Oh Dearest Father of Mine...

by ExaltedFiction

Chapter IX - Traitors' Caravan

Author's Note:

I have returned to lay waste to your boredom

Oh and from now on there will be a reserved comment from me for each new future chapter that will be published. Just so you are given the opportunity to individually like or dislike chapters if you wish and pass on criticism. You don't have to of course but it is well appreciated.

I got the idea from here: https://www.fimfiction.net/group/214603/fim-will-live-on-forever/thread/441233/can-we-please-commision-this

Finally, just so that you're aware, I've rewritten the 'Voices of the Father'. I've only added a few minor things here and there to accompany the new art it was blessed with and gave the thing something called grammar, so if you've already read the old one then it won't be necessary for you to read the rewritten version.

Unless? Nah I'm just playing with you... unless?

Under the rays of the sun that reigned all over, giving life to the land and to the creatures that inhabit it, there existed a quiet dirt road that was sandwiched between thick pine forests. The dirt road stretched far beyond the sight a person could see; going over large hills and flat plains alike.

However, the silence of the road would temporarily be tarnished, as a large group of armoured bird-like quadrupeds made their way down the road, escorting a griffon-drawn wooden wagon that bore the weight of a partially covered rectangular iron cage on its back.

These creatures were much larger and bulkier than your average equine, more so than your average earth pony. Their front talons were as sharp as mastercrafted blades while their back legs contained the average muscle mass found in a mature stallion.

Their superior bulked up appearance was only enhanced with the addition of their thick plate armor that covered them from head to toe, but with the only exception of their joints missing a plate or two, but they made due with chainmail.

On their broad backs, they each carried a pack filled with all the necessities; ranging from stale plain food to the tools required to set up an encampment. Pickaxes, saws, axes… each and every one of them made an ear cringing sound when they were hit up against their armour.

These giffons were equipped with weapons that ranged from swords to crossbows, that of which seemed to have been fresh from the smith. For either their weapons have yet to see the horrors of combat or that they simply took pride in the maintenance of their gear.

The boots of the quadrupeds marched onto the ground, leaving their mark and desecrating the road while the metal clanking of their armour rang out through the forest, disturbing the peace and quiet that has existed after the absence of the last group of travelers… if there were any that is…

Their gaze turned left and right, high and low, keeping a vigilant pair of eyes out for this road that would be a perfect place for an ambush.

Warriors - no matter how green from selection - would have much ease in a place like this, for the concealment the trees would provide as well as the short distance between the road and the treeline would allow them to easily cut down unlucky bastard who was on the flanks of the wagon, while the thickness of the trees would act as a natural barrier against any sort of ranged weapons… if they manage to retaliate that is.

“This has to have been the easiest job we could’ve taken!” A griffon said, resting the body of his spear on his body whilst he walked beside another of his kind, remaining behind the trap covered, creaking wagon, “Quick and simple, just the way it should always be!”

“Meh,” The other griffon shrugged, glancing at the sword that was contained within its sheath, “I prefer to fight something, get the blood rushing and the heart pumping. You know what I mean?”

“Come on Thistle, what’s not to like about a quick cash-grab?” He said, the sound of metal clanging as he nudged Thistle in the side, “We did what we had to with no effort whatsoever, in exchange for a big bag of bits to spend.”

“I never said it was bad Pontus, just… really, really… boring.”

“Oh come off it! You can get all the action you want later tonight after we turn in this contract to our employer.” Pontus with a sly smile, lightly pushing his battle-buddy, “Think of the chicks you could score after we drink a barrel of mead or two.”

“Pfft, yeah, I’m gonna pass on that. The last time you said that, we ended up in the woods with a pair of bows, a quiver of arrows and an arrow shot right in my tender part of my rear.”

“Hey, the doc said you would be fine.”

“The doc also laughed to her heart's content after hearing what happened,” Thistle proceeded to face-talon himself after he recalled what happened, “By the Gods… absolve me of these memories…”

Letting the silence take the reins for the moment, Pontus did his best to hold back his laughter, choosing instead to mess with his buddy, “Well, it seems like the Gods don’t like you, so it looks like you’re stuck with them, you unlucky bastard.”

Thistle’s talon returned to the floor as his gaze turned to his partner, arching an eyebrow, “Says the griffon who was born out of wedlock.”

“Eh,” Pontus shrugged, “I did manage to get that arrow right in between the plates, while drunk and under the cover of night mind you, so I think I’m pretty lucky.”

Thistle uttered an exaggerated groan, one that was so loud, he seemed to have unintentionally gotten the attention of someone, for their attention was immediately drawn to the iron cage as a long, low moan emitted from its interior.

“Well, well, well… looks who’s finally awake.” Pontus said before kicking the dirt of the ground as he jumped onto the wagon, the combined weight of him and his armour briefly destabilizing the wagon the moment he landed.

Wrapping his talons around the flat bars of the cage, he peered inside, catching sight of a lone feminine equine shaped figure. The sounds of her horseshoes making contact with the bars rang out as she slowly rose up from her slumber, flaring out her oddly shaped wings that didn’t seem to hold the patterns of feathers.

It was then she opened her eyes, revealing her amber coloured orbs with slitted pupils that were practically feline in nature.

