122 - A Starfish Tale
Extended Holiday
Chapter 122: A Starfish Tale
Act 18
Grif took another slow gulp of his kal’levenah as he waited, once again, on Pensword, but this time he also needed Vital Spark and Hammer Strike. It was tough getting them all at once, so he hoped the messengers found them without any of the Ponies in question stuck in serious duties.
Pensword entered with a flat expression. “Your messenger seemed very insistent. I guess we can’t have a nice day after the New Year's party like others, then?” he asked as his eyes scanned the room, like always.
“Try being a spymaster,” Grif told him. “Then you can complain.” He chuckled as he offered Pensword a goblet.
“Is that the … fire chocolate drink, or the spearmint drink?” he asked as he took the goblet and sipped. “Are we waiting for anypony else?”
“Hammer Strike and Vital Spark,” Grif confirmed.
“You rang?” Vital Spark’s voice called as he stepped out from what appeared to be thin air, then shuddered. “Okay, trick was worth it, but I don’t think I ever want Cheshire to do that again.”
“Shouldn’t have said that out loud.” Grif chuckled, offering Vital a goblet.
“This stuff is non-alcoholic, right?”
“I don’t drink much,” Grif pointed out. “Trust me, you’ll like it.”
Vital sniffed at it curiously, then took a sip. His eyes widened briefly. “This is like Abuelita on steroids.”
“Yes. Well that's after we watered it down to an eighth part. Just imagine what it’s like pure,” Grif said with a laugh.
“That much flavor in one drink could very well send a person’s mind over the edge, and across dimensions.” He shuddered. “And I’m so glad that’s just me being facetious. Can you imagine what it’d be like if that sort of thing were real?”
“The Unicorn tells the Gryphon, while sitting next to the Thestral,” Grif said dryly, then took another sip. “And now we just need the leader of our merry band.”
Hammer Strike entered the room, giving everyone a questioning gaze, before settling on Grif. “So what’s up?”
“How would you feel about a trip?” Grif asked him as he lowered his goblet, then tented his talons.
“What kind of trip are we talking about?”
“The trouble in Gryphonia that postponed the imperial wedding has been dealt with. However, His Holiness is now requesting not only me, Pensword, and our families, but the two of you and yours as well.”
“And did Daedalus explain why he wanted us to come?” Vital queried.
“He’s currently quelling a civil war, and he just heard about that fact that Clover the Clever has taken a relatively unknown Unicorn as a student. Clover was quite prolific during several of the small disputes that prolonged the Second Gryphon War; Starswirl more so in the first battle between Gryphons and Ponies. If you are to inherit the cloak, the emperor would like to have you as his friend.”
“... Why do I get the feeling that even if I protest, I’m still going to have to live with that title?”
“Contrary to popular opinion, Gryphons are rather apt at collecting histories. We have lists of every student Clover and Star Swirl trained, but it’s always the underdog unknown that ends up taking the mantle in the end. In this case, that's you, a Unicorn with no known lineage or greater than average skill.”
“This worries me,” Pensword muttered. “Does that mean Clover is heading over there as well? Also, I have to admit it is rather unsettling just how much your people really know. Their intelligence network must be greater than we anticipated.”
“Oh, Winds no,” Grif chuckled. “They wouldn't let her past the border. And don’t worry. We’ve got counterintelligence taking care of any potential threats there.”
“Oh, so Clover is a no, yet they are going to have Celestia’s Ghost, the Egg Smasher, and the Demon come?” Pensword couldn’t help but smirk at the apparent irony of the situation.
“They respect me and you, Pensword. They’re terrified of Clover, but they are prepared to face her as an enemy. Times have changed. They believe they could overcome her eventually. As for Hammer Strike, that's another story. Daedalus would like the chance to make nice with him, just to prevent an extinction level event.”
“Well, that’s ... comforting,” Hammer Strike commented.
“They believe you fought the three greatest battles of the First Gryphon War single hoofed, and you rained fire from the sky during the second,” Grif informed him.
“Huh. I wonder if I actually could do that,” Hammer Strike hummed to himself. “I mean, now that I think about it, it wouldn’t be too hard….”
“This, right here, this is why they believe you could kill us all,” Grif deadpanned.
Hammer Strike raised a hoof to counter, only to lower said hoof and close his mouth. After a moment, he shrugged.
“Anyway, at least Rarity would like meeting the emperor,” Grif offered.
“Most likely, yeah,” Hammer agreed with a shrug.
“Unfortunately, we have to leave by Friday,” Grif added, the fact it was Wednesday notwithstanding.
“Right … I’d better get….” Pensword paused as he thought about the specifics of the invitation, then facehoofed. “I need to pick an actual fourth in command,” he groaned. “I guess I’ll have that taken care of by tonight. I can’t believe this. The entire military high command is going to be off base. Also, are we taking your airship, or will we take more?”
“I’m taking the Gantrithor. You can decide for yourself if you want to use it or not,” Grif told him.
Pensword frowned in thought. “Well, while it would be nice to take the Revelry, I doubt the Gryphons would like to see the ship coming back with my colors. This is Daedalus' wedding, after all.” He paused. “Does this mean I have to bring back Lafeyette now?”
“No,“ Grif said plainly as he shook his head.
“I still can hardly believe just a little over a month ago we literally got the Gryphon equivalent of Washington’s good friend Lafayette appearing. Speaking of which,” Pensword stroked his chin in thought, “Grif, I think I know who is going to be taking command till we get back. He does technically have the proper rank, though I am going to suggest he have Demon Slayers on his temp staff to help him with the quirks.”
“That’s fine,” Grif noted. “But you're going to have to minimalize your guards. Only Gryphons can be allowed on this trip, aside from family members.”
“So what’s the attire, and should I bring Watcher with me?” Vital asked as he pulled out a book on anatomy, and opened to a page outlining Gryphon biology. “I wondered why Clover had this page earmarked.”
“She is smart,” Pensword muttered. “And I know the Gryphons of the Demon Damned are to accompany me. Lafayette is going to keep his troops, as they are currently training all Pony troops on tactics. I think I saw a few of your clan members there as well, Grif.”
“The clan’s big enough that I should be able to get enough to act as crew for the trip. And to answer your question, Vital, this is a Gryphon wedding. Armor or battle garb is part of the dress code. And yes, you should have your weapon with you, and within reach at all times,” the Gryphon pointed out.
“Excellent. Brilliant. This is going to be loads of fun,” Vital said as he rolled his eyes. “So, I’m guessing I’m going to either need to stick to you guys like glue or have a guard of my own?”
“We’re entering an imperial fortress. What makes you think you would have an opportunity to explore?” Grif asked. “This isn’t some two-bit Maps to the Stars’ Houses tour, Vital. We’re talking about one of my race’s largest, most elite military installations. You’d have a better chance trying to sneak into Knox with a fuchsia suit, while singing the Russian national anthem at the top of your lungs than getting anywhere alone in that place.”
“So guards are a definite yes,” Vital confirmed as he smoothed out the dogear on the page with a hoof. “And will there be any need to be on guard for assassins? I assume it’s best to make sure I get all the bases covered now, before we get into the air.”
“It’s not likely.” Grif shook his head. “This is one of those cases where the law of hospitality applies. None of the emperor’s people would dare lift a talon against his guests without a damned good reason, and they’ll all be the emperor's people.”
“So no risks of a bloody coup attempt, then.”
“Thank integration of church and state,” Grif laughed. “Never thought I’d see a system where it worked to the leader’s benefit. Anyway, we’ll be heading to the empire as soon as everyone’s loaded up. From there, we head to Gryphonia.”
“I guess I’d better go get my armor and gemstones ready,” Vital mused. “You guys need me for anything else?”
“No. You all can go. I have things to take care of anyway.” Grif rose, and stretched. “Oh, and Vital, make sure Trixie gets a new dress.”
Vital jerked to a halt as the magic around his horn died, and his book clattered to the ground with its pages skewed all over the wooden flooring. “Big brother Gryphon say what now?”
“Unless you want to be put up to several awkward sessions of what Gryphon high society considers a date, you’d best have her there with you. Unless, of course, you want little
Hippogriffs for children, and potentially devastating scarring, both mental and physical,” Grif chuckled
“... Wow, you can be dark sometimes.” Vital sighed as he levitated the book into his saddle bags. “I guess I’d better go tell Trixie the news first, then. Wish me luck, boys. If you don’t hear from me by tomorrow, don’t come after me,” he said as he scrunched his face up into one of mock piety. “And tell Scarlet I do give a damn,” he quoted in a thick brogue, before making his way towards the door.
Pensword looked confusedly at Grif as the door shut behind the Unicorn. “Who’s Scarlet?”
Grif shook his head. “Not getting into it. If Matthew doesn’t know, then let it go.”
Pensword turned his head, and his mouth dropped in surprise as he noticed Hammer Strike’s distinct absence. “Wow. Been awhile since he’s done that. When was the last time Hammer Strike just got up and left without warning again?”
“Whenever he felt it was time for him to leave.” Grif shrugged. “Look, Pensword. I don’t want to sound mean, but I have three separate stacks of paperwork to finish, a roster to draw up, and several people to talk to. If I don’t get started now, I might not sleep before we leave.”
“Consider me gone.” Pensword snapping out his wings, and flew as fast as they would carry him. He had his own paperwork to file before the trip.
Grif refilled his goblet, and went to work on the stack before him with a weary sigh. At least he’d get away from paperwork while they were gone.
Mid-morning that Friday saw the Gantrithor loaded and ready to set sail. The shipping party watched from the railings as the base and various citizens from Ponyville stood waving or firing off streamers and confetti with heartfelt well wishes. Pensword thought back on the many sendoffs ships had received back on Earth in the 1920s. This reminded him very much of those events. He stood by with with his children, both Pony and Gryphon, and his two wives. Moon River was smiling and giggling from atop Grif’s head.
Meanwhile, Grif balanced his twin daughters between his wings as he checked over his family, assuring for the third time that Avalon and Cheshire where both comfortable. Cheshire was now officially late, and Avalon's due date was fast approaching. He had faith in the healers and medics in the medical bays, should the two go into labor mid-flight, but he still couldn’t help but worry about them. He nodded to Gilda, who he’d assigned to be Avalon’s guard. Shrial was now perfectly capable of fighting, and he had little doubt the Gryphoness could hold her own. All around, Gryphons in black uniforms shouted orders, while others dressed in bright blue or purple raced to execute them.
“So, Trixie, did you lend them some of your fireworks for the sendoff?” Vital asked curiously as he stared over the railing. Watcher held to his back like an old friend, and his saddle bags each held a pair of books that Clover had insisted he carry with him for study during the journey. Trixie stood in her familiar hat and cloak as she cradled a staff of her own in her forehoof. It was a bit more gnarled than Vital’s, and its bark was a richer, deeper brown with a pulsing green crystal embedded at the top.
“The explosive and impressive Trixie may have donated a little something.” Trixie smiled at him as she leaned against him.
“Love the new focus, by the way. The earthy tones are a nice contrast for your fur.”
“It was a gift from Trixie’s uncle. He is ... a unique soul. He taught Trixie how to make fireworks in the first place.”
“He sounds like an amazing guy. If he’s the one who taught you in the first place, I’d love to meet him one day.”
“Be careful what you wish for, Vital Spark,” Trixie answered almost nervously as the ship's horn sounded its takeoff.
“... Do I even dare to risk asking how bad he could be?”
Trixie slapped him. “Do not tempt fate, Vital Spark.”
“... You’re taking a little too much after Clover lately, Trixie,” Vital said as he nursed the throbbing red mark. “And you have a mean right hook. Or is that hoof?”
“Trixie has heard that, more than once, Clover has warned you about tempting fate before,” Trixie noted.
“Hence why I posed as a question, and didn’t actually pose the deadly question in question. … If that makes any sense at all.” Vital rubbed at his mane with a nervous chuckle.
“You really think Murphy is that forgiving?” Trixie asked with a raised eyebrow.
“After all the times he’s been kicking my flank, I think I’ve earned a pass.”
Pensword sniggered. “Never think that. Murphy gives you a pass when he wants to give you a pass.”
Vital sighed. “You know, there’s times where I think I’m just here for the comedic relief.”
“You can’t be,” Trixie said. “The great and wise Trixie couldn’t let her affections fall upon a lowly comedian.”
“Not quite what I meant, but I’ll go with it.” Vital chuckled as he leaned in, and nuzzled the mare a bit hesitantly. “Thanks.”
“Any time.” She smiled back.
Lunar Fang smiled as the camera shutter snapped. “Success! I caught one of Vital’s first nuzzles,” she cheered. She then passed the camera to Trixie. “Okay, so teasing Vital Spark aside, could you take a photo of our family now, Trixie? We want to be able to remember this occasion.” Turning her head back down the ship’s deck, she shouted, “Kahn, get your feathered brothers and sisters over here for a family photo!” Her smile widened into a grin as she walked over to Fox Feather. “Fox Feather, you get over there on Pensword’s left. Moonie, you can be on Kahn’s head....” It took about five minutes to finally get the group set up in an order that pleased the pregnant mare. Many gave silent thanks to Faust and the Winds it didn’t take longer as they all smiled at the crystal camera Trixie held in her magic. A few clicks later, the pictures were taken, and the “family” were able to separate to go about their own business.
Several Gryphons buckled under the weight of the numerous large piles of luggage as they loaded them onto the ship. True to her style, Rarity had packed for every conceivable occasion, and it showed.
“My, this is going to be exciting, isn’t it?” Rarity asked. Her wedding gift from Grif glinted in the noonday sun as she fixed her dazzling smile on Hammer Strike and the rest of the crew at large. Then she sidled up next to the lord, and began stroking a hoof gently up and down his chest. “And with all that travel time here on the ship, well, you and I can have some … special time together, can’t we, darling?”
Hammer Strike smiled. “Most certainly.”
Grif was saluted as he entered the bridge. For the first time since they had acquired the Gantrithor, it now carried a full crew for basic operation.
“Detach docking lines,” he ordered as he took his spot on the taller platform in the center of the room. “Set destination for north by northeast, and set a course for the empire.” The orders were actually little more than a formality by now. The crew knew the itinerary, and how to pilot the ship, but there was something official about saying the words out loud. “Take us at cruising speed, until everyone on the deck gets inside.”
The Gantrithor rose high away from New Unity, its engines humming calmly as they prepared to propel the ship. Once it had cleared the final tower, it turned northward, until it aimed for the Crystal Empire, then began a swift forward momentum. The ship shone in the bright winter sun as it took off. The imperial crests had been replaced with the crests of New Unity and the Bladefeather clan. The air pressure seemed to pop as the inertial dampeners kicked in, and the ship streaked towards its destination.
“Attention, passengers. We are embarking towards the Crystal Empire, currently at a height of twenty thousand eight hundred hooves above ground. We have not yet reached cruising speed, but should within the next five seconds. We can expect to reach our first destination within four hours. When we reach the empire, it will be for the loading of passengers only, so, please, no disembarking. When we debark from the empire, we will be heading straight for Gryphonia. More details about our route will be released at that time. The journey is going to take about three days to a week, due to reasons we feel no need to explain. We will not be using the engines at full speed. Meals will be provided in the mess hall. Should you require a special menu, due to dietary needs, our capable kitchen staff will be happy to assist you. Training, weapons, and exercise facilities are now available on decks six through seven. The library is open from nine AM to eight PM, and the observation deck is open at all times, unless otherwise stated.
“The weapons, engine, and tactical rooms are off limits to anyone without proper security. If you are found there, you will be placed in the brig for the remainder of our trip. If you have any further questions about available amenities, please feel free to ask our staff. If we enter a state of emergency during the flight, and you are asked to return to your room, please do so in an orderly manner. You will be informed when the state of emergency has passed. Our medical bay is operational, and fully staffed with capable medical professionals, so do not be afraid to make your way there for any medically viable reason. We thank you for choosing the Gantrithor[/i[. We know you have a lot of choices in air travel, but none of them will get you to the destination on time or guarantee your security. Now get in the ship!” Grif finished.
“Was that entirely necessary, Sir?” one of the officers asked.
“Nnnope,” Grif answered with a smile.
The Gantrithor sailed to a hovering stop on the outskirts of the Crystal Empire, where Cosy stood waiting on the ground with six trunks’ worth of clothing, armor, gifts, and who knew what else Cadence may have had him pack for the journey. Shining was busy talking to the colt as he lay a hoof on the young Unicorn’s shoulder. The ship reached five hundred hoofs from the ground, at which point Gryphons took flight from the deck to take said luggage, while Grif and Pensword flew down to meet the royal convoy.
Queen Cadence fixed Grif with a glare, while Pensword worked with Shining to secure Cosy on his back for the trip up to the ship. Meanwhile, the other Gryphons had begun carting the luggage up to be stowed.
“If I hear you got him involved in another war,” Cadence said with steely eyes, “I will personally have Shining Armor restrain you while I pluck every feather off your head, before cursing you to have bald spots for the next month. Am I understood?”
The air around Cadence suddenly dropped below freezing as she felt a pair of eyes drilling into her neck. The stare alone was almost painful as the queen turned to find Shrial standing in the center of what had been her royal guard. Now they were just a bunch of sleeping Ponies. The Gryphoness sheathed her blade with practiced ease.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Cadence. I don’t believe I heard that right. You know how pregnancy can take tolls on the body sometimes, even after the babies are born. Could you ever so kindly repeat that statement?” Shrial’s tone was cordial, friendly even. The stare, however, and the way the Gryphoness did nothing to hide her sharpened teeth, made the message quite clear.
