stay here too long we will all end up dinner for the Gryphons. We need a way out. Start brainstorming and telling your squad leaders. I want the whole fort thinking of what to do. Thank Faust we have Princess Luna and Hammer Strike.” He paused as he remembered something. “Lunar Fang, Hammer Strike, come with me. We have someplace to go.” As he started to walk, the three of them were deep in thought. Pensword was wondering if he was going to go crazy like his friends, and if he did, what would he do in his rage? He didn’t like the thought, but so far it was two out of three that they would go insane during this war. And doing so would and had caused massive damage to both lives and property. Lunar fang casually slapped pensword in the back of the head with a wing. “Stop thinking like that.” “Yes, dear.” he muttered before looked to his left at his wife. “Wait, what?” he asked in confusion. “You, you can read my thoughts?” he asked a little shocked. “Is this something Thestrals can do? Does that mean I will get to do that to you at some point?” he asked with a look that she had not seen since the start of the Third Gryphon War. “No, the look on your face was giving away your thoughts. I’m your wife. I should be able to tell what you’re thinking.” “Very true.” He muttered sheepishly at his sudden outburst. “Sorry about that there. I do not know what came over me.” He admitted as the paused at another door. It took Hammer Strike to knock it down. Pensword was not sure what Hammer Strike was thinking. “Uh, thanks.” He spoke a little shocked. “Dear. How do you feel about looting a library?” He looked to the back head of his friend. “What about you, Hammer?” “I think we should find this tomb first,” lunar fang noted. “The books will wait. The four thousand gryphons outside might not.” “True, true.” Pensword muttered. “What is it about today that I am being a breezie with my attention?” He asked the two. They continued on their journey to another floor and began to explore the hallways. They had their weapons ready in case they came across any Gryphons still hiding in the shadows. “So, dear, how art thou?” He asked his wife as he moved a wing to touch hers. “I, I hope thou are not mad that I may have trapped us here for a while in a Gryphon Fortress with an enemy wishing to eat us outside.” He looked to Hammer Strike. “Are you holding up now that we have Grif and he is alive?” “I am fine.” Hammer Strike responded. “As am I, Pensword. I am not unable to fight just yet,” lunar fang said. “I just need to fight carefully.” Pensword nodded in response. “Good. I am just a little concerned from what we saw of Grif’s aftermath.” He sighed and looked to Lunar Fang. “I do not know what I would do if I got you killed,” he said, admitting his fear at last. He looked back to the hallways as they found another set of stairs that led further down into the keep. Fine blood spatters marked the trail to where Grif had been held captive. “So… see if this is where the tomb is?” He asked as they looked at the wind damage and blood stains on the stairs. “I am just in shock over what I was told happened.” Anxious to change the topic, Lunar Fang jumped in. “So, we never discussed names.” She said, playfully. “Ah. Well if Hammer Strike does not mind, I suppose we could use this time to name the foal. However, I think they do not have to use the Pen name just yet, seeing as that has become the clan name or Tribe name? Family name?” He asked looking a little confused. “Pony names confused me and at the moment they still do. How do we celebrate their heritage of both moon and sun?” he asked, referring to the Thestral Creation Myth. “I was thinking something with river” lunar fang said “It’s a nice name.” “Well I would say song is right out.” he muttered, shaking his head. “Sorry, reference from Earth that I would rather not tempt fate on.” He paused and started to hum a little tune, ending with the two words sung aloud “Moon River.” he paused, then burst into a fit of giggles before he looked to his wife. “Sorry, it is another song from our home, but it does sound rather nice. Do you like the name?” “I love it.” she smiled. “Moon River.” She looked down to the bulge in her lower stomach. “Moon River will be a strong pony” she smiled. “Agreed, no matter the gender.” He replied with a smile. “I, wow, I am going to be a father in ... eight months?” he asked, then shook his head. “Pony pregnancies are longer than humans. Still trying to think in eleven months and not nine month terms.” He shook his head. “Yet at the same time Nine Months seems too short.” he snorted. “Great. I should ask Grif if he has this problem at all… two mindsets.” “I would think we have the answer to that already,” lunar fang said. “Or was the incident with shrial a fluke in your opinion?” “No, what I saw was real. Taze and Grif are two distinct minds. But does that mean I have two minds as well? Or have I integrated them already?” he asked the group as they paused to look into the cell that Grif had been held in. Pensword shuddered as he looked to his wife. “I hope none of us gets captured again.” He trailed off as they continued down the hallway and found a slope that moved down and around in a spiral. They found themselves standing before a stone arch with heavy stone doors. He sighed. “We are here, it seems.” He sat down as he looked to the doors and then looked at his friends as they eyed the inscription. “Does anypony know Gryphic? I can muddle through it, but I rather not miss anything like death traps or curses.” “Somewhat.” Hammer Strike responded. “Well, what can you read about it?” Pensword asked. “Passage to a tomb.” He said aloud. “You mind, Hammer Strike?” Pensword asked, motioning to the slabs. “Of course.” Hammer strike snorted, then strolled his way to the doors. Carefully, he rolled back the sleeves of his blue coat, his juggernaut armor having been removed and waiting for him to don again when the Gryphon army attacked. It would only be restrictive in an event like this. The gold trim of his sleeve gleamed in the torchlight as he smirked. Then he dug his hooves into the ground, reared, and braced against the stone gates, pushing for all he was worth. They swung ponderously open, a great gust of stale air rushing out as the fresh air of the planes blew in from the drafts in the upper parts of the castle. Pensword quickly moved to one side of the hallway, simultaneously shoving his mate the other way. “Tomb Air is not good for the lungs.” he whispered in her ear after the initial outpouring of air was complete. The doors opened to a large, round shaft going down far deeper than any could make out. A single pillar took up the center of the room. A track traced downwards in a spiral pattern. Connected to the track, a large stone platform stood, waiting for its passengers to arive. It barely looked large enough for the three ponies. A large stone wheel lay attached with a single rod sticking from it connecting to a gear that bit into the wall. More Gryphic was inscribed on the wheel. “Lunar Fang… can you go find Shrial? I do not want to proceed. The script here is a little more than I can translate and I would rather not miss any instructions. I would prefer not to end up like any of the companions of Dr. Jones or stuck in a trap that only Daring Do could escape from.” Lunar Fang nodded before galloping away. Several minutes later she found the gryphoness breathing heavily next to the remains of what  she prayed was a training dummy. “Shrial?” she asked, deciding it wise to keep her distance. The gryphoness turned, her eyes red, her feathers matted and her appearance generally unkempt. She was heaving, though whether from the exertion of her training or something else could not tell for certain. “What?” Shrial barked, before realizing who she was talking to. “Oh, Lunar Fang, it’s you. I am … sorry to have snapped at you. Is everything alright? Has something happened with Grif?” “Shrial, do not take offense to this question, but Grif did explain to us that it is not always so. Can you read Gryphic?” she asked. “Of course I can. My father insisted on it.” “We believe we have found the entrance to a tomb.” Lunar Fang hesitated a moment, as if puzzling what to say next. “A tomb that … pensword was instructed to find. There is something important in it regarding Grif and also what we hope to be the means for our salvation. Would you be willing to help us?” she asked. Shrial’s eyes hardened. “Has anyone entered yet?” “We have encountered… a device. And we can’t seem to make heads or tails of it without translating the text inscribed on it.” “Good. If you had entered immediately you likely would have died. There are many traps laid in Gryphon tombs to guard their remains. One should not tread those grounds lightly. If you say that our salvation lies within, then I will come. But you must all do exactly as I say. Otherwise, you are all likely to be killed. I do not wish to be the one to bear such news to Grif when he wakes.” “We will follow you. Now please, come with me.” “Hmmmmm … These carvings are very old. They seem to have been engraved with some sort of preservation spell; probably earth magic. But the language is essentially the same. ‘Enter stranger, but be warned. Descend to the depths and face wind and storm. The Wind Waker sleeps in peaceful rest. Turn back. Turn back. Or go to your death.’” “That last part sounds eerily like what the report said Grif sounded like when he went mad,” lunar fang said hesitantly. “So we wind the wheel to go down?” she asked. “Yes. Though this is a Gryphon machine. It may have recognition spells or something similar. It would likely be safest if I were to be the one to lower the platform. As for the rest of you, keep an eye out