• Published 1st Jun 2013
  • 985 Views, 17 Comments

War Stories - Guardian_Gryphon



The CMC meet a grizzled feathery war veteran. What could *possibly* go wrong?

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2: Feathered Surprise

"It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died.
Rather we should thank God that such men lived."
-- General George S. Patton

Dedicated to all who have given their time, energy, and lives
on the battlefield for the sake of others.

"Perhaps you three fledglings would like to explain why you've been following me all morning?"

The gryphon dipped his head, bringing his razor-sharp yellow beak so close to the three cowering fillies that they could smell the sour fishy tang of his morning meal, and the decidedly more pleasant aroma of sun warmed feathers.

Scootaloo stammered sheepishly, "Ehh... uh... following? Us?"

Apple Bloom tried to put on an innocent smile, sweating as she did so, "Gee mister, what makes ya think that?"

The gryphon snorted, a sardonic half-smile tugging at one corner of his beak. He raised his head and shook it slowly, "Clearly you've never met a gryphon before. I can spy the fleas on the hairs of the field mice in the tall grass. On the *other* side of town. I spotted you three at the Library this morning, and there was nothing you could have done to prevent that. The question still remains; why are you following me? Has no one ever taught you that we are private creatures?"

Sweetie Belle tried to explain, but ended up tripping over her own fear, "Well, you see... See mister it's... It's kinda like this..."

Scootaloo stood, digging deep and unearthing a grain of courage, "We wanna know why you said mean things, and made Applejack sad..." she faltered as the gryphon snorted, but she had already built up momentum, so she finished her minor tirade, "And... and we want you to go back and apologize!"

The gryphon raised an eyebrow sharply, "Oh really?" The deadpan tone of his voice made it clear that he had no intention of acquiescing to the brave pegasus' latter demand.

Apple Bloom shivered. The earth pony filly looked to be on the verge of tears, from a combination of stress, fear, and disappointment, "Why did ya hafta come to tha farm and say whatcha did? I'm worried about mah sister, I ain't never seen her like this afore and I don't want her to be sad!"

The avian's stony expression instantly softened to one of understanding, "So that's what this is all about. You must be the younger sibling she spoke of."

Apple Bloom nodded wordlessly, sniffling. The gryphon sighed, and closed his eyes momentarily, his expression a mixture of understanding, concern, and frustration.

Finally, as the Crusaders managed to regain some of their composure, the visitor sighed once more, and opened his eyes, "Very well. I will explain everything, on three conditions."

Taking the fillies' curious expressions as a sign of acquiescence, the gryphon raised a claw, and counted off on three of his four gleaming talons, "First, you let me finish before you make any hasty judgements. Second, you tell me your names, and third..."

He brought his head close to the three Ponies once more, eliciting reflexive reactions of fear, "And third you stop acting like scared rabbits who have just seen a hawk. You're not in trouble, and contrary to the stupid things they probably tell you at night to make you behave, gryphons do *not* eat Ponies. Are we clear?"

Sweetie Belle nodded on behalf of the group, "Y-Yes sir."

The gryphon extended his claw, "Tharax."

Scootaloo reached forward tentatively and allowed the avian to shake her hoof. The gesture was alien to her. She was mainly surprised by the way the gryphon's grip was firm, yet the needle-points of his talons didn't dig into her hoof in the slightest.

She jerked her head at her companions, "I'm Scootaloo, this is Apple Bloom, and Sweetie Belle."

Tharax nodded once, "Charmed. Maybe next time you'll just introduce yourself first, and skip the pointless spy games."

The large gold and brown avian set off down the path without further ado, only pausing to glance over his shoulder once, "Walk with me."

Now filled with more curiosity than fear, but still a healthy dose of trepidation, the Crusaders set out after their new acquaintance.

Tharax seemed to be in no hurry to reach town, or to begin spilling his secrets. The Crusaders spent an uncomfortable five minutes of silence examining the intimidating being thoroughly for the first time.

They had never seen an adult gryphon up close before. His size was the first factor to stick in their minds; adult gryphons were nearly equal to an Alicorn in scale, and certainly matched them for stature, meaning they towered over younger Ponies.

Tharax's eyes were the next standout feature; like all gryphons' they were pools of liquid gold that seemed to burn with a limitless fire. Vying for attention with his eyes were his enormous wings, whose forms evoked sleekness and speed even when folded, and his array of sharp natural weapons.