Cadence looked at Shiral, and sighed in defeat. “Just keep him safe, okay?” She looked to Grif. “Could you at least deliver this letter to Hammer Strike for me? It’s a request for him to take on Alto as an apprentice when she comes of age. She really wants to become a smith.”
“I will. But if you’re running a country, Cadence, then you should remember the politics of any species you work with. Bellacosa, do Gryphons make threats?”
Bellacosa shook his head.
“Do we take threats?”
Bellacosa shook his head again.
“If she said something along those lines to a political party?”
Bellacosa actually shivered. “She’d better be prepared to back it up,” he answered shakily, “because they won’t hold back.”
“Your brother is a smart kid, and wise beyond his years,” Grif chuckled dryly. “I’ll forgive it, due to our history together, Cadence, but I am a Gryphon clan leader. I give you respect, you give me respect. You do not threaten Gryphons. Understood?” It wasn’t spoken in anger or some kind of cocky humor. That was the worst of it. He spoke to her like a chastising parent.
She stared at him for a time, then sighed, and rose to give Cosy another hug. With that final goodbye, she turned back towards the crystal palace. The party made a note not to ask her about her sniffles.
Shining Armor laid a supportive hoof on Cadence’s back. “She means well, Grif. She’s just a little too overprotective. She nearly mobilized the whole army when she heard what happened last time.” He winced as he watched the fur rise on Cadence’s back. “We’ve … been working on that.”
“Then you know that a stupid threat can cost lives,” Grif replied. “It’s better she learn this lesson from me than from the enemy, or worst of all, from Hammer Strike.”
He nodded his head. “She’ll be better. Just give her time. Plus, if all those years of matchmaking meant anything, she probably did that deliberately, just to see how you’d react to a threat.”
The glare Cadence put Shining’s way could have turned him to crystal.
“Daedalus won’t let him get hurt. He’s too much promise for our species,” Grif assured the stallion. “I have my own family on that ship. You think I’d foolishly bring them along, if I thought otherwise?”
Shining Armor shook his head, even as he rubbed Cadence’s shoulder.
“We should be going,” Grif noted. “Be safe, Shining Armor.”
“You as well. Make sure Cosy writes at least once a week, okay?” he asked as he held out a hoof.
“Of course,” Grif said as he bumped it with a fist. “Just get started on something for the kid. Not now, but in a few years, he’ll need an estate of his own to carry what he’ll bring back.”
The Crystal Ponies have started work rebuilding one of the old manors. We’ll be giving it to him when he gets old enough. It should make a nice home for him and Moon River, assuming she still goes through with the contract.”
“Are you kidding? She already considers him hers. By the time she’s old enough, I think she’ll be head over hooves for him,” Grif chuckled.
Shining Armor smiled. “Thanks, Grif. We don’t want to keep you any longer. Just keep him out of trouble, and maybe let him eat a few extra treats. After all, you’re family. You should spoil him.” He winked, and Grif couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Later, guys,” Grif said as he saluted the couple, then took to the air with the rest of his escort.
The Queen and her consort watched as the airship turned and started its long trek for Gryphonia. Shining smiled as he leaned in to the sulking Alicorn. “So, Cady, let me ask you, are you a fan of Gryphon artwork?”
“Not in the mood right now, Shining,” Cadence growled as she stomped angrily ahead. When they’d gone a few yards, she stopped to turn back at him. “Out of curiosity, why do you ask?”
“I was waiting for the right moment to tell you, but you look like you could use a good pickmeup. Cosy’s helping split up Grask Bloodbeak’s estate. Since he played a part in stopping the coup, and seizing multiple prisoners of war, he gets dibs on some of the valuables.”
“Honestly, what I really need right now is a good drink, and a lie down in bed.”
Shining just laughed. “With Alto away for the week, maybe we can.” He leaned in and whispered into her ear. Cadence’s face immediately became crimson as she laid one of her wings across her husband’s back. “That’s my girl,” he said as he nuzzled her.
“Enjoying it?” Grif asked as he approached where Gilda sat on the deck, watching the clouds pass by. They were over the ocean now, though one could only just make it out below the clouds beneath them.
“It feels strange, being on this, and seeing this,” she replied, waving a wing out over the clouds. “But I’m enjoying it for the most part.”
“This is your first time onboard, huh?” Grif asked, trying to remember if there was another time she’d been on the ship.
“Yeah. This is definitely a first. I never thought I’d even so much as see the flagship flying overhead, to be honest. And yet,” she waved a talon, “you command it like a king. It suits you.”
“Not a king,” Grif chuckled, “but hopefully a stabilizer.”
She chirped coyly. “And yet you’ve gained wealth, prestige, the ear of the emperor.” She stretched her wings. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Celestia and Daedalus were planning to make you a king of something anyways. You’ve already shown loyalty to the old ways, and it’s been an honor being a warrior in the clan.” She smiled as her tail twitched idly behind her.
“The king system is the problem,” Grif said bluntly. “Kings open the way for corruption, sedition, and trouble. The Emperor is fine, at least in this generation, but his power needs to be more direct.”
Gilda raised a brow. “Do I hear plotting?” she asked coyly, before shaking her head. Her smile turning to a frown. “Grif, I think I’d like to be assigned away from Cheshire. She’s rubbing off me in ways I don’t think I like.”
“You were assigned to Avalon. It’s not my fault if she spends time with Cheshire,” Grif said as he chuckled. “And no; not plotting. It will take centuries to change Gryphon politics. Just observation,” Grif noted. “Besides, where would I put you anyway? The only other open post is janitorial. I suppose if you want that….”
“I … think I’ll take a pass.” Gilda cringed at the thought. Cleaning toilets was not on her strong suit. She huffed folding her arms. “Still, if I need to, can I just stand guard outside the door?” she asked. “That pink one’s the only one who can randomly pop up anywhere, anyways.” She shuddered, and shook her head. “I don’t know if I even want to know how she does it.”
“Pink one?” Grif asked.
“The one obsessed with parties. You know, the Element of Laughter, appears anywhere on a whim, then disappears just as quickly? Heck, if she wanted to, she could get into the emperor's personal bathroom, and leave a cupcake or some other confection without breaking a sweat.”
“It won’t kill him,” Grif chuckled. “He’s sixteen years old, Gilda. If a surprise kills him, then he really shouldn’t have been the first emperor to survive a coup.”
Gilda shook with barely suppressed laughter. “I’m more worried about his guards. They would tear the place apart looking for her. And as I’m pretty sure you already know, if she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be.” She paused and lapsed into silence as she watched the clouds. “Thanks,” she muttered out of the blue, so softly that it almost was lost to the winds.
“For what?” Grif asked. “I gave you little more than I gave others,” Grif noted. “You and your mercenary group had freedom to leave, if they wanted. I offered to teach you. You chose to learn. Thank yourself, Gilda, because, in the end, anything I did was because you let me.”
She harrumphed to herself as she watched a particularly puffy cloud break in two at the prow to slide beneath the ship’s bilge. “Thank you for giving us the chance,” she finally said, even as she folded her front legs, and avoided making eye contact.
“It was my pleasure. It always was,” Grif told her. “Besides, I needed every high Gryphon I could to hold some standing,” he chuckled. “You know how rare the traditional lion eagle mix is these days?”
“Rare.” Gilda muttered. “Even more so, after what happened to my clan.” She sighed. “Look, Grif. I just … I just hope I can live up to what you’ve done for me, okay? I’m still not used to all this touchy feely nonsense. Acting tough for so long … well … it kinda sticks.”
Grif smiled as he looked on the Gryphoness. She’d come a long way from the hot head who tried to take Rainbow Dash away from her friends. “You already have,” he said simply. “Though I do have a question. Were you always that good with cubs? The girls seem to adore you.”
She shook her head. “Never got the chance, till your cubs. I’m pretty surprised at it myself.”
Grif laid a taloned hand on her shoulder, prompting her to look into his concerned face. “Are you sure you can handle the return to Gryphonia?” He’d been sure to screen the crew to make sure they could handle the return. Most where Equestrian born, but there were a few clanless here, after all, and Gilda fell under that category, even if she had joined the Bladefeathers.
Gilda grinned, and thumped a talon to her chest. “As Rainbow Dash likes to say, I’ll have to face it sooner or later. With my clan leader at my side, it should go okay.” Then the bravado fell away as she lowered her head. “Just as long as we don’t get me too close to the nesting spires, it should be fine.”
Grif’s eyes widened “Your family was that old?”
Gilda nodded. “Yeah. We were a minor branch, but our family traces back to a single nest in the settlement, before the Diamond Dogs’ betrayal. Might even stretch farther.” She sighed. “I’m not sure if I can handle being there, seeing what remains. One of the other clans has probably moved in, and claimed it. Besides, I lost all rights to it when my family died.”
Grif wrapped a wing around her gently. “We can avoid it,” Grif promised her. “There is no need for you to relive those moments.”
She looked at Grif. “It’s not something I can avoid, Grif. We’re going there. I know we are. It’s where Grask made his estate. Just … just promise me one thing as my clan leader. Promise me that when I do face these places again, you’ll stay nearby, to be the shield on my wings”
“Careful, Gilda,” Grif chuckled. “You may send the wrong signals.”
“Is it wrong for me to ask my clan leader to lend me strength when I’m about to face one of the biggest demons from my past?”
“I suppose it’s just me being foolish.” Grif smiled as he looked down on her. “I promise, Gilda. You won’t be alone when the time comes. I may not always be able to be there physically, but we’ll all support you.”
She sighed, and closed her eyes. “Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to enjoy the last ten minutes of my off shift here, before I go back to insanity.” The wind rustled her feathers as she lay down to enjoy the spray from the clouds as the wind and sun dried her fur.
Grif couldn’t help but watch her as he left, and nearly collided with one of the crewmen in his momentary lapse.
“Attention to our passengers. This is Grif. We’ll be arriving at our first stop in the Gryphon Empire in about fifteen minutes. Please prepare whatever you will need to disembark, and be ready on the bridge,” Grif said through the intercom as he eyed the landmass in front of them. The ocean was broken by steep redstone cliffs that formed an imposing image, almost like a wall to the forested grounds beyond it. Most Gryphons from this point could make out the image of the mountains standing imposing in the distance.
The Gryphon’s eyes were inevitably drawn to one of the most unique and ancient structures of their history. The nesting spires stood adamantly, just a little ways off to the west. Each was a masterpiece in its own right: a tall, imposing structure reaching for the sky, intricately carved with large circular openings where ancient Gryphons would enter and leave. The visages of eagles looked proudly over their terrain at the top, peering in all four directions. These ancient structures were the only ones of their kind, and had been used long before the clans had formed as a form of communal housing between the most powerful allied families. It was around these towers that the oldest and most prestigious among the Gryphons had formed the first clans, and built the first compounds. Most of these towers had been lost to time, as all things must in due course, but Grif still recognized one or two of them. Battleclaw stood to the east, and Lion Paw to the north. But their target was ten or twenty miles to the southeast. The compound of the now-extinct Bloodbeak Clan home lay there, built into the foot of a mountain, and was surrounded by what, in Grif’s opinion, stood somewhere between a smaller city and a larger village.
Grif had been thankful that it was the Farflyer estate he’d visited with Pensword, and not one like this. The Bloodbeaks were not a generous family, and many Gryphons suffered under their rule. Clan officiates, clan member Gryphons who had left home to live in other areas for various reasons, had been taxed heavily, and usually were cheated out of payment by the Bloodbeaks when their unique skills were needed. Worse yet were the clanless who were unable to pay such taxes, and were mistreated by not only the Bloodbeaks, but even by the officiates who were anywhere from oblivious to the suffering of their fellows to outrightly hostile.
The clanless lived in scraped-together hovels in the slums. They ate whatever scraps they could find, or smaller game they could hunt, being without even a bow to shoot a deer. Grif knew it wouldn’t be a pretty sight to see when they arrived. So, in preparation for this trip, he’d stocked the Gantrithor’s hold with as much extra food and other goods as he could manage. One of the first things he had to do when they landed was find a governor who could be trusted to distribute some form of care to the needy appropriately.
It was not as if many would miss the Bloodbeaks. They weren’t actually an ancient family, but had acquired the estate when the old family had fallen on hard times some four hundred years prior. The new owners had been cruel and greedy, and the fact that the bloodline had died in dishonor probably brought many smiles to the locals.
Pensword came up onto the bridge quickly as he looked out among the mountains and valleys. He could feel the age in the air, even at their altitude. Many spirits roamed this place. “Just … how old is this region of Gryphon territory, exactly?” He shivered as he looked over his shoulder quickly. His feathers stood on edge, and his ears swiveled nervously.
“As far back as I can tell? Before the fall. This is one of the oldest places in our history, Pensword. It’s older than the Songbird Rebellion or the Valkyrie Wars.”
“That explains why I feel like I am being watched and judged,” Pensword muttered as he looked about at the towers. “So where are we landing? Also, I can see three airships to the southeast, just sitting there. Are they friend or foe?”
“Do we have an open channel?” Grif asked one of the crewmen, who nodded.
“Approaching vessels, this is the Gantrithor. Please confirm. Are you friend or foe? En ce qui concerne les vaisseaux, c'est le Gantrithor. Veuillez confirmer. Êtes-vous un ami ou un ennemi?” Grif waited for the response.
“Welcome, Gantrithor. We have been told to expect you. His Holiness sends his regards. We are the battleships Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria. This is Admiral Felipe Robespierre, formerly of the Bloodbeak clan. To whom am I speaking?”
“Grif Grafson Bladefeather and Commander Pensword Hurricane of House Pen,” Grif answered. “How did Grask get a lower eastern kingdom Gryphon under his name?” Grif asked the air as he covered the microphone to prevent anyone else from hearing. When he’d regained his composure, he cleared his throat, and released his grip on the microphone. “I take it we’re clear for approach, then?”
“Naturalment,” Robespierre responded. “Please, please. Proceed. We shall escort you to the clan hall’s air docks.”
Pensword waited for the communication to end. “Be on alert,” he muttered. “I’d better get my children ready, and....” He paused. “Grif, how many airships might Grask have owned?” he asked as he opened one of the communication tubes, and called through it to echo into the ship. “House Pen, report to the port bridge wing. House Pen to the port bridge wing, please.”
“Quite the impressive view out there,” Vital said as he walked in with a windswept mane and his heavier leather armor. Watcher lay on his back as always, waiting to serve its master at a moment’s notice.
“Yes. Well, when you rely on the wildlife, you do your best to keep the land they live in in good order,” Grif noted. “Now, Vital, this is serious. I want you to stay close to a Gryphon at all times when we land. This isn’t the Emperor’s fortress. You’re not protected here.”
“So any Gryphon, or is there a particular guard I should stick close to?” Vital asked.
Grif pointed to the Bladefeather crest on his pauldron. “Any Gryphon with one of these.”
Vital gave a quick salute. “Yes, Sir. Anything else I should be keeping in mind?”
“You have a soft heart, Vital. Try to keep control on it. There are many desperate Gryphons we’re likely to see. Don’t be afraid to give them something, but don’t trust them.”
“Just … how bad are we talking here, Grif? I’ll need to brace myself.”
“Did you know it takes seventeen medium-sized rats per day to keep an average male Gryphon alive?” Grif asked him bluntly. “Because most clanless do.”
“That bad?”
“That bad.” Grif nodded, then turned back to the forward window. They were approaching the mountainside now, and numerous small huts had started dotting the landscape beneath them. They could just make out the different types of Gryphons moving through the air below, only to stop and stare when the massive airship passed overhead. The ship began to decelerate and descend as they drew nearer to their destination. The first thing to catch the eye was the large carved gate that seemed to sink deeply into the mountain. It reminded Vital of the gates of the Lonely Mountain from The Lord of the Rings: large and intricate, yet severely imposing, as if the dark and the madness could swallow you whole. The second thing to catch the eye was a few hundred feet above the gate, a massive artificial plateau on the mountainside that served as the airship dock. Several large golden eagle-jaguar Gryphons were already waiting for the Gantrithor’s docking cables. In less than fifteen minutes, the ship was secured close enough that the gangplanks could be released. The rest of their group arrived over time as Grif and Pensword stood on the deck with trepidation.
“You okay, old one?” Grif asked as he noticed Kalima’s figure approaching from behind.
Kalima sighed. “I never thought I’d be coming back to this place, Grif. It’s … strange, to say the least.”
“I never thought I’d be coming here again either.” Grif shrugged. “I hope I made the right decision. You can wait here, if you’d like. This shouldn’t take more than a day or two, and the Gantrithor is ready for anything.”
“Will the girls be disembarking with you?”
“Shrial will. I’ve convinced Avalon the only way to keep Cheshire onboard is to stay with her. And the only way I could convince Cheshire to stay onboard was that someone needs to watch Avalon. The twins will come with us. They need to see this, I feel. Something important is in there.” Grif ruffled his wings, looking back to the mountain.
“Dark things hide in dark places, Grif. If you plan to plumb the depths, you’d best be prepared,” Kalima warned.
“I will be,” he promised. “After all, spoils gained with ease have little meaning.”
“I see. I should probably remain here then, at least for now. Cheshire’s a little too close for my liking. I’d prefer to be here, if she starts having contractions.”
“Tell Thalia to start unpacking the red crates, and move them down to the village. Keep them under guard for now. I need to go.” And finally, as if breaking some kind of barrier, Grif moved to the gangplank, and disembarked, stepping onto the cold stone platform.
Pensword, Cosy, his two wives, his four Pony children, and the six Gryphons who now called him Father soon followed. Penswords ears continued to swivel, straining to catch anything, a sound, a whisper, a sigh. Yet all remained quiet as his eyes fell upon the mighty gates, then wandered to view what looked to be some kind of hangar to the right.