“Hello there beautiful…” Pontus smirked, forcing a fearful look to befall the trembling mare, of who shrunk herself to the side, clinging to the bars of the cage.

“Feeling… alone in there? I wouldn’t mind providing you some company… if you know what I mean…”

“Pontus, leave the merchandise alone before the boss sees you, you godsforsaken filthy heated dog,” Thistle warned from behind.

“Oh relax, Thistle,” Pontus attempted to reassure, glancing at the griffon, “I don’t think she- AH!” The griffon screamed out in pain, releasing his hold of the bars the moment he felt a surge of pain shoot up signals from his talon to his mind.

Falling off the wagon, he landed harshly on his rear. Beginning to growl, Pontus felt his blood begin to boil while he heard some chuckling beside him. His eyes fell on his talon; the source of the stinging sensation he endured, there he witnessed blood pouring out from two holes.

Clenching his talon tightly, he looked to the thestral, eyeing the blood dripping from her fangs. It was then she hissed at him, flaring out her bat-like wings whilst lowering herself close to the ground, as if she were preparing to pounce on him.

The thestral remained in that position, appearing to remain defiant, but the continuing trembling of her body betrayed herself, showing her real emotions.

“Damn you, you filthy equine!” He shouted, rushing to stand up before lowering and pointing his spear at the mare, who gasped and retreated deeper into the confines of the cage, but before he could do anything he would regret, a dominant masculine shout compelled him to freeze in place.

“What’s going on here?!” The voice shouted out, sending forth an order of silence within the area and forcing Pontus to quickly drop the spear to the ground.

Ah crap… Pontus thought as he heard the ground slightly quake behind him. Upon turning around, his eyes locked onto a large figure, one that was way above the average size of their species, and the thick armour only made the figure look even bigger.

“Well?” The imposing griffon said, taking a step forward before leaning into Pontus’ personal space.

“Nothing Captain, I was only playing around with the Thestral and then she bit me, that’s it,” Pontus answered.

Smelling the stench of deceit from his claim alone, the Captain’s eyes were drawn to the spear that laid on the ground before shifting to the thestral in their custody.

He noted the thestrals trembling, swearing he could see her dark coat turning pale as if she just witnessed her whole life flash by in a blink of an eye.

“Is that so?” The Captain questioned, to which he received a nod in return, “Well in that case, play with your boyfriend here instead.”--He said, gesturing to Thistle--“The Thestral is valuable and is to be left untouched and untainted as stated by our contract, so she’s off limits to everygriff with the expectation of our employer. Am I understood?”

“Crystal, Captain!” Pontus shouted, mock saluting his leader.

“Good, but if I catch you trying to pull the same stunt again, I’ll chop off your talons myself, but for now…” The Captain then pulled out a rolled up brown bullwhip from his side,letting it unroll to its full length as it fell to the ground below, “Twenty lashings.”

Seeing and hearing what he was going to have to endure for pushing his luck, Pontus lowered his head, his eyes staring at the armoured greaves of his superior.

Lovely…

---

The thestral watched the scene before her, feeling the irregular pace her heart was beating at, imagining the disciplinary punishment she would witness before her own eyes.

From within the cold confines of the iron cage, she crept up to the door, keeping her eyes locked onto the soon-to-be-punished soul as the group slowly made their way to the treeline, soon escaping her view thanks to the large dull grey tarp overhead.

Although she would not be able to see what was to occur; the voices and the actions of the griffons were enough for her to paint a scene in her mind.

“Strip him down and tie him to that tree,” She heard the leader order, his deep and bold voice carrying the authority of a very prestigious general from a very disciplined military.

It sounded like Pontus’ equipment was thrown onto a pile, for the first batch of gear was muffled by the ground while the others were not, for the sounds of clanking metal and the jingle of chainmail filled the air soon after.

“Easy with that gear boys, plate armour ain’t cheap,” Pontus remarked.

A few steps were overheard, sticks and rocks being crushed under the creatures weight.

“Bite down on this son…” Came the words from a much older and gruff sounding griffon, “It helps… Trust me, I know…”

There was a brief moment of silence from them, the thestral could picture Pontus’ hesitance but eventually followed through with the other griffon’s advice.

Then came the sounds of somepony clearing their throat that was quickly followed by a brief announcement, “For the inability to keep himself under control. For the drawing of lethal weaponry against valuable merchandise that was to be brought unharmed and untainted to our employer. I sentence Superior Private Pontus of the Bastard Sons to disciplinary punishment… Twenty lashes… of which he will carry the sentence now.”

There was a brief moment of somber silence that felt like it lasted an eternity, but it wasn’t long until she heard the first of many cracks of the Captain’s whip, followed by many shrieking cries and the shouts of numbers, “One... Two... Three!”

Although the commotion outside would be considered disturbing and outright cruel to many, the thestral couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen to her.

They called me merchandise… What’s going to happen to me… What are they going to do to me?

Witnessing the cruelty of her captors, and knowing the barbaric nature of griffons, she couldn’t help but picture the many dark ‘what if’ scenarios that rushed through her mind.

Gruelling labour? Gladiator? Servant to some priss Highborn? Or… something far worse?