His beak, like the scaly material of his forelegs, was yellow. The forelegs ended in claws that themselves ended in four wickedly sharp steel-colored talons; three forward digits and an opposing 'thumb.'

Unlike his front limbs, Tharax's back limbs were more leonine; the fur extended down all the way, and ended in paws which presumably hid claws to rival his talons.

Like all gryphons, Tharax had ears which were mildly similar to a horse's or a donkey's; the structures were not apparent in some younger gryphons with swoop-styled crests. The final feature that the fillies noted was that the avian's tail ended in a stunning fan of feathers, rather than a leonine tuft.

Scootaloo vaguely remembered Rainbow Dash once remarking that most gryphons' tails ended in a fan, but some had a tuft of fur instead, and that it only made a small difference in their flight control capacity.

Once the group had walked nearly half the distance back to ponyville, at a sedate pace, Tharax finally began to speak in a sober tone. His voice was rich and deep, and the timbre alone spoke to many years of experience in the harsh ways of the world.

"What have they taught you about us? About gryphon-kind? I'm not talking about silly spooky stories, or ridiculous legends; I'm talking about facts."

Scootaloo raised a hoof, "Our teacher, Miss Cheerilee, says you're a warrior race."

Tharax nodded, "So you do know that much."

Sweetie Belle hung her head, reluctantly voicing her thought even though she knew it was unlikely to go over well, "Miss Cheerilee also says war is bad. That everyone should be able to just get along all the time."

The gryphon's reaction was as unexpected as it was deafening; he let out a raucous, sardonic bark of a laugh that had hints of a raptorine bird's call buried in the low tones, "BWHAH! As nice as I'm sure she is, your teacher clearly isn't well traveled."

Scootaloo glowered, "Oh yeah? And why's that?"

Tharax stopped, and turned to face the Crusaders, eyes glittering dangerously. His tone developed an icy, serious edge, "Because I agree, it is nice when everyone gets along... But out there?" He gestured with a wing to the Everfree, and then to the north, "Beyond your peaceful and blissfully unaware little kingdom, there are monsters that would put your scariest campfire stories to shame. There are enemies who do things I can't repeat to you, because you're too young to even begin to comprehend such degrading atrocities. They will *never* be your friends, and they will *never* stop hunting the peaceful and innocent races of the world."

Tharax began walking again. It took the wide-eyed fillies several moments to regain their faculties, and join him. He continued, the menace gone from his voice, replaced by a somber surety, "Among my kind, this day out of every year is known as 'Warriors' Day.' We celebrate those who serve, especially those who have made the ultimate sacrifice."

Sweetie Belle cocked her head, "Ultimate sacrifice?"

Tharax nodded, "Those who have died on the battlefield, so that we might live."

The words shook the fillies deeply; death was not an oft-discussed subject in their lives, and the idea of death in battle was utterly alien. War itself was a word only whispered in hushed stories by adults around the dinner table, once the little fillies and colts had all been put safely to bed.

The gryphon, at last, filled the silence once more, "Yes; we are a race of warriors. Our life consists of finding, and killing, all the horrors, and evils in this world. We hunt those who would hunt the innocent for their own gain. We hunt the 'things that go bump in the night,' so that fillies like you can grow up in a peaceful place like this and enjoy the simple, noble pleasures of life."

Apple Bloom spoke up, staring into Tharax's eyes with a mixture of wonderment, fear, and sadness, "Dontcha ever get tired of fightin' and... dyin'?"

Tharax shook his head slowly, "War has its share of pains. We feel them as keenly as anyone. But we are born predators; from the moment we are hatched we live to see justice, and truth, and liberty triumph over the dark forces of the world. We do what we do happily; it is who we are, and we would never have it any other way. War is not the only aspect of our culture and lives. But it is central."

Scootaloo grimaced, "Miss Cheerilee doesn't think much of foals who like to fight."

Tharax chuckled sadly, "Your teacher, for her naïveté, is in some ways wise. *Why* you fight is just as important as the desire to fight, and the will to go on fighting. There are right reasons, and wrong reasons. Right times, and wrong times."

Sweetie Belle shook her head in confusion, "I think my head is starting to hurt. What does any of this have to do with what you said to Applejack?"

Tharax sighed deeply, and paused, before speaking again, "I'm not sure your parents, or your teacher, would approve of this... I'm going to tell you a story. My story; or at least, an important part of it."

Scootaloo snorted in frustration, and her usual impatience, "But how does that—?"