for any unusual indentations, holes, chinks, or other things of the like in the rock face. If this inscription means anything, there are likely to be many traps on the way down. Still … it is strange. Why include the warning? Most tombs remain blank and the keepers just come to check for mess every few weeks. Why is this one so different?” She mumbled to herself as she stepped onto the platform and seized the lever. “Well? Are you coming?” Pensword stepped onto the platform and stood, eyes roving and ears twitching while he kept his body loose in case they needed to take flight. Hammer Strike just stepped onto the platform, looking down into the abyss with an expression that was unreadable. Pensword looked to his wife. “Please, stay here. I know thou wishest to come, but think of our child. I would rather not have the Pen line die out here.” Lunar Fang hesitated for a moment before sighing. “Very well,” she said. “I shall prepare the troops to defend should it be necessary.” “Thank you. We shall be back as quickly as possible.” Pensword paused. “Alive.” “May the winds guide and watch over you.” Shrial said, bowing her head to Lunar Fang. “And us …” She muttered under her breath. With that, she began to crank the wheel and the platform jolted away from the entrance, beginning its winding way down the corkscrew as its gears slowly shifted along the column. The descent had been filled with stone spikes attempting to impale them from the wall. These found Hammer Strike’s hooves to be harder than the stone they were shaped from. Several hidden dart shooters fired off, thankfully either missing out right or else whatever toxin had been in them had degraded to the point of impotency over the years. Random falls hidden along the track that had caught them off guard a few times, but they managed. At one point a large, rusty blade slid from a slot in the wall and circled around them so closely that had it not already been missing, hammerstrike would have lost a chunk of his ear. when they finally touched the ground, shrial was panting as she pushed the wheel the last few feet, hearing the audible click as the tension reset. It was likely they would need to find a separate way out of the tomb. “Shrial, you take the lead if you do not mind.” Pensword ordered as he looked around the new room they found themselves in. A long hallway stretched before them, dark as night. “Also, find torches to give us light.” “I already came prepared for that.” Reaching into her side bag, Shrial pulled out a large torch. The naphtha soaked cloth filled the air with its pungent odor. “Lord Hammer Strike, if you would not mind?” Hammerstrike stretched out a hoof and with a spark the torch ignited. The area around them was instantly illuminated, revealing intricately carved walls with deteriorated paint depicting a male gryphon in flight, scenes of him slaying a dragon, sections of his family life with what seemed to be two female gryphonesses at his side. In his hands, from what little they could make out, he held two straight edged swords. Still, the carvings were not very detailed. “Who … is this?” Shrial asked, reaching with her taloned hand to touch the mural. “That better not be Grif in our future and this world’s past.” Pensword muttered darkly. “I hate the time travel paradoxes enough already.” He shook his head as he let his eyes rove the other walls. “Time travel?” Shrial asked. “Ask Grif.” Pensword replied, glaring at Shrial. “I am not saying another word.” He moved to look at a carved section of the cave system, ignoring Shrial as his ears kept swivelling. “To slay a dragon and live to tell the tale … this is amazing. But … no, it can not be.” “Can not be what?” Pensword asked as he turned around to look at Shrial. “Do you know someting? I would like to hear this.” He grinned a little wider. “I could use it against the Gryphons.” “There is nothing to use against the Gryphons here. But … there is a tale. A legend I was taught as a hatchling. I thought he was just a myth.” She scanned the mural more carefully, passing the torch slowly over each detail as she scanned the figures on the mural and the landscape around them. “Go on,” Hammer Strike said. “In a moment.” Shrial said, testily. Don’t break my concentration.” She brushed along the area beneath the figures and brought the torch closer. Her eyes widened as suddenly, razor sharp etchings scratched their way into the space. “Peregrine … Elaine … and...” she gasped. “It is,” she whispered. “Grask Grimclaw Dragonfeller,” a voice seemed to whisper in her ear. “Let me guess. Some lost figure to Gryphon History?” Pensword asked almost guessing what she was going to say next as he looked at the fortress. Or rather, the tomb’s halls. “A Gryphon Clan does need some fortress to show power,” He muttered as he lapsed into thought. A north wind bellowed through the corridor. Fur and feathers ruffled gently on it’s face as a large dark blue, almost black gryphon emerged from the shadows. “He who felled the the twins of scorching flame. The victor over the gruesome Taimut. The silencer of the Scylia. I left no clan with my name. My children were never to speak of their heritage. I killed many gryphons, many ponies, five dragons, and loved two gryphons with a passion most can hardly contemplate.” The gryphon looked at them. “I am the king of the North East wind. And you are within my burial place.” Shrial executed a Gryphon bow as a sign of respect to the mighty warrior of legend. “We have come at the instructions received by this one, Grask Dragonfeller. Why have you called us here?” “He did not. It was Graf, Father of Grif, who told me to come here. I plan to carry out the orders to save my friend and to save those that currently reside in these walls.” He glared at the Dragonfeller. “I am Commander Moonkissed Pensword Hurricane. I have the sight beyond, and I shall proceed.” He ruffled his feathers. “I have met few Gryphons who have earned my respect.” “I do not claim your respect,” Grask said. “I only offer you what you need in return for delivering what should go to the new avatar of winds.” Without another word, Grask turned and began his walk down the corridor from whence he came. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Well? Come on, then.” With that, the others began to follow. Pensword drew closer, curious about Grask’s previous statement. “That title. The Avatar of Winds. I assume you were talking about my friend, Grif, corrrect?” He looked at the walls and the faded artwork. His face a pool of concern. “I do not have to worry about him losing it again, will I?” “You do not understand,” grask said. “It was for Grif that Grif lost his control, yes, but it was also for you, Commander Pensword, and it was also for Hammer Strike. The injustice had gotten to be too much for him to handle. He snapped and went berzerk. However, much good can spring from one bad event. When he awakens, I think you will find him a very different gryphon.” “Very well.” Pensword muttered quietly. “I just worry for my friends.” His eyes drifted to Hammer Strike who was staring silently at the ghost with his usual blank expression. At the end of the corridor was a reasonably sized dome shaped room. Three sarcophagi made of stone and carved with what must have been an effigy of their tenants occupied the main area of the room. The central coffin had blades sunk into a stone block at it’s end. The handles where nothing but rust, but the blades themselves seemed completely untouched by time as they glinted in the dark. They were a color that seemed to fall somewhere between the realm of gold, deep red, and rich brown. They started off a little on the broad side, but moved towards what must decidedly have been a point hidden within the stone. Both edges were straight save for a small spike-like addition to the back of the blades. Despite their age, the edges still appeared frightfully lethal. Each blade had different Gryphic lettering down the length of it’s base. Pensword stepped to the side, already pondering how he could preserve this piece of history. He frowned at what he was seeing and allowed Shrial her time. He had a gut feeling that this was Shrial’s task to accomplish in bringing Grif these blades. He looked to Hammer Strike’s form in the dome room and hoped he would be getting better soon. Hammer Strike had moved to the far area of the room. As Pensword walked over to check on him, his eyes widened. Piled from floor to roof: a store of gold coins, jewels and gems of rare cut and quality as far as the eyes could see. Pieces of jewelry and other priceless artifacts lay scattered amongst the rest, cascading like water. A cache like this would be enough to make any dragon jealous. “Oh my… even a fraction of that could fund the entire war for a year,” he muttered, his jaw dropped. “Let alone buy the Dragon another attack.” he muttered again as he began to calculate the good it could be used for. It could fund hospitals, the reconstruction after the war. Heck, invest it now, just a single ruby or diamond and the reconstruction fund for Unity would be ready by the time they got back. He shook his head and blinked back the tears as he thought of his human family and the good it could do them and their neighbors. “How must they be removed, Dragonfeller?” Shrial asked as she gazed on the weapons of legend. To think that these would be going to Grif of all people, her clan leader. She could not help but feel awed, proud, and perhaps a little afraid, though she would not show it. “Simply take them,” Grask said. Shrial nodded as she grasped the blades where the hilts met them. She pulled, gently and surely. The twin blades hissed out with a metallic ring as they left their place of rest at last. “It would seem