The mare felt a lump grow in her throat, and she soon came to a realisation that she had to escape before she was ‘delivered’ to this employer of theirs.

“...Six… Seven… Eight!”

Still hearing the cracks of the whip and the griffon’s pain, she jumped to action - under the assumption that these merc’s were distracted by the show before them - inspecting every part of the cage door, from the keyhole to its hinges, both of which showing no signs of weakness to exploit.

“Damnit,” The mare cursed, stomping her hoof, sending forth a metallic banging sound upon making contact with the bars of the bottom of the cage.

Though as she cursed under her breath and wondering what to do, the sounds of heavy-weighted footsteps drew her attention, compelling her to gasp as she realised that they were coming towards her.

Backing deeper into the cage, only stopping once she felt her rump make contact with the iron bars, her shrunken pupils remained on the door.

The door that led to her freedom, to her life, and to her future.

Soon enough, an armoured griffon came into view, coming from the right side.

His head turned to the trembling mare, who had her tail tucked between her legs and her ears flattened against her head.

“Don’t get any funny ideas, equine. Our employer is paying us well to bring you in and we’re very inclined on doing just that.”

The mare didn’t say anything, was it fear that prevented her from doing so? Or simply because she refused to, regardless, she held her breath, her eyes locked onto the griffon's own whilst she shrunk into the corner of the cage.

“Nothing to say huh?” He remarked, inspecting the keyhole to see if the mare had tried tampering with it.

Hmm… good, it doesn’t look like she was messing with it…

Done inspecting the keyhole, he turned to the mare, his face bearing no signs of anger nor regret, “Just be a good quiet equine and do as you're told. Don’t try to escape either, you won’t get far enough and you'll only piss us off.”

The mare remained silent, to which the griffon nodded and accepted as her answer before turning to his group and heading in their direction, assumingly to watch the show.

---

It took some time for Pontus’ punishment to have been served, much needed time that could’ve been spent on the road.

“...Eighteen… Nineteen… Twenty!” The Captain finished, taking a step back and filling his emptied lungs with much needed air as he looked at the scene before him.

Now, if the Captain did not have preexisting knowledge of why Pontus was kneeling on the ground and why his forelegs were wrapped around the tree, he would’ve assumed he was one of those types of griffons that hug trees and nature and whatnot, spinning their tales of ‘going with the flow’ or something along those lines.

But fully knowing what had happened, his gaze traveled lower, leaving Pontus’ upper plumage before entering the domain of his lower coat. Several lines, some deeper than others and some criss-crossing existing wounds marked his fur coat.

Open cuts that were exposed to the elements, all beginning to release a crimson liquid that ran down his body; only seeping into the fur once the liquid had traveled far enough.

“Untie his bounds,” The Captain ordered, watching a pair of his subordinates obey without a second thought, “You all know the rules,” He stated, looking to each member of the surrounding group, “Whatever merchandise we transport, whether it be living, dead, or inanimate, is not to be threatened or damaged, in any way, shape or form.”

Taking a breath, he glanced towards Pontus - of who commented to the griffons beside him whilst he was being lifted off the ground from his forelegs, “Was that it? Heh, shame… I was beginning to enjoy myself.”

The Captain shook his head, looking to his subordinates again before continuing his speech, “And another thing, we may be mercenaries, but our organization has standards. Break them, and you will be subjected to disciplinary punishment as Pontus before you. Now with that done and dusted, let’s get back to it!”

The Captain’s finished with an authoritative dismissal, trusting his subordinates with seeking out and completing their own tasks and duties, while he looked towards Pontus once more, who was wrapping tainting the cleanliness of bandages with the assistance of Thistle. Wrapping his wounds in white that was quickly consumed by liquid red.

Uttering a sigh of disappointment, he started to make his way to the cage, his heavy-weighted steps most likely announcing themselves to its occupant while he rolled up his whip.

His eyes peered into the dark confines of the cage once he had arrived, just barely making out the thestral’s figure that blended in the dark, practically becoming one with it, the only thing giving her away was a pair of seemingly floating eyes.

“Why?” She asked, voice breaking.

“Why what?” The Captain responded harshly, turning his massive frame to face the mare.

“...Why did you take me from my home?”

“Money,” He replied without hesitation, “You, a thestral, are worth a lot to our employer, to what reason I don’t know, nor do I care.”

“You shouldn’t do this. They’ll come for me, you know?”

The Captain scoffed at her words, “Who’s going to come for you? Your clan?” He paused, letting her conjure up her own sense of false hope, “Face it, they won’t come for you. Your clan wouldn’t dare step into the domain of the outside world, a world they have chosen to isolate themselves from. So tell me thestral, who will come to your aid?”

The mare remained silent, her pupils constricted to the size of a pinball while her feeling of hope became nothing but a memory, allowing the fear to consume her body.

She subconsciously brought a hoof to her chest at a snail’s pace, seeking comfort through the actions of grasping a certain item, but as her hoof encountered nothing, all alarms rang off in her body and she immediately looked down, gasping upon seeing nothing hanging around her neck.

“Heh, recognise this?” The Captain questioned, regaining her full attention.

And there, in the griffon’s talon, she saw what her hoof sought for.

