32. The Dinner Invitation
He couldn’t see anything. The burlap sack covered his head, stifling him. His wings were bound behind him, his hooves in front. They had been dragging him for several minutes, but he didn’t know where.
For the first day he had kept his dignity. Surely, he had thought, he would be afforded the respect due a prisoner of war. But as his city burned, his will had eroded. He had pleaded for hours, but they responded no more to his begging than they had to his demands.
He’d rotted in his city’s own prison cells for three days while they slaughtered his ponies. He could hear the screams from outside, the booming of thunder and the ringing of metal on metal. Yesterday, at long last, they had fallen silent. He had hoped briefly that his soldiers had won the battle, but when his cell guards returned he knew the worst had come to pass.
Now they were taking him away, but to where he could not guess. His hooves trailed behind him, drifting along the top of the cloud. His guards’ claws were locked around his front legs, pulled over his head and chained together. He’d never been more humiliated. He’d never been more terrified.
The air rushed past him as the guards took to the air. Their wings beat mightily, lifting his weight with ease. For a moment, he hoped that they would lose their grip so that he might plummet to a quick and painless death, but soon he felt the firm top of a cloud under his hooves once more.
He heard the creak of a familiar door opening. Suddenly he knew where they were headed; but the thought of his old home was no longer a comforting one. He felt the soft carpet beneath him as the paws and claws of the guards thumped softly over it. They ascended the stairs, his back legs banging painfully into each one.
They reached the top of the steps, and turned left. The dining room, then. He knew his house like the back of his hoof. But the familiar sensations did little to calm his racing heart.
At last they entered the room, where he heard the clink of a wineglass being filled. His captors threw him to the floor. He fumbled to his hooves as they reached around his neck and ripped off the burlap sack.
He was blinded momentarily by the light, blinking as his eyes adjusted. His table looked the same as ever, but sitting at the far end was the largest griffon he’d ever seen. The griffon was reclining on his seat cushion, holding a glass of his finest wine in one claw while tapping the other on the table.
The griffon smiled at him. “So nice of you to join us, Lord Weatherforge.”
He spat on the table. One of the guards at his side wrapped a claw around his head from behind and slammed it down into the wood. He fell to his knees, bleeding.
“I had hoped Equestria’s nobility might have better manners.” The huge griffon took a sip of wine, wiping his beak with a napkin. “Colonel, would you be so kind as to refill my glass?”
“Yes, General.” A second griffon, not quite as large as the first, tilted the bottle of wine into the other’s glass.
“And pour yourself one, too. I believe I promised you we’d share a toast in Cloudsdale.”
“That you did, sir.” The smaller griffon smiled, filling a cup of its own.
He looked between the two griffons, still dazed from the blow to the head. He blinked as the blood began running into his eyes. “What do you want?”
“Want?” The huge griffon set down its glass. It gestured around with a claw. “This. All of it.”
“Cloudsdale?”
“Equestria.” The griffon took another drink.
“It’ll never be yours. The Princess will put an end to this madness.”
The guard slammed his head down again, and he fell to the floor. “That’s enough,” said the large griffon curtly. “I want him conscious. Wait outside.” The two guards bowed gruffly and vanished.
He tried to stand, but his legs gave out on him. The big griffon looked down at him, and then motioned to the other one. “Help our friend to his seat.”
The smaller griffon roughly grabbed him, hauling him to the other side of the table. He fell onto one of the seat cushions there, laying his head on the table and trying to recover his wits.
“Here,” said the larger griffon, handing him a napkin. He pinched it between his hooves and wiped away the blood from his forehead. The griffon smiled at him, taking another drink. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. Your Princess can’t stop me. None of you can.”
He glanced around at the table, looking for a knife, a broken plate, anything with a sharp edge, but nothing presented itself. Strangely, there was no food, either. No fruit, no hay, not even a single vegetable. He scowled. The griffon must have set up this little dinner charade solely to parade its victory in front of him.
He looked back at the griffon with contempt. “Celerity Belle managed to hold off your entire army for over a week with barely a handful of troops. You can’t possibly hope to win a war against all of Equestria’s provinces combined.”
The griffon broke into a laugh. “Why would I need to, when you keep feeding your armies to me piecemeal?” It drained its glass and motioned for the other one to fill it. “You lost this war a long time ago, Lord Weatherforge.”
“You’ll fall just like you did six hundred years ago. The griffons will never conquer our land.”
“Your land?” The griffon looked out of the window at his city, still smoldering in the afternoon sun. “It would seem that it is in fact mine. As it should be.”
“You beasts deserve nothing.”
The griffon set the glass down and leaned forward onto the table, its expression instantly darkening. “Beasts? Beasts? Every day, while you sat at this table and ate with your family, dozens of my people starved to death in the streets of Gryphandria. As you supped on oats and wheat, griffon hatchlings fought each other for scraps of bread. While mothers cried for their dead, you filled your bellies with honey and milk until you could eat no more. Tell me, Lord Weatherforge, who at this table is the beast?”
