Chapter 1
The concert hall burst open as a swarm of gryphons escaped between its marble pillars. An upper class air graced the mid-summer's night, abuzz with the night’s performance. There were two gryphons in particular who had no trouble navigating the crowd. They were surrounded in admirers, enamored by the breathtaking concert.
“By the Six, you’d think that we’d have never heard of strings before! Oh, pluck me if I’m wrong, but I couldn’t get over that ensemble,” Tor Razorwing said, carrying a chipper tone. He kept a gold hilted saber steady as he descended the hall’s red carpeted steps.
“My Lord Razorwing,” an eagless began. “What did you think of that second piece? I hear it was old tune, composed by Jovan Bluefeathers!”
“Ah, Bluefeathers!" Tor nodded knowingly. "I recognized the Call of Thunder before the first stroke was made. For pacifists, these ponies know how to channel the warrior poet's bombast. I commend the Canterlot Philharmonic.”
“Were there any other members of the senate here for the ensemble as well?” Another jovial gryphon asked.
“Not that I know of,” Tor replied. “But my old friend Gareth Stonetalon snuck in during intermission. Sneaky little fledgling, eh?” He wrapped his right arm around said friend, who was blushing profusely. He stood erect on his back paws like Tor, with a silver saber encased by a free talon.
“Tor, you wolf,” Gareth whispered, anxious. “You know I don’t like talking with the plebs.”
Tor flashed a brotherly sort of smile. “Come now, Gareth, these are your people! Businessgryphs also come to the theater on their spare time — There, lad!" Tor gestured ahead. "There stands a tiercel of note.”
Tor's free talon pointed to a greying gryphon, surprised to be addressed. He was wearing plain colored cotton, opposed to the bright colored silks Tor and Gareth were wearing. Gareth scanned him intently with a snarl.
“No linen, no blade? By the Six,” he quietly grimaced, narrowing his scarlet eyes. Tor lost his smile as the elder tiercel bowed his head in shame. To escape the awkwardness, he forced Gareth along.
They and the group reached the bottom of the carpeted steps, only to be met with more questions. Tor noticed they took care to not direct them to Gareth. Gareth crossed his arms and pulled his wings close, which puzzled Tor.
Come now, Gareth, Tor mentally admonished. Don't act like this tonight.
“—She there?”
Tor blinked and shook his head, being pulled back to reality. “Er, uh,” he stumbled. He turned to the tiercel who addressed him with a soft smile. “I’m sorry, I missed that.”
“Apologies, My Lord," the tiercel said. “I was told by a friend of a friend that Celestia graced the senate chambers this afternoon. Is this true?”
“Celestia? The one with the rainbow mane?” Tor wiggled his fingers close to his head to clarify, mimicking her hair. The tiercel nodded. “No, she’s joining session tomorrow. I think you might've mistaken her with Golden Sunshine, her personal student.”
“What is she —”
“I’m tired of your prattling!” Gareth shouted. He extended his silvery wings full length with an angry scowl. "Leave us be!" He clenched his saber’s hilt, and the group took the hint. In silence, Gareth padded away, grumbling under his breath. Tor gave chase, waiting before the group was well behind before he spoke.
“What’s your problem?” He challenged, feeling his anger boil. “Does being elected to the forum just give you an excuse to be an ass?”
“I know my place here, Tor. Fraternization with the lower classes, bah! Six help us!” Gareth turned away again, down Cobb Lane, leading deeper into the city. Tor followed suit, unfurling his brown wings to wrap around his chest, forming a makeshift cloak.
"My place is to be an official, Gareth," Tor continued. "Not to be some some damn-fool aristocrat.”
“Oh, please,” Gareth rebutted as he turned around. He stared daggers into Tor from under his brow. “This isn’t grade school. Equality lost it’s relevance when you grabbed your diploma.”
Tor crossed his arms under the cloak as a skeptical brow shot up. “A lord can actually do his job, you know.”
“Bah!" Gareth dismissed. "Your military service apparently did nothing to dampen your idealism.”
“Maybe if you joined me instead of going into the bureaucracy — like I kept asking you — perhaps I might’ve rubbed off on you.”