they are glad to be free,” Shrial noticed. “I am sure they are anxious to have a new owner to wield them in battle once again.” “You remind me much of them,” grask said, looking back at the coffin on the left, then the right. “I am not near so great as they.” Shrial said, shaking her head. “Not yet, anyways.” “And yet you don’t even see what will be.” The ghost laughed. “You have yet to open your eyes to what’s in front of you.” “Perhaps. But it is often best not to know what lies ahead. That would take all the fun out of it.” Shrial smirked. “Give him harsh words. Strike him if you will. But remember that weakness comes to us all and in the end your opinion may matter more to him than you realise. He will release you. Do not leave him.” Her gaze darkened and she growled. “If he thinks he can get rid of me that easily, he has another coma coming.” The ghost grinned. “Good, good. You will do quite nicely.” He pointed ahead of them. “There is a wall there breaking. It will reveal the bottom of a cliff face if the land has not changed too much. That is where you will get your gold out for the dragon when he needs it. Do not break it now. There are Gryphon patrols out there and such a weakness is not what you require right now.” Pensword bowed, never taking his eyes off the Gryphon. He would treat him as an equal foe. “Our thanks, dragonslayer. Though we do have one other request. Is there a safer route out of this cave? The way down was … interesting to say the least.” “Go around the far side of the pillar. Look for the stone a hair’s breadth from the wall and correct it. In the pillar you will find a platform. The gryphoness has already primed it to rise as she wound the crank to bring you down here. Throw the switch and it will bring you safely to the top.” “Huh, a clever disarming device indeed. Our thanks, Grask Grimclaw, Dragonslayer. We shall let you return to your slumber. Have you any final requests of us before we go?” “Remember this place and make it something respectable again,” the old gryphon said. The wind began to blow and he faded. Grif mumbled groggily as he woke from his slumber, his eyes taking a moment to focus on the room before they locked with the eyes of a lone figure by his bed. “Shrial?” "Are you in your right state of mind?" The gryphoness asked, gently. "Yes," Grif responded. “Good.” A sharp clap resounded through the room as Shrial’s hand made contact with Grif’s face. Grif, to his credit, did not react and maintained his poise. "I do not consider myself worthy of asking you to forgive me," he stated calmly. "I do not think I will ever be able to forgive myself for what I've done. Not just there to the enemy soldiers not involved at Mountainside, but to the fledglings.” He paused, swallowed and spoke again. “What I almost did to you. I release you, shrial. You should not be held by the burden of my shame. Go with Pensword. Learn from someone proper. Leave me to do what I must." Shrial glared into his eyes, then slapped him again, this time leaving light scratches with her talons. "First you kill my father, then you destroy my clan, then you change my name and adopt me into your own clan. You put me through two humiliating months of training, and now ... now, after all this, you dare to insinuate that I should leave? If there is one lesson you taught to me, Grif Bladefeather, it is the importance of loyalty. You don't like how you feel? Then stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something about it." She said, recalling how often Grif would use the same tone with her. If there was anything a Gryphon should despise other than dishonor, it was self pity. Grif let out a dry chuckle as he checked the scratches. "Are you really that sniveling canary that begged for death a few weeks ago?" Shrial smiled slyly, her eyes glinting. "That depends. Are you still the warrior who pulled me through Tartarus and back to get me this far?" "The one thing I can promise you." he said "That sullen, sore, spiteful, perpetually angry creature is dead," he said. "There are things I need to say to you, fantastical things you likely won't believe." Shrial's tail twitched, the only hint at her curiosity. Her eyes were still hard as agates, but a playful glint stirred inside. "That is a battle and a challenge for another time. Right now, I want you to focus on the battle to get well. There will be time to talk after. Once you earn it." She smiled wickedly, but not creully at the bedridden Grif. "I must inform the others that you are awake. When you can get out of that bed, then we will have things to discuss. I may have some news to surprise you as well. Think on that while you recover. I want you walking by the end of the week. A true warrior would settle for nothing less." "Shrial, if you could do me one thing before you go. Please, bring me my bag," Grif asked. "Hmmm ... I suppose it's a harmless enough request. Though we took all your weapons away. You'll get them back when you're ready." She grabbed the satchel and tossed it negligently onto Grif's stomach. The gryphon looked through it a short time before he took out his locket. He and taze had already discussed this. "Shrial, what you see before you is my most treasured possession. I... would like you to wear it. But do not open it until I've told you what I must." Shrial raised a brow in confusion. "It does not seem very functional for battle. Would you have me wear it around my neck only to lose it to the cut of a sword?" "I... I..." Grif struggled. He had hoped the meaning of the gesture would get through as he was rather inexperienced with this. "I would ask you to keep it with you then." Grif said "It ... it is as good as my heart." She stared at the Gryphon, pondering a moment. "Very well. I shall keep it safe for you for now. I see no harm in it. It will be interesting to try to guess this riddle you have set for me. A mystery to try my cunning, rather than my reflexes. I look forward to the challenge." Grif sighed, resigning to his temporary defeat as Taze face palmed mentally. "Tell me, shrial. I am curious. In Gryphonia how does a male gain a female’s favour?" Grif asked, hoping there was something culturally he'd missed. “Favor. Oh, that's a way to put it. Favor." She chuckled darkly. "More like how do you buy a female." I do not know how you Gryphons of the Northern Isles mate, but in the empire, if we are desired, we are merely told by our fathers who we are to marry. There is no wooing. Only a business transaction." She smashed an expensive vase on the floor to vent her anger, careful not to clench the locket too tightly. "In the northern isles it is the same as it is in most of equestria," Grif said. "The male must do what he can to make himself appear worthy in the females eyes. She must choose him." "Hmmm ... choose the one you wish to live with. A peculiar concept. It would take time for one to earn such a prize from me. That is for certain. I have gained my freedom thanks to you, Grif. I will not give that away lightly." "Is Lunar Fang a slave to pensword?" Grif asked "You haven't noticed that mares and stallions walk as equals. A male and female should not be treated as inferiors by either side. marriage is a partnership within equestria" "Hmmm ... yet another thing to like about this country. I am beginning to wonder if the Emperor attacked merely out of jealousy. Not that I am complaining. Were it not for the war, I would not have met you. And I would not stand here now as I am." "And how do you feel about me, may I ask?" Grif spoke, his feathers ruffling slightly. Shrial started, taken off guard by the question. "I ... well, you are a warrior, the son of Graf. You are strong, powerful, and by far one of the most skilled weapons masters I have ever had the honor of meeting. You are harsh, but not cruel or unfair. But there is pain in you as well. Something you carry with you, but you cannot express. If you want an honest opinion from me, Grif, Son of Graf, you confuse me more than anything else. You seem to be one person one day, and another the next. I honestly do not know what to think. I have not fully decided. Perhaps I will be able to answer you better when you are well," She said, strolling to the door. Her tail sashayed back and forth, the picture of grace with all the muscle and power of a true warrior. "I will be back with the others shortly. I know that Pensword and Hammer Strike will both be very glad to see you awake." Over the next four days Grif worked on returning to his normal standard. By the second day he had made it out of bed and by the third he was already working on runs and flights. It was with great relief that Little Willow and Blue Vase had declared him well enough to be out of the infirmary room. By this time, Haymin had come and gone, chasing the Gryponian Army and their reinforcements away. Not that many lived after Haymin’s first pass. The dragon had taken to sitting outside the gate though, just in case. Grif flew around the fortress grounds, casually looking for any hint of Shrial. High above in the clouds, a pair of eyes watched him, glinting in the sun before she pounced, dive bombing the Gryphon in a surprise attack. Grif almost didn’t see her coming. At the last minute he banked to the side, grabbing her in his talons as she passed him. He burned off as much of the force as he could as they were pulled down before they both dropped into a pile of hay. Grif laughed loudly as they landed. Shrial joined with him. “Well, it seems that the warrior has not lost his touch.” Shrial said, jesting as she tickled his beak with some hay. It was at that moment Grif decided to try something daring. in a quick motion he leaned forward and kissed her. Shrial’s eyes widened in shock, her breath