A slim silver chain carrying the weight of a pair of crossed wings, its etchings were finely detailed, giving off the patterns of feathers found on the regular wings of the pegasi.

“You know, I’ve never understood why you hold these items so dear to your heart,” The Captain commented, “Your wings don’t even resemble the ones here…”

He then eyed the mare suspiciously, vigilantly watching out for her to give off any sudden movements or changes in her body.

“Are these wings meant to represent somegriff? No…” He smirked, picking the chain up with his other talon, letting the necklace dangle high, “It can’t be those damn pegasi, there’s no way your race would ever consider interacting with them.”

The mare kept her silence, sweat beginning to form droplets on her forehead.

“No, not them… but perhaps… something else entirely?”

Her shaky eyes locked onto his own, her muscles constantly switching to a tensed and relaxed state.

“Ah, I see…” He nodded slowly, “So answer me this… If they had created you in their image, why would they have your kind roam the dark, cold and lonely night while every-creature roams the bright, warm, and populated day? Why do you continue to worship and love them even if the feelings aren’t mutual?” He paused, letting his questions sink in.

“Have you wondered about this yourself? Is this the first time these questions have popped into your head?”

But as much as he wanted to continue, he was interrupted by a voice beside him.

“Captain?” A young griffon called out, getting his leader’s attention.

“Yes?”

“We’re ready to continue forward. We’re just waiting on you.”

“Thank you Private, I’ll be there in a moment. You’re dismissed.” He ended, receiving a salute from the Private before turning to the mare once more.

“I’ll now leave you to contemplate in your own thoughts thestral,” The Captain reached into the cage, just managing to squeeze his talon through the squats gaps before dropping the necklace in front of her, “Pray to them while you still have the chance, I doubt you will once we turn you over.”

Leaving the mare on her own, he crouched low to the ground as possible, preparing to take flight, and with muscles tensed signaling that he was ready, the Captain leapt off the ground and into the air, the flapping of his wings sending gusts of wind to the surrounding areas below, kicking up a wave of dirt into the air.

With the Captain gone, the mare rushed to reclaim her necklace, but unfortunately the mare, one her hooves got caught in one of the gaps of the cage below, compelling her to trip and fall just short of the precious object.

Though it appeared she had landed harshly, she didn’t seem to have recognised the pain, for her sole focus was on the necklace alone, all other concerns to her were seemingly secondary.

After pushing herself off the bars, uncaring of the marks she would've received from the fall, she finally retrieved her prize, quickly picking it up before bringing it to her chest and sitting on her rump.

It was in that very moment - of when she held the object with an iron grip, never ever wanting to release it ever again - the dam in her eyes broke, releasing a wave of tears never seen before, seeping into her dark coat and falling to the iron bars and wooden wagon below.

The sounds of her sobbing drew the attention of the rearguard, but even they refused to pay notice, choosing to favour ignorance instead, as their minds flashed back to what happened not too long ago.

Clutching the precious object in her hooves, her broken state was seemingly being pieced back together; her trembling and tears quickly reduced to naught.

For despite the circumstances she has found herself in; Being left alone, captured and contained in a cage like an animal, a miniscule amount of happiness found itself on her face, taking the form of a small smile that would be easy to miss and hard to detect were it not for gleaming white fangs.

She remained in that single position for quite some time, never once reacting to the rough road conditions the wagon found itself in or to the voices heard outside.

Eventually however, she found the strength to pull the necklace away from her heart, holding it in front of her for a moment before placing back her it belonged all this time.

Around her neck, where the symbol it bore was hanging low enough that it would always remain as close to her heart as possible.

The thestral closed her eyes as she felt her soul being cleansed, placing her forelegs in a ‘x’-like fashion on the necklace, pressing it against the tuft of her chest. Remaining as still as possible, she took in several deep and slow breaths, blocking out all sounds of the world around her and focusing on the only source of noise inside of her.

The smooth, rhythmic beats of her heart.

“Oh merciful Faust,” She whispered sincircly, ears flattening against her head, “The cradle of Hoomanity itself; The saviours and protectors of Ponykind…”

---

In the thriving greens that rested in front of Nequam, the cattle were seemingly doing their part, but naturally, most or perhaps all were doing it begrudgingly, showing no joy and taking no pride in their back breaking work.The sheer amount of their negativity could even draw the attention of wendigos, if they were anything but myths of course.

Meanwhile, while the cattle glared, gossiped or complained about a certain bipedal being, Apollyon made use of his hands, utilizing both to hold the axe and swing it at one of the many trees of the Everfree, only managing to cut it down after many muscle burning swings.

Silently yelling timber as the tree fell to his axe, he wiped the beads of sweat that profusely poured from his forehead, taking this moment to glance at the most welcoming and motivating scene to his left.

The two sisters that slumbered peacefully in the shade of a large emptied chest. His staff embedded in the ground beside them as well.

Celly, seemingly already taking her older sister's title to heart, shielded Lulu with one of her wings, wrapping her small dark blue form with her wing like it was a white feathery blanket.

The man couldn’t help but smile at the sight, though as much as he wanted to stare forever, he had to pull himself away in order to continue his aching. Thus, after moving to another tree that was sentenced to death, he lifted up the axe again, adjusting his form and bringing the tool behind his head before moving to carry out the tree’s fate.