Tharax cut her off, raising a claw, "You need to learn patience, and trust. I promise it will all make sense in the end. But I have to start at the beginning."

The gryphon took the fillies' silence, once again, as acquiescence, and took a deep breath, "gryphons live a long time. The oldest pony I've ever met was two hundred. We usually live to be three hundred, and we age quite differently then you do. More like Dragons. I myself am two hundred and seven."

Apple Bloom's jaw hung open, "Whoooaaa..." All three Crusaders' eyes widened considerably; Tharax was a year older than Granny Smith, but didn't look a day over fifty by Equine standards.

The gryphon nodded, "This all happened when I was younger; only eighty or so... It began in the spring of that year. Warring Tribes of diamond dog trolls had found their way to the Northernmost mountains and deserts of Zebrica. They came to the continent seeking mineral wealth and, as trolls are always wont to do, they fell into civil war over who would have the Dragon's share of the treasures they unearthed...."

"My sister had a run in with a group of trolls once. She said they were mean and nasty."

Tharax raised an eyebrow at Sweetie Belle's interruption, "And she survived?"

Sweetie Belle nodded. Tharax raised his other eyebrow, "Unharmed?" The filly nodded again.
The gryphon shook his head slowly, "Your sister was indeed blessed. trolls like to kidnap young female unicorns to act as 'pointers' to gem deposits, slave labor in their mines, and to... render other services."

Scootaloo wrinkled her muzzle. The euphemism sounded like the phrases stallions were always using for bad things that Dash constantly refused to explain to her.

Tharax gazed down the short remainder of the path into town, and resumed the narrative.

"The trolls were, at first, only bickering amongst themselves; the zebra tribes were content to let them cut each other down to size and have that be the end of it. But things did not go so smoothly. The trolls were far north, and their fighting awoke something in the depths of the mountains. Ancient spirits of evil. Wendigos.

Scootaloo stopped walking and held up a hoof, "Wait... aren't wendigos winter spirits? And aren't they just a myth?"

Tharax's eyes drilled into the filly's own; she could almost see the images from his memory projected within them, so intense was his gaze. In that moment, she had no doubt that everything she had ever learned about monsters and evil spirits was a half-truth, at best.

The gryphon spoke slowly, "Wendigos are more than simple myths of olden Ponies. They are true evil spirits; neither living nor dead, and without proper bodies of their own. They feed off of discord, strife, fear, despair, prejudice, hopelessness, and hatred. They are most commonly seen in the frozen north, true, but there have been small enclaves unearthed from a sort of suspended hibernation in other places. Particularly within mines; their spirits inhabit certain types of crystals very easily."

Apple Bloom shivered, "And the diamond dogs unearthed some in the mountains?"

Tharax nodded, "Their greed awakened the wendigos. It was the largest enclave in recent memory; there were millions of them, slumbering in the crystals of a forgotten cavern that should have *stayed* forgotten."

Scootaloo cocked her head quizzically, "But if they don't have bodies, then why are they dangerous?"

"For three reasons. First; they have lost their souls and minds to wild magic, but this gives them great power over it. They can control the weather and the environment on a colossal scale. Second; they have the ability to foster more and more negative emotions in most others, particularly Ponies and diamond dogs, as they feed. Lastly, once they become powerful enough, they can take over the corpses of any slain Equines, and use their forms to continue their conquest."

Sweetie Belle gasped in horror, and stammered, "A-Are you sure you should be telling us all this?"

Tharax raised an eyebrow once more, his tone emotionless, "You asked."

Scootaloo stomped a hoof, "So what if some of the grownups think we're not old enough for this?! I want to hear the story!"

The gryphon nodded again, "And so you shall. This is where I come in..."

"The wendigos quickly turned the diamond dogs' civil war, into a violent massacre. They then drove the survivors into a wild frenzy, sending them down out of the mountains to lay waste to the nearest zebra tribes and villages. With the power gained from all the fear, bloodshed, and sorrow, they began to possess the... 'remains' of the zebras, creating an army eight-hundred thousand strong overnight."

"The zebra are fierce in battle, but most of their armies and larger tribes were too far south to hope to stem the tide of the slaughter. By the time they could all be marshalled, and marched four thousand stadia north, the wendigos would have taken over enough bodies, and gained enough power, to wipe them all out. Something had to be done sooner. A call was put out to any who would volunteer to aid the surviving Northern tribes in forming an army, and defeating the menace."