quickening. She had never been kissed before save by her father as a hatchling. Was this what it really was? Grif pulled back quickly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that” he said, backing away. Shrial stood there, still stunned. While surprising, it had not been unpleasant, perse. Still … a kiss. What could Grif be thinking? She sat there, bewildered. “I, um, I do not know what to say.” Against her will she found herself blushing. Her heart was racing as if she were in battle in full flight. Why? “Then let’s pretend like that didn’t happen,” Grif said, thankful his feathers where dark to keep his blush hidden. “Besides, I need to talk to you. And you need to hear this.” “I’m listening.” She replied with an avian tilt of her head. And so he told her everything. He told her about who he really was, about being human, being from another dimension, even about Matthew and Shawn. He told her about the future and how he had ended up here. He left no details out and prepared himself. At worst she would hate him for lying. At best, she would laugh at him. Grif prepared himself. “Hmmmm … so that is what Pensword meant when he told me to ask you. It does seem a bit of a difficult tale to swallow, I will admit. But you have been deemed sane by the best physicians in the Equestrian army. At the very least I can believe you about the time travel. The split minds makes sense in hindsight. As for being this strange creature called a human … that I think I will have to see with my own eyes before I can truly accept it, Wind Avatar.” She slyly slipped the title in at the end. “I would need a place out of the public eye to show you,” he said. “Wait… Wind Avatar?” he asked raising an eyebrow. “I did say I had news of my own to share, after all.” She winked. “We discovered a lost tomb a few days before you woke. I think you can guess who we found there. And what he had to say.” “But that title…. I can’t be the avatar of winds,” Grif said. “You know what I did. I’m no paragon.” “Paragon or no, you are stuck with the title. He has given it to you … and all that goes with it.” Grif sighed “I suppose it will give my enemies pause at least,” he said. “But you ... no using the title from you.” “And why not? It is a great honor. One, which I might add, you may not have been worthy of before, but most certainly are now. You have changed, Grif Bladefeather. And, I might add, you were doing the work of the Northeast Wind long before you were ordained with the power.” “How can you see so much and yet be so incredibly blind?” Grif groaned. “Let the others honor me. Let the fools or the fearful honor the Avatar of Winds. But I couldn't live with myself if you should know me as anyone other than me.” “Then I will know you as you. But I might just tease you with that title a while. I haven’t had this kind of power over you before.” She winked jokingly. But was it a joke? “No, I suppose you haven't. Did the dragon say where our mercenaries were waiting?” Grif asked. “Oh, they should be arriving any day now. They were put on march as soon as Haymin sent them the word. He isn’t so bad a dragon as he likes to make others think, I think.” “Then we head out the moment they arrive.” Grif said “I got fifteen more names and a month to kill.” He laughed a bit at his own pun. “And a pillow to make That is, if you are still willing to accompany me?” he asked. “After that last stunt you pulled? I’m not letting you out of my sight ever again.” She smirked. “Shall I lead you to your weapons? They’ve been waiting for their master.” “Exactly what I’d hoped you’d say” Grif smiled as the thought ran through his head. “I have felt naked over the last few days without them. Let’s get me back to my natural state.” He said, taking to the air. The next month was one in which Hammer Strike, Grif, Lunar Fang, and Pensword never saw each other. Their own separate battles were small and insignificant, not worthy of any detailed description on their own. Grif returned to the hunt with a whole new outlook on the war. He was more discerning about who he killed and less single minded in his fights. He led his mercenaries to victories over several outposts as he hunted the Fifteen gryphons who made up the remainder of Pensword’s vengeance. when he had the final feathers, he released the mercenaries from their employment. Each headed into equestria to claim their payment from the princesses through the promissory notes Grif had given them and then disbanded to their own paths. Some decided to remain in Equestria for the remainder of their lives to see this nation that caused the devotion they saw in Grif, a Gryphon. Pensword returned to Fortress Triumph where he either directly or indirectly secured eighty percent of the passes leading into Gryphonia, as well as having a hoof in some of the orders that secured the lands of Equestria. He was soon unable to leave his area of command as Princess Celestia and High Chiefess Princess Luna both did not want to risk losing the Commander of the Equestrian forces. The direct order hung in every gate and all the mess halls. He still led the rest of the war from the Fortress. However, not without a souvenir. After a few days a group of three black feather tips appeared hanging from his helm. Hammer Strike returned to his home in Unity quietly. While he would have gone to fight more, he needed to keep himself out of sight. And secondly, he was still recovering physically, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He retired and slowly began crafting blueprints for future projects. In his free time, he plotted with Princess Luna on how to handle the Flame Estate. As a princess of the night, she had some marvelous tips and ideas. Princess Luna remained during the month in Unity, having returned to rest and also to finally push her sister out from Unity. She wanted to move her own powers to take out Promethean Flame when the moment was right. She sighed as she looked at a group of letters piled on her desk. She would have to wait till after the war to move against Promethean Flame. Which irked her since she wanted to move faster. All the assets for Flame’s downfall were spread out, from Equestria to the Gryphon Lands. She had no choice but to wait for now. She hated waiting. Promethean would pay for what he did to her teacher. Stepping out of her office, she was immediately flanked by her thestral guards. She slowly clip clopped along the hallways, ignoring the glares from some of the older nobilities. She couldn’t help but smile when she heard the news that Sergeant Blueblood had caused a stir in the circles when he openly announced his courtship of a female Thestral. She waited till an empty hallway before doing a small dance of joy at seeing the Ponies finally accepting the Thestrals. She looked forward to the future and their full integration into pony society at last. She paused as she met one of the Thestral lore keepers as they entered one of the grand halls. “We are ready to hear the tales.” She replied. “Thou didst say we would learn of the Origin Myth of the Thestrals.” The thestrals, like most cultures, had originally left their tales to the duty of one amongst their tribe to hold and remember the stories of their people. For the dream clan, this story teller was called Dream Daze. The ancient mare was once a smokey grey with a mane and tail that reflected the blue of the night sky. But Dream Daze was a very old mare now. Her coat and mane and tail had all gone to a snowy white. The old mare smiled as she moved to the small fire in the center of the room. With permission from the Dream Clan, a Unicorn sat to the side with pen, ink, and parchment. His colorations denoted a member of Luna’s close guards and she knew he would not scoff at what might be said. He nodded once to the group that entered the room before uncapping the inkwell and dipping the feather pen into the inkwell to begin recording the origin of Thestrals. Reaching into a pouch, Dream Daze drew out a sparkling powder which she then flung into the fireplace. It flared a variety of colors as smoke filled the room, changing the atmosphere. In due course, the smoke began to take shape, shifting and changing as the old thestral spoke. And so, Dream Daze began her narration. “Long ago, the Mother Earth was lonely. And so she decided to bring forth life upon her surface. She crafted the great dragons from the fire of Equis’ core. The gryphons, she created from the sky. The minotaurs and the rooish people she crafted from the earth. And the great and mysterious kitsune she crafted from magic itself. The animals and beasts she bore from the field. But it was the pony she made most special. Crafting us from the sky and the earth and the magic and giving to us the flame of life. Originally all ponies were the same:  wingless, hornless, powerless ponies who lived together in one large herd. But the Mother Earth found the idea of her special children being in a single place, in one herd alone, disheartening. So she turned to the Sun and the Moon for aid. The Moon loved ponies and would not force them to leave if they did not wish it. But to gain the approval of Mother Earth, the Sun decided he would make the ponies move. “One day, he found four brothers: Orion, Atlas, and Nimbus and Fog, the twins. He approached these brothers and offered them any wish if they would lead the other ponies away. Orion, the oldest brother, wished that he and those who followed him could manipulate the elements of the world and move them to their will. So the sun took one of his rays and placed it upon Orion’s head. The ray fused with the pony and became a mighty horn, granting Orion the gift of magic in it’s largest form. And so, Orion gathered those who would follow and left