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Foreword605 words
Prologue881 words
Stratopolis2,956 words
Pileus2,760 words
Tonitri e Fulgur4,594 words
Nimbus5,460 words
Hengstead4,013 words
The Darkwood2,910 words

The Darkwood

28th Amber Skies, 380 AE

Hengstead was truly the last bastion of civilization and decency in Dioda as we forged onwards into the heart of the hybrids’ realms. While Gervasius may have impressed with his attempts at imitating Cirran culture to uplift his people, the griffons of the Darkwood Forest showed no such interest. In fact, these griffons are fiercely loyal to their pride and their traditions, and they have caused nothing but trouble to the Fourth Legion as it attempts to pacify the Empire’s new holdings.

Whenever we would stop to make camp along the way, which was often enough, the century assigned as escorts to my carriage would fortify the surrounding area, spending three or four hours on preparing defenses each night only to abandon them come morning. The centurion of our escort, a young stallion by the name of Dusk Strike, informed us that such precautions were simply a necessary facet of life this far east. Griffon marauders who refused to see reason, and whom believed the war still raged on, would often strike at Legion assets in the darkest hours of the night. Many good ponies had died over the past months to these honorless ambushes, and the legate of the Fourth Legion had placed the order that villages would be put to the torch in retaliation for these attacks. To my dismay, it appears that several villages were razed to the ground and their tercels slain to the last, the hens and fledglings sold as slaves [1]. This will certainly complicate my records collection, as I will have to consult with the legate to confirm which scrolls are still accurate and which have been nullified by his soldiers.

[1]: The legate of the Fourth Legion during this time left precious few records on his legion’s actions following the war, and Aureus does not elaborate further on what he and the legate talked about. However, it is safe to say that the pegasi probably overstepped their boundaries when dealing with their defeated but resistant enemies. While the pegasi often described the griffons as heartless monsters, the pointless slaughter they were often only too happy to perpetuate on their vanquished neighbors leaves me to believe that Cirra really needed to take a look in a mirror. However, history is written by the victors, and the pegasi in 380 AE were unquestionably the victors.

Solidus and Iustitia seemed to enjoy these stops, as to them, it was little more than camping and playing with the soldiers. For Electri and myself, particularly my dear wife, it was somewhat more stressful. Despite our escort, we both suspected that there were griffon reavers prowling through the woods around us, and we both feared what would happen if we were suddenly attacked. Thankfully, gods be praised, none of the monsters dared show their faces, not while we were protected by so many fine soldiers of the Legion. I felt doubly reassured in my request for soldiers to reinforce my bodyguard, and I slept easier at night than I otherwise would have. Suffice it to say, we were not attacked at all before we made it to the center of the Darkwood Forest.

The center of this forest, a stretch of hardwood trees that fill the valley nearly to the brim, is home to the ruling tribe of the land. I use the term quite lightly; the griffons are always squabbling amongst each other, and the ruling tribe, who simply refer to themselves as the Darkwood Tribe in disregard for the other griffons that make their residences in these woods, have long fought to keep their hold over their neighbors. Griffon politics are power politics in the most literal sense of the word, and only the strong earn the right to govern the weak. For the past 127 years, that right has rested with the chiefs of the Darkwood Tribe. But even now, it seems their hold on their vassals is crumbling. A defeated master is rarely a strong master in the eyes of the monsters, and though all their beaks are bloodied, the vassal tribes grow restless.

The Darkwood Tribe is a collection of a few hundred griffons, many of them hens and fledglings. The town is almost one with the forest around it, as its inhabitants do not often clear the trees around their homes, only striking down enough lumber as they deem necessary, and never all in one place. Apparently, such measures are taken as a matter of stealth and precaution; it makes it harder for raiding parties to spot their village from the air, and if they can force their opponents to fight on the ground, the advantage will slide to the defenders, who can turn the buildings and terrain against an attacking force. Now, however, many of these buildings were simply empty or occupied by widows who seek no pity, particularly not from pegasi, the ‘prey-beasts’ as they’re so fond of calling us. Perhaps it is only a fitting irony that the prey were able to collectively throw down the predators and leave their lands in such a state of ruin that they shall never challenge us again [2].