But after only managing to get one swing in, he was forced to look away, eyes clenched shut as an intense pounding of a headache struck him without warning. In an attempt to alleviate the pain that has suddenly befallen him, he brought his hand to his forehead, expressing a brief pain filled groan while he massaged his temples.

It was then a brief flash occured beside him, quickly fading away and leaving Regana in its place. The wisp - whilst whistling a series of fast-paced tunes - approached the man, stopping to hover just in front of his hand-covered-face.

Her singing suddenly ceased at the sight of the man’s palm directed towards her, “I’m… fine… “ He assured softly, slowly collecting himself, “Just… didn’t sleep well is all.”

Taking several slow and methodical breaths, he returned to his full height upon feeling the pain beginning to subside, leaving his hand on his forehead a moment longer before letting it fall to his side.

“Return.. to your duties,” He ordered, not allowing his brief episode to get in the way.

Regana merely stared at the man with her non-existent eyes, refusing to even whistle her harmonic tunes.

“I’m fine, Regana,” He reassured, looking at the concerned wisp, “Just the lack of sleep piled on with stress. I’m fine… I’m sure of it.”

The wisp remained silent for a few moments, probably contemplating on Apollyon’s state. Eventually however, she whistled a somber tune in response.

“I appreciate the concern, but I do not need to sit down,” He declared, pulling the axe from the tree before having it rest on his shoulder, “Now, would you kindly return to your duties?”

Her once bright form darkened momentarily, ceasing to even emit sparks before disappearing in another flash of light, leaving no signs of her presence.

Apollyon exhaled a depressing sigh, slowly shaking his head shortly after.

But instead of getting right back to the task at hand like he urged himself to, he instead simply… stood there, eyes locked at the missing bit of the tree, staring for who knows how long.

Finding the strength to look away, his grip tightened as he looked into the dark confines of the Everfree, pupils darting all over the place, scanning every part of the perfidious forest for as long as he stood there.

Growing tired at staring at such a distrustful yet undoubtedly valuable place, he finally returned to his own self-assigned duties. Once again preparing himself to swing his axe as he faced the tree, not even sparing a second for its last rites before carrying out its sentence.

---

After enduring the uncounted hours of hard menial labour, Apollyon was left physically and mentally drained of energy and willpower alike. Dropping his rear on the top of the chest, eye’s turning to the sleeping sister’s next to his boots. He was rather surprised by how they continued to remain unaware of his presence despite the noise he created when he fell, only twitching their wings or shifting closer to each other before resuming their slumber, compelling a tired smile to take shape.

But as he watched them sleep peacefully, mind blank and idle with no purpose to occupy it, his digits subconsciously interacting with each other, his smile fading out of sight. Eyes diverting and locking onto the blue sky above, a million thoughts rushed through his mind, many of which undoubtedly concerned the fillies but also of that place and Hope.

Earth Pony, Pegasi, Unicorn.

Strength, Flight and Magic.

Three races, three teachers…

But was there enough time to search?

Even when faced with the welcoming blues above, he couldn’t help but picture its accursed skies. Replacing those above with those ever dreadful colours of purple, black, and crimson.

Then there was the filly…

A little girl, alone, in that… perfidious place.

Is she alone right now? Or am I still with her?

Is she in danger? Or is she safe?

Does everything there stop while I am awake? Or does it simply continue?

Is there something behind that sweet innocent face of hers? Or is she as harmless as she appears?

The man placed the palms of his hands on his eyes, letting out a long dispirited sigh upon doing so.

To think I have to conjure up these damn thoughts directed to a little girl;To imagine the possibility that she’s a threat in some way, shape or form… is simply just… unbelievable…

Dragging his hands off his face, his head to the staff, reaching out to it as it stood there in all its glory, basking in the light of the sun with its aura remaining dormant. Just mere moments away from grasping the staff in his hand, he froze, unable or perhaps refusing to complete its journey.

The man could merely stare at his hand as it remained hovering in the air, so close to feeling its body in his hands.

But he couldn’t… something was wrong.

His eyes wandered the fields around him, his gaze jumping from birds in the skies, to the waving trees and to himself.

It was then he noticed it.

He felt the sensation of the breeze hit him, but the sounds of the wind whooshing past his ears was muffled. It was the same with the chirping birds and the dancing trees; their actions were barely even audible, being muffled to a great degree that it would outright eliminate one of his senses.

His irises flashed, with a sense of dread washed over him, enveloping him whole. His attention being drawn to that same part of the Everfree of where he stared at recently.

It was then he overheard a… voice? A feminine voice that echoed inside his head.

‘Whose existence pervades all sacred life… be they loyal or traitor… living or dead’

“Regana,” Apollyon called out from within, instantly catching sight of her manifesting in front of him in response to his call.

The wisp hovered in front of the man, assumingly emitting her tunes while her form passively sparking with energy.

“That voice… can you hear it?” Apollyon asked, feeling a sense of relief beginning to combat the dread while in her presence.

Silence claimed Regana for a few moments, perhaps she was listening or searching for what the man was hearing, for her form floated in the air, unchanging in energy or shape.