to find new lands. These became the first Unicorns.” Dream Daze paused for a drink, then spoke again, her eyes glowing with a fervor as she continued the ancient tale. “The next day the Sun came back and offered the remaining three any wish in exchange for leading the remaining ponies away. Atlas wished for strength and the ability to communicate with the earth, to make it yield to him and any who followed him. So, the Sun shone brightly and the light entered into Atlas’s hooves and ears. From that moment on, he became far stronger than any pony and he could hear the song of the earth and make the fields yield to his hooves. And so, Atlas went. He gathered all who would follow him and led them to new lands. And so, these became the first Earth Ponies. “As he did before, the Sun came back the next day and spoke to the twins. Once more, he offered them any wish they desired in return for leading the others away. His anger had grown great at seeing the stubborn ponies who had chosen to stay. And so, he threatened that on the fourth day he would turn any who remained to ashes. Fearing for his friends and loved ones, and desiring peace with the Sun, Nimbus asked for the sky so that all who followed him could walk amongst the clouds and force out the rain when they chose and force out the thunder when they liked. The Sun happily took a cloud and fashioned a pair of wings. He placed them upon Nimbus’s back and nimbus gathered all who would follow him. And a great many did follow him. For Nimbus could fly and such a thing was, at the time, unfathomable. Still, many ponies stayed behind with Fog. And Fog would not lead them away. The Sun’s anger blazed, but he had become tired from granting the gifts of flight and sky to Nimbus and his ponies. And so, he told fog that the next morning he would turn them all to ash.”  Dream Daze paused once more to take a sip from the water provided her, her face drawn in anguish. It was almost as though she were remembering what had happened all those years ago. Perhaps she could, at that. The powers of the Thestrals were still not entirely known to Luna and the others. It could very well be that Dream Daze’s special talent was to experience the very stories she told as she spoke them, that she may tell them with gravity and proper respect. Whatever the case may have been, all in the room were held under the spell of her voice. The scribe wrote furiously, so engrossed was he in the tale. The moon shone brightly through the skylight above, as if it too were anxious to hear what happened next. At last Dream Daze opened her eyes and continued. They glowed as they caught the moonlight, the reflection of the fire dancing as it flickered and snapped. “Fog and the remaining ponies wept and wailed in their anguish well into the night. Upon seeing their sorrow, the Moon approached them, wondering why they mourned so. And so, Fog told her all that had transpired and how the Sun would surely turn them to ash in the morning. The Moon looked on these ponies, these faithful, kind, brave ponies. Moved with pity and love, she reached out and caressed them all with her silvery light. When it had passed the wings of the bat appeared on their backs, the eyes of the cat appeared in their eyes, and their ears became more sensitive so that they could better understand the sounds of the night. “The moon comforted them and told them not to fear, that they would remain and sleep when the Sun was out on his watch. They would live under her care. But Fog cried still. For how were they to eat if nothing would grow at night? The moon reached out once more, perceiving the trouble and comforted Fog and his people with her kindness. For while the sun was prideful and direct, the Moon was humble and gentle. Once more, she took the ponies in her loving embrace. And as she did so, their teeth grew long and sharp. She told them not to fear and that they would eat of the beasts and feast on the mushrooms that enjoy the dark. Fog and his people were so grateful to her that they wept with joy. Then the Moon, so moved by the love they showed towards her, carved for them a great cave and hurried them inside. For the day was almost upon them, and with it would come the terrible Sun, ready to fulfill his threats. When all her new children were inside, she shut the door to keep the Sun from finding them. For in the darkness of the caves, no sunlight could pierce through. And so the Sun was blind to their location. He searched high and low, roving the sky in a great arc, but never could he find the ponies who dared to defy him. And so, Fog and his fellow ponies kept living under the care of the Moon, emerging each night to admire their savior and gather their food. Fog and his fellows united under her rule. But the Moon soon realized that they needed a leader to guide and govern them. For she could not be with them always. So she took Fog aside one night to a sacred place, and there, she kissed his forehead. Fog was filled with her light. And in that moment, his mane and tail turned white and a great white star appeared on his forehead where her lips had touched him. As the recipient of this blessing, Fog was granted three gifts. First, he was given the gift of dream walking, which gave him the power to enter the world of dreams that he may protect his people from nightmares and see the secret plans of their enemies as they slumbered, both without and within. Secondly, she granted him the gift of future sight, that he may know where his decisions may lead him and how to find the best path to the future. Lastly, she granted him the gift of the sight beyond, that he may see beyond the world of the living and commune with the dead, allowing him to bring them peace. Weeping, the Moon gave Fog a cloak of stars and instructed him to lead her children wisely. She would not be able to visit them any more. For the Sun had guessed what she had done and she knew it was only a matter of time until he began to pursue her, dogging her steps to take his revenge upon them. But before she left, she gave Fog a promise. So long as he and his descendants lived, her gifts, her love, and her influence would always be with them. She stayed with him long enough to open the cave and allow him through. Then she said her last goodbyes and fled, weeping. This is why the moon waxes and wanes. For all things come in cycles, even joy and grief. When she draws near to her children, she is happy and grows full in her joy. But then the Sun begins to follow her, and she must flee again to lead him away. And so she weeps and wanes until her sorrow is gone and she is spent. It is on these nights that darkness is greatest, for it is the time of the new moon. Even the Sun loses sight of her, and so she is given the hope of drawing near to her children again and the cycle begins anew. “As a final unintended gift, Fog gathered the tears of the Moon and brought them inside the cave. There, he gathered the herd together and proclaimed himself High Chief. The tears hardened, but their gentle light still shone to grant the ponies light and remind them of she who gave them so much. These were the first moon stones. Using his gift of future sight, Fog gave each stone to a pony he trusted and invested leadership to them, dividing up the ponies into several groups. For their numbers were too great to be ruled by any one pony alone. So these ponies became the great leaders of the past. And so, the thestral tribes were born. To this day, the blessings of the Moon still shine upon us, and Fog’s descendents continue to protect and defend his people throughout the ages, the chosen of our dear adopted mother:  The Moonkissed.” The smoke dissipated as Dream Daze closed her story and returned to her water, her face drawn and weary from telling the tale. Luna sat silent as she listened and looked to the ceiling and her charge. Somehow, she felt like she was completing a purpose and gathering the ponies together. The sun and this Earth characters seemed to be wishing to spread out, and yet, she and her sister were gathering in the lost ponies to become a much more powerful herd. She smiled. Now that the Thestrals were joining, what would pony society look like in a thousand years? “Commander Pensword?” A guard entered the great hall, a nervous looking zebra following closely behind him. “This courier claims he is carrying a package with specific instructions and that it was to be put straight into your hooves.” The guard saluted. “Who is it from?” Commander Pensword asked as he moved from the windows towards the Zebra. Just seeing the Zebra, he had a sneaking suspicion who it was, but he was going to be on guard all the same. He held a wing at the ready to move in case something attacked him. The three black tipped feathers hung from his helm, taken from an assassin that had tried to kill him in the night at Fort Triumph. It is rather hard to kill a pony when he is surrounded by ghosts who do not want him dead. “I was hired by a large black gryphon with green chest plumage,” the zebra began. “He said simply to tell you that justice is done,” the zebra said, retrieving a large bundle wrapped in skins and tied with cord. Pensword’s body language changed. “Very well. Place it on the table and leave the hallway,” He ordered. “Thank you for bringing this to me. You may have been paid by the Gryphon, but let me pay you for your troubles as well.” He reached into a pouch and pulled out two beaks and three gold bits, plus two mid sized rubies. “I hope this sees you safe and warm to your home.” He looked to his men. “Fill his food and canteen rations before he leaves. Also, if he needs a place to sleep, let him stay the night and have him eat breakfast with the men before he moves back out into