A scoff came from Gareth’s beak, killing the current discussion. The two continued their walk in silence, taking in the night. Tor looked around. He and Gareth were perusing the more bourgeois portion of the sixth tier of the city, where the lanes were cleaner and the police were common. Bronze gas lamps dotted the cobblestone street, inlayed with curving pieces of brass up the poles. They shimmered like stars, the only time they stood out during the day; If the sun was up, they would be put to shame by the tall, painted stone buildings around, augmented by brick and marble.
For all of the ferocity of the evening, Tor still smiled. The storm from before the concert had let up, and the breeze cooled the pads of his paws, damp from the cobbles.
Gareth looked over to him, a brow raised. “What pulled the blade from your chest, eh?”
Tor shrugged idly. “It’s just a lovely night, is all. I mean, look around us. The eleven tiers of Stoneanchor, all ablaze tonight." He smiled cheekily. "Were you an eagless, I’d be taking you to Valorum Park. Mmm, darling, the things you'd see.”
Gareth laughed, playfully punching Tor. “A date? On tier five? With you? You'd have to break my wings first. Granted, it would give you an excuse to not fly."
“Oh, you know me so well," Tor admitted.
“I know how privy you are to walking. If we were in the air, we wouldn’t get any privacy.” Gareth raised his brows suggestively.
“Wanting privacy, are we?” Tor asked not-so-innocently, extending his right wing to encompass Gareth. “I didn’t know you were so forward, Gareth darling.”
Gareth pushed to escape the embrace, chuckling. “If you weren’t a friend, I’d be knocking you back so far you’d be an egg.” He brandished a fist to emphasize.
"Come now,” Tor exclaimed, smiling. “Have some peace! We just saw ponies perform for us — the least you can do is let me remember their percussion section one last time before killing me.”
“Oh..." Gareth rolled his eyes, carefully considering mercy. "I suppose. This time. How long should I wait?”
“Let me get back to you on that.”
A sudden, violent crash rang ahead them. Tor extended an arm across Gareth’s chest. His ears perked at the exchange of voices, barely decipherable. But what was obvious was more racket.
“Wha— what in the Six?” Gareth queried, his voice shaking.
Tor shook his head, placing a talon’s digit to his beak. He collapsed his wings, exposing his blue silk coat. A more violent crash! echoed from the alleyway, momentarily stopping Tor. With a deep breath, he approached, staring in from the corner of a building. Unconsciously, he kept a grip on his saber, idly fingering its leather grip. His heartbeat pulsed wildly as he observed the commotion mere feet from where he stood. Gareth hesitantly joined him.
“C’mon, eyas,” Tor heard. Male, he noted. “Give me what I paid for!” Another bang, followed by a rubbish bin rolling out onto the lane.
“N-no! I won't, and I'll say it again! No!” This voice was female.
“Leave them be, Tor,” Gareth whispered, grasping at the cuff of Tor's coat. “It—it’s something they can handle on their—their own.”
“We can't just leave them. Are you insane?” Tor narrowed his eyes at his friend’s cowardice. At this point, maybe I should be asking myself the same question.
“No more than you!” More crashes rang out, followed by a terrified yelp. Tor clutched the hilt harder, trying to overcome his hesitation to move. His feathers slowly began fluffing stiff.
“This is your last chance, eyas!" The tiercel yelled, his words slurred. "Don’t make me draw this shiny blade! Fifty pieces is more than enough for a night.”
With a deep breath, Tor pushed himself mentally and turned the corner. It was as he imagined: A dirty tiercel with his talons brandished, unsuccessfully negotiating for what concealed itself underneath a ragged coat. The cornered eagless he pursued kept a dented garbage bin between them as a last line of defense. Tor’s shadow obscured the amber light that shone down the passage, which took the attention of the agitated gryphon.
“Oi! You mind, mate?" The attacker stumbled about to face Tor. "I’ve got business with the eagless 'ere,” By the way he moved, Tor guessed he had a little too much wine this evening.
Tor mustered his speaking voice, normally reserved for the senate chambers: “I would suggest you leave her be.” Gareth joined him, only to keep himself partially obscured by Tor’s mass. Tor kept his gaze upon the drunk, and tightened his grip. "Walk away, and we won't have to worry about any consequences."
“Tor, you mad tiercel, what do you think you're doing?” Gareth demanded, pointing an accusing talon at the eagless. “You’re defending a blazed!” Tor slid his focus from the male to the female, confirming Gareth's claim. Though her overcoat hid the rest of her body, the dyed feathers atop her head could not be ignored. Bright red, as the fires in his hearth: The sign of an outcast of society.
