A Loremaster's Book of Tales I - The Fishergriffon of Happyfish Wharf

by Metemponychosis

A Safe Port Amid Violent Waters

The Moon was imprisoned, and her visage showed on the nightly orb, everybody knew the tale. Even far from Canterlot, far from Griffonstone. At the border of the forever snowing Frozen North, where the news took weeks to reach and steam engines were a distant novelty.

However, it was not a desolate place. The town had a few of the new manufactories too. Gone were the days of small family farms and independent production. The farmers and artisans would work in the stead of a rich griffon for a wage. A novel idea born in the massive pony cities like Manehattan. Specialize, focus, expand, profit. Grow!

The local industry focused on woodwork. Many of the locals already had a substantial understanding. Convincing Griffonstone of the feasibility went without issue. They cut the abundant trees in the valley beneath the cliff and turned it to economically viable products. From planks and wood beams for construction to little pet houses and toys. Everything a griffon could need, and which could come from wood.

Some hundred thousand griffons lived there. While it couldn’t compare with Griffonstone’s thrice million and more, Thunderpeak was a local reference. Business boomed and griffons either moved there or to the smaller villages and hamlets nearby. And where griffons would mass, other services became necessary. More work became available and workers flocked.

Perhaps too fast, Thunderpeak had made a place for itself in the map. Specialists came. Doctor ponies from Manehattan’s Bay County University. Rich griffon magnates from Beachhome too. There, those ideas had already proven their worth. Progress fed the Kingdom of Griffonia with produce from the sea and vast farms born out of pony know-how and griffon entrepreneurship.

Thunderpeak had no time to waste. New houses were built, more and more griffons were expected to move there. Greatness was its future. Folk spoke of steam-powered machines riding on rails and they were coming. The coffers in Canterlot opened and flooded the region with golden coins bearing Celestia’s face. Papers flew from the most powerful desk in the world, signed with Her Highness’ elegant hornwriting. Inflamed discourses echoed in the Hall of Friendship and in the Chancellor’s palace back at Griffonstone. The griffons of Girdershade worked tirelessly further south, where the pines gave way to beeches, making the land amenable, laying the rails. Fleets of ships sailed from Fillydelphia and Manehattan, across the ocean and through the hippogriff islands. Pirates and sea monsters stood no chance against the hippogriff merchant navy. The world moved and stirred the great griffon nation onward.

A great railway would connect the rich iron in Snow Mountains to the fledgling industry in Fernland, and Thunderpeak was to be the center of the operations. Griffons and ponies working together, what was a small village next to a cliff with fell stone constructions grew into a successful city. Soon, it would connect north and south. Like two halves of a heart. It would make Griffonia into the second industrial ticker of the world, owing nothing to the mighty titan that was Manehattan.

Griffons finally had something to feel proud of again.

But life on the frontier is rarely easy. A visiting griffon, hailing from a small local village and trying to sell game, could be overwhelmed with the charms of the big city. Money flowed fast and there was good wealth to be made by hard-working griffons. One might find themselves entranced by the warm hearth and smells of ale in the establishment next to the butcher and the inn. Even a griffon mated to a beautiful lady back home might fall. Enthralled by the promises in the hips of dancing griffonesses offering easy pleasure for a few coins. Especially when a griffon’s purse weighed so heavily after selling his wares. There was a reason courtesans hawked next to places where alcohol flowed as much as the coins, after all.

A griffon who poked into things he shouldn’t have could feel guilty. They might aspire to good deeds. The kind which would help them forgive themselves. It was a good thing there was an orphanage on the other side of the street.

A gloomy, gray building made of mossy stone, barely lit by the torches and oil lamps outside. Large as a warehouse, with double doors made of heavy dark wood and iron. Little colorful cubs made a game of shoveling the snow from the sidewalk. Mostly ignored by passing carriages and griffons busy with their own lives in the busy street. Above the doors, a plaque had been stuck to the stone and under the dim light of a lamp. ‘Clouded Nest Orphanage’ it said.