“It's for ground docking damaged airships, and doing repairs, primarily,” Grif explained as he followed Pensword’s eyes. “Also, any ships not needed are likely stored there.”
Pensword nodded his understanding. “I can see it being used for his mothballed fleet. Which means….” he looked to Cosy. “Cosy, we need to settle in first with the staff. Then you can find yourself a warship. Okay?” He looked back at Kahn, specifically at his head, where a certain little filly sat. So far, Moon River had been staying with the adults, which was a good thing.
“We also need a governor,” Grif told pensword.
Pensword nodded in agreement. “So where would the governor be located?”
“... Pensword, we need to choose a governor; someone to rule this area.”
“Oh!” Pensword’s eyes widened briefly. “My apologies. I misunderstood you.” He looked back at the lands. “Uh … do you mind if I leave that to you? You know the politics better.” He shuffled his hooves nervously as he looked around. That same feeling continued to prick at him, causing his wings to twitch.
“You’re all armed?” Grif asked, looking around. A quick once over showed that everyone had made sure to arm themselves, either with short swords or longer blades, depending on their preferences. Hammer Strike just stuck to wearing his usual coat, while Rarity wore Seamipper. Cosy had one of his small Gryphon weapons from the coup at his side. Moon River even had her crossbow out at the question.
“Well then, gentlemen, heads up.” Grif tapped Cosy under the chin, until his head was held high. “Shoulders back.” He gently straightened Pensword’s shoulders. “Lets walk in like we own the place.” He looked to shrial, who had taken her place at his side. They nodded in sync, both lifting their left talons, and moving towards the waiting staff members, acting in every way like they deserved all the authority that could be given them.
Pensword moved up with his family gathered at his side as he walked with Lunar Fang on his right and Fox Feather on his left, just a step behind Grif and Shrial as they looked at the place with level expressions. Moon River moved her crossbow about with shifting eyes, as if she were searching for a good reason to shoot, while Kahn and his siblings kept a talon on their weapons to show they would protect their parents at a moment’s notice.
A male Gryphon stepped forward. He was a funny sort of mix, having the body of a cheetah and the head and talons of a penguin. His posture was stiff, and flawlessly straight. His face was blank, and only his eyes gave away a slight unease as the party approached.
“Good day, Master Bladefeather, Mistress Bladefeather, Master Pensword, Mistresses Fox Feather and Lunar Fang, and your assorted youngsters. And a very fine welcome to you, Prince Bellacosa,” he offered in a formal tone. “I am Jarvis, the head butler for the late Grask Bloodbeak. It has been my family’s honor to serve this estate for seven generations. I have done my best to keep the house in order, until you could come to sort it.”
Naturally, this Jarvis triggered Matthew’s memory of a completely different kind of Jarvis from back on Earth. The voice was far too much of a match for it to be a mere coincidence. The Pegasus kept his expression neutral as he nodded his head in thanks, then turned to look at Moon River. The look of stern disapproval stopped the filly in her tracks as she smiled sheepishly, and put away the suction cup dart she’d been loading. Hammer Strike and Lady Rarity walked up to the front as Moon River lowered the crossbow.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you’d be bringing guests. It is a pleasure, Master…?” It was quite clear by the quiver in his voice that the butler suspected who the scarred Earth Pony was, but he needed it confirmed.
“Hammer Strike. And this is my wife, Rarity,” the stallion replied, fixing the Gryphon with a somewhat menacing grin.
Jarvis stopped for a moment, before nodding vigorously, and gulping. “Of course! Master Strike, Lady Strike, I’ll see to it that fine accommodations are made for both of you. Will your butler be taking your bags, or should I have the staff get them?” he asked, gesturing to the gold-maned Unicorn standing next to them.
“That would be Vital Spark, who is not my butler. And I’ll be carrying the bags myself,” Hammer Strike responded flatly.
“Of course, of course. As you wish,” the butler backtracked hastily. “Please, follow me. I’ll see that you all are sorted out.”
Pensword and his wives just nodded their heads and followed the butler into the main clan building. Eventually, they entered a massive entry hall with a grand stone staircase leading up to the second floor at the far end. Another set of stairs rose up on either side of a set of balconies above their heads, leading up to the third floor. The stairs leading up to the fourth floor crossed high over the entry hall. Clearly these stairs had been designed with ground-bound troops in mind. The openings on either side made for easy pickings in the event of a siege, and probably proved useful in battle against Diamond Dogs and other creatures.
Flags of the Empire, the Kingdoms, and the crests of Bloodbeak and others loyal to his cause dotted the walls, interspersed between tapestries that were ranging in size from a small door to as large as a barn. The majority of these, however focused around one Gryphon in particular. The first Grask, legendary first Avatar of the Winds, glowered out at the guests.
Pedestals held pottery and sculptures of varying degrees from ancient times. Off to the left, on the ground floor, pillars and glassware had been painted or tinted a curious shade of pink. Elsewhere, trophies from old battles and conquests sat on display, awaiting their owner’s gloating over his triumphs. What surprised Grim most were three pedestals near the grand staircase. Each bore an artifact from the Third Gryphon War. One was part of a wingblade, which the inscription below claimed had belonged to Pensword. The second item was the hilt of a dagger with its pommel gem missing. Rust and decay had long since claimed the weapon’s life, but it was still a useful piece for display. The inscription below claimed it had belonged to Grif. The third claimed to belong to Hammer Strike: the rod he had used to kill the messenger from the fields of Fillydelphia, part of a set of two. The second lay in the war museum at Fillydelphia.
As the party looked up to the ceiling, they took in the dome at the top, which had been carefully painted in a style after the Renaissance of Earth. Four mysterious figures veiled in wind stood before a congregation of Gryphons. Clearly, this painting depicted the adoption of the Gryphons by the Winds. All manner of carpets dyed in a plethora of colors covered the stone to insulate against the innate cold. Only the imperial colors were missing from the opulent display. Grif had a sneaking suspicion he’d probably find those rugs somewhere in storage.
Pensword looked to Grif. “I feel like I am in an art museum.”
“We’re a long-lived race,” Grif shrugged. “Our past is important to us.”
“Still, I would like to look at those three to make sure that … well, are they authentic?” They stopped at the second floor, and there, facing them was a heavy set of siege armor specifically crafted for Gryphons.
“We own all of this,” Grif told him. “You can box them up, and send them home, if you want.”
“We’ll wait and see.” He had to wait for the two kisses he knew were coming, before he could speak again. He took the time to scan more of the room, and paused as his eyes locked on three doorways. “Grif. Uh, you’ve taught me some words in Gryphic, but … aren’t those our names over those doors? I definitely recognize Demon on the left, and I think that reads Avatar in the middle. As for the last one … well, it’s hard to miss Hammer Strike’s cutie mark.”
“Gryphonia likely wasn’t his final goal.” Grif shrugged. “He probably thought he’d figured out how to kill the three of us, and was ready to attempt a fourth Gryphon war when Equestria was weak.”
“And part of me is betting I’d find my way to the front lines somehow,” Hammer Strike commented idly. “Almost expected.”
They turned to find a more recent piece among the relics, hanging between Hammer Strike’s door and a window. The canvas had been drawn taut, and the dimensions of the painting were enough to analyze each individual portrayed in close detail. The Mane Six hovered in the air, with the elements glowing brightly on their necks and head respectively. A golden light surrounded them as the magic went to work, and the purple Unicorn’s horn blazed with her tiara. Clearly this painting had been commissioned before Twilight’s ascension. The artist had done surprisingly well for one who hadn’t witnessed the magic in action.
On the far right of the hall, a giant painting of Princess Celestia glowered down. Her golden armor glowed white from the heat her power generated, and a red-gold ray shone down as her horn glowed, searing the clouds, and causing them to ignite with its passing. On the other side of the hall, closest to Pensword’s door, Princess Luna stood in her ancient battle armor. The glint of the Ursa bone shone silver under the woven moon. Tiny moon stones caused the orb to glow. The princess’ mighty war hammer hovered in her magical grip as she tossed her head back in defiance. Both portrayals served as a grim reminder just how powerful the two could be. Rarity barely managed to contain the squeal of excitement building in her as she analyzed the weave.
Jarvis gestured formally with his wing. “If you would continue to follow me, your quarters are located at the top of the manor. Though, while I have your attention, I do have to ask, will any of you be sleeping in the old master’s bedroom?”
“No,” Grif told him flatly as he narrowed his eyes. “That madbird poisoned the very air he breathed. We will have nothing to do with his quarters, save what duty requires of us. I will look over his room in the morning, and then it will be sealed up, and never opened again. Is that understood?”
To his credit, Jarvis managed to retain his decorum, despite the harsh ruling on his former master’s dwelling. “Then I take it you would prefer the guest wings?”
“Yes,” Grif nodded curtly.
“Very well. I’ll take you there at once. The servants will be by later with the extra supplies. We had originally anticipated one of you might prefer to take the master’s room for you own. Once you’re properly settled, I can have the staff prepare a meal for you all. You must be hungry, after such a long journey. This way, please,” Jarvis spoke, leading the party ever higher into the tower.
An hour later, the group was preparing to head to dinner, when a Gryphon wearing a white medical uniform raced hastily towards them. It took a minute to realize the Gryphon was one of Grif’s own, since he had neglected to pin the clan crest to his coat.
“What is it?” Grif asked.
“Sir,” the Gryphon panted, “Lady Kalima said to find you immediately. It’s Cheshire, Sir. She’s gone into labor.”
Grif’s reaction was swift, and a true testament to his character and dedication. “Lead the way,” he insisted. He stopped only long enough to address Jarvis and the group. “I’ll catch up with you all when I have news. Go ahead and enjoy the meal without me.” He turned to Shrial. “You coming or staying?”
“And miss the birth of my godson? I should think not,” Shrial said adamantly.
It took almost fifteen minutes to navigate the house back to the dock, and another ten to get through the ship to the infirmary. The room practically vibrated with the screeches and roars from Cheshire, several of which were ancient swears that were not meant for polite conversation. The couple was greeted by Kalima at the door, where Shrial was given a mask, and ushered in. As was tradition for a male Gryphon who was not Cheshire’s husband, Grif was stuck waiting at the door.
“How is she?” he asked the older gryphoness.
“The baby definitely takes after the father,” Kalima said as she shook her head tiredly. “It’s a stubborn thing. The passing hasn’t been easy thus far.”
“Is she okay?”
“Grif, she’s in labor. How do you think she’s feeling right now?” Kalima deadpanned.
“Good point.” Grif sighed, “I guess ... just keep me posted on how it’s going, then.”
“You’d best get some coffee, Grif. I get the feeling this is going to be a long one,” Kalima said as she pulled on her mask, and made her way through the divider to the patient once again. Another Gryphoness’ cry of pain mingled with Cheshires, and Grif couldn’t help but smile a bit. Clearly, someone had been foolish enough to offer a hand to hold.
Grif took a seat in the waiting area, and offered a silent prayer that everything would be fine. Chesire was a good friend, and Kel’leam had died protecting Grif. He wanted to hope both mother and child would come out of this okay. After the first hour or so, Grif must have nodded off, because, quite suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder shaking him awake. He rubbed his eyes as the world swam back into vision. “Who’s there? Whats happening?”
“At ease, Grif,” Kalima’s tired voice creaked gently into Grif’s ears. “The baby’s nearly here. It’s finally time for her to push. You should probably make yourself presentable. Cheshire’s going to want to see you, once she’s finished.”
“So they’re okay?” he asked as he rose and stretched, feeling several bones and joints pop into place as he did.
“We won’t know, until it’s over.” Kalima shook her head. “Once the after birth is complete, and she’s had the time to nurse and recover, we’ll be able to give her a proper examination.”
“I’ll go wash up, then.” Grif nodded, then left. When he returned, it was still another hour before he was told that he could finally see her, and it was with much trepidation that he entered the infirmary to approach the cot where Cheshire lay.
“Hey, Chesh,” he offered in a quiet tone as he approached.
“About time you got here, Grif. I thought you were supposed to be the Avatar of Winds. You have to be one of the slowest preeners I’ve ever laid eyes on,” she said with a playful, albeit tired chuckle. A large ball of white fur and wings curled up against her navel, and the sound of sucking could just barely be made out, if he cocked his ear just right.
“Yeah, well they didn’t want me in here, until they were certain you and your baby weren’t going to randomly disappear,” he chuckled. “So this is him? Her?” Grif asked.
“Him,” she said. “He’s got his father’s good looks, and my eyes and smile. A deadly combination, don’t you think?”
“Especially if he takes after his momma in personality,” Grif chuckled. “Thought of a name for him?”
“I was considering naming him after his father, but I don’t think Kel’leam would’ve wanted that. And besides, where’s the fun in it?” Cheshire teased as she ran a talon gently down the infant’s back. “I wonder. Do you have any ideas, Grif? You are insisting on my being the crazy aunt, so that makes you the sensible uncle, or nonsensical as the case may be,” she chortled.
“In Taze’s world, they had a lot of heros they talked about, men of great strength and size, who accomplished incredible feats.” Grif rubbed his chin. “A particular favorite of his was a man from a place they called Ireland. His name was Cú Chulainn. I always felt it had an interesting feel too it: deep, ancient, with just a hint of silliness.” He smiled at Cheshire. “But that’s just a thought.”
“The name’s a tongue twister in and of itself,” she responded. Then she chuckled. “I like it. From this day forward, his name will be Cú Chulainn Hatter Bladefeather.” She cooed gently as she ran a beak through his fur. “My little mad hatter.”
“I’ll make sure neither of you want for anything,” Grif promised. “It’s the least of what I owe you.”
“Careful, Grif. We’ve been known to make some rather … crazy demands,” she said with another playful giggle, even as tears began to streak down her cheeks.
“He was like a brother to me, Chesh,” Grif told her, even as his did his best to withhold his own tears. “That makes you and him family to me. And I take care of my family. You have only to ask for whatever you need, and I will make sure it’s provided to you. Then at least I can repay Kel’leam for everything he did.”
“Considering all you’ve done for us already, Grif, I’m pretty sure you have,” Cheshire said. “But I’ll take that offer to save you face,” she said with a wink.
“That's all I can ask. I should leave the two of you to rest. You’ve both had a long and trying day. I’ll be back to check on you later, okay?”
“Say that like the Terminator, and you’ve got a deal.”
Grif chuckled, and did his best to repeat the sentence in a convincing accent.
…
It wasn’t very good, but it allowed the pair to leave on happy terms, and gave Cheshire something to smile about, which was probably a good thing right now.
He met Shrial on his way out, and the two exited the infirmary together. They had a hearty breakfast in the Gantrithor’s kitchens, before heading back to the estate. It was time to have a little fun.
“Are you sure you wish to handle this now?” Jarvis asked the group of surprisingly eager faces as they stood before the very large reinforced doors that led to the the Bloodbeaks’ private armory. “Wouldn’t you prefer to dole out the gold and jewels, or perhaps inspect your new airships first?”
Pensword looked to Cosy. “We picked straws. War Prince Bellacosa got to pick the first location. As you might imagine, the armory was at the top of his list.” He looked to Jarvis. “You know how foals can be.”
“Of course, Sir,” Jarvis said flatly. Pensword’s own excitement was written quite plainly on his muzzle.
“I thought it’d be cool. Besides, Grif said he needed something special for his collection. I figured we could look at something we all liked first,” Cosy said as a blush rose in his cheeks.
“I don’t see a problem with seeing the weapons first,” Grif said. His own excitement was just as evident, if not more so as the butler began the complicated process of opening the lock. It took several keys in well-hidden, strategic locations, but, eventually, the doors opened outwards, revealing a sea of polished gleaming swords, daggers, axes, maces, halberds, spears, as well as crossbows and bows, slings, javelins, and many other implements of death. Some were placed in large groups on racks. These were less fancy, and seemed to be made for the more common foot soldiers and guards. Other weapons had pedestals and wall mounts all their own, and were intricately detailed and designed, clearly part of the clan leader's personal collection.
“So, who enters first?”
“You are the technical owners now,” Vital pointed out. “Maybe you three should go together?”
“Thanks for volunteering,” Grif said, and shoved Vital into the room without ceremony.
“Gee. Thank you so much,” Vital said as he rolled his eyes. “Would you like some extra mushrooms with that troll sandwich?”
“That probably sounded better in your head,” Grif told him as they began filing into the room.
“You know, if a certain item you’re looking for is here, Rarity might be the best equipped to find it,” Vital pointed out. “She does have a knack with gems.”
Pensword didn’t stick around to hear. Instead, he chose to follow Cosy around as the young prince wandered through the trove, examining the various weapons and their craftsmanship.
Grif retrieved one of the blades from the wall mounts. He examined the intricate hilt that seemed to resemble a polished metal ribbon. Tiny sapphires and emeralds had been placed into the hilt, forming the familiar symbol of the South Wind. “This is one of the Silviril blades,” he commented as he examined the edge more closely. “There’s only been six of these ever found, and they’re all in museums.” He retrieved the scabbard that hung under the mount, and sheathed the blade in a flourish, before turning to Shrial. “For you, my lady.”
“Well, she did approve our union,” Shrial said as she took the sword, and tied its scabbard around her waist. “Not bad. Not bad. It certainly carries well enough,” she commented as she strolled around the floor. “How do I look?”
“As beautiful as the dawn,” Grif told her. He turned to the mounts, and began taking stock of what was there, making sure to remove certain blades as he recognized them. With each new find, he gave them to servants who would carry them to the ship for storage. Gryphons were not known for many magical weapons, but they had a fondness for collecting such weapons from other races. Not all of these weapons could instantly be trusted.
