Ballad of Knights and Peasants

by FeldmarschallTwiggs

Chapter One: Summer Solitude

On an ever so warm and quiet day, a middle-aged griffon opens up his shop. The streets were quiet, as usual, for Hellquill wasn't the most advanced nation, like the old Empire to the west. And while all her neighbors were quickly advancing at a rapid pace to adapt with the growing world, Hellquill stubbornly remained the "shield of Griffonkind against the Riverpony menace." It was a land of knights, and peasants. The distinction was clear, and the roles were set. Gunther, the griffon tailor, knew this well.

Once, as a young chick, he aspired to be a knight, like all the other boys his age. But, as he aged, he came to realize his own special talent of tailoring. He knew he could never be a knight, but he could still aspire to mimic their proud and strong appearance. Their powerful armor, replicated in a graceful fabric. To Gunther, this was his passion, his own child. And he wanted to share that talent with seemingly like-minded people. Admittedly though, while he does get the rare customer every now and then, it isn't at the rate he would like it to be. The creatures of Hellquill are simply unable to afford Gunther's passion, let alone most luxuries. A shop open to all, with no one in it.

Gunther finally snapped out of his day dream to prepare for the day. While he knew well no one would come, diligence is a knightly virtue that he wishes to maintain. First, the fabrics were neatly organized into several categories. They were double-checked for any notable wrinkles, and carefully placed back in. Then, the floors were swept, and tables dusted. Mannequins with some of his finest examples were placed right behind the crystal clear windows. His tools were behind the front desk. And finally, to officially begin the day, the 'Closed' sign hanging behind the door, was turned to 'Open'. The griffon brushed his grey feathers, placed his glasses on his beak, talons on the desk, and waited. The old building he resided were very poorly insulated, and so he often shivered.

The day was dull, as usual. The shop was empty, as usual. And very few people even passed by, as usual. At least life was consistent. But this day wouldn't be the most usual day. Far from it. Several weeks ago, the Grandmaster of the Hellquillian Order of Knights, Siegfried Trappenfeld, had retired from his position. The honorable griffon was heavily respected among his peers and people, and was especially looked up to by Gunther, always taking note of his many victories. The news of Trappenfeld's retirement saddened Gunther, but was glad change might be coming to the order.

And change did indeed come, in the form of the Reformisten.

Gunther was never the most nationalistic griffon. He loved his country, and would always defend it, but he always knew it had flaws. The Hellquillian Knights had always led a simple and pragmatic approach to life, quelling most extremist elements from rising up in the order. Not all of them though. The Black Cloaks led by Wingfried von Katerinburg, preach of a strong Hellquill, adopting change it so rightly needs, and a united people. They also preach of a purely griffonian Hellquill, and to enact a great revenge on the Coalition to the east. With such nationalistic fervor such as that, it's hard not to get caught up with the excitement. And so it came to little surprise when the Reformisten party had won over the Knightly Council.

While mostly indifferent to the news, it partially excited Gunther. "Finally," he thought, "Some change in this ever so bland life of mine!". This was a similarly shared thought of many griffons in Hellquill. The backwater nation, stuck between two major powers, given the very possible golden age it desperately needs in these trying times. Oh the bliss of change did indeed soar in the streets.

For the first time in a very long while, griffons flooded the streets, hailing the marching knights in this national victory. And out of the blue, while Gunther was staring out the window in sheer amazement, a particularly excited griffon barged in and yelled, "Come brother, the new knights are giving a speech! Come and see!" And then he ran away, without even giving Gunther a chance to respond. And with that not-so-formal invitation, the grey-feathered griffon rushed to his coat, put on his finest cap, and ran off to view the spectacle, just before he closes the store.

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The speech given by the newly elected Grandmaster was fierce, passionate, emotional, almost any sort of hyperbolic adjective could be used to describe it. And to the griffons of Hellquill, they couldn't care less. Praises to the saviors of the nation were said en masse. "Heil der Ritter! Heil der Führer!" was chanted throughout almost the entirety of the crowd. The summer sun was shining on a new Hellquill. Its griffons were ecstatic, and ready to face Maar himself.

And then there was Gunter.

The grey-feathered griff couldn't help feeling unenthusiastic about the whole ordeal. Of course, he wasn't completely blank, there was of course some sort of emotion going through him. But not much of what was to be expected out of a speech like this. Feelings of vengeance, of some sort of sacred duty to be upheld. Gunther dismissed it, and was glad to be out in the open with many around him for once. It gave him some amount of comfort, no matter the aggression and passion made in the crowd.

When Grandmaster von Katerinburg had neared the end of the speech, several of the Sturmgreife, the loyal allies of the Reformisten, led by the slightly eccentric Edler von Wingenberg walked up to the stage and beside the Grandmaster. Their black uniform, their neutral facial expressions but flaming eyes, completely contrasted against the bright blue sky and summer sun. Their leader, Edler von Wingenberg, was even more unnerving. The scars on his face made him seem battle-hardened, but his age and old figure said otherwise. Feathers were a pale white, with an pitch black suit, symbolizing his S.G. allegiance. The griff's eyes and expression were the most noticeable out of all his features. His piercing yellow eyes made even the sun look dull in comparison. Not to mention the feeling one felt when they looked straight at them. Dread, and fear. That's what Gunther felt. He didn't want to stare, but he had to. For so long he stared, he didn't notice the Grandmaster had already finished his speech, and was already in the midst of leaving, along with the ominous Sturmgreife. "Gods that was incredibly rude of me!" Gunther though. "What kind of foolish damned griffon am I, staring at a person like that for so long?! People must think of me as some of damned creep, with my stupid glaring!" Feeling embarrassed, the griff went back to his shop, and wallowing in the fact that even with a change in leadership, a creature walking through the door to actually purchase something was incredibly unlikely. Still, Gunther remained as diligent as he could, and kept iT open. Fate may someday be with him.

Comments

[A Mule with no mane]

Hitler girffon lol