• Published 15th Jan 2013
  • 1,318 Views, 41 Comments

Fire on the Mountain - MongolianFoodHoarder



In the century before the return of Nightmare Moon, Tor Razorwing, aristocratic senator of the Confederacy of the Gryphons, commits an act of kindness that breaks social barriers, and unknowingly strikes upon the foundation of a fragile social order.

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Chapter 3

Tor had two more glasses in front of him, both filled with odd colored liquids. He looked to his opponent, Gaius, as he struggled to tip his own over the precipice of his beak. Smiling to himself, Tor caressed his second to last drink.

Honor and Courage, Tor noted. The last virtues. He tapped his talon's fingers on the drink designated Courage. The white, milky substance smelled like a week-old rotting carcass. It was a classic misdirection, however — getting past it called for courage.

After hesitating, he raised the putrid glass to his beak. Before drinking, he looked around — nearly forty gryphons gathered, their talons tight against coin. With a smirk, he recalled their shock as he walked into the bar. Gaius was a regular, but Tor was looked at with suspicion. As soon as the drinking games began however, the hierarchical barriers broke down.

His smirk grew into a smile. Feels like the old days!

Though, Tor's musing was getting too cumbersome, and he could no longer stand the abhorrent stench below his nostrils. He took the plunge and downed the liquid. For braving the bile, his reward was of sweet honey, twinged with the hints of lemon. He cursed himself — I should've saved honor for last.

"Courage," he announced triumphantly. The empty glass joined a line in front of him. Cheers came from his side of the table, shaking the room. On the other side of the table, Gaius was edged on by his supporters with quips of encouragement. He looked indifferent; his dim, blue eyes staring intently at the four drinks he had not touched yet. Gaius dismissed the motivations with an impatient wave.

This stoked Tor's fire. With the odds in his favor, he took up the final glass. He casually inspected it and the turquoise floating within, which shone diamonds within when against the gaslight. Though, Tor could barely focus on them with the drunken haze clouding his vision. He chuckled arrogantly as his eyes shifted from the drink to Gaius.

“You better keep up,” he slurred. “I just might beat you, Oh Mighty... Mighty" — A quick belch escaped him — "Bookkeeper!” Tor's supporters laughed, pounding the table.

Gaius slowly looked up, frowning. He pushed himself up from the table, a sudden silence rippling through the crowd. He carefully grasped a glass with pink inside, one Tor already drank. In a speed that felt like the speed of light, he downed it, gingerly placing the empty glass face down. Tor’s face fell and his ears flopped back in horror.

“Fertility,” Gaius yelled. His crowd began to stir. He grabbed a red colored one and repeated the process.

“Strength!” More murmurs grew to a din. Gaius snatched an emerald colored drink.

“Honor!” The crowd shouted in unison, chanting his name. Their talons slammed the table, and hooves struck the floor. They were even. Tor's beak hung agape, disbelieving. Under his feathers, he felt heat on his cheeks.

This archivist will not take my victory, I swear to the Six! Tor balled a fist and stared daggers into Gaius. He had to beat the fifth battalion's Virtues drinking champion!

It was a standoff — in the intoxicated mind — of epic proportions, amplified after Tor rose from his seat, iliciting an excited muttering from the crowd. The two Lords took their glasses and made eye contact, lightly bowing their talons in a makeshift salute. After moments of hesitation, Tor took the initiative. To him, it was a trifle. He already had the atrocious Courage before Gaius, and took Strength, which took for it’s namesake; It was the hardest to down. It was red, harsh, and a regretful decision.

It stung like a thousand scorpion stings as it rushed down Tor's throat. As it reached his gut, he squeezed his eyes shut, his stomach gurgling and groaning. By the time his eyes opened again and hazily refocused, Gaius calmly placed his empty glass onto the table.

“Courage!” A great boom of cheers exploded from his supporters, who clapped his back and shook his shoulders in congratulations. Six drinks, four of which downed in just a few seconds.