Deeper in the armory, Pensword’s roar detonated the silence. “GRIF! I want this open now!” The rest of the group took a moment to gape at one another over the surprising break in character for the commander, before making their way over.
When the group arrived, they found Pensword glaring at a glass display case showing off a collection of daggers and arrowheads from the Crystal Empire. In the middle of the display, raised up on a silk pillow, was a blue scabbard bearing the mark of a snowflake with a crystal heart etched in its core. The pommel on the scabbard glowed as a bright blue light etched the symbol of Cosy’s cutie mark into the crystal.
“That’s the sword Grandpa made for me,” Cosy gasped. “What’s it doing all the way out here?” he wondered. “And how’d a big meanie like Grask get ahold of it?” He frowned. “Sombra must’ve gotten rid of it when he came into power. He always was jealous how Grandpa liked us more.” He put his hoof up to the glass, and smiled sadly. “Hey, Little Flame. Glad to see you remember me.”
“It’s likely it was taken by a sycophant looking to get a reward,” Grif said as he ran a talon across the case, leaving a deep score in it, before he hit the area with a mace. The inner piece shattered, leaving the other frame intact. “Everyone takes spoils from war, Bellacosa,” he said with a shrug, “even Crystal Ponies.”
“Can I have my sword back now?” Cosy asked.
Grif chuckled as he picked the sword out from the shards of glass, and handed it to the colt. Cosy hugged it like an old friend, before finally strapping it in at his side.
“Thanks, Grif. You’re the best. Feel free to take a couple of the daggers and arrowheads for your collection, he said with a smile. “Getting my sword back is more than enough payment, not to mention everything you did for us back then. I’ll pack up the rest to take home to the museums.”
The sound of a thud interrupted them. When they turned to the source, they discovered Daymoon was holding a sword, and swinging it against a wooden post as his brothers watched, only for the blade to bounce off harmlessly, despite the obvious edge on the weapon.
“Where did you find that?” Grif asked the colt as he approached, and took the blade from him.
“On one of the wall mounts, but it won’t cut anything,” Day Moon complained.
Grif examined the blade. It was a falchion, a wider blade with a curve near the tip, crafted from silver, and polished to a mirror finish. Ancient Gryphic runes covered both sides of the blade, but they were so tiny and intricate that it was hard for Grif to make them out. The cross hilt was curved in an S-like fashion, with one curl facing toward the blade and another towards the sword’s hilt. The handle was wrapped in a dark material that seemed like leather, but was most decidedly not leather at the same time. It was black, not the almost black most people took for black, but true black, black enough that looking at it seemed to pull you into the dark abyss. The pommel was a thin piece of silver with a large tear-shaped glowing silver stone embedded into it.
Vital Spark whistled. “Now that’s what I call some fine craftsmanship.”
“Krackakalam,” Grif read as he squinted at the runes on the blade. “Sta’lock kalarma shevintosh, castosh…” and at that, Grif stopped. His pupils dilated as his eyes widened. His hands began to shake, and he nearly dropped the sword.
“What’s the matter, Grif?” Pensword asked nervously as his eyes darted between the Gryphon, the sword, and Day Moon.
“‘Shadowsbane,” Grif translated in an almost dead tone. “Let the hand of the wielder always be true, by honor of the the ... well, there is no proper Equish equivalent, but the closest would be, ‘by honor of the seven blades of eight, nine forged. This blade is the sixth.’”
Day Moon looked at the blade, then to Grif. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“Before our peoples’ fall, and if myth is correct, just after the fall of the Alicorn Empire, our greatest minds realized that magic was becoming a trouble. Sure, we had it, but only through the proper rituals. The developing Pony tribes had it, the Kitsune had it, the Kangaroos had it in their own fashion, even the sphinxes had it, back when they were still alive. With all these races that could access and utilize magic so easily, It was decided a measure must be taken, an equalizer to keep the second born above such weaknesses. Eight master smiths and eight master evokers were chosen. Each was given whatever material they requested, and together, they each forged a blade in their own style. Each sword was to be a hedge against one of the supernatural forces. Mana, magical fire, magical thunder, etc., etc. Each blade was created as the bane of the existence to one type of magic. The sixth is this sword, Shadowsbane, the bane to all that are sustained by dark magic.”
As he continued to narrate, the tremors lessened, and Grif able to regain some of his composure. “This sword is evidence of a time when we Gryphons were skilled enough to have our own style of weaponry. It is a relic of unknowable value, and it’s sitting here in this Winds damned armory!” he finished with a justified shout.
“So it only cuts dark things?” Day Moon asked.
Grif shook his head. “It will cut anything well enough. It simply prefers dark things, but the blade’s still dormant. It has no master, so it hasn’t woken up.”
Pensword raised a wing. “That means that till then, it won’t work?”
“Exactly.” Grif nodded. “I’ll need to keep this with me, until I figure out what to do with it.”
Pensword nodded. “I’ll go look in the Pony weapons. I think I saw a spear that might prove useful,” he muttered. His eyes locked on the blade and its pommel, and he shook his head to stave off the instinct to shudder. Something about that thing was giving him a case of the willies. He walked away, but not before he counted twice more he was looking at that tear shaped stone. He paused. “Grif, they have an obsidian blade! This came from the Wolf Clan….” He pursed his lips as he narrowed his eyes in determination. “I’m taking it back to them, Grif. This, and any other Thestral weapons we come across.”
“Of course.” Grif nodded his understanding.
It took the rest of the day to sort through the armory and divide the spoils.
The group stood in front of the open doorway. It was more of an arch, really, with the sides of the doorway carved to look like fluted pillars painted to match Hammer Strike’s fur in color. A series of torches began to light up on their own as they entered the room, revealing paintings, murals, and various books and artifacts on pedestals. Equipment and machinery dotted the floor. In the middle of the rather sparsely decorated wing was something of an oddity, a printing press with an engraved plaque that had been attached to a pole next to the machine. The message had been written in both Gryphic and Equestrian.
“Uh, why’s this plaque written in Equestrian?” Pensword asked as they gravitated toward the machine, taking in the various murals and tapestries along the way.
One in particular showed Hammer Strike standing his ground in the fields of Fillydelphia, right in the act of killing the enemy commander. Next to it, another mural lay in wait with a little plaque below it that read The battle of the Melted Fortress. Further investigation revealed more scenes from battles Pensword didn’t recognize, meaning they must have come from the first and second Gryphon war. What was most worrisome to the friends, however, was yet another mural portraying a burning mansion. The smoldering corpse of a single dead Unicorn lay at the doors to the estate with scores of Gryphon corpses littering the ground with their wings torn off. The plaque below read Flame’s Fall.
“Despite my best efforts, that damned name remains,” Hammer Strike grumbled.
Further investigation revealed several weapons that Hammer Strike had forged lining the walls. Nothing of his higher quality, fortunately. They were obviously mass production pieces that had been distributed to the guard. Pedestals further down displayed higher ranking weapons. These were far more refined and well maintained, showing less signs of age.
“How did he get so many of your weapons?” Inigo asked as he peered at a particularly sharp falchion, then flew to a massive buster sword.
“Some of them aren’t mine,” Hammer Strike clarified, before pointing towards a few in particular. While these weapons indeed bore his mark, certain details were missing: a gem in a pommel, asymmetrical wing engravings. Some were even missing the wings altogether.
“Oh.” Inigo was silent for a time, and fidgeted with his hooves, before he finally screwed up enough courage to speak. “Uh … can I play with these forgeries for training, then?”
“As long as they won’t kill or seriously harm, I don’t see an issue,” Hammer Strike shrugged. “Though you might have to ask someone else as well.”
Inigo turned to face his adopted father, who was studying the printing press with great curiosity.
“So long as I am in the training room with you, that is fine by me.”
Inigo grinned.
“Uh, guys, you might really want to come look at this press. If the Equestrian translation is true, then this is one of the first printing presses ever made, and it has Hammer Strike’s logo on it!”
“They were using my mark?” Hammer Strike raised his brow, intrigued.
“It’s over here, on the side. Assuming it can be verified by you, then that means this press is actually yours. You built the first press,” Pensword said excitedly. Then he leaned in to examine the upper and lower cases that had been set up. Each had been filled with Gryphic letter dies. “They must have the original Equish letters around here somewhere,” he grumbled.
“I … don’t believe I’ve made one? Who knows. Perhaps I forgot about it or something.” He shrugged, unsure of what to think. It was possible, considering all the years he had bouncing around in his head, after all.
“Or you could have yet to make it,” Lunar Fang pointed out as she also examined the machine. “Either way, I think this belongs back at New Unity.”
“This one will take some time to pack up,” Grif noted. “These things weren’t actually designed for easy transportation.”
“Just remind me later, and I’ll help move it,” Hammer Strike said.
“You’ve got it,” Fox Feather replied as she looked at a tapestry of a downright terrifyingly angry Hammer Strike. Black clouds gathered in the background, though a closer inspection revealed they came from a glowing red light in the background. A massive anvil stood next to him with a glowing lump of metal as lightning struck it from his…. “Uh, why did they give you wings and a horn here?” She paused. “Oh, wait. This legend says you’re the son of the Alicorn of the Forge.”
Hammer Strike shrugged. “Plenty of legends and myths follow after me. Only some of them are actually true.”
“Yeah, we know. The real question we should be asking is how much of this stuff do you actually want to bring back? I’m sure Vital here has a copy spell he can use on the murals,” Pensword replied with a straight face.
Hammer Strike shrugged. “I don’t really care. I personally don’t want to be surrounded by images of me.”
Pensword looked to Grif. “What you want to do with it, then?”
“Sell it, burn it, bury it. I honestly don’t care,” Grif said with an easy shrug.
“I guess we’ll keep it here, then, and decide its fate later,” Pensword muttered.
Cosy was busy scrutinizing the image with the burning mansion. “Um, Hammer Strike?” he asked somewhat uneasily, “why are you burning down one of your fellow nobles’ homes in this picture?”
Hammer Strike let out a heavy sigh. “That was House Flame,” he started as he did his best to reorganize his thoughts and memories into something that would be more appropriate for the foal and present company. “It was a horrible noble house, full of crooked money and crooked Ponies. There were plenty of things that led to their downfall: treason, theft, selling information and Ponies alike without a care for whose lives they were destroying. They even sold information on where I would be to Gryphon assassins, who drugged me and dragged me to a fortress to beat information out of me. When everything came to light, I personally led the assault on their manor, burning it to the ground with the current head of the house, a deplorable stallion by the name of Promethean Flame, inside.”
“And I slaughtered his bodyguards before they could interfere,” Grif noted with a mixture of sadness and pride in his tone.
Anger and sadness mingled together on Cosy’s face as he looked up at the tapestry. The ghosts of the war in the Crystal Empire mirrored the flames that crackled in the embrasures on either side. “So he was like Sombra, then.” A well-timed sneeze gave him the opportunity he needed to wipe his eyes, before looking back up at the tapestry. “He got what he deserved, then, in the end, didn’t he?”
Pensword draped a wing gently over the colt’s back. “Yes, Cosy. He did.”
“I’ll never be like them,” Cosy said as he turned to nuzzle beneath Pensword’s wing.
Pensword pat the colt gently on the back. “I know you won’t, Cosy. I know you won’t.”
“Hammer Strike,” Lunar Fang called out, “Isn’t this one of the wall supports from Fillydelphia?”
He briefly studied it, before nodding. “Yeah, it is. Why do they have it?”
Lunar Fang looked at the board, but frowned. “Grif, can you come translate this? It doesn’t have any Equish.”
“Salvaged during the renovation of Fillydelphia, placed during the Third Gryphon war by Lord Hammer Strike,” Grif read off.
“Well, I guess this could be a donation to the Equestrian War museum?” Pensword suggested.
“Unless Hammer Strike’s emotionally attached to a large rotting pillar,” Grif chuckled.
“Sure.” Hammer Strike rolled his eyes at the idea, before glancing back at one of the bookshelves. “I really want a large rotting segment of wood for my office. It’d make a great scratching post for El Fluffy.”
“Well, if you’re going to cry about it,” Grif laughed.
There was a knock at the door as Jarvis proceeded to enter. “Ahem. Dinner is ready, Sirs, Ladies,” he announced formally.
The dining hall was massive, carved of the stone from the mountain around them. It was at least a quarter mile from end to end, with a large sloping roof hanging over them, and ten large columns running in two parallel lines to each other a hundred feet apart. Each was mounted with a large brass fitting that held a torch. Between the pillars, a long rectangular table stood covered in a red-and-gold velvet tablecloth, it apparently had been the only one that didn’t brandish the Bloodbeak crest on it. Several large golden candelabras were set along the table, giving the room excellent lighting.
The places were set with an entire set of formal flatware and cutlery, right down to dessert spoons and salad forks. The plates were silver with floral gold filigree covering the edges. The silverware was carved with the bloodbeak family crest and polished to a mirror finish. Two large crystal goblets, a champagne flute, and a smaller crystal glass of water were in front of each placing.
“This is what you guys ate on last night?” Grif asked. “One of these is probably worth enough to feed a village for a year.”
“Yeah … I don’t think any of us are used to these kinds of fine dining settings,” Pensword answered as he looked at his place setting. “I mean, well, you are right on that.”
“Maybe we should donate the plates to charity.” Grif chuckled at the momentary stagger in jarvis’s step as the first course was brought out.
“It’d be one way to get some money flowing,” Hammer Strike commented.
“And based on what you’ve told me, the people of this kingdom could use a little back pay,” Vital agreed.
“We still need to find someone to govern this area,” Grif noted as he ate the soup. “We can’t leave this place alone.”
“Well,” Fox Feather spoke as she settled in, and began to eat the first course of the meal, “I would say that we should keep our eyes open. Then we can make our choice at the end of the week, once we’ve had the chance to learn more about about the Gryphons living here.”
“Probably for the best,” Grif agreed. “So, Hammer Strike, thoughts on what you’ve seen so far?”
“It’s … different,” Hammer Strike shrugged. “I haven’t seen too much, to be honest. It’s just been the inside of this building. Kinda hard to judge just based on one place.”
“We’ll make time to see the village tomorrow,” Grif told him. “I think it would be best if we split up for that.”
“That’ll make things interesting….”
“Indeed. Kahn, you go with Vital and Trixie. Make sure they don’t get into too much trouble,” Pensword ordered. He looked at all the others sitting and enjoying the meal. “Vital, Trixie, what do you think of eating in the home of one of our enemies, and experiencing what a Gryphon King lived like?”
“Um … it’s … nice? I … don’t really know how to respond to that,” Vital said truthfully.
“Trixie feels that she has finally found the style of life to which she should be accustomed,” Trixie said in an exaggeratedly prim, proper tone, making it clear she was joking.
“Didn’t you live this kind of life before we met once?” Vital teased.
“No,” Trixie answered
“Not even when you were wearing a certain piece of jewelry?”
“Trixie though we were not going to bring that up,” she asked curtly.
“Not even for a playful tease?” Vital asked as he raised his brows up and down with a playful smile.
Fox Feather giggled behind a wing. “You’re learning, Vital. Well done.”
Just as they were finishing the main course a half hour later, there was a knock at the door, revealing a very familiar, out of breath orderly.
“Sir….”
Grif was gone.
“Well,” Pensword said as he looked to the staff. “Save some desert for Grif for after the child is delivered, okay?” The wait staff just nodded with wide eyes as they cleaned up the parts of the table the sudden wind had messed up, then relit the candles Grif’s exit had blown out. “So … do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl?” Pensword asked as he sipped casually from his goblet like nothing had happened.
“How is she?” Grif asked Kalima for the second time in three days, but this time the tone was more desperate as he worked on getting the mask on.
“Aside from crooning after you, things appear to be running rather smoothly,” Kalima said with a playful wink.
“How long ago did it start?”
“About the same amount of time it took for the messenger to get you, give or take a minute or two for your return trip. I think you may have broken the sound barrier with that one.”
“I missed the twins. I won’t miss this one,” he said determinedly as they entered the infirmary. The medics rushed about, prepping for the birthing as Grif made his way over to the expecting mother. “Hello, my heart,” he called to her. “Always with the surprises with you.”
“Of course. We wouldn’t want you getting complacent,” Avalon shot back. “May I take your hand?”
Grif gave it to her, praying that it would still be operable afterwards. “How are you feeling? Are you in pain?” he asked.
“Not too much so far. It’s possible the Winds just love me.” She grimaced slightly. “Or it could be the little one was waiting to troll me,” she grunted as she squeezed her husband’s hand.
Well, you are the mother,” Grif said as he gave her a smile.
“... I’ll give you that one, but only because I’m in labor,” she teased, then took a series of short, intense breaths as the contractions began to quicken.
“I’m right here with you,” Grif said as he put on a brave face, and smiled to hide the wince. “We’ll ... get through this together.”
“Good, because after this is over, I’m keeping you here all night,” she said adamantly.
“You're going to have something to show off to your family at the wedding,” he chuckled.
“Father will be pleased.” She giggled. “Mother and my sisters will probably spoil him rotten.”
They didn’t get a chance to talk again for a while. Avalon was a little preoccupied squeezing the life out of Grif’s hand, and giving birth, of course. It was a full two hours and one afterbirth later before the couple was presented with their son, a small ball of down and fur that was white with black specks across, as though someone had taken a paintbrush and flung the spatter on him. He had the same owl face as his mother, but his father’s piercing blue eyes.
“He’s beautiful,” Grif said as he looked on the cub. “Did you have a name in mind?”
“I was thinking Tazeer. We can call him Taze for short,” she said with a hint of a smirk.