Later that night, three hearty knocks rattled the iron fittings on the door. It drew a dozen colorful and overexcited griffon cubs. They jumped, pirouetted, and squealed. Hopping in place and tap-dancing excitedly. A cacophony of little tapping feet on the cold, stony floor.

The flash of lightning outside didn’t bother them, nor did the thunder. But they all quieted and sat next to the door when their caretaker approached. Her white paws walked silently on the stone, and her gray feathers shone with a million stars under the flickering light from the torches. A blue satin cape swayed with her confident gait and the delicate iron chain clinked, holding her cape around her neck.

Following in her wake, a large male hurried along. He maintained a hastened gait to keep up with her elegant swiftness and subservient obedience before her majesty. The bracelet of iron links in his yellow paw was much less elegant. His green coat and feathers held little of his companion’s brilliance, despite the clean and preened appearance they both shared.

Stopping near the cubs, she sat on her haunches, letting her cape rest on the stone. Her presence made the cubs straighten their backs and stop their giggling. They mimicked her regal poise, and majestic presence the best their little selves could. With her beak pursed, she waited while the green male walked past and spun the heavy keys he brought around his neck.

Effortlessly pulling the door open, the green tom walked out of the way. The wind pelted their visitor with snow and the outside air crept inside to make the cubs squeal and shudder and hug themselves with their tiny wings. The lights of the street entered around the shape of a griffon carrying a doe over his shoulders. Red blood had stained her chest where a pair of stumps stuck out of the musky pelt. A gash through her neck stained the griffon’s heavy wolfskin cloak with red.

“Hello. I am Gainor.” A youthful voice said. “I brought a gift. Ah, a donation.”

“Do come in, Master Gainor.” The old griffoness greeted above the whistle made by the nearby buildings. They made her cape dance and put on display her muscular body of fit build and immaculate white fur. “Don’t stand there like a bovine, Galvin. Help him.”

“Oh! My apologies, Master Gainor!” The green male wearing the iron bracelet gasped and reached to grab the dead doe from the other’s shoulder.

When he stood without the weight, the cloak revealed a griffon covered in a vibrant and steely blue with fierce gray eyes. He smiled as his shoulders squared and the female with the blue cape inspected him. Her piercing gaze was enough to make him uncomfortable.

“Thank you, Master Gainor.” She finally spoke. “We will remember this.”

He adjusted his cloak and hood with a coughing stammer and waved at the excited cubs hopping around them. They simply ignored the cold. Then he addressed the older female again. “I hope this is enough. A blasted wyvern is scaring the game away. I… Wanted to give more, but I need the money.”

“Then someone ought to drive the beast away.” She responded and an awkward second passed in silence before she smiled at him again.

“A wise one would not complain to whom they receive charity from, tom.” She turned her stare to the green male who hurriedly examined the dead deer. When he returned a grinning, excited nod to her, the old griffoness smiled at the hunter. Holding his paw, she let five golden coins shower to his paw.

“Ah, no.” He muttered. “It is a… Charity. You know… I… Ah…”

She shook her head with a knowing smile, closing her paw around his so he would hold the coins. “Something is due for anything. I am Galfrid. They call me Madam Galfrid. It is a pleasure to meet you, Gainor.”

With a smile pulling at his beak, he offered his fist for her to bump. Instead, she held her white paw open for him to hold. A pair of heartbeats passed, but he eventually understood and shook her paw with a renewed, if sheepish, smile.

Finally, he bowed at the female and stashed the coins inside a pouch on his hunting garment. Turning, his hurried movements stalled. “Harmony guard you and the little ones, Madam Galfrid. I should go now.”

“I take you yearn to return to your mate back home at Whiteford?” She smiled at him, walking next to him the few steps he took into the great hall. Decades of experience and understanding peeked from behind her smiling beak. Enough to unsettle a king, much more a humble hunter from a small forest settlement.