‘Whose judgement is ever true and just… ‘

‘Whose fury is matched only by their compassion and love for us… ’

Regana surged brightly, singing a tune to Apollyon, before continuing to listen to the voice.

‘Oh merciful Faust… whose beauty is outweighed by her benevolence…’

‘...Send us a savior, a deliverer, to take us from our home and lead us to a land of peace… and prosperity…’

The voice ceasing, his hearing senses returned to its full might, being able to hear everything around him once more.

Chirping, chatter, delicate snoring, everything.

“Go. Find the source of the voice and report on your findings,” He ordered, speaking with a fire in his voice, “Proceed with the utmost care, old friend. Many dangers still lurk in this lawless land.” Apollyon then received his answer that was in the form of her glowing brightly before blinking out of sight.

Leaving nothing but minor strands of psykanic energy that quickly dissipated to nothing.

---

The caravan and its griffon escort remained in the grasp of the forest they’ve chosen as their route; the dirt road becoming more rough and harder to handle. Protruding rocks and deep ankle high holes in the road were only some of the things that plagued the route, disrupting the stability of the place.

The mercs were only able to make it so far before starting to get a bit sluggish, their muscles struggling to endure the physical strain of carrying all their gear for much longer.

From above, the Merc Captain could see the resolve in his soldiers being slowly drained from them, the eagerness and fire that once burned brightly in their eyes was now going cold; on the verge of being snuffed out from existence.

He also noticed a pair of griffons falling behind, it would be a crime if he failed to recognise them, considering he recently punished one of them and the other was his battle-buddy.

Suddenly, out of nowhere a loud snap with a series of aggressive shouting and cries of pain was projected into the area, drawing the Captain’s attention back to the wagon.

The Captain’s eyes were beset upon a wagon that was crippled on one side while the other was in a tolerable condition. Missing its wheels, it collapsed to the left, falling onto a griffon and pinning one of his hindlegs under its own weight along with the weight of the iron cage and its occupant.

“ARGH! GET THIS DAMN THING OFF ME!” The mature griffon cried, screaming his pain to the heavens above.

The others rushed to help the pleading griffon without even a speck of hesitation, some taking flight over the cage and wrapping their talons around its bars, while others stood to the wagon, ready to lift the wooden body off the broken griffon.

“Come on, need some extra pairs of talons over here!”

“Lift on three!”

“Altogether! One, two, THREE!”

With their combined teamwork, the wagon and cage was lifted off the broken griffon, of who announced his pain for the whole world to hear. With him free the youngest of the group was able to drag him out of harm's way allowing the others to release their defective means of transportation.

The Captain landed beside them, looking to the broken griffon as he tried to move parts of his crushed body.

“Hold his talons down! Now!” He commanded, pushing the fallen griffon to the dirt and placing his weight upon him while the others obeyed, “Calm down and concentrate on your breathing, the more you move, the more it's going to hurt.”

Heeding the words of his superior, his once rushed irregular paced breathing slowly transitioned into slow methodical ones.

“Good…” The Captain nodded, taking his chance to look to the lower body of his fallen comrade.

From the surface, his armour was dented and crushed inwards, but its removal would be advised to fully inspect the condition of his leg.

“Alright, this looks like an unscheduled stop lads,” He said, hearing a set of agreeing murmurs and seeing some nodding, “But priorities first, I need that cage off the wagon, an inspection to see if it can be salvaged and a griffon to watch over our fallen comrade.”

Hearing a set of tasks needed urgently done, a number of his mercs took the initiative, jumping to it with the purpose of getting them done as quickly and carefully as possible. Naturally their fallen comrade was treated with more care than the others, being dragged to the sidelines in order for him to not to get in the way of the others.

“As for the rest of you,” The Captain continued, eyes glancing to a falling sun, “You all know your assigned duties, so get to it.”

With the promise of rest just over the horizon, these exhausted mercs summoned every last bit of their dwindling strength, each and every one of them rushing to put down their packs beside the wagon before heading out to do their part for the group. But as the others grabbed their tools to cut down trees, or set up a campfire pit with a set of cooking equipment beside it, Pontus and Thistle finally caught up to the group, the former groaning and hissing as the latter assisted him in taking off his uncomforting gear.

“Damn, hope it aint too bad,” Pontus remarked, watching the fallen griffon being cared for by another, “It looked like it hurt.”

“Luckily it was just the leg and nothing more, now hurry up and remove your armour, I need to check those bandages.”

“Yeah yeah, just watch the tail alright?”

Managing to successfully remove Pontus’ armour without (much) pain or issue, Thistle inspected the condition of the bandages wrapped around his friend’s body, noting down the rapid degrading of their bloodied forms after a short journey.

“It’s alright for now, but we’ll have to get them changed in the morning.”

“Anything else, sweetheart?” Pontus smirked.

“Unless you want to die from an infection, DO NOT get them dirty or wet. Otherwise I’ll be dragging your body back home to your sister.”

“Oh, it’s nice to know you care, besides I’m just foraging for whatever food we can find here,” He shrugged, “Can’t possibly be too hard.”