Tor had to give it to his friend — He deserved the title of Champion. He conceded defeat with a flourished bow and sat down, smiling as his supporters patted him on the back. Around him, the loving sound of clinking coin was passed about.

“You’re better than the last tiercel who came after me, Tor,” Gaius said, casually inspecting the nails of his right talon. “You aren’t trying to kill me.”

Tor shrugged. “When I finally beat you at Virtues, I’ll think about it.” The two laughed, inspiring a contagious guffaw among the rest of the audience.


The drinks carried on for another hour before the two left the bar, amidst the voices trailing their farewells to them. The two stumbled through cool air and the fresh puddles that dotted the street, illuminated by amber lamplight. The rains this evening finally stopped, creating the cool and drowned walkways of the fourth tier. The street was fuzzy to Tor, partially through his intoxication, but also with the light haze that formed in the night.

Looking up, the rigid, carved nature of the city’s tiers swam together, creating the illusion of a gigantic, towering mountain. It’s visage made it lonely in the summer’s night, lightly aglow from the plethora of lights burning in unseen windows.

Gaius interrupted Tor’s gawking as he giggled endlessly, resting his head on Tor’s shoulder. Tor reared his head back, cocking a brow.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, starting to smile.

Gaius lazily pointed past Tor with a uneven talon. “You and your skywatching!”

Tor extended his arms in front of him, making circular motions. “It’s all... smooth, and whatnot.”

“Poetic.” Gaius nodded sagely.

“Whatever!” Tor nudged Gaius off his shoulder, making Gaius stumble through a puddle, splashing water everywhere. Including their clothes.

“Gah,” Tor exclaimed, squeezing water from his coat. "Look what you did, Gaius! Now my trousers are wet!”

“It’s what what you deserve!" Gaius gently pushed Tor playfully, which caused Tor to splash into a puddle of his own. "Pushing your friend about is so uncouth, I’ll have you know.”

“Uncouth is wet pants.”

“You and your pants!” Gaius waved away, rolling his eyes.

“But... they’re wet.”

“Don’t you have anything else to think about?” Gaius smiled as he finished the sentence.

“Yes, like, well,” Tor replied, lazily looking about his person. “My waistcoat.”

Gaius swiftly clapped his right talon against his forehead, a wet smack echoing. As heavy as they both drank, Gaius was far more sober.

Either Gaius has the gut of iron, Tor thought. Or I just don't have the fortitude I used to have! He couldn’t tell. In his mind, it felt like Gaius should be the leader of his ragtag party.

“Should I be thinking of something else?” Tor asked, slurred.

Gaius returned to Tor’s side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Oh, yes, my friend. Something much more grandiose.” Tor pointed upwards to the hazy mountain. Shaking his head, Gaius forced the talon in another direction, on this level of the city. Tor fought against Gaius’ push of his talon and took it as a joke, giggling.

“Six take you, Tor,” Gaius yelled. A moment passed before he could control Tor, revealing a new location: It was sultry compared to the plebeian bar; An aura of sexuality lingered in the air.

Through the fog, it looked very plain. It was obscured, save for the lamp illuminating it’s swinging sign: A circular wooden plaque painted deep red with the words, The Golden Mask adorned round its metal borders, ironically embossed in glittering brass. A mask was painted in the center, it fanciful with golds and reds.

Tor grunted.

“Nonsense,” Gaius reassured, taking the grunt as an actual response. He nudged Tor. “It’s a wondrous place to just relax.”

“But, we just did, Gaius.”

"That is correct." Gaius jutted a finger upwards matter-of-factly. "But the bar didn’t have dancing girls.”

Tor, out of sheer embarrassment, would normally resist walking into such an establishment. But considering the circumstances, he reasoned with himself to take a peek. Relaying his decision, Gaius chuckled, the fierce smell of liquor on his breath.