His eyes shifted for barely a second to the other side of the snow-covered street. A three-story building, ample as a hotel, showed a warm, inviting light from beyond its windows. A pavilion protruded from the entrance hall, rowdy voices and chants flowed from it with the smell of roasting meat. The musk of easy griffon ladies lured him like a moth to the flames more than the sizzling fat. A small hearth by the entrance past the door let griffons passing by sample the sights of beautiful dancing hens and their exuberant headdresses.

A young and alluring dancer swirled on her hindlegs, letting her wings show her caramel and black stripes. Her stout thighs shone under the fire with her leopard rosettes. A caramel tail, covered in silky fur and stripped with black rings, swirled around her.

An immeasurable moment passed, and Gainor’s eyes met the old griffoness again. The younglings had already retreated further inside, after the green male with their dinner. When her eyes met his, he let out a cough and smiled weakly. Her gaze pierced his soul and purged the lie from him like a doctor pulled out a parasite from a rotting wound before he even said it.

He still tried to save face when the wind slammed shutters across the street and thunder cracked furiously above. “I should go back to Gleana right away, yes. The weather, though... It is dangerous. I need to find shelter before… Well…”

He smiled again. Another weak smile and his eyes fled from hers. There was no lying to that venerable old griffoness. Galfrid may not have noticed, though. As she smiled candidly and offered him her paw white like the snow. “Then shield yourself, young tom. There are many dangers outside. But inside these halls, all you must fear is what you bring with you.”

He winced. The clouds rumbled and lightning flashed, soon followed by crashing thunder. She offered her paw again. “Come. Supper with us. We have happy cubs, a loyal servant, and an old priestess of an old faith with stories to tell. We could do with a loyal tom for the cubs to practice some thankfulness.”

His thoughts slipped. Something compelled him to agree, as though her words had left a hole he could only fill with compliance. He held her paw and walked inside when she encouraged him. Before he knew, the doors had closed and the smell of burning ash filled his nostrils. Warmth enveloped him and Gainor left his wet cloak on a hanger by the door. He also undone and left his hunting garment, made of light leather, but heavy with the tools of his trade. He pretended not to see it, but the old griffoness smiled at his pristine blue and fit build of a hunter.

He followed her through the hall. A hearth at the deep end, next to the wall, provided the warmth. High above, a chimney drained the smoke. A large cauldron sat above a creaking fire. The green griffon with the iron bracelet occupied an improvised kitchen with a balcony and its tools. He expertly cut the doe apart before the excited little cubs.

Little cubs of all ages, from ones so small they should be by their mother’s teats and others so old they could almost work, milled about. Running, dancing, play-fighting, and causing a ruckus among two long tables flanking the center of the hall. Eyes shining with the light from the fire under the cauldron and cheering happily at the working adult in between bouts of excited play.

“Ah, this is some good meat!” The green griffon cheered back at the cubs as his knife slitted through the dead deer. “When we are done, I’ll get this salted! It’s gonna last us some days! How about that?”

One would not think such little cubs could make so much noise, but they all silenced and turned around when Madam Galfrid approached along with Gainor. She smiled at them. “Make yourselves behave. We have a guest tonight. Master Gainor is to share our supper.”

After a few happy and excited hops, they spoke in a dissonant unison of squealing voices. “Welcome to our hall, Master Gainor!”

After their greeting, and telling Gainor to make himself at home, the old griffoness retreated past a door at the back. Cubs old enough to work brought wooden bowls and clay pitchers with water, along with white towels. Like a small army of organized young griffons, they laid the tables to be used by all twenty of them. Soon they all sat by the tables, leaving the inner sides free, banging their fists on the wood, and making a cheerful racket.

Just as soon as the food was ready, the green griffon laughed and hurried along. He pushed a cart between the tables, serving each bowl a generous helping of a lean broth. Chunks of meat, dissolved potatoes, carrots, and several seasoning greens smelled something divine. As did Gainor, they each thanked the servile green griffon and washed their paws with water from the pitchers. Rinsing paws and talons with the towel, Gainor mimicked them. As though he did it every evening.