Thistle sighed, planting a talon on his forehead, “And yet you still manage to amaze me by doing the opposite of what I advise against,”

“I swear, it was one time.”

“You’ve said that for the past five time now, Pontus. I- urgh, nevermind,” Thistle left, uttering an annoyed groan, only turning to face his friend after retrieving a spear and a pair of empty buckets stacked upon one another, of which he gave Pontus to, “Come on, let’s go.” He said, bringing his friend within the confines of the forest.

---

After passing on the menial but essential tasks needed for the construction of the camp, the Merc Captain - frustrated and annoyed after encountering a series of unfortunate events that would most likely severely hinder their progress - needed to check up on the merchandise, any injuries she may have suffered would most likely lead to a down payment, or worse.

Arriving at the front of the cage, chest puffed out and head standing tall, he looked into the tarp covered cage, his eyes once again just barely making out the equine shape of the thestral as she sat in the back corner, back facing him.

What is she doing?

With curiosity taking control, he snuck to the side to where the thestral would be, his movements were slow and careful, hoping she would remain oblivious to his large and heavy-weighted presence.

Upon taking one more step forward, he leaned in slowly once he was close enough to eavesdrop on her, only to be confronted with some form of religious praising and pleading, wishing for some sort of divine intervention from a saviour that was never to come.

The Captain scoffed at hearing the thestral’s nonsense. Disregarding it as nothing that required his attention.

Unsurprisingly, it didn’t take long for the griffon mercs to make a clearing for the camp, it was quick and efficient under the Captain’s supervision; always passing on the next set of tasks to be completed if a merc completed theirs sooner than expected.

And with the darkness quickly washing over the land, their campfire became a beacon of light in the dark heart of the woods. Chirping crickets and the crackling of the campfire replacing the songs of birds in such a treacherous place.

Those mercs with roaring stomachs and drooling beaks congregated to the assigned cook of the group, passing their quick but most sincere thanks to him before finding a spot to consume a well-earned meal - be it alone, with a battle-buddy, or with a small group.

Some other griffons didn’t have the luxury to unwind and eat with their group however, for they had an important task assigned to them: aerial patrol around the camp or the first watch on the merchandise.

Now watching over the merchandise would be easy, especially since they were still able to get a warm meal in their bellies but over the amount of ear bashing nonsense the thestral uttered from her mouth would only make the duty just barely tolerable.

So naturally, aerial patrol was perhaps easier to endure, although you have to suffer through with a cold empty stomach. But nogriff ever said anything about sneaking away a few pieces of rock hard, bland stale bread to be eaten while they carried out their assignments.

Thistle returned to the camp with Pontus - both in a state that resembled most of those who returned earlier; Absolutely deprived of the resolve and the will to to carry out another task and somehow looking worse compared to when they left. In complete silence, they returned bearing gifts to the cook.

One bucket barely filled with berries of varying colours and another not carrying anything at all.

But despite such a small tribute, the cook graciously accepted such a fine gift for the group, pouring them each some sort of stew from the boiling pot as thanks before taking the buckets off their talons and returning to his meal.

Pontus turned about upon receiving his meal, leaving Thistle to pass their most sincere thanks to the cook before joining him under a stretched out tarp that was held up from several trees and branches; acting as some sort of hastily set up shelter that could shield a number of occupants from the affects of the weather if it were to attack them with hard rain or blistering winds and the debris it would send their way.

Pontus scooped up a part of his meal with a crude wooden spoon, bringing its warm substance into the confines of his beak as his friend sat down beside him. Pontus took his time with his meal, savouring its taste as it remained in his beak before swallowing it whole, feeling a warm sensation run down his throat.

“Better than plain bread and berries,” He remarked, scooping up more from the bowl.

“No arguments here, I can’t wait to get back to the guild to get our pay.”

“Food Thistle. Real. Hot. Food. ALL day long,” Looking at the stars above, his mind picturing such possibilities, “I wonder if Vilod would still make us that mead mixed with juniper berries…”

“After we wrecked her tavern?” Thistle scoffed, “Not a chance, we still owe her a lot before she starts serving us again.”

“Yeah, that is true… But we should be able to pay most of our debt off with this job alone. Don’t you think?”

Thistle’s eyes locked onto Pontus’ own pair for a brief moment, he opened his beak to say something but held his tongue, his thoughts wandering in dark places.

“Speaking of money…” He finally said, gaze being pulled to the iron, tarp-covered cage that had remained in the centre of the dirt road, “A lot of bits for a single thestral… Don’t you think?”

Pontus followed his friend’s gaze, eyes widening in an instant, “A bit too much if you ask me,” He whispered cautiously, diverting his gaze to the other mercs in his group quickly, “Our employer sure does her badly. Paying enough upfront to outright buy our silence as well…and let’s not mention the agent they sent ahead.”

“I know, and it has me… a bit on edge,” Thistle admitted, matching the volume of his voice to Pontus’, “All this funding and griffonpower - All this, just for a single mare.”

“She’s important to somegriff, but I think it's better if we don’t know anything about her or the job. It might get us killed.”

“Maybe… but it doesn’t change anything.”