the wilds.” The zebra did as he was bidden, bowing his head. “Thank you for your kindness,” he said before leaving the room. Pensword waited for the others to leave the room before he slashed open the bindings. Slowly, he unwrapped the hides around it. He noticed that they had been waterproofed as well. He paused before throwing the last layer off the package. Inside, a pillow stared up at him made from a fine, tough cotton cloth that would hold up under normal use. The trim was sewn together using a deep crimson thread and the word ‘JUSTICE’ was sewn in gold thread across the face of it. Running a hoof over the pillow, Pensword could feel the feathers and down beneath the surface. A message with Grifs seal was pinned to the side. Using his own wing and hoof, a part of him wondered how he could even do what he was doing as he opened the letter to read what his friend had written. He looked to the pillow once more, pondering its ultimate fate as well. It would do well in the parlor of his quarters for visitors to see. He doubted he would put his head to the pillow save for crashing naps. Still not sure exactly what to do with the gift, Pensword returned to the letter he now held in his hoof. Dear pensword, I managed to get the last name off the list three hours before the writing of this letter. I had to send it by official carrier because I found him having fled to one of the southern Zebra controlled port islands. The shore is too far for a day’s flight and our ship will not sail for another two days. until then, I think I’ve had my fill of combat (save one whom you yourself will know the identity of) for the time being. Please inform Luna and Celestia I will not be there for the last battle at fort destiny. Here’s to you as I enjoy a drink on the beach. your friend, Grif bladefeather (taze) P.S. vacation is nice. Pensword snorted a laugh as he finished reading the letter before folding it up and tucking it back under the pillow. Picking both up, he placed them between his body and a wing and carried them towards his office to send the requested letter. He had an odd feeling in his stomach about this battle, but he could not think why. Fort Destiny had been the first fortress the gryphons had set up when they came from across the sea. It had only been improved in the time the gryphons had been present. It sat on a large flat plateau overlooking the coast. The walls where made of stone that had been overlaid and plated with large sections of steel over the years. From three sides a sheer drop awaited as a steep cliff overlooked the cove. Sharp rocks stuck out of the water. The front was devoid of trees, shrubs or any sort of cover for well over five hundred feet, meaning the Equestrian army lay in full view of the gryphons. Their archers mercilessly pelted them with arrows and catapult stones. At the opposite end of the field, soldiers fought to gain precious little ground. Celestia sat inside her tent in the center of the Equestrian camp looking over the results from previous sieges and battles, current costs, and even some promises of further support from Zebrica. It was around this time that a member of the solar guard entered into the tent carrying a scroll. “The information you requested, your majesty.” “The casualty reports from the sieges of Fort Abundance and Fort Dynasty have been tallied with the rest of the war and our own current numbers then?” Celestia asked. “That is correct. These are the latest as of a week ago.” He reported. “There are some footnotes concerning some deaths that turned out to be false, but other than that, this is our current number.” He spoke as he placed the scroll on her traveling desk. Celestia picked the scroll up in her magic and unfurled it, her eye’s quickly scanning the information within. When she came to the number of confirmed deaths on equestria’s end the scroll dropped like a stone from her grasp. “Tweleve thousand seven hundred and thirty four?” she asked, her voice wavering between disbelieving and dazed. “Guardsmen, tell our forces to cease firing and pull back” Her tone brooked no argument and the guard left immediately, frightened as she stood up, her eyes sparking. Internally her mind raced. Twelve thousand. Twelve thousand of her precious little ponies would not be returning home. Sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, brothers, … sisters. Never to be seen again by their families. The air around Celestia rippled slightly as she exited her tent, the fabric cover browning as she passed it. The air temperature rose so high that grass and flowers began to dry and wilt as she passed, her hooves leaving black markings behind her as she exited the camp. The colours of her mane shifted from pink and blue to orange and red as flames began to become visible. The ground beneath her turned red with every step. Then white, the scorched earth and melted stone leaving a trail attesting to Celestial temper. The gryphons would pay for their actions. They would learn why she was the alicorn of the sun. This war ended now. Gryphon arrows evaporated as they approached her, the wood and metal not having time to even burn or melt. They were simply vaporized. She stopped in front of the gryphon fortress, her eye’s blazing orange, blue and red flames billowing from them. Her horn ignited, completely covered in her now burning magic. At her command, miles above her, the atmosphere moved out of the way, creating a small pin head sized hole. The Unrelenting heat and fury of the sun fell through with nothing to temper its blaze. At first the gryphons found such a tiny beam of light laughable. At least until the heat began to rise. A gryphon nearby was gone in an instant leaving not even ashes in his wake. The heat spread outwards as stone melted like butter. Wood and gryphons evaporated in the unbridled fury of the sun. The ground withered and died. In a matter of seconds the hole closed, the sun’s fury sated as in the stead of a fortress, a monument of twisted and melted stone stood, a testament to the power and the ire of the princess. The ground around what had been the fort now blackened and burned. The heat around celestia dissipated. Her eyes and mane returned to normal as the alicorn turned. And with nary a word she returned to her tent, tears streaming down her face as she marched, ignoring the fearful looks of the troops and the hushed silence that covered the land. The gryphon war was over. She could expect a formal surrender from the emperor within a month. Promethean Flame sat in his home in Unity. He smiled as the news spread that the war was over. Now that the war was done, he could work on furthering his goals and plans. He looked to his side as one of his aides walked up and whispered something into his ear. A moment of concern flashed behind his eyes, but he quickly composed himself. He signaled his guards to step forward and around the hall, cutting off any real routes save one:  the main doors. “Let them enter,” he ordered with a smile. Quite suddenly the fire in the fireplace and all the candles lining the room were put out by a stiff wind, despite all the windows being closed. There was a thud in the dark as something fell clumsily in front of promethean flame’s hooves. The unicorn was quick to light the nearest candle, only to reveal one of the guards he’d just dispatched dead at his hooves, his face twisted slightly in pain. “Having problems?” He heard a voice call out from behind him as some candles in the room lit suddenly lit with blue fire. “W… Who’s there?” Promethean Flame turned around quickly. “There are armed guards outside.” He threatened. Another guard dropped dead from the roof at his hooves. “I am sorry to say, but your assassins will not be joining us.” The voice called once again. Promethean’s blood began to race. It sounded almost like … but no, that was impossible. “W...Who are you?” He shouted. “Some thestral assassin sent to kill me by those upstarts?” “Worse.” Two orbs of blue fire collected themselves in the darkness and began to move towards him at a slow pace. Eventually they entered the light to reveal their point of origin. Hammer Strike was slowly walking towards him, a grizzly phantom wearing his typical blue overcoat with a gold trim. A piece of his ear was missing and many scars marred his fur coat. The orbs of fire trailed back to the spectre’s eyes. “H-hammer Strike?” He spoked in genuine surprise. “But … but you are dead!”  “I will say the same to you, as I did to my ‘interrogator.’” Hammer Strike said. “What is my title to the Gryphons?” He questioned as an orb of fire formed next to his side. “Celestia’s Ghost...” Promethean said, his voice trembling. “There are reasons for such titles.” Hammer Strike said as he continued to walk towards Promethean. Promethian darted his eyes left and right as he backed away from him, trying to find any way to escape. “I am not dead. Not today, not tomorrow, not by your hooves, and certainly not by your ‘assassins!’” Hammer Strike’s voice rose in a grand crescendo. Promethean stumbled over something as he backed away. He looked down to see yet another guard’s dead body, a dagger protruding from his chest. Promethean made for it only for a throwing blade to embed itself into his leg just above the hoof. The noble cried in pain as he grabbed his hoof. Attempting to remove the blade only brought more pain from the barbs along its edge. “Promethean Flame.” Hammer Strike’s voice echoed with a deadly finality, causing the unicorn to look up at him and witness, to his ever mounting terror, more orbs of fire forming and surrounding Hammer Strike, each one trailing away from him on a thin line of fluid flame. The rug, tapestries and other objects of value and power began to catch fire one by one. “I am your Judge. I am the Jury. You have been charged with treason to the crown, treason against a noble, conspiracy to murder, divulging of Equestrian secrets, Making sure that your forces were stronger than those around you, using said troops to strip lands from other nobles, Blackmailing no less than four Noble Houses to do your dirty work, Accepting Military Payment from the Enemy Forces, Aiding said enemy by selling Ponies to them who loyally serve the houses that will not kneel to you,-” “And being a jerk!!” A voice yelled from the rafters. Hammer Strike smirked “With that, you are hereby found Guilty!” He stomped his hoof into the ground with a loud bang. The heavy stone slab that made up the floor to the great hall cracked beneath his hoof. “Here here!” Echoed from the rafters. “And with that sentence passed,” Hammer strike paused, a grim smile covering his muzzle as his eyes continued to burn. His voice was cold and dark, and it seared Promethean’s insides with a cold flame. “I am your Executioner.” Hammer Strike growled, stopping before Promethean, making sure he could feel the heat of the fire that was to come. Promethean Flame stared into Hammer Strikes eye’s in fear, a living specter come back from the dead. “H...How did I lose?” He asked. “Truth is…” The fires around Hammer Strike grew in intensity. “The game was rigged from the start.” The Flame estate was mercifully on the farther edges of Unity. Their nearest neighbours were far enough away not to be able to see more then a light in the horizon had they bothered to awaken. Grif stared into the flames of the burning estate with a grin as he roasted marshmallows on a stick. “It’s a s'mores moment...” was his only response to asking why. Hammer Strike walked out of the front of the building moments later after ensuring everything was properly ‘lit’. Pensword was looking over carts being filled by other ponies, mainly the Gryphon Slayers’. Overseeing it all was Princess Luna to give the crown authority of what would result in the death of an entire family estate. He frowned as another bag of beaks was dumped into a cart. “Enough evidence to show even the most stubborn noble just what Flame was doing,” he growled. Pensword turned and looked to his men. “Blue Vase, load the library cart carefully this time around. Apple Core, your family has first dibs to any farmland that might have been under the Flame name. So says the Commander of the Equestrian Forces in disposing of the traitor’s lands.” He smiled grimly at Hammer Strike. “As the ruling Lord who found this out and brought this traitor to light, you get all his lands in Unity, no way out of it.” He looked to the wealth. “Also first dibs on any wealth from the estate in Unity.” He looked to Princess Luna as she wrote something in a book. “And now you can do whatever you want with the land. It is recorded.” “Put the wealth towards those who could use it more, for example, keep it for you and the ‘gryphon slayers.’” He smiled. Pensword paused and looked to Hammer Strike. “Even shares then. Anything that is not evenly split shall be given to charity under the management of High Chieftess Princess Luna.” Pensword’s voice barked out. “I think we can use this to start another training academy. Something that is a little bit in our own flavor.” That caused some laughs. “Permission to claim the Promethean war flags as another standard in our collection?” he asked Lord Hammer Strike. “Sure. It is either that or it gets burned with the rest.” “Claimed! It is ours!” Came the shout of all twenty Gryphon Slayer voices. Pensword smiled and looked at some of the cutlery. “Blue Vase.” He called out. The Pegasus soldier and medic slowly trotted over to him. “See that cart of jewels and cutlery?” She nodded. “That is your gift from me to you and Apple Core.” He spoke as she stood gasping in shock. “I have my ways.” He said in response. “Besides, with the war over, I doubt I could perform your wedding. However, consider this as a wedding gift to start your family off right. Try growing some apples.” He replied with a cryptic smile. “I look forward to seeing your descendants some day.” Grif smiled as he finished making his s’mores. Handing one to Hammer Strike, Lunar Fang and Pensword he spoke a brief toast. “Here is too good friends, justifiable revenge, and loot.” He smiled as he bit into his. In all of those pieces of treasure, Grif had taken only two small chests with the gold he himself had found on his way out and the silver that was his share for night. He also laid claim to a sack of golden beaks as being the only gryphon there, he technically had first call on them. Pensword looked around the group and pulled Lunar Fang into a wing embrace as she munched on her s’more. “So, what is left?” He asked Princess Luna as the fires played in the background. “Attendance to the peace treaty. At the moment my sister is willing to leave some land to the Gryphons on our landmass.” She smiled. “With heavy war tribute to be paid and disbanding the majority of their armies left, of course.” “And then we head to the Crystal Empire,” Grif said. “Hunting the trouble makers.” “Agreed. I shall be bringing the Gryphon Slayers minus Hurricane, Apple Core, and Blue Vase.” Pensword paused and looked to the Major. “As one of the last things to do before the peace is official, I hereby promote thee to Colonel. And as a sign of trust while I am away fighting troublemakers, till I return, you shall keep hold of this.” He pulled out his pitchfork. “Concord. While it has not seen much battle after it drew Dragon Blood, it is still an emblem of my power and position. Protect it above all else. I name thy house also the stewards of the lands that I may control after the war.” “I will be taking Tall Oak, Little Willow, and Shrial. After all this the Emperor will be after her head, treaty or not,” Grif said he produced his curved swords, the ones he purchased before coming to house hurricane. They were chipped and dented in places from the nigh constant efforts of battle. “Here, princess. Give them these if it will state them, or do what you want with them. They are the blades of a different Grif. I don’t ever want to draw them again.” Princess Luna looked at the blades. “They shall find an honorable place. You may count on that.” She replied as she took the weapons in her telekinetic grasp. Princess Celestia, Princess Luna, Starswirl the Bearded, and Pensword waited in front of the summit table. When asked where to accept the surrender of the gryphon king Comedius the 16th of what had formerly been the sixth gryphon kingdom. Celestia had decided it would send the greatest message to hold the meeting in front of the remains of fort destiny. A large wooden table had been brought to the spot from within triumph and set in front of the fort. At noon the drums could be heard as a single column of gryphons marched uneasily into the area, five breadth by five deep, nothing to the sheer number of ponies gathered around them. Behind them, King Comedius marched with his head held high, attempting to save what little face he no longer had. The young gryphon was largely built with well kept white feathers speckled with black. The column parted as the king moved through it to the table at a measured pace. When he reached it he begrudgingly bowed his head. “Princess Celestia, Princess Luna, Commander,” the gryphon nodded to each. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna nodded their heads and the group sat down. At either side the two living highest ranking leaders of King Comedius’ military stood to also affix their signature and seal to the treaty. Commander Pensword spoke, having been agreed upon to be the spokesman for the Pony side. “Because of the wars which thou hast waged against us, this being the third, and most brutal, we of the Equestrian Empire, with our Ally The Crystal Empire do hereby claim all Gryphon lands on this landmass. You have been given time to become allies, friends to us. Instead, you have chosen wage war, and this last time, genocide. No more. All lands are to be absorbed by either empire at a later date. As for all Gryphons who do not wish to forsake intelligent meat and live by the Northern Isles’ code of life, they shall have five years to book passage back to your homelands or they will be considered hostile invaders and treated as such, to be imprisoned and dealt with on a case by case manner.” He glared at the King. “Also, the Gryphon Empire will pay for the war and lost lives with a total of fifty thousand beaks paid out over a twenty year time frame. While we do want payment, we do not wish to destabilize your nation’s economy.” He motioned to the five treaties, each in a language of the combatants, including Dragonic to be given to Heymin. Pensword looked to the Gryphon King. “Please, begin the signatures.” Mentally he had performed some calculations. In the present day, that blood payment would be in the high millions, accounting for inflation and other factors. The next five minutes passed in silence as the Treaties were signed, all an exact copy. They soon stood across from one another at the table. The two Military leaders, as a final show of surrender, drew their scabbards with their blades still housed. They placed them on the table in front of Commander Pensword and Princess Luna. King Comedius stood as he placed a pouch that held the symbols of his kingdom on the table. It was at this moment that a cry rang through the air. A moment later six Gryphons lay dead. Celestia did not know what to think. They did not attack her. Their only targets appeared to be gryphons. She looked up in shock as the Gryphons as one seemed to snap their beaks shut. The Royal Guards of King Comedius all fell