“Always the clever one.” He chuckled as he kissed her and the cub. “Tazeer, my son, may your name cause your enemies to shudder, and your friends to rejoice. And may they sing songs of you from now till time’s end.” He placed a talon gently on the babe’s forehead.
“You know you love it,” Avalon returned. She smiled down at the cub, and cooed gently as she held him to her chest, where the cub snuggled up, yawned, and then fell asleep. “I guess I’d better hasten my studies at this rate. If little Taze here develops the gift, he’s going to need some proper training.”
“I’m going to go send a messenger to tell Shrial the good news. I’ll be back later.” He kissed her forehead one last time, before turning to leave.
“You’d better, Grif. Otherwise, little Taze and I might just put our heads together to find the best way to get back at you,” she said in a teasing tone. Her eyes glinted with just a hint of malicious mischief.
Grif chuckled as he made his way past the divider. “Winds, I love you, Avalon.”
“Jarvis … is this what I think it is?” Grif asked. A few minutes ago, while the group were exploring the compound, they found a large ebony stone door. It was covered in runes and old Gryphic text. Small cracks had developed in the stone, and were pulsing a sickly green.
“Um, this door has been sealed since before the Bloodbeaks acquired the estate. Master Graf was always obsessed with it,” the butler gulped.
Pensword shivered as his feathers bristled. “I do not like this,” he muttered darkly. “I may be a Pony, but this just screams bad things to me.” He shook his head, and sputtered. He could almost hear a whispering in the stillness, and that frightened him. He looked to Grif, then began running through the Battle Hymn of the Republic in his mind.
“Go no further, Pensword,” Grif said darkly. “And all of you Ponies here, draw the horseshoes from your feet. You stand in the presence of a fallen god.”
Pensword gulped in horror as he stepped out of his horseshoes, Fox Feather and Lunar Fang soon followed suit, as did the rest of the gathering. The foals didn’t have any shoes to remove, so they waited on the side for the others to finish. “I think it is safe to say you are taking lead here, Grif.”
“This is an altar to the Dark Gale, Pensword. It holds a piece of his being inside it, sealed away,” Grif explained.
Pensword’s eyes widened as he recalled the events at the battle of the evoker’s castle. “Grif … what do we do? Anytime I have seen hints of this thing, you go crazy.”
“Any who have spilt blood should not enter that room,” Grif said adamantly. Then he turned his piercing gaze on the butler. “What did your master hide in there, Jarvis?”
“I … I assure you I have no idea what you refer to, Master Bladefeather. Master Bloodbeak would never be so blasphemous as to use such a shrine as a hiding place for some lowly treasure.”
Grif grabbed the butler by the lapels, and held him, so he could look into his eyes. “Something important then.” He caught the butler’s eye twitch. “Something powerful. Something he knew I’d come for, perhaps?” Another twitch. “Something I’d want?”
Jarvis said nothing.
“Something I’d need?”
Another twitch.
Pensword paused as he looked around. “Grif,” his voice was tinged with the fear of a worried parent. “The foals are missing now!”
Grif released the butler, and approached the door. It pulsed angrily as he drew close. He attempted to touch it, but it repulsed him with red lighting that he quickly dodged. He searched around, and upon finding a loose pebble, tossed it towards the door. Rather than being repulsed, it passed right through the stone as if it were a mere illusion. “Damn it. Of course,” Grif swore. “Children haven’t spilt blood yet. They could go through.” Grif pointed to Bellacosa, who stood by the door rubbing a lump on his head.
“Yes, Bellacosa is considered a stallion in Thestral culture,” Pensword responded. He knelt down, and began to mutter a Thestral prayer of protection for the foals.
“May the South Wind preserve them, and give them strength,” Grif offered as he watched.
Lunar Fang just shivered as she began to pace, keeping her eyes on the door as she kept her mind off what could be happening in the passages beyond.
“Why would they do this?” Grif growled in frustration. “We could have figured something out later.”
“Moon River,” Pensword replied “She sees a door, she likes to try to find out what’s behind it, and the three sons are trying to keep her safe, so they most likely followed her.
The adults could do little but wait there tensely, until, finally, after what seemed like ages, the stone rippled as four figures made their way back out into the sun.
Lunar Fang descended on them. “Where were you? Did you have to go off to explore? Moon River, you know better then to run off like you did. And you three, you should have stopped her, not follow her in! Did you even know what that could have done?” She grabbed them all in a hug, and kissed them on their heads as tears ran down her cheeks. “Don’t you ever do that, ever again! Ask next time.” She paused as she looked to Day Moon, and her eyes widened. “WHAT IS THAT?” she practically shrieked.
Pensword just gave a disappointed look to his children, while Lunar Fang continued to wail off on the four. Fox Feather wisely kept back, letting the head mare of the herd do her work.
Grif approached cautiously, then gazed intently at the item the foal held on his back. “Where did you get that?”
Day Moon looked at the item on his back. “It was lying on the ground, and it looked like it was just sortof tossed in there, so I picked it up. It felt ... happy, if that makes sense. I think something in there didn’t like that I had it on, though, but it couldn’t do anything to stop us.”
The item glinted in the sunlight as Grif drew nearer. It was a small buckler, made of polished white metal with gold edging. More gold moved inwards, forming rounded intersecting lines to give the resemblance of an eye. At the very center, glimmering brightly where the pupil would be, was a single topaz. Grif drew his bow, and compared it the ruby. The two were identical in all but color. “May I see it?” he finally asked.
“Sure.” Day Moon shrugged the buckler off his back with his wings, and handed it to Grif.
“I am guessing it is important?” Pensword raised a brow as he looked to Jarvis, wondering if this was in fact the item Grask had hidden from Grif, and likely from all Gryphons who would seek it.
Grif turned the buckler over, and looked inside. Intricately placed runes pulsed within, running along the same lines as the eye. Light poured through them every few seconds. “That confirms it. This is the Eye of Agoran, the buckler made with the final gem from the crown, the topaz,” Grif explained. “It is said that this shield could block a thousand blows without so much as a dent.”
Day Moon was shocked as he looked back at the room, then back to Grif. “Uh … you want to trade?”
“Do you realize how valuable this is?” Grif asked.
“Yes, and I’m asking for something just as valuable. I want Shadowsbane. You let me have it, and you get to have the last piece of the crown,” he replied. “Is that fair?”
Grif laughed. “You barter like a Gryphon.” He reached into his pack, and summoned the blade from the mass of space within. “Hold out your hoof, Day Moon.”
Day Moon did as instructed. “Like this?”
There was a flash as Grif drew a stiletto, and made a small cut to Day Moon’s hoof. “Unfortunately, the choice isn’t mine to make,” he said as he unsheathed the sword partially, and held Day Moon’s hoof to it, smearing the blood on both the blade and the crossguard. The blade began to glow and hum, and the metal around the blood turned white hot.
Day Moon remained silent as he watched the blade intently.
The blood boiled against the surface. Finally, there was a bright flash. When it faded, the crossguard and the sheath both bore the crest of Day Moon’s biological father. As a final touch, a series of clearly visible letters had engraved themselves across the exposed blade. It read Day Moon Shadowsbane.
Day Moon smiled. “So, it accepted me, then?” He looked at the blade as his eyes were drawn to the tear-shaped stone. “What do I do now? Train with it?”
“That will be all well and good, young master, but the sun is still up. Please keep it down,” a surprisingly uptight voice penetrated the air, before Grif could respond.
Day Moon looked to Grif worriedly. “Of … of course,” he whispered as he put the blade away fully, and did his best to tie it to his waist.
Grif chuckled. “I forgot to mention that. When they were first crafted and enchanted, these blades were given the edge of sentience, the mentality of infants. But that was millennia ago. They have aged since then. Be ready, Day Moon, for sentient weapons are by far the harder partners to bear. Now, if you would. The buckler?” Grif extended an expectant taloned hand.
Day Moon immediately presented the armor piece. Grif then removed his left pauldron, and placed it on Day Moon’s shoulder to replace the buckler. It was a bit large for the colt, but he would grow into it. Lastly, Grif mounted the buckler on his now-bare shoulder. The topaz shone with a peaceful golden light as it refracted the sun’s rays.
“I told you you would need to show me your metal. I didn’t expect to see it so soon.” Grif chuckled. “You have a lot to learn in the ways of common sense, but you have heart, Day Moon. I’ll make a hunter out of you yet.”
Pensword nodded in approval. “I’ll give a pointer or two, but you’d better listen to that sword as well. Just ... try to keep sneaking out to a minimum. Please?”
“Jarvis, have someone seal this chamber. I don’t care how it looks. I want it inaccessible,” Grif ordered.
“Yes, … Sir,” the butler replied reluctantly.
“Good,” Pensword muttered, looking at the cracked wall. “Come on. Let’s clear out now. Move, you four. Come on. Follow Cosy’s lead.”
After a roll of a die, the party chose to enter the room dedicated to Pensword next. Jarvis had explained each of the three doors represented the three heroes and the threats they represented to the empire and Grask’s supposedly future rule. Surprisingly, this room was divided into two main segments. The left held portraits, tapestries, and documents portraying Pensword in his worst light: the slayer of Gryphons, destroyer of fortresses, bringer of death. In short, the Demon. The right, surprisingly enough, showed the Pegasus in a kinder light. Some of the paintings even seemed to praise his actions during the war, rather than condemning them. The back of the room was covered by a great canvas with a pillar in the middle that held up a full portrait of the commander in full battle array. Above the canvas, a small sign read, Thestral Library. Pensword raised an understandably surprised brow. “Grif, I thought Gryphons feared me.” He paused as he began to think. “Rommel?” he asked in Draconic.
“Respect,” Grif corrected him, “just like they respect any formidable opponent.”
“Right,” Pensword muttered. “I guess….” He paused a moment to gather his thoughts. “So I guess I am like Rommel.” He gave a light chuckle. “Well, let’s just explore a bit, and see what we find, then.” A bright red blush rose to his cheeks as he received a double-team kiss from his two wives in reaction to the contraction. Then he grinned. “Well, I guess I’d better start on the right side.”
As they searched the room, Grif found himself stopping in front of a portrait by a Gryphon artist named Gharenen Crackbeak. According to the information Grif had gathered on the male, he was an artist known for … unconventional muses. It seemed to be a portrait, but of a Gryphon Grif had never seen before. It was a male, sitting for a military portrait. He wore the old fashioned dress armor of the empire during the Third Gryphon War, with all the trappings of a field commander. His mix was an osprey and an ocelot with dark blue feathers and fur. His crest and the tips of his tail feathers were a silvery-white color. His sharp icy blue eyes stared out of the painting with an intense rage.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Vital Spark asked as he took in the painting’s broad strokes and stark colors. “It sure looks like this Crackbeak was going for a dignified appearance.”
“Trying to figure out who this is, or was,” Grif explained with a shrug. “I’ve never seen a Gryphon like this.”
“Well, assuming this is from the era of that war, maybe you should ask Pensword. He could probably take a guess who it is.”
“Ask me what?” Pensword suddenly said from behind them. “I already know one painting I am putting into my private study.” He motioned a wing to a smaller painting copy of the mural from the Imperial War Museum. Finally, he drew his attention to the mysterious Gryphon, and tilted his head. “Well, that certainly is an interesting subject.” He looked over the medals and awards with a scrutinizing eye, seeking out any clues that might assist in this warrior’s identification, and why he was here in Pensword’s section. “Hmm.… Some of those, I recognize, but these two–” he used a feather to point to the two “–I do not.”
Moon River hopped onto Pensword’s head, and tilted her head to the opposite direction in imitation of her father.
“Did you kill a Gryphon that looked like this?” Grif asked.
Before Pensword could speak, Moon River spoke up. “Daddy looks funny!”
Pensword’s head jerked upright, causing Moon River to jump up, flutter her bat wings, and settle back down on her dad’s head again.
Pensword gazed intently at the Gryphon in silent contemplation.
Vital shrugged. “I don’t get it.”
“Crackbeak was known for his … unique muse,” Grif said. “I suppose it’s not impossible for him to imagine this.”
“Well, it is unique. I guess we can take it home with us.” Pensword blinked as Fox Feather giggled, pointing to the sign beside the portrait. “It seems this painting won the painter and Grask a bet. Oh, it says Crackbeak had lived in the village nearby.”
“Pensword!” Lunar Fang yelled from the back wall. The commander in a matter of seconds, following his wife’s gaze. He sat down in shock as he stared at the wall, then sniffed as he wiped his nose with his hoof. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. He blinked back the tears as he heard the distinct sound of his family arriving behind him. “Fox ... how–?”
Fox Feather stepped up to read the placard next to the painting. “Presented to Sharp Talon Bloodbeak by Emperor Redtalon upon Sharp Talon becoming King. Came from the Emperor's personal spoils of the Third Gryphon War.”
The painting showed a simple stone house whose roof was not visible. There, standing in front of the door between two sets of windows on either side, were a familiar set of figures. There were Moonbeam and Iron Pen, snuggling each other as their wings embraced. There on the ground in front of them, a familiar blue colt with a white mane grinned from beneath the massive helmet that slipped to one side. On his right a cute little Thestral filly grinned, exposing her fangs as she flared her wings. “Whirlwind,” Pensword whispered. To the left of the young Pensword, his little brother smiled, even as he laid his hoof against the helmet, pushing it off to the side with a mischievous grin. “Moon Burn.” Pensword raised a hoof to brush the painting’s frame gently. “My family.”
“They probably thought it was valuable,” Grif said as he approached to examine the painting. “Art is generally considered to be the height of dedication. A brush stroke requires more discipline than a sword.”
“Fate must have put it here. I ... this is. That’s my family up there.” He couldn’t suppress the laugh anymore, so he didn't. “This is coming home with me, and it’s never leaving my personal quarters.”
“So that’s what Moon Burn looked like?” Vital Spark asked.
“Yes. That is correct. And the filly is Whirlwind. The two adults are my mom and dad, Moonbeam and Iron Pen.” He blinked the tears away as his smile widened. “This is my family. Lunar Fang, if you could take care of the painting?” The mare nodded her understanding as Pensword stood up, and turned to find a rather flattering and kind portrayal of the battle at Fort Triumph, painted from the viewpoint of a Pony in the midst of taking the first wall of the fortress. “Another good painting,” he muttered. “Hey, Vital, could you take that model trebuchet to Moon River’s room?” He couldn’t help but grin as Moon River settled on top of said trebuchet. Fortunately for everyone in the room, it wasn’t engaged.
“You do realize she’s going to use that thing to terrorize us, once she gets the chance, right?” Vital sweatdropped as he picked Moon River up, and plopped her on his head using his magic, then grabbed the trebuchet, and pulled it along behind.
Pensword waited until the Unicorn had left, before looking at the canvas cover. “Okay, let us now look behind this wall.” He reached out, and pulled the cover down to reveal a passage leading into the rest of the room. The area was positively lined with bookcases, desks, scrolls, and parchments. Some had been either weighted down on the desks or hung up on corkboards for later use. “Okay, so we found a research station,” he muttered as he moved over to one of the books, which had been written in Equish, surprisingly enough. He picked it up. “A Theory of Thestrals and their inferiority to Pegasi, Unicorns, and Earth Ponies.” He snorted. “Yep. Definitely written by a Unicorn.” He put it down on the desk without giving it another thought.
He moved to another book. “A Transcription of how to Hunt Vampire Fruitbats, by....” His voice hitched. “By Blue Vase, who interviewed–.” He put the book down gently. “Gramma,” He whispered. He patted the book lovingly with a wing.
“Thestral infiltration Tactics: Know Your Enemy,” Grif read a Gryphic titled book.
“That sounds good. Let’s keep it.” Pensword looked to the first volume he’d criticized. “Bring that one, too. If I find out it’s still in circulation, I am going to give a hefty deconstruction of that book. The record deserves to be set straight,” he growled, before he moved to a scroll that had a tag hanging from the wooden rod. “Thestral Legends and Myths.” He paused. “Transcribed from an older record, and kept in the records of….” He seethed. “FLAME!” he growled. “Flame had a Thestral legend scroll in his archives, and he dared to keep it from us, from Luna! He must have traded it to the Gryphons for information or favors.”
He quickly opened the scroll, using a wing to brush the parchment aside, and read the title to the first myth. “Why the Moon Cries? I never heard this one before. This … this must be a lost myth.” He gasped as he put it down. He moved down some more rows, scanning through scrolls, tactics, drawings, and other titles. Every once in awhile, he would remove another scroll or volume, and add it to the pile with the first legend scroll, increasing the lore and history the tribes would doubtless be grateful to have returned. Lunar Fang took up a post next to the records, keeping an eye on the rest of the room, in case any traps might be triggered or a spy try to destroy the records.
“He wasn’t making the same mistake made during the Third Gryphon War,” Grif said with a whistle. “Seems like he got his talons on every scrap of information he could find.”
“Well, the good news is that it means we can use his actions to try and claim what we lost.” Pensword frowned. “Well this is just lovely,” he muttered sarcastically. “Seems he saved a flyer that was blaming Thestrals for the disappearance of Princess Luna.” He paused as he lifted up another flyer with a wing. “By royal decree, the lands of Mountainside Falls, Fortresses Triumph and Lunar Fang, and the Mountains of the Thestrals are hereby off limits to all Equestrian citizens who do not have business, trade, or wish to immigrate permanently to the region. All Equestrians who are living in these lands are hereby given six months to leave and settle their affairs in these lands.”
“Wow,” Fox Feather whistled. “Seems like Celestia was either trying to stop a war or remove anything that would remind her of her sister.”