“I know,” Tor admitted after a moment, growing annoyed with his friend’s gutlessness. He white knuckled his grip, wondering whether to strike Gareth or the agitating tiercel.
"She’s no use to the world," Gareth arrogantly affirmed. "Let her suffer. At least he” — Gareth shifted his talon to the drunk — “has status.”
“S’right,” the drunk chimed in. “So, let me have her" — he raised his talons, balled into fists — "and I won’t knock my mates on you, right?” Tor advanced on the tiercel. His brow furrowed, shadowing his gold irises. He suppressed wayward thought and shut out the rest of the world, hyperfocusing on the drunk. He became cognizant of the slight echo of his steps, and could smell a terrible stench that was previously just outside of his senses. The hilt cradled in his talon lost its weight.
He drew the sword, the blade dull song singing as it escaped the cobalt prison, sliding past slicked leather. The sharpened steel glowed from the glare of lamplight. A sense of power coursed through him, like a tsunami crashing through the deep ocean. He smiled internally, but kept his face stony like the grey walls around him. The drunk, suddenly realizing he was in over his head, fumbled to pull his small sword from it’s patchy, lacquer scabbard. His blade’s copper cross guard caught Tor's attention.
“I would think an apprentice would be at the shop, not gallivanting about looking for an easy lay,” Tor remarked, taking a defensive stance. “Now, I want you to leave, before your master finds you lame.”
“Say that when you meet the Six!" The drunk cried, stumbling forward. Losing his footing, he made a swipe at the air, completely missing Tor. Tor took a step back briefly, the sword passing close to his beak. His heart beat even faster as the blade's whistling echoed in his head. With the drunk's extension, Tor took the chance to grab the talon holding the blade with his left.
Now with an unusable arm and back exposed to Tor, the apprentice shifted himself to face him. Using the opportunity to swipe at Tor with his talon, he crossed his disabled arm, landing a successful strike on the left side of Tor's face. In furious response, Tor slammed his right claw, encased in the saber’s golden baskethilt, straight to the side of the drunken gryphon’s head. The drunk's surprised shout was drowned by a successive gurgle, ending in silence with a satisfactory wet slap to the floor. A dribble of red slowly drooled from his maw.
Gareth's tapping paws echoed behind Tor. With a deep breath to ease his nerves, Tor skillfully wiped down the blade with a handkerchief from his pocket. After the quick swipe, he slid the saber back into its deep blue holding.
“Why yes, Gareth," Tor said, not turning about. "I was defending myself! I'm glad you came to give me your support.” He patted the side of his face, inspecting the damage. He winced as he pressed the handkerchief onto the gashes. His feathers slowly calmed themselves, adrenaline easing itself out of his system.
“You fool! You drew the ceremonial blade!" Gareth reprimanded. "The books forbid it!” Tor ignored the warning and shook his head. He approached the blazed and extended his free talon to her. Taking it, the white feathered girl pulled herself up, only to keep on four limbs. Choosing to remain silent, she avoided Tor’s gaze and stared at the floor.
“I am Lord Tor Razorwing,” Tor proclaimed, bowing to the girl. “I hope you’re alright, Miss...?” She remained silent, keeping her gaze down. He was surprised and impressed at her apparently calm demeanor. An obedient outcast, Tor grimly mused. She knows her place well.
“You have my permission to reply.”
Without looking up, she responded: “Rovena.”
“Rovena...?” He let the name drag on, expecting more. Gareth approached the two, expressing his disgust.
“Tor,” he reminded. “Her kind have no family names.”
“Yes,” Tor said, “but—”
“But nothing. Let’s leave. We need you patched up before tomorrow’s session.” Tor hesitated, but then nodded in agreement. As disgusted as he was with the eagerness to leave the alley, he was right. Before turning to leave, he reached into his purse and pulled a coin from within, emblazoned with the Confederate crest: a sword and quill. He held it out for Rovena to receive. The coin lightly fluctuated in his digits as his pulse slowly decreased.
“A token, Rovena,” Tor offered. She remained still as stone, still eying the ground. He nearly grabbed the girl’s talon before remembering her stalwart obedience. Gently: “Take it, please.”
She barely looked up, gazing through the feathers that peaked over her brow. She then lifted a hesitant talon, grimy from touching the wet floor, and gingerly grasped the golden token. A barely audible gasp emerged from her beak as she inspected the piece. Tor cracked a grin.