The griffon sat back, its rage instantly buried. Its face showed no emotion as it took another long drink from the wineglass.
“We offered to help you. We would have sent grain, but you refused our messengers.”
“You would have had us become dependent on you like helpless children, begging for your table scraps and showering you with gratitude.” The griffon sneered. “Griffons do not beg. We do not ask. We take.”
“Well, you’ll never take Equestria.” He looked to the window. It was so very far away from the empty table. He could never make it before being caught.
“I seem to have taken quite a bit of it already. Your wine is excellent, by the way.” The griffon took a long draught from his glass, its composure fully recovered from the earlier outburst. “But the rest will follow soon enough. Do you want to hear how it will happen?”
He looked at the griffon warily. “How?”
The griffon leaned forward, its golden eyes gleaming. “It will be a day like any other. The sun will rise over Canterlot, the birds will sing, and the laughter of children will fill the air. The ponies will wake to continue their daily routines, heading outside into the daylight.
“Then the skies will darken with the shadows of thirty thousand griffons, as we rain down upon your city with claws and steel. The streets will run red with Canterlot’s blood, as your Princess’s army tries vainly to stand against the endless horde. The walls will crumble beneath the merciless barrage of our siege engines. The last screams will die away as I stand in the throne room, and take my seat upon your Princess’s beloved chair. Canterlot will burn to the ground at my command. There will be no survivors. All of you will die.”
He lifted his head defiantly. “No matter how many trebuchets you’ve brought, it won’t be enough. No griffon will ever pass beyond those walls.”
“Trebuchets? You think my conquest of Equestria depends on glorified rock-throwers? No, Lord Weatherforge. You yourself have delivered to me the final piece of my victory. And for that, I thank you.”
Puzzled, but refusing to show it to the griffon, he snarled. “Go to hell.”
“Not today, I think.” The griffon took another drink.
“If you’re done gloating, then send me back to my cell. I won’t give you any more satisfaction.”
“Ah, but Lord Weatherforge, you’ve been such a gracious host to us. I was hoping to return the favor. Won’t you join the Colonel and me for dinner?”
He looked at the empty table, baffled. “There’s nothing here.” He felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.
“I’ve been told it’s chewy,” said the griffon, flicking a talon. “But that I’ll get used to the taste.”
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I look forward to this griffiin General getting his ass righteously handed to him at some point. You said we were little over half way through at some point didn't you?
Well, that was interesting. A villain speech followed immediately by what amounts to an inescapable death.
Not quite half.
EATING PONIES?!?!?!
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good chapter as always, and yet another devious plan is told but once again surrounded in mystery.
And NOW we're all caught up!
Is Fimfiction going to be getting one chapter at a time, or will it be getting the three chapters at once thing EQD's googledoc links get?
One at a time, to squeeze more bumps out of it.
I think you need to squeeze a "dark" tag into this. Should've been there a long time ago.
Eh, maybe. I dunno, the "dark" tag implies a hopeless, endless trauma train from which there will be no escape. To me, anyway. But I suppose that last chapter was rather grim.
Well, I'm all caught up now. Nothing to do now but twiddle my thumbs and wait for an update.
Horse meat, it what's for dinner. Now with a little more backstory, I view Shrikefeather as less of a prick and more of a guy out to get his people what they need, namely food. Still, wow.
Good to see this up on FF.net as well.
Shrikefeather is best griffin.
Finally got around to re-reading this. Excellent and can't wait for more!
Oh great, just what I needed: another amazing fic that never updates.
695264
well horse meat is actually delicious, but i don't know about ponies... can't be too different ^^
but anyway awesome story, i've read to this point int three days( split in little pieces over the course of day) and i must say it's absolutely genius
This Shriekfeather guy reminds me of Esteem from The Immortal Game. I took great joy when he died, and I shall take great joy when General Fluffykins bites it, as well.
1392849 Considering how these ponies are sentient. It would be cannibalism.
695264 Why are all your pictures broken?
806725 Wait, this fic didn't originate here?
He has tanks doesn't he.
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Well, the griffons are truly monsters. At the same time, I'm not surprised they're resorting to devouring ponies; take away the grain and they'll eat meat. But in the end, Shrikefeather's right: Equestria brought this upon itself. There is no such thing as a united front there, for the harmony upon which it was founded is broken.
Let me take this opportunity to congratulate you on effectively creating a villainous horde of conquerors. Most writers try to create something like what you've done with the griffons and fail spectacularly, but I am continuously interested in what Shrikefeather and his army of abominations will do next. By the same token, it's interesting that you're more or less treating them as universally corrupt. I imagine that can't be the case, but considering the situation, we're not really given the option of seeing things differently, are we?
Reminds me of Lord Voldemort:. Nagina, dinner.
The general needs to Die
wait.
cloudsdale.
"The key to my victory."
is he just gonna turn Cloudsdale into a mega siege barge