Gaius, paused before the door, offering his friend passage with a dramatic bow. Accepting the proposition, Tor nonchalantly slid the door aside into it’s pocket. It unceremoniously revealed the Golden Mask’s new guests with a heavy slam. He looked back to Gaius, covering his beak to suppress a laugh. Gaius smiled and shook his head, and pushed Tor into the dark, red hallway inside.

The difference from the outside world was striking, like the quenching of a hot blade into a barrel of oil. The cool moisture of the outside vanished as the warm embrace of smoke wrapped itself around them. The incense was as intoxicating as their foray at the bar. The smell of the wet cobbles was overtaken by the scent of rose, encouraging sobriety with each breath. They emerged from the hall into an expansive room, filled with pillows, burners, drapes and tables, not to mention the numerous gryphons and zebra enjoying the night.

The two approached an idle eagless, the madame, lounging behind a counter top close to the hall, entertaining a flushed zebra patron. She was, at first, oblivious of her new patrons, standing on her back paws and giggling with a steaming cup in her talons. Taking notice of Tor and Gaius, she quickly fell onto all fours, shooing the guest away. She flashed a grin while her tail swayed fast behind her. Lords meant a hefty profit.

“Milords." She addressed them with a sing-song, rolling accent, pronouncing words different to the senators' upper crust received pronunciation. “Welcome to the Golden Mask. I hope we can accommodate yer needs tonigh'?”

“Oh, yes,” Gaius replied, steadying himself against the counter. “I want a nice place to lounge and enjoy myself. Something very cushy.”

The madame looked to Tor. “And ye, milord?”

Tor was too distracted by the room. The dimmed, hazy lights, the wafting smoke of the incense, the gentle plucking of the music —

Tor!” Gaius said, shaking Tor's shoulder.

Tor shook his head, pulled back into reality. "I'll, ah, take the same." He idly loosened the cravat around his neck.

“Excellent, milords.” The madame gestured ahead of her, and the two joined.

They were led through a maze of pillows, navigating it made easy by the madame. The whole room —the size of a small warehouse — was bathed red, much like the hallway, augmented with golds. Draperies separating viewing spaces were sheer, adding to the mystical aura of the room. Daises and tables were dogpiled with cushions of all shapes and sizes. Mostly, tiercels and stallions sat on them, while eaglesses danced to the sitar’s strum. Briefly, everyone kept bewildered eyes on the senators.

They were given a choice spot in a discreet corner, taking a seat with the absurd amount auburn and orange plush pillows pushed against a wood-paneled wall. An ornate hardwood dais stood before the cushions. Tor was bewitched by the extravagance. It was such overkill — Not even my apartment is so over the top!

“This is so odd,” he commented after Gaius finished talking to the madame.

Gaius raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

Tor motioned with a talon. “This. All of this.”

Gaius chuckled. “Well, what can I say? The plebs know how to enjoy vice! The music, the dancers" — he played with the tassels of a comfy pillow — "and the cushions! Much better than a formal party hosted by a Lionheart.”

“A who?”

Gaius put a thoughtful digit to his beak, sporting a sly smile. “Honestly, Tor, you need to visit my hold one of these days — He’s a minor noble in my jurisdiction. He likes to hire guild companions and strut around like a ladies tiercel." He chuckled darkly. "Pretty sure Gareth does that occasionally...”

Tor's ears went flat with a scowl. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing!” Gaius spied the madame coming back, and he released a thankful sigh. The madame was toting a silver tray with a teapot and cups. She was joined by two younger eaglesses, flanking her side. A nondescript tiercel sneaked behind the dais with a sitar bouncing off his back. The eaglesses bowed in unison, with the madame balancing the tray expertly as she went down. Unlike the madame, the two girls were dressed in loose bedlahs with masks covering their faces, all colored in cool blues and greens. Tor noticed most of the dancers had this uniform, in various amounts of modesty.