“C’mon, Tor!” Gareth said impatiently, motioning with a wing. “Enough with her, we need to go!”
"Have a safe journey home, Miss Rovena," Tor said in farewell, bowing. She kept her gaze down. Not to the floor, but to the small gift. Tor turned about, rushing back to Gareth's side. Gareth stayed silent until they turned out from the alley.
“Absolutely impossible to go anywhere with you, Razorwing,” Gareth lamented as they turned the corner. “I mean, really. Drawing blade? You know we’re not allowed to use the sabers in combat. It’s against tradition. And what’d you give her? A sovereign? That’s worth a hundred pieces!”
“Were you in my position,” Tor retorted, curling a fist out of Gareth's sight. “You would’ve done the same.”
“Were I in your position, I’d have left her behind and reminded her she’s trash.” Tor glared in reponse. Gareth continued: “I mean, that was a perfect place for the two to confront each other, in a garbage dump!” He laughed heartily for a few moments. A few moments too long, Tor believed, for he suddenly took his other talon to solidly backhand Gareth. Gareth’s eyes widened in shock as he landed on the ground.
“Tor!”
“Watch your tongue, fledgling,” Tor demanded, pointing a digit at him. His blood rushed through his veins again. “I’m growing tired of your attitude!”
“I-I-I’m sorry, Tor,” he stammered. “I won’t—”
“You won’t what, loosen your beak so quickly next time? Is this how you will use status? Fine, then I will fall to your level: I am above you, listen to me! You will not unleash your incessant whining around me.” Gareth began to stand, avoiding Tor's gaze.
Tor lowered his volume, but still dug in the heel: “To even put status above the well-being of another gryphon! Absolutely disgraceful.”
“It’s only tradition, Tor, you know that!” Gareth pleaded.
“Tradition be damned!” Tor yelled, thrusting his arm out in a waving motion, as if to disown the sacred acts. His voice bellowed down the streets like a shockwave.
Gareth looked offended as his voice began to rise, after a prolonged moment, albeit slowly and nervously. “Burn the books!”
“Burn them? Then, I will break tradition. Is it so important to you, or should I remind you of your own low birth?” Gareth grew silent again as Tor’s acidic words soaked in. He tried to form words to counter, but instead stammered an unintelligible sentence. Tor simply crossed his arms, scowling. Gareth looked from the ground to the Tor’s eyes, internally conflicted.
"Were this another life," Tor finished, "you'd still be wallowing in your father's fields." The two stared at each other in silence, Tor's voice still echoing down the street. Tor was about to continue to walk before Gareth spoke up again:
“Six take you." He then turned around toward the rising tiers of the city, unfurled his wings, and lifted off.
Back to your friends on the eighth tier, Tor thought. I'm sure they'll coddle you.
Tor cursed under his breath, suddenly becoming aware of the blood dripping onto his coat. He sighed, defeated, subsequently reapplying his handkerchief. He grimaced at the sight, still wondering why he hadn't properly taken care of it yet. However, something else caught his eye: A bright, red bunch of feathers on top of a delicate eagless, standing on all fours. He hadn’t noticed her small figure before, now illuminated by the amber light of the bronze lamps.
However, what had him surprised first was her motion, or lack thereof. Her head was not bowed, and he immediately made eye contact with her, with glowing blue eyes. Blinking in curiosity, he saw her say something to him, though oh-so faint, before turning the other direction.
“Thank you.”
Stats
Page generated in 0.02 seconds
Total duration
941 users online
1,758,825 hits today, 2,139,894 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
I'm going to see what this is all about.
That was quite the start. You've done quite the job of establishing Gryphon culture. I'm curious as to where you'll take this.
I loved it!
Just some things you should know:
In the final third of the story, you have a lot of what's known as Lavender Unicorn Syndrome - you tend to refer to Garet as 'silver-winged' and the Lord as 'red-coated gryphon'. This is unnecessary - names will do fine. LUS should only really be used when there is a character that hasn't been introduced by name yet, so the descriptions of the crowd at the start are appropriate.
1990759
I understand the concern. Taking a reader's standpoint, it does get a little redundant as the chapter goes on. I'll take this into consideration as I tweak the next segment, even if I personally enjoy addressing each character by their descriptors as well as their name.
Glad you enjoyed it.
The culture, man. You've gone deep with this one. I definitely want to see more.