“I hope it was the first option,” Pensword muttered. He sighed. “There is a lot of history here. Too much to go through in one night. I want to pack up this entire room, and have it reassembled in Filly De Ys. Grif, are you okay with that?”
“I’ll have a special room set aside for you,” Grif promised. Seconds later, a paper appeared in a flash of dragon fire. Grif scanned it, then immediately burned it with real fire. “Unfortunately, I need to go look after something.” Without another word, he left.
“See ya, Grif,” Pensword muttered. A few seconds after Grif had vacated the room, Fox Feather walked up with six small books and a kindly smile on her face.
“I found some Thestral books for the foals. There should be enough stories here to keep Moon River busy for the rest of the trip.”
Pensword smiled as he looked back, he saw another divider with a sign above it proclaiming weapons behind another Canvas wall flap. “Yes,” he said tiredly as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Let us go read to Moon River.” They all walked side by side with books and scrolls laden on their backs as they left the room, and headed for the guest quarters. The weapons could wait till later.
Hammer Strike wandered back into the room that had been dedicated to him. As it turned out, it opened into a passage that led to an entire hidden wing dedicated to him. During the first general visit, he had noticed a few things were either off or oddly placed. He had requested Grif come back to the room after he was done in Pensword’s wing.
“What did you want me to see?” the Gryphon asked as he entered, closing the heavy doors behind him.
“Tell me, did you notice anything odd about this room?”
“A few things,” Grif admitted, “but I have no idea what they’d mean.”
Hammer Strike shrugged, then gestured for Grif to follow as he walked to one of the far tables. A small figurine of the Gryphon general he had decapitated during the war sat glaring out into the rest of the room. “I couldn’t help but notice some things that were … out of place, or didn’t make sense, like this figurine, which has a seam around its neck that’s got a small gap.” He tapped the head, and it shifted. “Why would some figurine have moving parts?”
“Search me. It’s not exactly something Gryphons do. Even children’s toys don’t really do that kind of thing.”
“There’s also the part that, you know, stands out a little.” He attempted to nudge the figure. It didn’t budge an inch. “Like, oh say, how it’s connected to the table.” He twisted the head around to the point where it was about ready to break. When he did so, a loud click sounded as a hidden mechanism within the room whirred to life. The bricks against the far wall began to shift as a large chunk of the wall re-adjusted, turning in on itself to reveal a hidden doorway.
“Now that … isn’t what I expected,” Hammer Strike admitted as he quirked a curious eyebrow, which was not to be mistaken for the eyebrow of doom, in the new entry’s direction.
“I guess we should take a look,” Grif noted as he pulled out a knife, before entering into the passage. Hammer Strike quickly followed suit. When both had passed safely, the catch of a release sounded loudly in their ears, and the bricks began shifting again, closing the passage behind the pair, and plunging them in darkness.
“Hammer Strike, a little light?” Grif asked as they fumbled down the passage.
Hammer Strike’s hooves ignited with a tiny ball of flame, lighting the room in a faint blue glow. After a time, they found themselves entering a much larger antechamber, which remained mostly shadowed in the dim flame’s light. The pair walked cautiously through the room, Grif probing the shadowy shapes, while Hammer Strike maintained their light. Eventually, Grif felt the sensation of cold curving stone. It reached up to just below his head. As Hammer Strike drew closer, grif could just make out the silhouette of his reflection on top of whatever this thing was. He stuck a claw carefully into the liquid, before bringing it to his beak for a sniff. He nodded, and quickly wiped the residue of the substance off his talon, before turning to Hammer Strike.
“Put some fire in this,” he instructed.
Hammer Strike nodded as he willed the flame off his hoof, and into the bowl. The liquid burst into flame with a powerful combustion, bathing the room in a bright light.
Grif nodded as his suspicions were confirmed. The liquid had indeed been lamp oil, a fairly large reservoir of it, too. The sheer breadth of the vessel was about the size of a kiddie pool, filling the chamber with light that spread outwards, awakening runes and stone carvings to reflect and amplify the fluorescence, until the whole chamber was visible. The room was split into three parts. The left side was decorated with several blue-and-silver banners depicting a crescent moon cutie mark. Fragments of armor, replica suits of armor, and many different weapons littered the area. Depictions of Nightmare Moon could also be seen in various tapestries and glyphs. Pieces of parchment showing detailed sketches of a familiar Alicorn were positively crammed with notes written in Gryphic.
The right side of the chamber had been decorated in a series of white banners with gold trim depicting a single sun cutie mark. This side also had replica suits of armor and weapons, mostly blades; however, it was also covered with book shelves filled to the brim with scrolls and books of all kinds. Many sketches akin to those found on the Lunar side lay in wait for the explorers’ perusal, while various banners and drawings depicted the Alicorn of the sun meeting with the many leaders of the other races.
The two sides met at a large raised platform, one side holding a replica of the solar throne, and the other the lunar, or at least accurate depictions of what they had looked like during the Third Gryphon War. Behind them, however, was a taller, wider throne. It sat directly in the center, and seemed to be carved of some type of stone they had yet to identify. The stone had been engraved with separations and markings showing numerous thin distinct plates carefully linked together. Eventually, they recognized the pattern for what it was: thick, powerful dragon scales, or at least a facsimile of them, neatly arranged and bound together to form a sturdy base that held a large blue cushion. Two medium-length armrests sat on either side of it. At the back, a “scale” large and thick as a Tower Shield had been bound to the base. The whole thing came together to create an awe-inspiring spectacle.
On the wall behind this throne hung a blue silk banner with gold trim. The symbol for Equestria hovered at the bottom as the images of Celestia and Luna formed the familiar yin-yang. However, what drew the pair’s eyes was the much larger and more prominent mark that sat above it, clearly the core feature of the banner. Hammer Strike’s mark stood proudly, large and intimidating, implying an authority and emmanence that trumped even that of the princesses. Weapons had been mounted beneath and beside the emblem along the wall: great swords, war hammers, halberds, and great axes. Drawings and notes coated any open area like wall paper, and book shelves stuffed with books covered the area with veritable pyramids of scrolls piled high into the towering ceiling above. Some of them had been torn to pieces, whether by age or by the rage of a Gryphon, the pair couldn’t say.
“Holy–.” Grif trailed off as he examined the room. There weren’t really any other words that needed to be said.
“I don’t know how I should feel about this,” Hammer Strike said slowly. “I also don’t think I should look at half of this stuff.”
“But since you're here, you might as well, right?” Grif said with a playful chuckle.
“Yes?”
“His family must have been trying to find a way to kill you since before the Third Gryphon War,” Grif noted as he looked around. “Doesn’t seem like they got very far, though,” he said as he walked to one of the torn scrolls, and tried to make out some of what had been written.
“How many years of planning? And they still couldn’t figure something out?” Hammer Strike asked incredulously.
Grif found a discarded scroll that had somehow escaped the carnage, and didn’t sit with its fellows in the pile. He unravelled it to reveal a pictogram of Gryphons and Ponies at war. The Ponies were winning, and being led by a familiar stallion with several arrows sticking out of his body. “I mean, it’s an early piece, so who knows how much is true, but if he wasn’t sure, he’d probably be playing to the idea that any legend about you could be real.”
“It’s sad that I have no idea what’s true yet,” Hammer Strike commented, still looking curiously about the room.
“He’s got a lot of stuff here: possible weapons, potions, curses, the recipe for the fires of tartarus.” Grif took the scroll holding the recipe in question, and thrust it into the fire, until it caught. “We don’t need that.”
Hammer Strike gave a faint shudder. “Yeah, please. I don’t want another dose of that. I can almost feel it, still.”
Grif dropped the burning scroll onto the stone floor, and waited until the parchment had burned to ash. “Probably have to destroy a lot of this stuff,” he noted absently.
“Agreed.”
“Then let's keep this between us for now. I’ll get an ops team down here to clear out, a select few Gryphons who can keep their beaks shut.”
“We should look through this all personally first, just in case of some … severe materials,” Hammer Strike commented as he pulled up some parchment, and promptly burned it away in his hooves. “Yeah, we should probably do that before we leave.”
Grif whistled. “That bad, huh?” He shrugged. “Well, we’d better get started, then,” he said as he grabbed another scroll. This was definitely going to take a long while.
Pensword stood at the entrance of the clan hall. “So, any last minute things we should know, before we head to the village?”
“We should split up, but anyone not Hammer Strike should definitely not be alone,” Grif noted with a stern expression.
Pensword smiled. “Well, Khan, we know you’ll be escorting our lovers,” he said with a smirk as he waved a wing over Trixie and Vital’s way.
“Pensword, I swear, one of these days I’m going to prank you so hard….” Vital growled as a heavy blush shone through the fur on his cheeks.
“Yeah, sure you are, Vital,” Grif chuckled as he balanced the twins on his back, and looked to shrial. “Shall we, my lady?”
“You had to ask?” she returned as she kissed him gently on the cheek.
Pensword just chuckled. “Hey, they teased me with Moonshade. I’m just paying it forward. And shall we head out as well, ladies?” he asked as he looked between Lunar Fang and Fox Feather.” He then looked to his foals. “And you three make sure to keep Moon River at bay.”
“Two wrongs don’t make a right, Pensword,” Vital pointed out, even as Khan made his way over to the pair.
“Let an old general have his lark, okay?” Pensword shot back. “Still, I hope to see some of the weapons and, of course, the local museum.”
“They have a museum here, too? I thought those rooms we saw last night would’ve been the main attractions,” Vital pointed out.
“That was a private collection. I want to see what they have in the public domain.” Pensword shook his head. “What about you two? Are you planning on seeing the fashion shops and blacksmiths?” Pensword asked as he turned to face Hammer Strike and Rarity.
Hammer Strike shrugged. “Wherever seems interesting.”
“And who knows, maybe Hammer Strike can unload some of his gold here. Faust knows he’s been trying to get rid of it all for centuries.” She giggled as she nuzzled up to her husband. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll find an inspiration here for my newest line of fashion.”
“Have fun, and good luck.” Pensword nodded grimly, before turning to address Grif. “Shall we head out now? I might look up this Crackbeak to find out anything more about his unique artwork.”
Vital and Trixie stared at the remnants of what had once been a great city. Old hay and feathers littered the streets, and rodents and bugs crawled and scavenged as if the town were their own personal trash heap. Khan kept a sharp eye on the populace as they walked slowly down the worn cobble streets. Roofs sagged above them, and many a Gryphon were heavily emaciated as they looked out from their nests. The scent of sickness, decay, and excrement hovered like a pall as the trio passed through it.
“I’ve seen abuse before, but this–.” Vital struggled to keep the tears at bay, both to avoid showing weakness and to avoid pricking the pride of any Gryphons who may have been stubborn enough to hold a grudge at his pity. “This is just wrong.”
“This is horrible,” Trixie agreed.
Vital drew closer to the mare, and nuzzled her mane gently. “You going to be okay?”
“Trixie will be fine. She’s read up on the Gryphon kingdoms before. This wasn’t … unexpected.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s welcome, though. All these people. And Grask was too blinded by his greed to see what he was doing to the people he was meant to protect.” He sighed heavily. “Say, Khan, do we know if this city has a church dedicated to the South Wind nearby?”
“Looking at how this city is, I’d very much be surprised to find anything larger than an altar left,” Khan responded. “I doubt they’d have been able to pay to maintain a whole church.”
“An altar will do, Khan.”
“Well then, let's see if we can find one,” Khan said.
“One of the citizens would know, wouldn’t they?” Trixie asked.
“That might not be such a good idea, Trixie,” Vital winced. “Anyone we ask will probably want us to pay them. What do you think would happen when everyone else sees that particular Gryphon or Gryphons have money in their current condition?”
“Be discreet about it,” Khan explained. He took a single bill, then rolled it up on the sly, placing it in his palm with hardly a movement. He kept it carefully concealed as he approached another Gryphon. He introduced himself, shook the Gryphon’s hand, then went about the task of explaining their problem. The Gryphon’s eyes slid into focus as he felt the bill, and he spoke rapidly to Khan, making several gestures before Khan seemed to thank him, and the two parted ways. Khan returned to the pair. “See? Not that difficult.”
“Much more so for a Pony without hands,” Vital noted, “especially one who was raised to be honest and forthright at all times. Though, I’m guessing Trixie might have had a trick or two up her sleeves,” he said as he turned and smiled teasingly at her.
“And when does Trixie not?” she returned.
“Why, Trixie, are we actually flirting?” Vital said as his smile widened, and he wiggled his eyebrows playfully.
“Trixie has been flirting with you for weeks,” Trixie responded as she turned to leave, flicking him with her tail. “If you’re just picking up on it, something’s wrong.”
“Ah, and yet again I am bested by a master far more experienced than I. ‘Tis the sad fate of such a lowly mage. Whatever is to be done?” Vital said dramatically as he drew near to her. “All I have to offer is but a small token, a trifle to so beautiful and independent a lady.” His horn sparked, and out of the air, a rose crafted from pure ice took form, then hovered before the mare.
“Trixie accepts this token.” The mare smiled as she took the rose into her magic, before kissing his cheek.
“Come on. I’d like to offer my respects to the South Wind and her daughter.”
“Look well, girls,” Grif said grimly as they walked through the town, taking in the rundown buildings and the gaunt-faced citizens. “This is why pappa needs to make sure things change.”
“I’ve seen desolation before, Grif, but this…. I have no words,” Shrial said as she looked about the squalor the once-resplendent city had become. Many a Gryphon glared mistrustingly at them as they passed.
“Did your father not tax his people harshly?” Grif asked.
Shrial shook her head. “Never to this extent. He was a cruel man at times, but he was fair to our people. He knew how to balance taxation with the welfare of his charges. One can’t exactly have a skilled band of loyal warriors, if they don’t have the strength to fight.”
“The problem is there are no regulations on a clan leader for how much they may take, much less a king.” Grif sighed. “And in the absence of proper war, it seems greed takes the forefront for many.”
“The curse of Faust in action,” Shrial said sadly.
“Hopefully these two will never suffer this degradation.” Grif nuzzled his daughters gently, even as the drew closer to his head for warmth and reassurance in this strange new environment.
“They won’t, if we raise them right,” Shrial confirmed as she looked to one nest in particular, where a practically skeletal Gryphoness lay with weary eyes, while a cub suckled hungrily at her sagging teats. Her eyes filled with pity for only a moment. A blink later, and her mask of indifference had again returned. “They won’t be long for this world, will they?” she asked sadly.
“Unless something changes soon, who knows how many of these Gryphons will survive the year?” Grif said grimly. “The supplies I brought won’t be enough for everyone.”
“We’ll probably want the children away from the town when the food is done being distributed, then. I’d rather they not see the fight to follow.”
“I had to try something,” Grif offered somewhat defensively.
“I know.” Shrial sighed. “I’m not blaming you, Grif. We can’t save everyone, much though we wish we could. We can’t do it all. It might not be a bad idea to bring these Gryphons’ conditions up with Daedalus, though. I get the feeling he’s unaware just how badly off Grask has left things in his kingdom.
“A review might be in order,” Grif agreed, “but in the end, there is only to be one answer to this. You know as well as I do that no system will last while we fight and squabble amongst ourselves. We need the Winds back.” He sighed, and shook his head. “And I’m still a long way from finding out how to bring them home.”
“But you found the gems. That’s a start, right?” Shrial asked as she leaned in to preen her husband’s feathers lovingly.
“The gems are the anchor,” Grif agreed, “but I still need to find what they used for a container, and the catalyst.”
“One thing at a time, Grif. One thing at a time. The Winds have been patient. They can wait a little longer, and I’m sure they’ll guide you where you need to go, once you’ve finished coming into your own.”
“For now, perhaps we should head back. It seems the only shop that managed to sustain itself was the blacksmith. Little surprise there, given his skills. This place is bothering the girls.”
“You honestly expected it not to?”
“No. I expected it would, but there is no reason to expose them to more than necessary. They’re still young.”
“True.” Shrial nodded soberly as they turned around. “Maybe next time we should let them stay with Avalon.”
“Maybe. I hope she’s had time to recover. When we get to the fort, it’s going to be quite the performance.”
“Considering the Winds blessed our unions, I’m pretty sure she’ll be up to the task. Do you really think they’d have let the weddings happen otherwise?”
“Probably not,” Grif chuckled. “Come, Shrial. I think it’s nap time for these two.”
“And quite possibly lullaby time, too,” Shrial added. “Care to make it a duet?” she asked with a playful smile.
“Always,” Grif said with a gentle smile as the two left the despair behind them, and returned to safety, warmth, and light that was their room in the cool stone and warm wood of Grask’s mansion.
Pensword and Lunar Fang stood in front of the local museum, or what had once been a museum. After exposing the children to the decay and sickness earlier, all three parents felt it would be best to leave them back at the clan hall. Fox Feather had opted to stay behind to keep an eye on them. Pensword looked up to try and decipher the text over the crumbling archway that was the museum entrance. Pensword looked to his wife with shadows swimming in his eyes. “Gryphons … heck, the Northern Islands were in better conditions during the Third Gryphon War.” He looked back over the ragged hovels the Gryphons called nests. While Pensword’s face remained grim, the softness in his eyes told just how strongly this scenery was affecting Matthew.
“Gryphons will survive. We always have.” The voice was old, dusty, and dry as a bone. The couple turned to face a large Gryphon with the head of a grey owl and the body of a cougar. “Can I help you?”
Lunar Fang spoke up for them. “We were wondering if we could enter the museum, perhaps gain a greater understanding of the history behind this town.”
“You have beaks?” he asked urbanely.
Lunar Fang nodded. “What are the prices?”
Pensword stepped forward, but Lunar Fang flapped out a wing to wave him off.