“I present Lilith and Stone,” The madame extended her free arm sideways, showcasing the two. They bowed again, this time, Tor noticing the red hot headfeathers of the one who was known as Stone. The two gracefully took to the dais, and after the sitar began to rumble its haunting chords, they began to dance. Their movements were matched with their loose cloth flowing in tow, creating a visual representation of wind and water. It became more so when the two simultaneously flipped out fans in each of their talons.

Tor relaxed, keeping an eye on Stone. She was shorter than Lilith to her side, though far more elegant. He could barely make out blue orbs piercing at him from behind her white mask. Though her striking eyes scrutinized him, Tor felt at ease.

Though they danced in erotic display, Tor was not aroused, not while being under the proverbial microscope. Gaius, however, was quite engaged, doe-eyed to Lilith’s silky-smooth performance.

One more notch on Gaius' bedpost, Tor mused.

Gaius lost his concentration on Lilith when the madame poured their drinks. She graciously distributed the ornate little cups, adorned with painted flowers and butterflies. Tor put his nostrils near the rim of his, giving it a quick whiff. He recoiled as the steaming liquid proved too strong for his senses.

“By the Six!” He swore. Gaius and Lilith giggled.

“It’s just a little melah, Tor,” Gaius replied, casually nursing the drink. “A little fermented tea never hurt anyone.”

“Stronger than any melah I've ever had!” He took a pensive sip of the dark liquid, blinking the tears out of his eyes.

“As it should be!" Gaius quickly down his fearlessly and poured another. "Did you know the Serpent loved his melah?

Tor nearly choked on his second sip. “What?! General Highwind? That old sod?”

“Oh, yeah,” Gaius smiled wide. Tor finished coughing and looked up at the two dancers. Lilith kept on her own dance. Stone was distracted, and upon her realization, tried to keep up with her partner.

“The high and mighty general of the Fifth Battalion drinking a pleb’s simple drink,” Tor chuckled. “What a world — such a simple drink for a brash sort."

"Brash?” Gaius guffawed. “He was a callous bastard!”

“You might be over-exaggerating a little.”

“Come now, Tor, you can't be serious — His demeanor ground against every tiercel who walked in his presence!” He swirled the drink with a loose talon casually before taking another drink. "He once beat the feathers off of a poor lass who dared stand on two paws around him, that's true!"

“True enough.” Tor adjusted himself to take a more relaxed posture on the pillows. “You can’t deny his rather, um, glowing personality.”

“He nearly threw you in the brig for drinking with the company,” Gaius reminded him, raising a brow. "Practicing to beat my Virtues game is hardly an offense."

“The lads were a good bunch" — Tor took a moment to raise his cup in salutation — “Six guide them, wherever they be.”

“Aye,” Gaius too raised his cup, and then took an honorary sip. “That stupid class separation, though! Thought we'd never get the end of his lecture series on the Code.”

“I think he read the Veronian Code every night before bed.” Tor gestured towards the room. “Look around us. We’re living it up with the plebs! To Tartarus with tradition!” The two laughed boisterously, and knocked their cups together.

“To Tartarus, indeed," Gaius agreed. "Why have this silliness keep us from having a good time?” Tor nodded, taking another sip.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Stone's steady gaze on Tor. After meeting eyes again, she jerked her head away. Her staring continued over the course of the night while Tor and Gaius relaxed and talked of foolishness.


Tor drained his melah. The last of the drink left the teapot long ago. Sighing, he laid a talon over his chest, relaxed as the intoxicants finished the journey through his system. The haze begin it’s slow retreat, causing Tor to realize that he might have spent way too much time in the Golden Mask.

Gaius was leaning on the dais striking up conversation with the lovely Lilith. He employed his usual charm, causing the eagless to giggle between his playful banter. From her body language, she was nicely surprised that a tiercel of Gaius’ status was exchanging words so freely with a girl like her. Gaius idly pulled at her loose garments, slowly pulling her to him with his devilish smile.

While gently rubbing the bandages on his face, Tor looked down into his cup, with nothing but smelly tea dredges stuck to the bottom. As harsh as melah was, the buzz dulled his pain, and he was thankful for it.