"I was there, having journeyed to Zebrica with my closest friend and a large entourage on a mission of friendship from our King to the Zebrican tribes. We have always been allies with pony and zebra kind, but often distance and the oddities of our culture keep us separate. We wanted to change that. Naturally, when the wendigos struck, every last one of us gryphons volunteered our aid; but we were only ninety in number."

"In the end, it came down to us, the remaining two thousand soldiers of the Zebrican Northern tribes, and a few hundred Ponies from a contingent of Royal Guard irregulars sent to keep watch on the diamond dog squabbles, who bravely volunteered as well. In total we were exactly three thousand and fifty two strong against an army of hundreds of thousands, backed by millions more of their noncorporeal brethren. The odds were, to say the least, abysmal. To make matters worse, we were mostly ill-equipped..."

Tharax knit his brow as he stared down at the rend in the armor plate. He shook his head slowly, looking up at the zebra who had brought it in, "Unfortunately, this is a serious break. And worse, this is untreated leather backing, with a thin bronze facing. Very weak; hard to repair and not worth the effort. We'll have to start over on this one."

The gryphon hefted the Equine-shaped chest-plate, and tossed it into a growing pile of disheveled useless gear that was slated to be scrapped and melted down to help form the basis for new stopgap armor and weapons.

"They mean well, but most of their knowledge seems to lie in Potions and Magical artifacts. They lack the armor-making skills of their southern brothers and sisters."

Tharax looked up to see his friend; a russet and off-white gryphoness named Lyris, entering the tent on her hind legs; forelegs full of more scrap gear.

He nodded morosely, "I would give *anything* to have just one of our own armorers here, and a decently made forge."

Lyris dipped her head in agreement as she thrust her load of useless armor plates onto the pile, "At least we have our own armor, God be praised, and the Ponies seem to have far fewer problems with theirs."

Tharax hummed contemplatively, "Yeeees, but their gear is still not ideal. Nothing like the standard issue alloy plating, gold sheathed stuff we make for the regular guards."

Lyris shrugged, "We work with what we have. As always."

Tharax sighed, and followed Lyris out of the tent. The encampment was mostly made up of similar canvas structures laid out in a radiating pattern from the base of a small stone tower. The watchtower overlooked a narrow treacherous mountain pass between two of the tallest nearby peaks, and the encampment filled the entire path at its widest point below the tower.

The gryphons glanced up at an ominous rumble of thunder. To the south, the sky was perfectly clear. To the north, however, it was a broiling mess of black thunderheads, tinged with the sharp white of constant lightning, the dull gray of snow cyclones, and even the occasional band of orange as sand was swept into the morasse.

Tharax grunted, "We have less than a day."

Lyris shook her head, "If that. But we only have to hold for a short time. Come; there is a strategy meeting shortly."

"Oh? And who organized this on the spur of the moment?"

The gryphoness grinned and winked, "Who else? *You* never organized anything off of the battlefield a day in your life."

Tharax stood glaring in disapproval for a moment, before loping to catch up with his friend, muttering, "Of all the times for levity..."

The meeting ended up consisting of two zebra, two Ponies, and two gryphons; the most senior officers of each race.

Both zebra looked to be veteran clan chieftains; their tall head-dresses, ornate armor, and myriad battle scars bespoke the many conflicts which they had doubtless survived. As if these visual cues were not enough, both also wore ornate neckbands fashioned from gold, jade, and the claw-bones of slain trolls.

Tharax noted the Ponies' garb and distemper with less optimism; while serviceable looking, their simple unadorned steel chainmail armor was a pittance of protection compared to the gryphons' masterful, sleek, plate-alloy and hardened leather garb, or the zebras' unique onyx and jade armor.

One of the Ponies was male; a strong earth pony specimen; but most of his musculature seemed to stem from an agrarian life. He could likely hit with great force, in Tharax's estimation, but in all the wrong places and ways for combat.

The other pony was a female pegasus; she looked swift, even acrobatic, but again Tharax had his doubts. pegasus acrobatics were often short on agility and practicality; an art form, not suited to combat. Their speed was incredible, outstripping any other living creature, but it only applied in a more-or-less straight line, and their endurance was abysmal when compared to any other flighted species.

Both Ponies looked far too at-ease. The gryphon privately wondered if they had ever seen combat even once in their lives. If they had any concept of the horrors they would soon face.

As he and Lyris entered, the male earth pony was the first to greet them. His manner was almost jovial. The concept of such simple optimism before battle was not unusual among gryphons, but that was because they did not fear death. Tharax worried that the pony's happy temperament was born purely of ignorance.