Out of nowhere, and without any signs, a collective shiver ran down their spines in unison. Their body temperatures plummeted below average, ignoring their layers, and clouds emitting out of their beaks, “D-damn, y-you… f-feel that?” Pontus stammered, dropping his emptied bowl onto the drop before wrapping his talons around his forelegs.

“Y-yeah…” Thistle shivered, eyes looking to his friend, “The hell was that?”

“I don’t know…” Pontus shrugged, diverting his gaze to the other griffons in the camp.

Unfortunately, it seemed everygriffon in the camp experienced the same phenomenon they did. Their own temperatures matching theirs, regardless if they were by the fire, and momentarily turning each of them into cloud breathing dragons.

Though strangely enough, the cold wave left as quickly as it arrived, allowing their temperatures to rise back to a nominal level. But as much as someone would expect for relief to claim them, these mercs were only left with a sense of dread.

Thistle and Pontus knew the look on everygriffons face when they turned towards them; it was - without a speck of a doubt - a face consumed by fear. The emotion itself being so powerful, predators would be able to smell it from quite a ways away.

Morale dropped far deeper than the depths of Hell itself, their eyes darted all over the camp as the chirping of the crickets ceased and the sounds of the cracking flames and their own heartbeats continued.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this…” A merc commented, unintentionally spiking a deeper fear amongst his comrades.

“Boy you’ve always got a bad feeling about something,” The Merc Captain said.

“But sir, there’s no way the temperature would just drop like that…”

“Y-yeah…” Came the voice of a much younger griffon, speaking more once he stood up and made his way beside the campfire, quickly becoming the centre of attention, “I-I’ve only h-heard such things occurring when… the ‘Spirits of Boreas’ are near…”

Immediately, a collective number of annoyed groans was uttered amongst the group, alongside a few comments.

“Here we go again…”

“Oh Dyauspitah spare us…”

“What’s the kid got to say about them this time…”

Perhaps more unnecessary comments were said in silence, though with a roll of the eyes to go with them as well. But the boy continued despite hearing seeing the universal act in before him, his mind remaining determined and unaltered.

“I’m telling you they’re real! Spirits from the Frozen North whose breath sends forth a blizzard that is deathly chilling to the touch all while bearing an undefined form that is as cold as the emotions they hold towards us mortals.” He paused for a bit, letting his words fill the atmosphere, “No amount of fire or warmth will save us, we will starve in this starving land for this place will no longer be able to bear life. We will not be able to go home with the waters of the ‘Great Rift’ frozen and all ships - naval or airborne - are confined to its place with such extreme condi-”

“Ok, I’ve heard enough,” The Merc Captain interjected, drawing many uneasy eyes of varying colours to him, “These stories are as false the false God or Gods these Equines believe in, and I will hear no more of such nonsense.”

“But-” The Private attempted to protest, immediately getting cut off once again.

“Enough!” The Captain bellowed, sighing and taking an opportunity to take a breath, “Get some sleep lads, we march at first light.”

Sporadic mummers of agreement filled the air as some griffons turned to their own devices or made their way to the less populated shelters that were set up while others who preferred to be alone leaned against a tree, leaving the Private and the Captain alone to wage a war of endless staring towards each other.

One could only imagine the thoughts rushing through their minds as their eyes locked onto each other. One side's thoughts were probably filled with possible scolding and punishment he was to endure while the other was probably filled with possible scolding, punishment and discipline he was to inflict and enforce.

“Lucky you Private, you get to take the second watch on the merchandise… starting now,” The Captain said, a spark of fire in his eyes.

“Y-yes sir,” The Private replied rather dispiritedly, with his head low and at a volume that was barely a whisper.

As he started to make his way to the isolated cage, his Captain passed off another order to which he had no choice to accept, “Use your rations to feed the merchandise, and make sure she doesn’t try anything funny.”

The young Private remained silent, not risking anything and keeping his own thoughts to himself, lest he suffer a more gruelling form of punishment for his insolence, thus he did what he was ordered to do, replacing the merc who stood watch over the prisoner and the group before retrieving a loaf of stale bread from his marching pack and placing it in the cage, without disturbing her odd prayers.

“Oh Dyauspitah, may this night be short and uneventful…” He whispered to himself, wishing he could shut out the thestrals obnoxious, pretentious worshiping behind him.

---

With a combined sense of silence and an immense amount of exhaustion claiming the mercs, they calmly and swiftly drifted off into the lands of dreams and distant memories. Some dreamt of battle, wealth or power, while others dreamed of families, love or purpose. But regardless of what they dreamt of, what they all had in common was that it would not last any longer.

Slowly. One by one. Each of the slumbering mercenaries began to toss and turn; eyes clenched, jaws and muscles tensing up, their talons reaching out to grab hold something to give it an iron grip.

All this, while a series of distorted masculine and feminine voices that ranged from all walks and ages of life. These voices began prying, scratching and clawing into their inferior minds with languages known and unknown to the mercs.

But their intentions on the other hand... Who's to say?

Murderers, traitors, kidnappers, thieves, heretics…

...Their greed grows strong...

...They taint Her name with their foul existence...

...They must die...

...They exist only to be slain...

...They must suffer for their sins...

...Burn them in holy fire...

...Cleanse them. Drain them. Purge them...

...Make. Them. Suffer.

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