“Eight beaks per person,” he said flatly. “Donations are up to you.”
Lunar Fang stepped forward and looked at the Gryphon. “Are you the curator?”
The Gryphon nodded.
She slipped two ten beak coins into his palm. “The extra four is for you, if you would be willing to be our guide.”
He pocketed them with a nod. “Very well. Follow me,” he said in a slightly more chipper tone.
The two ponies remained silent as he walked up to the door, and unlocked it. Lunar Fang snuck a look at her husband and saw that the shadows in Pensword’s eyes had lightened somewhat. It would seem Matthew was willing to put aside his pity over the population’s living conditions for the sake of this historical prospect.
“After the nesting spires were abandoned, our little settlement was one of the first places Gryphons chose to settle. The area was easily defensible from outside attack, and held a reasonably stable supply of food,” he explained.
Pensword furrowed his brow. “Why were the spires abandoned? I hear they are very important to your history.”
“The spires where a tactical weakness. All our cubs were being raised in a single area. If the spires were ever taken down, entire generations could have been wiped out. Also, we could only build them so high, before their bases couldn’t take the weight anymore.”
Pensword nodded. “That … makes sense,” he muttered as he realized something that brought Matthew even more sorrow. They were standing in the oldest continuously inhabited city or townshend on the Gryphon mainland, and all that history had been practically eradicated by Grask’s cruelty. Eventually, they reached a mural portraying a powerful Gryphon. The winds swirled around him as he glared defiantly at the world with two familiar swords in either hand.
“In case you are unfamiliar with our history, this is Grask Grimfeather Dragonfeller, the first Avatar of the winds, and one of our people’s greatest historical figures. He was the first known case of a mortal Gryphon being allowed to wield the Winds’ power, and one of the few of our race to have ever killed a Dragon. Most battles between a Dragon and our kind required flights of Gryphons to have a chance to take the best. Grask, however, felled several vicious dragons on his own with nothing but his swords and the Winds’ blessing.”
Pensword knew only too well how powerful the avatar could be. He had no doubts about Grask’s ability to slay the creatures. He maintained his silence as they continued through what proved to be a surprisingly large museum. The exterior had been more for facade. The real treasures lay in the tunnels below. Considering the state of the rest of the town, he could understand why this tunnel system had been instituted. Yet even here, he could see signs of decay as supports and bits of ceiling crumbled. Two of the steps on their descent were more gravel than stone. As they continued on, Pensword noticed a door with Bloodbeak’s name over it. The curator seemed to take an extra effort to avoid the place, occasionally stealing an angry glare in its direction.
“And these are pictograms carved by Gryphons before the fall of Winds depicting the actions of Lord Hammer Strike during the First Gryphon War. As you may notice, the infamous Celestia’s Ghost rained fire upon our forces during the Battle of the Pale.” He gestured to one of the pictograms that showed Gryphons brandishing weapons at Ponies who stood on top of a cliff. A single pony stood out front, and had a hoof raised to the sky as fireballs fell onto the Gryphons.
Pensword’s eyes bugged out at the sight. “That….” He shook his head to gather his thoughts. “The first Gryphon War. We have so few records from that time. Discord destroyed most of them during his rule. Tell me, do you know how long the First Gryphon War lasted?”
“Seven months by our best guess, but knowledge of these records has degraded since the fall of the Winds,” the Gryphon answered honestly.
Pensword nodded his head. “It can hurt losing one’s history.” He looked one more time at the pictograms. They stayed a little longer, and then moved on to the next exhibit.
Most of the exhibit showed more pictograms, and a few works portraying bloody battles from the First and Second Gryphon Wars. Hammer Strike seemed to be a constant theme, though he wasn’t in every one. Still the more legend and myths they went over, the more fearsome Hammer Strike looked. Some depictions seemed much more emotional than Pensword remembered Hammer Strike ever really being.
By the end of this gallery, Pensword was more than unnerved. These paintings had shown a side to the Pony he had never seen before. The last image practically radiated hatred and malice. He barely held off the shudder as they passed into another underground gallery, this one filled to the brim with weapons. He perked an ear, waiting for the curator to speak again.
“These are recreations of weapons wielded in famous battles, some from the three great wars with Equestria, but many others from battles fought amongst our own kind. Dominance is a key part of our culture. That, unfortunately, tends to lead to civil conflict in one form or another. Just over here, we have the dagger that assassinated Emperor Flavius.” He motioned to one of the daggers.
“Just to clarify, is this a reproduction or the actual thing?” Pensword asked as he looked over the dagger’s wavy edge. The metal was completely black, and an ingenious mechanism caused it to sprout hidden hooks to grab at flesh and internal organs, shredding them as the dagger was removed. It was a truly sinister thing.
“A simple reproduction. The actual dagger vanished into the collection of some Gryphon years ago.”
“A shame. It looks like a good dagger.” He paused as he looked around. “I have a question about a specific emperor. What happened to Emperor Redtalon?” His eyes roamed over the racks and plinths displaying the replicas. Despite the fact they were all reproductions, a strange sense of antiquity filled the air.
“Emperor Redtalon was the great grandfather of Emperor Daedalus, formerly King Redtalon, until he dispatched Emperor Jarion with poison. Emperor Redtalon went on to live a full life, dying at nearly four hundred years of age.”
Pensword was shocked, but happy to hear at least one emperor actually lived to old age. He was also a bit surprised, wondering if maybe this was why Daedalus had been the way he was. He strolled over towards a large black blade, and admired its craftsmanship. At least, until he noticed the gem. He reared back, and whinnied. “The pommel eye moved!” he gasped out.
“Yes, that's quite a clever bit of enchantment there. A gem enchanted to follow you like an eye.”
“What blade is this supposed to represent? It reminds me of the blade talked about at the Grand Galloping Gala, the one Hammer Strike carries with him.”
“I’m unsure on the history of that one, the records were … lost with the previous curator,” the older Gryphon admitted.
“So, it is just a fun parlor trick sword for the guests?” Lunar Fang asked, eyeing the blade.
“Quite possibly.”
Pensword looked about the weapons. “What is your favorite weapon in this room?” he asked.
“Personally? I would have to say the Sword of Kessle.” The curator gestured to a two-handed flamberge sword. “Used by the hero Garon in the battle for the Lonely Mountain.”
“What is the Lonely Mountain?” Lunar Fang asked. “That sounds like an interesting name, and there must be a story behind it to make it such a favorite piece.”
Pensword sighed in relief as his twitching brows settled down. It was hard to keep Matthew from pulling a Pinkie Pie in the museum, especially after that name.
“It’s the name of the mountain Gryphelheim was built on,” he explained. “A single lone mountain surrounded by flatland. Easily defensible with plenty of hunting grounds nearby.”
Pensword paused. “I am guessing the original is considered a relic, and is held by the imperial house?” he asked. “It sounds like a founding of your capital kind of story.”
“No, actually. It was buried with the hero who wielded it,” the Gryphon said, somewhat confused.
“Sorry,” Lunar Fang spoke. “My husband gets some odd ideas, but can you blame him? We’re Ponies, after all. We’d never even heard of Garon until today. I hope you can forgive our ignorance.” She shot a meaningful look at pensword, and the commander locked his mouth shut tight.
“Of course, of course. Come, let us continue the tour,” the older Gryphon said as he led them further into the crumbling exhibits.
It was no surprise that Hammer Strike eventually found his way into a smithy and weapons shop. The heat of the forge and the ringing of a hammer on steel called to him like a favorite song. Inside, the large sand-colored building was a single room stocked with barrels and wall racks holding weapons of various qualities and styles. The cheaper weapons were held in the barrels, and not really sorted in any order, aside from ‘axes,’ ‘spears,’ or ‘swords,’ whereas the finer quality weapons lay on the racks, shelves, or makeshift plinths. Some of them held information on what made the weapon worth so much more gold.
When the bell above the door rang, the hammering slowed, just for a moment, before picking back up again. It stopped a few minutes later, and the bubbling hiss of the quench tank could be heard before the simple cloth that separated the two parts of the building moved aside. The Gryphon who entered was large, having a liger body and the head of a merlin. His fur was faint in some places where he’d obviously been burnt during the working of his craft, but otherwise he looked healthier than most of his neighbors.
If this Gryphon recognized the famous Pony, he didn’t show it as he lumbered up to him and offered a large set of talons. “Aidin Featherhammer at your service. Blacksmith. I also buy and sell weapons you have no further use for, and scrap metal, so long as the quality is good. If you're one of those Equestrian nobles, don’t even open your mouth about it. I wouldn’t change the prices if you were Emperor Daedalus himself,” he said flatly.
Hammer Strike gave a brief chuckle as he shook Aidin’s talon. “I can certainly agree with you on that. Can hardly ask full price without complaints from them.”
“Oh, so you're a blacksmith, too?” Aidin raised a curious brow. “How’d you get all the way out here?”
“Invited over alongside a few others to meet with Daedalus. We decided to stop by around here. I’m Hammer Strike. A pleasure to meet another smith.”
Aidin’s eyes widened a bit. “Oh, Winds. I’m sorry. I didn’t know who you were! Please, take a look around. If you need anything custom, just ask.”
“Will do. I’ve noted some interesting pieces on my way in.”
“Well, between salvage from duels or the battlefield and nobles trying to refill their treasuries, we get a lot of interesting pieces from all over the world. Gryphelheim is only a few hours away by airship, after all. Tourists usually come through here.”
“And with it, I’m almost certain of there being sob stories with them,” Hammer Strike replied as he examined a few mounted blades. “Always is.”
“Or stories about how their great ancestor killed a hydra with this blade while paralyzed.”
“You’ve gotten that story, too?” Hammer Strike gave a short laugh. “Small world, sometimes.”
“You make it seem like you’ve never done that before,” a third voice spoke up suddenly. Both the Gryphon and pony looked around, confused.
“You’ve got someone else in the shop?” Hammer Strike questioned.
“No one else has been here all day.” Aidin looked around with wide eyes as his talon clenched for a set of daggers sheathed in his apron’s belt.
“Calm down, partner. You act like you're being haunted or something,” the voice spoke again.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Hammer Strike muttered. “So, where are you?”
“Over here. In the barrel marked ‘Swords,’” the voice said. It rang with a metallic reverberation in a light baritone.
Hammer Strike glanced quizzically at Aidin, before moving over to said barrel. After a moment of looking, he grabbed one of the blades at random, and pulled it out.
“See, partner? I knew you’d remember me.” The sword was a strange mixture of an Equestrian longsword and a Kitsune katana, consisting of a long straight single edge that ran to a curved tip. The main body of the blade was blackened, but the edge itself had been left with the normal metallic color. The entire handle seemed to have been made of brass, or at least given a brass finish. A long plate ran down a sixth the length of the blade, supporting the back. This plate was connected by a series of four brass rivets. A fifth rivet connected to a loop that actually moved up and down as the blade talked. The crossguard was rounded with two rectangular points coming off the sides. The handle had been wrapped in a plain white cord, and while the blade was light enough for a single hoof, the handle left plenty of room for a two-hooved grip. The pommel was a simple cylindrical bit.
“I’m sorry, but … I don’t. At least, not yet?” Hammer Strike replied with uncertainty.
“That explains why you’re so much shorter than I remember,” the sword responded.
“What?”
“Did I stutter?” the sword returned.
“Part of me wishes you did,” Hammer Strike muttered. “So, you said we were partners?”
“Yup. I provided the blade and witty banter, and you provided the swinging,” the sword responded.
“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “With a personality like yours, I actually believe it.” He looked over to Aidin. “So, uh, you want cash or a trade?”
“I don’t even remember putting that blade in there,” Aidin noted. “Whatever you think is fair, I guess,” he said with a shrug.
Hammer Strike placed the sword down for a moment, before reaching into his coat. “Any preference?”
“Cash, I guess,” Aidin said, shrugging.
Hammer Strike pulled out a pouch of bits, opened it, and shrugged, before passing it to Aidin. “That seem good?”
“Yeah. That should do fine.” Adin gave a respectful bow. “From one practicer of the craft to another, thank you for your business,” he said as he took the money carefully.
Hammer Strike nodded as he looked back to the blade, noting it had somehow been sheathed, despite neither of the pair touching it. “When…?” He sighed. “Nevermind. Let’s just go.”
Grif stood before the middle door on the second floor, taking a few deep breaths as he stared at it. “It can’t be too bad, right? I mean yours and Hammer Strike’s were just small rooms. It can’t be too much to see.” He turned to Pensword almost imploringly.
Pensword raised a brow. “Now I am half expecting it to be three stories tall, and like that vault at the end of National Treasure,” he said as a slight smirk pulled at his muzzle.
Grif said nothing as he opened the door, and they stepped inside. It was, by far, worse than the he’d imagined. A positively cavernous room with a high ceiling reverberated the foreboding creak as they entered. The room was chock full of things: weapons, books, scrolls, art, sculptures, and….
“Are those … toys?” Grif asked incredulously as he examined the shelf which had been lined with figures of wood, tin, and plastic, as well as several plushies and Nightmare Night masks.
“Why would he have toys in here?” Fox Feather asked as she looked closer at the items.
Lunar Fang looked at them. “Should we create a communal toy horde for our little ones to play with?”
“If he was going mad, he might consider any form of research worth following, but….” Grif picked up a plastic figure, and examined it carefully. “This is truly excessive. I didn’t even realize these existed.”
“Well,” Pensword said dubiously as he looked at a towel that had a rendering of Grif’s face embroidered into it, “I know of collectors who are far, far worse back on Earth.”
“Maybe, but I find it rather disturbing that a country I fought against made these.” Grif pulled up a thin booklet with a caricature of him flanked by several nondescript Ponies and a giant Minotaur. Grif Grafson and his Irregulars: Operation Tigershark. Grif raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I fought against them.”
“What better way to get back what you lost in war funds than by selling merchandise surrounding someone you hate?” Vital pointed out. “These could’ve easily been used by someone to burn or destroy in some way.”
“You don’t want to know what I saw on some college campuses, while I was there. Let’s just say some folks liked a lot of red stuff,” Pensword said, only to be surprised at being kissed by the two mares. “But I’m Matthew,” he muttered, only to be kissed again, while the two giggled mischievously.
“I’d understand it, if they put me in a villainous light,” Grif reasoned. “The only time that seems to happen is when I make a deal with the devil himself, said devil being Hammer Strike.”
“Did I have a golden fiddle?” Hammer Strike asked as he looked up from his position.
“No, but you did have a silver hammer,” Grif responded.
“Fair enough,” he nodded as he continued his examination.
Pensword hid a giggle behind a hoof, before speaking, “Well, remember how Daedalus acted when you first got his letters? These could very well explain some of that. Some Gryphons might see you as a modern day Robin Hood, or an Ivanhoe. Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if some folks are trying to tie you to the first avatar now as an image for the lost glory, strength, and honor Gryphons had before the fall.” He smiled at Grif’s understandably shocked face, then shrugged with a knowing smile. “I went to a museum today.”
“Well, I suppose we can give the toys to the kids. Spike may like these comics. They seem vintage enough,” Grif noted with a sigh. “We can sort the rest of those later. I just wish it didn’t look like he robbed an art museum in here.”
“For all we know, he probably did, Grif,” Vital pointed out. “Modern Gryphon culture has tended towards that for a while now, based on what I’ve discovered in my research for the outlying kingdoms.”
“Seriously, did [i[any of these sculptors know what I look like?” Grif asked as he approached one statue after another. Some were clay, others marble, and others still simple cement. Each of them showed a different combination of bird and beast for his appearance. Some were fierce, others soft. Some small, and some positively titanic. Several portrayed blood or some other sign of a violent act in the making.
“Honestly, I doubt it,” Lunar Fang said. “Then again, they might have taken the romantic version of a perfect Gryphon to sculpt it.”
Pensword giggled from his place further down the rows. “Hey, Crackbeak is at it again!” Three different versions of Grif rendered in paint glowered angrily back at the laughing Thestral. The first had been done in an Imperial Gryphon style, with the metal feather as the focus for the piece, along with Grif’s raven beak. Other than that, it was the normal stereotypical Gryphon from Earth mythology. The middle painting seemed to show Grif as a Thestral, and the third … was just swirls of colors. “Can I keep the Thestral painting?”
“I’ll think about it.” Grif eyed the weapons wall. “I don’t even think half of these would actually work.”
“They didn’t have to. All the Gryphons had to do was give a compelling story that tied them to you,” Vital noted as he looked over a thick gauntlet with six divets in it that were missing gems.
“Except I never used half of these. I mean, the halberd? A warhammer? A scythe? An a–.” Grif stopped dead as his eyes locked onto something.
“And so the Gryphon is stopped in his tracks. What is it, Grif? Is it a trap of some kind?”
Grif said nothing as he approached the wall, and what lay on it. it was a large two-handed war axe, forged in a cruder fashion, like it had been put together by something not Gryphon. Chips, scratches, and nicks lined the blade, making it among the less attractive pieces in the room, and yet Grif stared at it with a devout reverence. He lifted it gently, and cradled it in his hands as he ran a talon gently over each nick in the head. “It’s … the old bird’s axe,” he finally said.
Pensword and Lunar Fang reached out their wings, and instantly yanked Fox Feather away. They knew what happened more often than not when Grif got upset.
“It’s the real thing. Every nick and scratch,” Grif whispered. “How many times I admired this when I was a cub.” His voice cracked as his hand clenched a little tighter around the axe’s handle. “This can’t be here,” he said as his voice began to shake. “This can’t be here.”