[2]: Perhaps Aureus’ words carry a bit of melodramatic weight to them, but he is correct in one assessment: by the end of the High Noon War, the vast majority of the griffon lands were left in ruin. Cirran legions would burn supply depots and farms alike, attempting to starve and force a violent population into submission, and they fought tooth and nail with the larger tribes to destroy their authority and cause their vassals to rebel against them. The actions of this campaign left horrific casualties in their wake, decimating the adult male griffon population and leaving a tercel to hen ratio of 1:3 by its conclusion.

When our carriage set down in an open clearing just north of the village, we were greeted to emptiness. It seemed that none of the griffons that inhabited this small village wanted to step outside to see us, and felt that if they could not fight us without being slaughtered to the last, then they would inconvenience us by forcing us to wait. Ultimately, the centurion had his soldiers start banging on the doors of the griffon huts to bring their population out for a full counting and to officiate the delivery of census records to my hooves. The entire population of this one tribe soon stood before me, my family, and my lictors in front of their great communal hut.

An older griffon stepped forth from the assembled crowd. I was informed that his warpaint marked him as the elder of the tribe, and his wife and only child followed him as he climbed the steps towards me. I could sense the anticipation in the crowd; this griffon was their leader, and all of the monsters wanted to know what he would do next. Would he spit in my face and try to split my throat with his claws? Or would he bow down like the beaten dog that he was?

When he finally stood on level with me and my lictors, his sunken red eyes glared at me like coals. I knew in that moment that he would’ve liked nothing more than to rend me limb from limb. In response, my lictors tensed, ready to cut him down before he could cross the mere wing flaps that separated us. But it was needless worry, even if we were surrounded by bloodthirsty creatures. He submissively bowed his head and handed over a bundle of scrolls. One of my lictors seized them and returned them to me for safekeeping, and I placed them securely within my robes. He said something in his tongue that a lictor translated to me as showing his submission to Imperial rule, and then he withdrew back to his people. I could tell from the weight in the air that his time as leader of the Darkwood Tribes was swiftly coming to an end [3].

[3]: Four years later, a tercel in the Darkwood tribe by the name of Eboric fathered twins, a rare feat for any griffon family, which usually births and rears one child at a time. Seeing his twins as a sign of favor from his ancestors, Eboric won over the leadership of the Darkwood tribe before challenging its old chief, a timid tercel by the name of Miron, to a duel. Eboric killed the old chief and in turn became the new chief of the tribe, a well-received change of leadership for his people. Miron had held his warriors back to limited guerilla actions in the war to try and protect his people, but such tactics were seen as cowardly and dishonorable, and the tribe was attacked and nearly destroyed by a cohort from the Third Legion in the waning days of the fighting regardless. In the end, he had saved no more lives than if he had fought boldly and bravely from the beginning as was expected of him, and his weak leadership had nearly cost the tribe all of its vassals and allies.

My business thusly concluded, I wished for little more than to take my family and leave the backwoods of the griffon heartlands, but we would be treated to another spectacle before we managed to leave. Not long after I verified the contents of the scrolls and personally inspected the property and holdings of each tercel in the village, the First Cohort of the Fourth Legion descended upon the town, some five hundred pegasi in total. I was met by the legate of the Fourth, who, after assuring that I had completed my task with no difficulty, once more reassembled the congregation of griffons. The townspeople, now twice humiliated in the same day, glared at the legate as he repeated to them through a translator the terms of their surrender and the laws they would now have to abide by in service to the Empire. He instructed that hostages would be taken from the nobles of the Darkwood tribe and all of its vassals in order to ensure compliance with the articles of surrender. In addition, the griffon granary reserves were to be emptied to 1/4th capacity, with all excess being redirected to Nimbus and the other areas of the Empire’s east that had been worst hit by the war. I wondered if in five years, there would be anything of the Darkwood left to count in the next census. It seemed to me that the legate intended on starving an already spent populace into extinction through the winter. But it is not my place to comment on such punitive matters as seen necessary by the Legion.

Of course, as was to be expected, his decree was not received well by the local population. Though they said nothing, I could see it in their eyes. Many of them, hens included, actively sought ways to slaughter us down to the last, despite our superior numbers and arms. Tercels clutched at knives and daggers hanging from their belts or merely flexed their talons in the soft earth of their village. But not a move was made, and for that I was thankful. I did not wish for my dear wife to witness horrible bloodshed like this, as any assault of a griffon upon our soldiers would likely have ended in a massacre of the village as our legionaries cut them down where they stood.