The Equine smiled, and dipped his head, "I'm Malus. You must be Tharax, and Lyris. This is my division lieutenant Poma," he gestured to the pegasus with one hoof, and she smiled at the two gryphons each in turn, "And the Zebrican chieftans Utamak and Nicoram."

Tharax nodded, "I wish we could have met under better circumstances."

He stepped to the center of the tent, and his compatriots gathered in a circle around the central circular wooden camp table. Its aged gray wood was a product of the tall, skinny plains trees that the zebra often fashioned into tools and furniture. On it, a papyrus map was spread out. Tharax could not read the Zebrican glyphs, but he had overflown the landscape enough to know all the features of the topography inside and out.

He tapped the pass where their encampment was stationed with a single claw, "The narrow cliffs give us the advantage over the ground-walkers. But the funnel effect created by the rocks will make it easier for the spirits to turn the weather against us."

Poma raised a hoof, without taking her eyes off the parchment, "We have a dozen other Pegasi in our ranks; together, we might be able to dampen the storm, even wrestle parts of it under our own control."

Tharax blinked in surprise; the stratagem was sound, indeed it would have been his next suggestion had the gung-ho pegasus not beat him to it.

She shrugged, and grinned sheepishly, "Use what you've got, right? We're not skilled warriors, but almost all Pegasi learn at least some weather manipulation. We even have a few veteran storm-breakers in our ranks."

Lyris grinned, and nudged Tharax with one wing, "I like her style." The gryphoness smiled at Poma, "My only suggestion is that you split off part of your division to keep our exit clear of cyclones; we will need to retreat as soon as the clock runs out."

Utamak nodded, "Though our forces are weak, we need only hold for a day.. After that, refuge we may seek from the fray."

Tharax inscribed a wide semicircle on the map, "This is our first line of defense; a thin rank of earth Ponies. When the wendigo ground-walkers attack, they will only put up minimal resistance. Ideally, the line caves inwards in the first five minutes, fostering the appearance of a full rout."

Lyris grinned, and gestured to the canyon walls, "*Our* forces will be hiding in the crevices of the rock here. When the ground-walkers charge into the breach they think they've created, we will dive on their flanks and crush their initial charge."

Malus grunted contemplatively, "Hmm. Two of our unicorns are master illusionists; they can conjure false images and make our secondary divisions seem much larger than they actually are."

Lyris squawked in triumph, "Perfect! With any luck at all, the ground-walkers will fall back, and let the storm carry on ahead of them..."

Poma slammed a hoof into the table, "And then we hit them from high above, and turn their own weather against them!"

Tharax nodded slowly, his mood rising, "...Giving us the chance to establish a new defensive line, which might hold for several hours if we're blessed, and the wind is with us."

Lyris gestured to the watch tower, "If we station archers here, then we can begin slowly ceding ground once the line begins to weaken, drawing them into another killzone. After that, we should begin evacuating all but a few volunteers. gryphons and Pegasi only; we will cover for the ground division's escape, and then make use of our flighted advantage to outrun the storm, *and* the enemy, to rejoin the main force."

Nicoram spoke up, "Most of my warriors' armor is damaged; we have been fighting for a week, and we are at a disadvantage.."

Lyris gestured over her shoulder, "Sadly we don't have any especially skilled armorers with us, but those with any talent at all have set up an impromptu forge. We're doing our best to cobble together whatever we can for your soldiers."

Utamak hummed in approval, "Some spare materials we have, and armorers too, these we will gladly lend to you."

Tharax nodded once more, "It's settled then. May we all live to see the dawn, or die well and bravely before the sun sets."

Scootaloo tilted head head in confusion, "But... why was the tower so important? Was it really worth.. eugh... *dying* for?"

Tharax shook his head, "War isn't always about holding onto every tower, every trench, and every field. We only wanted to hold for a day, and that was to protect Utamak's city. They needed time to fortify and prepare for the onslaught; shore up gates, sandbag walls, stockpile arrows, and evacuate anyone who could not lift a blade. That was where the deciding battle would be fought, but only if we could hold the pass long enough."

Apple Bloom's eyes widened, "And did ya? Did ya hold fer a whole *day*?"

Tharax looked up, and saw that he had arrived at his first destination. The group had made it all the way to ponyville's market square; the space was lined with many a stand selling everything from cookware and plow blades, to food.

"I need to stop here and see to some preparations." Without any further explanation, the gryphon approached one of the stands, leaving the Crusaders to stand in bewilderment and impatient curious fervor.