He looked up and hopped in his seat, surprised to see Stone suddenly at his side. She rested comfortably on her back paws.

“Goodness, girl,” he exclaimed, placing a talon atop his pounding heart. “You can kill a gryphon with such stealth!” She bowed in forgiveness, the bells on her skirt jingling. She grabbed the empty teapot, cradling it delicately in her talons.

“Would you like some more, My Lord?” Her voice was small and she kept her head down.

Tor smiled, waving a talon . “No, no, my dear. It’s alright. If you want some. though, I'm sure we can get another pot.” Stone silently kept her stiff posture, but her wagging tail suggested a want to continue.

“You may speak,” Tor allowed.

“No, My Lord,” She blurted. She hesitated, tapping her fingers on the teapot's handle. “I hope you’re satisfied tonight, My Lord?”

“I’m fine, Stone — and for future reference, you don’t need to keep calling me your lord. It’s just a title.”

“Of course, sir.”

“No, I — ” He pinched the bridge of his beak with a frustrated grin. “Never mind.” He chuckled lightly. He looked her over, getting a closer look of her mask. It’s white facade obscured much of her eyes, and ran along the top of her beak. It was trimmed in gold, in a pattern that swam and flowed like ocean waves. He followed the trimming up the mask, landing on the red headfeathers that lightly bounced on her head.

“Would you permit me to speak, sir?”

“Of course, Stone.” He locked his eyes with hers. She broke eyesight, looking to the floor.

“You look a little tired. I have a feeling that you might need more than simple directions to the tram.”

“I thank you for the offer, but I...” his voice trailed off in thought. He tried to retrace his steps, but could not recall the paths he and Gaius took from the tram station.

“Judging by your look, my — er, sir, you don’t seem very familiar with the district of this tier.” She shifted her weight. “And you flying would be out of the question.”

“I'm sure I could always ask Gaius to help...” He looked over to Gaius, who was flirting up a storm. Tor turned back to Stone with a smirk. "Maybe not — But I can't go home without him."

“We have rooms here, sir," Stone said. "He’ll have a place to stay.”

Tor mulled the thought. Logically, he would normally keep to his friend’s side — But Gaius is a grown tiercel, he can handle himself tonight.

“Bah." Tor waved a talon. "He knows his way back home. I, however, could use the guide.” He pushed himself upwards onto his back paws. He steadied himself on the wall as the world seesawed around him. While the wall propped him up, Stone slid under his free arm to balance him out. No more melah for you, lad!

He looked over to Gaius, too occupied with his own pleasures to pay much attention to Tor. Tor shrugged — as well as he could while being held — knowing he'd see Gaius the next day. Before he could ask Stone to move, she wordlessly moved forward. Tor draped his talon over her shoulder, levering himself to keep their steps balanced.

They past by patrons with dropped jaws and wide eyes, gazing in disbelief: It looked like a blazed was being taken home by a lord! The madame had shared this sentiment, stopping Stone from proceeding past her counter. Rounding it, she pushed her face into Stone's, with a stare that could melt through her. Stone's body froze, her wings clamped tight against her body, and her tail wove itself around her left leg.

“How dare ye even think of walking out that door,” the madame growled. She tried to keep her outrage quiet, but Tor could pick it up.

Stone tried to look away, but was forced to gaze into the eyes of a beast. “He merely asked, missus Grizelda.”

“I can’t risk a senator on ye. Ye’re expected here" — Grizelda pushed a talon into Stone's chest — "but out there? Absolutely not. You’ve severely misjudged your position, dearie.” She said "dearie" with a smouldering hatred that caused Stone's head to cower.

“Well, I —” Stone slowly began to back up. She stopped when Tor lifted his talon from her shoulder, and replaced it upon Grizelda's.

“Madame,” he started. She froze in place, slowly turning her head to look at the towering Tor.