Gainor could find no spoons, forks, or any kind of tableware. The older cubs plucked the meat from the broth and drank straight from the bowl. The smaller ones used their talons instead of beaks, and Gainor followed the example of the older cubs. How poor could an orphanage be? Surely The Royal House funded them. It could not be that they couldn’t afford tableware. But it was not his place to ask.

“Now, I know it is Master Gainor’s first time providing us with tasty game meat. Straight from the woods, yeah?” Galvin returned what remained of the supper to the cauldron after separating some for him. “But Madam Galfrid would be cross if we were remiss in our gratitude!”

With that, he led the younglings in a chorus, gesturing with his paws so they would follow. “Thank you for providing for us, Master Gainor!”

“Ah… It’s okay, kids. I… Uh… You know, Kindness and stuff, right?” He gasped, overtaken by a silly shame. It became even worse when they giggled at him. “Madam Galfrid paid me fairly for the meat.”

Sweet Harmony! The point of charity was to give for free. He had to resist the urge to slap his face in front of them.

“Now, that just isn’t true, Master Gainor.” Galvin smiled broadly and took his place next to their guest.

Gainor smiled at the green male with the iron bracelet. His voice carried with a strange, pained timbre of one who had gone far deep, but somehow found a way back. A quiet calmness, soft words. “A whole, cleanly slain animal is worth much more than a few Eagles! Even if not all establishments in the region will take Eagles the same as Bits.”

Their sitting pillows by the table were not the most comfortable, but they served their purpose. The little cubs had theirs on a bench. But Gainor truly paid little mind to any of that. The warm broth, although not as strong as he would prefer, tasted something divine.

“Oh, no.” Gainor shook his head after taking a gulp from his bowl. “Thunderpeak Bank will take Eagles, just to encourage businesses to accept them. They are quite valuable. Some businesses in town prefer Eagles over Bits.”

The meal fell into a relaxing mood. The softer sounds of griffon cubs eating reigned. Barely a word to be heard other than a few discreet conversations among the older cubs. Until Gainor spoke. “Say. I don’t see Madam Galfrid.”

“She don’t eat, mister!” The absolutely cute pink grifflet next to him squealed. The light from the fires gave her metallic pink pelt a mystifying, exquisite gleam. Her large red eyes, filled with childish mirth, jumped at him as she opened her little paws in a mysterious gesture. “She a witch!”

Another cub, black like coal, shiny like the stars flocking around the Mare in the Moon, almost hopped off the table and flared his little wings. “Madam Galfrid’s stronger than The Mare. She can blink behind you like the pokeheads and rip your neck open. She can move faster than crossbow bolts and her talons shoot lightning! Bzaaap!”

He shot his diminutive talons at the white cub next to him and, after a second, caused him to convulse and faux scream until a dramatic fall to the stony floor. The final twitch before his tongue lolled out of his steel-shiny beak almost made Gainor applaud.

The other cubs filled the hall with giggles and guffaw, while the older ones hid their malcontent frowns and rolling eyes behind their bowls of broth. It all concluded in silence when Madam Galfrid returned from the room behind the back wall. She sat on a chair behind the cauldron, which Gainor had not yet seen. But instead of serving herself some of the broth, or ordering Galvin did so, she smiled.

Lightning and thunder exploded outside. For an instant the tall windows turned white, and the flash banished the shroud of darkness. Polished stone made sturdy walls, and a statue gleamed in the back, hidden under the shadows now banished.

A great griffoness, made of white and black marble, comfortably laid on her stomach with her wings turned upwards. Small niches seemed empty, like adornments were lacking in the statue, and her eyes were gone. The plainness or lacking pieces diminished none of the statue’s grandeur. Instead, it kept the visage of a beautiful griffon lady looking down at the hall with a stern expression. Witnessing and judging.

“Please accept our hospitality, Master Gainor. We will share with you our favorite time of the evening. I will tell the little ones a story and you are welcome to listen and hold it in your heart. Or share it with others. Do with it what you desire, for every griffon is responsible for the choices they make. But remember that wisdom is a form of wealth in itself. The greatest of treasures, for when given to others, it multiplies. And above all, wealth is meant to serve a need.”