to the ground with froth around their beaks. Pensword looked sick as the two Princesses stared in horror. “Did-?” Pensword looked to a tent where Grif, Shrial, Little Willow, and Tall Oak were hiding. “What happened?” He yelled to the tent. No Gryphon in the meeting had survived. “Assassins,” Grif said, limping out of the tent, dragging a bloody cloak and throwing it at pensword’s feet. “Punishment for failing the empire.” He spat on the cloak. “And the suicides?” he asked, moving a wing to the dead Gryphon Royal Guards. “Joseph Stallion,” Grif said, as if that one name should hold some meaning of an answer. “Great.” Pensword looked to the treaties.” They are binding,” He muttered as he saw a few robed Gryphons moving with blood spattered robes. Pensword moved to attack only to have a taloned fist raise up in a motion of peace. “We only wish to collect the treaty. To deliver and be printed to every city we have left. We shall leave in five years. The Emperor shall have his copy.” “Then go. And if you kill anypony on your way, know the avatar of winds will be at your tail,” Grif responded, repeating the sentence in Gryphic. The black tips nodded as they took the treaty and left. Grif turned to pensword “And with that, we are finished here,” Grif said in Draconic. “We can finally go home.” “Yes, though I might have to crash at your place till I decide where home is.” Pensword replied in Equish. “As well as deciding what is to become of Mountainside Falls. Still, the war is over and I look forward to the celebrations.” He smiled softly as Luna rolled up the Commander’s copy of the treaty. Another item for his historical museum upon returning to the present. “I am afraid the party will have to wait.” A new voice spoke up as a gryphoness approached the two. She was rather small with the oddest coloration. Her fur was a light grayish purple and her crest was bright blond. “My father sends his apologies, but he couldn’t make it. Fixed time and timey wimey and all that stuff,” she rambled off in Draconic. “I’m your ride.” The guards were trying to make sense of what to do. They held their weapons out to try and block this new Gryphoness, but at the same time, she was speaking Draconic, and the others were not reacting ill to this. Pensword moved a wing. “Stand down. She is a friend of Grif’s. She helped him out in a few tight spots.” True, he lied, but it did help to calm them down. And in this case, the truth was not an option. He looked to the Gryphoness. “Very well,” he spoke in Draconic. “Let me get some things. Where do you want to meet and in how much time?” “A day. In the remains of the hooves house. I need to bring back some records if i can find them. Mom deserves to know where she comes from,”  the gryphoness said. “Remember. Meet me there in twenty four hours.” “Uh, a week is the closest travel time for us.” Pensword replied, still in Draconic. “That is in,” he grimaced and tried again. “That is near Mountainside Falls.” “Huh? Oh! Oh, thats right, this is way back in time. Sorry, still getting lost to this whole time travel thing. Also, it seems I’m a bit ditzy now. I don’t exactly like it, you know. I liked being smart,” she said. “You are not ditzy. You just got excited. And I know many smart Ponies and Gryphons that get mixed up at times.” He sighed. “Just, let me get ready.” He sighed as a pained looked crossed his muzzle. “Shall we depart?” he asked in Equis. The hooves estate, or what was left of it, was a far cry from the familiar building Pensword had grown up under. The shadow of the beautiful wooden archways were now nothing but charcoal. The great works of art were gone. The finely woven carpet was naught but cinders lying on the floor. In the center of the building a purple box stood waiting in the middle of the room. The surrounding ponies and gryphons stood perplexed, wondering how this small, weirdly shaped box would allow them to go anywhere. Pensword stood to the side of what had once been the grand ballroom, trying to hold it together as he was surrounded by fourteen of his Gryphon Slayers plus one medium to large cart of battle flags and one treaty they had collected from the war. It also carried the combined gear and possessions they were bringing into the future plus a joint ownership chest of gold, silver, and jewels to be divided up fairly once they arrived at their destination. “Are you sure about this?” Grif asked shrial one last time as they waited. “Once we do this, there is no coming back here” “And is there anything here for me to go back to, pray tell? I am not about to leave you alone. After all, you need someone to keep you in line. And I am curious to learn of this future where Gryphons and Ponies live in harmony.” Grif smiled, but said nothing as they waited on the young time lady. He had only a cart with a few chests of gold behind him. The rest of his spoils from war had been strategically placed and enchanted so he could recover them in the future. The door finally opened, revealing the gryphoness. She looked at the group with a raised eyebrow. “Taking a lot with you guys, huh?” she asked. Pensword took a deep breath. “I am not leaving the colors and flags we captured in this war. I do not trust time.” He looked to his men. “I know how much you distrust what is about to happen. However, my mind is made up. I am going back.” He blinked back tears. “Lunar Fang. Please ... I need a sedative, I...” his mouth trembled a little as his eyes could not stop moving about the room. “I still remember when I was invited to this ballroom. The finery, the gold, the music. Now look at it.” His voice bespoke the scar he carried on his heart. His loved ones had been avenged, but he still needed time to heal. He sat on the ground on a tarp that had been placed down as Lunar Fang put a cup in his hooves. Around them his men slowly took a drink from their own cups. All of them were nervous about what was going to happen. A minute later only Lunar Fang was awake as Pensword could not handle the situation. She sighed both in sorrow and love for her mate. “Dinky, Pensword can bring them with him, right? We cannot risk having problems with the Crystal Empire, with ponies knowing him running into him and him not knowing them.” “well, they did vanish from history,” Dinky noted. “Dad wouldn’t like it ... but you know what, it’s not like doing this is going to summon time reapers or beak the shadow proclamation or anything,” dinky said. “Good, because I would have fought those things to make sure my mate had a little peace from this place.” She looked around the charred remains. “I wish I could have seen this in a way other than a burned out ruin.” She looked to Grif and his party with a smile. “Why don’t you go first?” “I admit, I am curious to see how all of this and us are going to fit into that little box,” Shrial said. “it’s smaller on the outside,” Grif told her. He smiled to little willow and tall oak, who slept soundly in the cart. Then he grabbed the cart and pulled it forward as they headed to the box. Dinky opened the doors fully to let them in. Grif grinned knowingly as he waved to shrial to enter first. Shrial entered the doors to see the massive control room. Her eyes widened in surprise at the technology, but having been warned by Grif already, she was somewhat prepared for the space. “Huh, it’s bigger on the inside. Is this some sort of futuristic enchantment?” “Not entirely. The easiest way to explain is that she contains her own universe,” Grif said, pulling the cart through the door. “Come on, let’s move farther in.” “This place holds an entire universe? Surely you must be joking. Nothing can hold an entire universe. That’s far too big,” She scoffed. “Hey hey hey, would you like someone calling you a place? She’s a she, and it’s only a small universe. A pocket universe, really,” Grif said as he pulled the cart until it was out of the way. “Sorry about that. You’re very beautiful. She just doesn’t know who she’s talking to,” Grif said. “This ship’s a living thing,” Grif told shrial. “It thinks and feels like the rest of us.” “So it is like a golem?” Grif looked around to no one in particular and shrugged apologetically. “Well, got to say, she has her father’s taste. I like the round things.” Grif noted. He turned to the sound of clanging metal and creaking wheels. “Hammer Strike?” “Yeah?” He heard Hammer Strike respond. He was wearing his typical blue and gold overcoat with a dress shirt underneath. He had a few swords and a hammer on him while he pulled a cart full of ponies, specifically the Gryphon Slayers and Pensword. Lunar Fang followed behind, pulling the Gryphon Slayers’ war prizes as well as the copies of the deeds to the lands that they were entitled to, a few odds and ends, and some money for the future to sell at a higher price to seed the construction funds. “Well. Back to the future, I guess?” Dinky asked, going to the controls. “Does it have to be a direct trip?” Grif asked. “I mean, I think we could all use the downtime of a little intergalactic sightseeing.” “Well I do know this nice little restaurant at the end of the universe,” Dinky noted. “Considering we have a cart full of ponies we might have to make that a quick trip,” Hammer Strike commented. “Let’s go!” Grif smiled. Dinky turned her ultraviolet screwdriver to Pensword and gave a momentary zap before pulling the wobbly lever and the tardis began to groan. Pensword opened his eyes and looked around in shock. “Wait… Where am I?” he asked as he sat up as his wife looked at him. He looked around him. “Oh, the up and down pillar!” he commented as he pointed to the middle console with a hoof, a smile on his muzzle before his ears twitched. “Oh, I like that sound. Sounds like a key on a piano string.” “Allons-y.”