Her words bumbled about in her mouth while she tried to form something coherent. “Milord, I’m only looking out for y-yer best interest, sir.”

“I understand your concern,” Tor replied, his expression very casual. “But I think I can handle this.”

“But yer position?”

“Madame,” he proclaimed, looking under a scowl. “I am a senator in the Confederacy. She is my company and my guide. I will be escorted out by this young eagless regardless of my position.” The poor Grizelda was stunned. She retreated back behind the counter, her head bowed to Tor the entire time.

A nearby group of gryphons stared at Tor, baffled and bewitched by his performance. He scrutinized them from under a scowl. Their tails curled up between their legs and they tactically decided to look away. Out of the corner of his eyes, Tor saw more do the same, going about their business.

Looking back to Stone, her beak was agape in surprise. Tor chuckled, and gestured an arm to the exit. Obscured by the hall to the rest of the bordello, he opened the pocket door and offered her exit. "Well? After you."

She pensively walked out the door, taking the lead. He calmly took to her side as he wrapped his wings over his shoulders. He was confident he could walk unassisted. Tor and Stone walked in silence. Tor looked up to the rest of the city, a triumphant smile on his beak.

If Gareth saw what I just did, he mused, he’d be moulting faster than my grandfather. He stopped himself briefly as he sifted through the recesses of his mind. Wait, he’s dead.

“Something the matter, sir?” Stone asked, concerned. Tor shook his head, both as a confirmation of his status and to get back with reality.

“Then best keep up, sir." She beckoned him along with her tail. "We’re still quite a ways away.”

Tor stopped her briefly, putting a talon on her shoulder. "Stone, if you don't mind?" When she looked back, Tor pulled his coat off and offered it to her. Before she hesitated, he explained: "It's a bit nippy out here. I don't want you to catch a cold, eh?" But wordlessly: I'm sorry girl, but that gawdy outfit is just a little too goofy to be out in public.

Her tail wagged, obscuring what reaction she might have had under her mask. But her small voice piped up happily: "Thank you, sir. I hadn't considered grabbing mine before we left."

The two carried on past puddles glowing amber and buildings dripping wet. The night was cool with a gentle mist falling. The moon, like the mountain before them, cast its hazy hue on the world below. Tor kept his eyes on Stone. The red that dyed her crown looked more like a fashion statement than a branding, as it meshed well with her brown coat. But more than her appearance, something picked at his mind.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked as the two passed by a corner. She stopped under a lamp, bathing her in a pale gold. She turned to face him, keeping her head down and obscuring her face in shadow.

“I wish to repay my debt,” she said, after taking a few moments on thought.

Tor cocked his head to the side. “I don’t understand — what debt?”

“The one I owe to you. It’s not much, but if my own kind act can pay for one of yours, we’d be even.” She giggled. "Well, I guess after the coat, there's one more on my head."

Tor extended his head to meet her under shadow, where she continued to retreat from his eyesight. “Rovena?”

She sighed, pulling the mask off. She looked up to expose her face to the light, where her eyes glowed in the light. “If it wasn’t obvious, My Lord. I’m surprised you remembered my name.”

“Of course I do, you are not hard to forget — But, what debt are you speaking of?”

“Two debts, actually. One for saving my life, and one for giving me money." Rovena looked away with a slight smirk. "Though, it would be nearly impossible to repay you for defending me.”

Tor shook his head, feeling bittersweet. He dipped his head to have a better look at her face. “That’s very noble of you, Rovena, but you have no debt to me. What gives you such a silly idea?”

“I don’t want you wasting things on me,” she replied with a sad chortle. “I’m an outcast. No need to expend such pleasantries.”

“My friend, that was kindness. Kindness has no prejudice.” Rovena’s surprised glowing eyes looked into his. "My friend" an unfamiliar moniker for her.

“I cannot help but think of it as a debt, sir," she continued after a few moments, looking away to rub her eyes. "Not many people are privy to even giving me the time of day, let alone an act like that.”