With the humiliation of the griffons complete, the legate of the Fourth dismissed them back to their hovels, which the defeated population readily accepted, quickly filing out and disappearing into the shadows within. It was a strange feeling to be looking upon a town in such state, for all appearances a ghost town with the exception of the shadowy figures that watched us through the windows of their homes. There was no sign of daily life to be seen, and I knew that it would continue until us pegasi took our leave. But with the Fourth still camped in the middle of the griffon heartlands, I doubted that life would ever return to normal for the griffons here.

As it was growing late by the time that my business in the Darkwood tribe was concluded, we once more set off again, looking for a safe place away from the griffon settlements to make camp. As I had feared from the beginning, however, our travels through the heartlands were not to remain unmolested forever. It was with bitter irony, or perhaps resulting from, that after our leave of the Darkwood tribe and the double humiliation of the griffons in this area that we were assaulted that night by a band of griffon reavers. The commotion woke me from my sleep, and though I ventured forth from my tent to see what was going on, I wisely kept my family safely concealed within. All around me, a fierce battle waged between the legionaries of our escort and a large pack of brigands and raiders. It was a terrifying sight, and not one that I had seen for a long time, not since my service many years ago [4]. Though I did not have to participate in the fighting, and though it was not a desperate struggle given the training and discipline of our fine legionaries, it still left a sizable number of dead after the fact, mostly amongst the griffons.

[4]: Military service, while not necessarily a requirement for pegasi when the Empire was at peace, was all but mandatory for a pegasus looking to advance their political career. With the amount of pride that Cirra placed on its Legion and serving in the Legion, a politician who had never fought for the glory of the empire would not stand a chance in an election against one who had. Aureus was a middle-aged pony when he became Censor, and had likely joined the Legion at a young age, fought with distinction, and then followed a path into a successful career in Cirran politics.

When the chaos had finally settled, and the surviving marauders either scattered or taken captive, the centurion of our escort quickly organized burial detail and began to question the griffon prisoners. In terms of numbers, we had lost twenty-seven of our sixty-four pegasus escort, while no fewer than forty dead tercels littered the grounds around the fort. Our brave, fallen warriors were cleaned up and buried, their papers taken so their families could be informed, while the griffon reavers were thrown in a ditch where their kin could collect them later if they so chose.

But as for the captives, I was later informed by the centurion shortly after their executions that they had been organized by some of the Darkwood vassal tribes to strike at us as we left, similar to a child throwing a tantrum and attempting to exact petty revenge upon a father after a scolding. The responsible tribes were identified by the war paint of the griffons who participated in the attack, and a legionary was sent to dispatch this information to the legate of the Fourth. I knew that the problem would be dealt with come morning, and so I slept easier knowing that justice would be done for the soldiers that had fallen. I did adjust my census records accordingly, striking out the names and numbers of the griffons in the offending tribes [5].

[5]: As referenced earlier, the Legion was all too eager to exact harsh reprisals upon the subjugated griffons in instances such as these. What Aureus quite clearly says here, albeit in a roundabout way, is that the offending vassal tribes would be wiped from the face of the earth in retaliation for the murders of Cirran legionaries and an attempted assault on an official carrying imperium. Whether these villages would be exterminated to the last fledgling or decimated and sold into slavery, we do not have enough information to say.

After a final tally of the griffon numbers, I was able to put a rough estimate on their population in the central heartlands to around 200,000 hybrids. Whether these numbers are accurate is anypony’s guess, much less my own, given how they tend to fluctuate on a daily basis. It is my belief that they will be inaccurate within six months, but it is not my duty to fret about that. My duty is merely to collect and record population and property figures, and that is what I have strived to do since embarking upon this journey.

With the bloodshed and fright of the previous night behind us, we set off again at the break of wan to press our way over the mountains and into Angenholt itself. I have never visited the capital of Gryphus, and I look forward to it with a sense of excitement and worry. There, more than anywhere else, the griffons are clustered closer together, and even though we have stationed both the Third and the Fifth Legions in the city to keep it under control, there are simply too many griffons to police effectively. I sense great danger in this seat of griffon power, beaten and bloodied by our last war, but undoubtedly not yet broken. It will be my duty as Censor, now more than ever, to determine just how strong that seat is, and if it will ever be able to challenge our dominion over the griffons.

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