Pensword moved forward, his wings spread in a defensive stance to protect Fox Feather and Lunar Fang. Any fool could have told just how badly this one weapon was affecting Grif. And anger had never mixed well with the proud Gryphon before. It wasn’t so much a matter of if something would happen, only when and what.
“May you and all your ancestors walk the earth for eternity,” Grif growled to no one in particular. “I buried him with this. You desecrated his grave to get to me? Why? Why would you do this?” the wind around Grif howled with his grief as he held the axe. “He was my father!”
Pensword spat with Grif, while Lunar Fang spoke in shock. “That’s abhorrent. Completely uncalled for. The dead should– the dead should–.” She grit her teeth, unable to complete the sentence at the thought of the disrespect Grask had dared to commit.
Pensword shook his head, aghast. “To a Thestral, that means he and his family deprived the soul of their weapon in the afterlife.”
“I wish he was alive, so I could pluck his feathers, and let him live a day without them. Then I’d end his life ... slowly,” Fox Feather said.
“Someone get me a chest.” Grif’s voice cut through the air like a well-honed air slash as his body shuddered, and the winds died down. “Something fine, if we have it. I … I can’t pack this in a crate. It deserves better. He deserved better.”
Hammer Strike was the one to step up. Using his immense strength, he pushed one of the more refined chests in the room forward to rest next to the raven Gryphon. “If you want help with anything, just say the word.”
Grif opened the chest, and dumped its contents, heedless of whatever Grask may have stored there previously. All that mattered was the weapon he held. The chest was empty in a matter of moments, its swords and papers of authenticity scattered across the ground with hollow clangs, before Grif laid the axe gently in the chest, and then locked it. “Thank you, Hammer Strike, but if you all could just leave me alone right now, I’d really appreciate it. Please?”
Hammer Strike nodded. “I’ll be in the next room over,” he said as he moved towards the door.
Vital nodded as he followed the lord. “Let us know when you’re ready for us again, Grif. We’ll just be a call away.”
Pensword looked to the back of the room, where a staircase stretched to higher levels. “We’ll be up there,” he said. “In case you need us.” The three walked off to leave Grif with the chest and his father’s axe.
Two hours later, Grif appeared out of the room, the chest carried on his back. He’d said nothing as he went through the mansion to the dock, and onto the Gantrithor, depositing the chest in his room. When he reappeared, the fur on his face was wet. He’d clearly washed it to hide evidence of tears as he approached the others at a careful pace.
“We have one last thing to do,” he told them.
“Which is?” Pensword asked. His wings twitched in agitation.
“I had food and other provisions stored on the ship, before we left. It’s waiting under guard in the village. We’re going to take it to the slums, and distribute it.”
“Do you want Lunar Fang’s and my help? Or Fox Feather?”
“Only if you feel up to it. You’ll have to leave Moon River behind,” Grif noted.
“That should be fine,” Lunar Fang said as she approached. “Moon River is spending time with Her Gryphon siblings, and her brothers. That should keep her occupied long enough.”
Grif looked to Vital Spark and Hammer Strike. “You two coming?”
Hammer Strike simply nodded in response.
“Service is my middle name,” Vital said with a smile. “Right after friendship, and game master, and fantasy.”
Grif chuckled dryly as he led them from the mansion, and through the town. They eventually came to an area of the town they hadn’t visited. It had little more then the ruins of old houses and makeshift tents fashioned from whatever ragged cloth could be found. The residents of this area regarded them with suspicious, dead eyes.
“Meet the clanless,” Grif said as he swept a hand over the group. “Those who can’t make a living from a life of crime, anyway. Meet those our great kings would sooner have forgotten entirely. Gaze upon their kingdom in all it’s desperation and depravity.” Grif sighed as they approached a relatively held-together building surrounded by armed Gryphons bearing Grif’s crest. They recognized their clan leader right off, and opened the door to reveal several dozen parcels wrapped in blankets.
Pensword and Lunar Fang entered cautiously. Fox Feather had opted to remain behind. Her memories from the war were still a little too sharp at times, and she didn’t wish to risk having a panic attack or worse while they were trying to help. Pensword furrowed his brow. “Grif, Matthew is wondering if there are military skills that he could tap to train Equestria’s military.”
Grif shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple. Most of these Gryphons could leave the country at any time, and try to make a living elsewhere. No one would try to stop them, certainly. They stay, because of choice, because their pride makes them want to try and make a place here,” Grif said as he grabbed the first of the parcels. “To all Gryphons, this land is still home.”
“I thought so,” Pensword replied. “I felt the same way about Mountainside Falls. So how will we … help them?” The last two words felt wrong to say, but it was clear they needed to be said. These Gryphons weren’t the ones who murdered his family. They were trying to save their own.
“And home is always the hardest place to leave.” Vital nodded in understanding. “So, like Pensword said. How do we help?”
“To start, we’ll distribute what we have here, and then we’ll have the pantries from the mansion emptied to give to the citizens. It may not be a lot, but the food should help them all.”
“I’m game,” Vital nodded.
“Take a parcel, and find someone to give it to,” Grif told them as he took his, and scanned the horizon. He saw what he was aiming for, a small alley between two crumbling ruins that seemed to be tented off. Grif was certain he’d seen a small beak duck behind it a moment ago. Moving as quickly and silently as possible, he placed the bundle beside the fabric, and knocked gently on the side of the building. As he walked away, a small face looked through the cloth, and saw the bundle. Looking around suspiciously, the Gryphon cub pulled it in quickly.
Pensword and Lunar Fang looked at each other and they took one parcel each, before heading out. Pensword moved to the outskirts, as even among the Clanless, those on the outer reaches would most likely be the most needy. Eventually, he found a tent covering the ground. The feel of the earth, however, and the slight scent of dampness indicated the cloth merely served as a roof for a hole. He laid his parcel on the ground, and shook the tarp, before stepping away. He didn't get far, before a Gryphon that tailed him from the city tried to snatch the parcel. Penword growled, and snapped his wings open. The Gryphon turned, but grinned while using a talon to undo one of the stakes.
Pensword snorted, and stepped forward.
At that moment, Lunar Fang was hiding in a shadow as she watched a particularly rundown porch with a broken door. A small cub looked around suspiciously, then pulled the parcel in. Lunar Fang smiled as she turned around, and slipped away. A few Gryphons looked her way, but didn’t do much else.
Vital Spark levitated his bundle over to a group of cubs hovering around a mouse hole. He opened his mouth, about to say something, then thought better of it, and walked away to let the cubs divide the bundle as they chose.
Over the next hour, the group distributed the rest of the supplies. When they ran out, Grif announced to town’s populace that there would be more relief within the next few days, and promised for a change in the future. He begged them not to fight over what was provided, and hoped they would have the patience to wait for more. After that, it was decided to make a hasty retreat back to the mansion. They had only served a small portion of the population, and it was best to avoid trouble.
Pensword got separated, and when he joined up at the mansion there was a Gryphoness trailing behind him with four cubs. “You know the parcel? Well, three toms tried to steal from her, so I’m putting her up in the mansion.” His face was a veritable storm front of rage. The mother was little more than bare bones, and the cubs were borderline malnourished. “She is going to work in the kitchen to earn her keep. I don’t care if I’m breaking taboos. I will not see this family bullied anymore.” He snorted, and shook his head firmly as his face scrunched unpleasantly.
“Sadly, many of those families may not benefit much from our kindness today,” Grif said with a sigh. “You saved one, but what about the others?”
Pensword’s expression softened. “A Unicorn was walking down the beach when he saw a young Pegasus foal picking up starfishes from the sand, and flinging them back into the sea.
“‘Why are you bothering? There’s too many on the beach. They’ll just die. It won’t matter,’ the Unicorn spoke.
“The Pegasus Foal looked at the starfish in his wings, and looked out to sea, then threw it out to the waves. ‘I made a difference to that one,’ the foal said, ‘and that matters to it,’” Pensword finished his small tale. Then he whispered, “‘I made a difference to that one.’”
“Yeah,” Grif said, though his tone didn’t imply his agreement or disagreement, really. It was just kind of empty. “That's one way to look at it.”
“We will do more tomorrow,” Pensword replied. “It won’t be enough. I know it won’t, but Matthew will have a mental breakdown, if I don’t.”
“Yeah,” Grif sighed as they entered the mansion. “Tomorrow.” And he stalked off towards the docks, where Avalon, Cheshire, Gilda, and the cubs were all playing along the deck. He needed some time with his family.
Pensword nodded his head sadly as he slipped away to be with his own family.
Stats
Page generated in 0.054 seconds
Total duration
616 users online
899,737 hits today, 2,561,572 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
Felt like a lil wonderland in the middle, but then so much more came after and the ending has left me with a bad case of the feelz.
"i made a difference to that one" Huh great quote
Immense amont of world building preparation for the next trips back to the First and Second Griffon Wars at least, and leaving plenty more buried deep amongst teh shere volue of material that any other retcon already esixts wihin them, somewhere, even if not currently?
Wonder if Hammerstrike should implement a personal world line temporal symbol classification on his notes, so that others can prefilter stuff he sees to that which he has already started work on, having made a note of it, and keep the stuff that future him will have been working on in the past but wants to avoid the random closed loop information paradox problem?
Then again, following certain research Ive seen recently into random neural nets and power law activation patterns crossed with quantum entanglement accross time and distance, and higher masses can entangle accross dimentions, what we think of as an isolated closed loop could be an occurance of an interference resonance of higher dimentional structures. Would be about the third time Ive seen the effect accross multiple systems. And then theres L Space.
Just how much of that cities blood, lifeforce and very soul has been drained into building and sustaining that mountain fastness fortress and all its aincient terrible secrets and histories, and how would it even be possible to return even a small part of it back without turning it into a dedicated industrial, educational creation city?
Those food supplies are too large for starving people. a Full ration pack could pretty much kill most of those destitute through system overload, never mind the conflict of those who demand the power to be acknowledged as better by rule of brutality.
Matthew? Two words.
Berlin airlift.
You have the Gant.
Abuse it.
All it takes for that city to start to recover, is just one extra rat each a day.
Desecrating a fallen warrior's grave and an ancestors grave no less is nothing but cowardice, bloodbeak got what he deserved.
8450484
It depends on your point of view. Like to me? I would say dig up every grave and take the items. Why? Because the dead don't need items, but the living do. Having the items in the ground, wasting away, is a waste of that item and dishonoring the memory of the person that created the item. The item was meant to be used, not rot in the ground for eternity.
8450526
There is a difference if they just died on the field of battle, and were not buried with the weapon yet sure that works, but never desecrate a fallen warrior or soldiers grave, its outright cowardice, its the same as when pensword, grif, and strike came back from the empire, and pensword found a pony trying to pedal a sword claiming it was penswords officers sword, look at how angery the pegasi were when they belived it to be true. My mother worked in a cemetery for 11years of my childhood, it taught me to respect the dead, as ahould everyone else.
8450543
Let me point out a scenario for you then. A great evil is coming. It is unbeatable, unkillable, unstoppable. Nothing can touch it, let alone harm it. And the only weapon in existence that can, is in the grave of your most sacred and loved person of history. To get it, you would have to dig up and desecrate their graves. By you're logic, you would doom all of existence because of a made up belief.
In this story, the rules might be a little different because you actually have the dead as being spirits that can talk with the living. But in the real world, and in most other works of fiction, when someone 'dies' they cease to exist. That person no longer exists. They are just a corpse now. They are no different than a rock you find out in the woods. There are no spirits. There is no afterlife. There is nothing beyond that. And if there IS something beyond, it is not connected or effected by the physical mortal world. So you burying them with a weapon changes NOTHING, other than making that weapon go to waste.
The entire concept of spirits and ghosts and the afterlife is to trick people into believing their loves or people they like are going somewhere better, or those they hate are going somewhere worse.
So you want to bury and honor the dead? Do so. It will make you feel better. But it's not going to stop me from digging that grave back up if you stupidly put a powerful weapon or tool in it with the dead body.
8450580
It was a freaking war axe, its not gonna save the world. And on the subject of spirits, they do exist, go sspenda few hours in a cemetery one night, you'll see things that can frighten and amaze you. But in your scenario yes i would grab such a weapon, because that person's spirit would understand, but robbing a grave just to steal something for your personal collection is wrong, bloodbeak had no true reason to rob graff's grave, as i said cowardice. And if such a wepon as youve given a scenario for existed in most cases it would be somewhere hidden not buried with its owner.
8450590
I was never talking about Grif's father's axe or what happened in the story. Like I pointed out, in the story it is different as they actually have the dead and spirits.
As for your "they do exist, go sspenda few hours in a cemetery one night, you'll see things that can frighten and amaze you". What you have there is, well complex to explain. For me anyways as I don't know all the technical terms or the correct way to explain it. But basically, your 'Mind' is stupid. If you walk into a Cemetery believing in ghosts, you will find ghosts because that's what you WANT to believe. You'll see something, and to everyone else it will be a squirrel running across the ground, shadows from a bird or tree or something. But to YOU, it will be evidence of a ghost. You will believe it to be a ghost. And your mind will literally erase the original memory and edit in a ghost as being seen by you.
That last one is something scientifically proven all the time. You're memories, when you close your eyes and remember something? 99.9% of the time what you are picturing is WRONG and not what actually happened. But that's getting a bit off topic for this.
We're talking about ghosts. And ghosts have to do with belief. If you believe something, you're mind will only take in facts that confirm it, and will actively reject anything that disallows that. Why do you think there are many 'Sightings' of Ghosts, Spirits, Big Foot, and other 'Myths'. But there is no VIDEO evidence? Because a Video, doesn't get altered to match the owner's view point every time it gets watched. But your memories do. The most supersitious a person is, the higher the chance of them believing they saw or experience ghosts. Because they truly believe in it and trick themselves into remembering it.
----
TL;DR, your brain is stupid.
----
But ultimately, it doesn't change what I, personally, believe. Then when someone is dead. They are DEAD, they are GONE. So they don't have any need for clothes, weapons, items, houses, possessions. So if they get buried with the stuff, then it's 100% ok for people to dig it all back up to get those possession the person was stupidly buried with. Those items still have value. The corpse does not. You throw out trash, not useful items. It's no different than someone throwing out trash and someone else going through it hunting for items. Just one needs a shovel and the other has maggots.
8450630
Claiming its ok to rob graves makes you sound like an idiot, especially if the items buried are family owned items like jewelry and weapons, if the persons family or immediate loved ones buries them with it only they have the right to make a choice like that. But to outright say you can just rob someone's grave, shows how stupid you truly are, there are laws worldwide that have punishments for grave robbing ranging from fines up to death.
On spirits and supernatural superstition again they do exist if you dont believe me, why do people believe ouija boards are evil spirit gateways. Just because you dont believe doesnt mean it doesnt exist. Your like the idiots who say global warming was a lie made up by democrats. When in reality proof has been given, multiple people have seen the brown lady of Raynham, look it up.
8450655
I'm not going to continue this argument with you. It's clear to see you didn't read my post. Or maybe you did, and what I said was far more correct that you are willing to believe. Either way, we've gone waaay off topic of the story, talking about stuff that doesn't matter in any way.
8450680
I read you post it had little truth just random jargen thats iterated by physiologist to justify the world, when reality is not everything can be explained with science. Even you have to agree with that. On topic of the story, id like to know whats going on with flutterbat, and when is another human getting dragged into equestria, i got a feeling theres gonna be another one soon.
8450680
8450686
first off i'd like to thank both of you for you spirited enthusiasm too the subject and its place in the story. it warms my heart to see that people understand these characters well enough to start making such complex opinions on the situation. that being said i'd appreciate if the two of you could attempt to keep things civil.
ihtehaters1994 - you passion for the characters and what they go through always brings a smile to my face, and you are right desecrating a grave is a horrible thing. my father was a grave digger for most of my life and i helped him alot on the job. however i well point out that we have an entire section of science devoted to digging up tombs in order to better understand ancient peoples, archaeology, and jirodyne is right in there own way, necessity needs to triumph over sentiment and i'd point out grifs own swords where taken from the tomb of another, admittedly they where given too him by said spirit but the point is there.
jirodyne - i always appreciate your analytical view of the version for equestria we created, you can be a reviewer of few words but you seem to place the most you can into them and it makes me happy to know people like you are trying to approach this from a third person perspective because the world needs more people like that. you have a point about necessity needing to be taken into account and i can name several series where some of our greatest heros most important asset came from a tomb. (samus comes immediatly too mind). but understand that for gryphon culture this act would be considered one of the darkest and vilest acts every performed, akin to a viking robbing the tomb of another and in real life desicrating a grave can destroy family and/or friends of the diceased, i won't attach it to some ethereal element as your personal beliefs make it clear you don't believe in one and i'm perfectly alright with that. but take it from a sociological perspective, in society it is still considered an act that is disgusting.
i thank you both for putting time and effort into your thoughts and i well never discourage a honest debate, just please keep it civil okay?
- tealspeckles
--extended holiday cast and writer/creator of grif and the worlds gryphon culture.
8450898
Noted for the future.
8450898
I understood that, which is why I pointed out in your story's world my viewpoint would be different, because in yours the dead are spirits you can actually get permission from and can effect the physical world in some ways. Even in the real world it wouldn't be needed, as there aren't any unique and powerful items. Unless someone was buried with a nuke or something lol. But in most other works of fantasy, some of the best items found by both heroes and villains alike were always buried in ancient crypts and forgotten or ignored.
But yeah, I can understand keeping it civil, and on topic. It's why I broke it off in my last post when it seemed we were waaay off topic and weren't going to be civil about it anymore.
8470958
Also great story!!
As I had clocked over 999.99 hours on the game, I would have been embarrassed if I had missed it!