Tharax nodded to the stand's proprietor, a young male earth pony, and smiled slightly, "Greetings. Your sign says that you provide food for events.. I was wondering if I might engage your services."

The pony eyed the gryphon with a mixture of disdain and suspicion, "Can I ask what for?"

Tharax stiffened slightly, "I am here for Warriors' Day, and.."

The pony interrupted him by wordlessly flipping his sign from 'open' to 'closed.' Tharax glared, but the stubborn Equine merely shook his head, "I don't do business with the likes of you. The world has enough troubles in it without you 'fighters' looking for more."

Tharax hissed reflexively, a sound that promptly shattered the pony's arrogance, replacing it with sheer terror. The gryphon instantly regained his composure, and left the shuddering Equine with a parting steely 'drop dead' glare, before returning to the three fillies, who were all standing in open-mouthed amazement.

Sweetie Belle found her voice first, "What was *that* all about?"

Tharax grunted in disdain, "Some of your kind have let peace and prosperity turn them into fools. Not everyone in this world appreciates the necessity of war, or the sacrifices we make to fight it."

The gryphon sighed, "I am afraid I'm at a loss now. I need a large quantity of food, by this evening, for a gathering, and I do not know the vendors in this town very well."

Apple Bloom perked up, "Gathering... you mean like a party or somethin'?"

The gryphon snorted, a mixture of amusement, and sadness, "I... suppose you could call it that. Why?"

Scootaloo grinned, "I think we know *just* the place. Come on; you can tell us more on the way."

Sweetie Belle nodded rapidly, "Yeah! *Did* you manage to hold for a whole day?!"

Rather than answer, Tharax began to follow the fillies at a sedate pace, picking up where he had left off, "We spent our time wisely; the impromptu forges managed to turn out a surprising amount of armor, and our division spent some time giving refresher training to the Ponies. Most had never faced a truly difficult opponent, in training *or* combat, so the practice was sorely needed. We formed our battle lines just as the storm crested the peaks..."

"The first sign that they were upon us was the sleet. Only seconds after that, the wind picked up, and lightning began to strike all around. Then the ground-walkers came. The stomping of their hooves shook the earth; from where I was, I could see that the line of the undead stretched along the pass, and out of my sight around a bend. Over a stadia in distance..."

Tharax shifted slightly, as he watched the first ground-walkers come within shouting distance of the first pony battle lines, and stop. He knew from past battles that such actions signified preparation for a charge. He went over his armor and weapons a final time.

His primary weapon of choice was a battle axe; unconventional for a gryphon, but by no means unheard-of. They possessed more than enough strength to wield them with both precision, and force.

His second weapon was a light folding compound bow; a leather quiver full of sleek, hollow, single-molded-piece steel arrows was slung at his back beside the axe.

His armor, like that of most gryphon Knights, was of his own personal design; conceived and forged under the guiding claws of master armorers from the capital city itself. It was painted mostly gunmetal gray, with chrome-like trim; in reality the surface was mostly thin layers of secondary metal for decorative purposes. The majority of the actual plating beneath was Gryphic alloy; unrivaled in all the world for durability in combat.

Atop his head sat a sort of half helm, with space for his ears. The rest of his armor covered mainly vital areas; chest, back, shins of all four legs, and the joints of his wings. Most gryphons preferred light armor to keep their native speed, agility, and flexibility intact as battlefield assets.

Tharax watched grimly, as the ground-walkers massed for their charge. They were mostly composed of zebras slain in the northern cities; their flesh had long since dropped away on the march south, and now they were merely walking skeletons adorned with rags of clothing and miscellaneous armor plates.

Their eyes glowed with an evil inner light; an ominous sickly purple hued luminescence that seemed to radiate fear and decay.

They made a sound like the noise of wind rushing across a crevice in the mountains, combined with the distant death-screams of those they had slain to acquire their ill-gotten forms.

When they had whipped themselves into a sufficient frenzy, the charge began. The thunder of their bony hooves mixed with the thunder from the oncoming storm, and the rattle of the sleet on armor plates, to create a din that was overpowered only by their eerie call, and the battle cries of the brave Ponies below.

When the armies collided, the sound was so loud that Tharax wondered if creation itself could have been any more spectacularly deafening. The collision of warriors literally shook the ground, to the point that the gryphon felt the tremor in his secluded hiding place, hundreds of yards back and dozens of feet above the melee.

It had begun.