“If you’re concerned about your birth" — Tor whisked a talon in front of him —"think nothing of it. Your past isn’t important to me, the present is.”

“Your performance looked so simple, and yet, it was more than that, sir.”

Tor chuckled, “Well, I wouldn’t call it simple.” He extended a wing outwards, taking Rovena in with a friendly embrace. She shuddered at the touch. “Getting attacked by a drunken tiercel isn’t exactly what I expect to do after listening to the Canterlot Philharmonic.” Rovena wiggled her way out reach of Tor's big, brown wing. Tor bowed his head, holding up a talon in silent forgiveness.

“It’s alright, sir," Rovena said, stroking her tail nervously, "I’m just not accustomed to such gentle treatment. Forgive me.”

“No, forgive me. I don’t want to do anything that would give you discomfort.” They continued down the street, walking side by side.

“I’m still thankful,” Rovena continued, gingerly avoiding a puddle in her path. “It's been a long time since the very idea of kindness was imparted on me. Though, I should still repay you.” Tor sighed, looking for a solution. He was thankful she couldn’t see him roll his eyes in the dark.

“If you’re so inclined to ‘owe me,’ then I request you pay it off by staying with me tonight.” She stopped in her tracks, and her breathing become erratic. She took a talon and slowly slid some of her clothing over the shoulder. She bent her head down, and stared back at the ground, as if to hide any semblance of shame.

“Then,” she said, hesitantly, “I am yours.”

Tor rushed to her front, holding up hesitant talons. “No, no, please! By the Six, no! I meant as a guest, Rovena — not as a bed partner.”

Rovena squinted, confused and surprised. “You mean, stay in a guest room?"

“Yes,” Tor laughed. “To even think I’d be so crass!” She too, giggled, bashfully sliding the material back onto her shoulder.

“It was a strange proposition,” she responded, grinning nervously.

“I’ve just not had guests for ages, and to entertain someone would be lovely, especially you.”

“Are you normally so friendly,” Rovena remarked, returning her to her walk, “or is this the drink talking?”

Tor rolled his eyes in thought. After a few moments, he replied, “A bit of both... But my offer still stands. I want you to pay your debt by being my guest.”

Rovena avoided his gaze. She slowly made her way forward, reluctant to respond. Tor allowed her to move on, returning to her side. Smiling to himself, the two made their way down the many twists and turns of the fourth tier before coming upon an open, cobbled plaza holding the tram station. It glowed like an ethereal beast in the mist, its lights amplified by the puddles reflecting its flickering gaslight. The smell of burnt rubber and oil stuck to the wet air around them.

They approached the elegant terminal, which snaked up a slanted side of city wall. Four tracks led up the the grey brick, meeting up with another station that peaked on the edge up tier. Looking up, Tor could barely see a line of cars through the midnight fog as they slowly traversed the height of a far off tier.

The rumble of thunder rang through the night as the two made their way up polished stone steps and under the terminal’s awning. The glow of the ticket booth guided Tor, leaving Rovena fiddling with her fingers next to a grey painted wooden column.

“Tier eight,” he requested. The late working zebra behind the iron bars nodded, exchanging glimmering pieces with printed tickets. Tor placed his goods in a belt pouch.

Raindrops began to fall as he sat on a simple bench closest to the tram entrance, with Rovena silently joining him on the far side.

“How long until your tram arrives, sir?” Rovena asked, leaning over from her perch.

“Not very long,” Tor replied, nodding in thought. “The executive tram is quite fast.”

“I’ve not ridden in quite a long time.”

Tor's ears perked. “You have ridden the executive tram?”

“It was...” She hesitated in response. “...Some time ago.” Tor grunted in acknowledgement, dissatisfied with her answer. He was unsure if she heard him, as thunder bellowed it’s boisterous calling across the sky. Before long, the rains started to pour ferociously. The coolness of rainfall drifted over to the two. Tor smiled, and moaned in relief, tilting his head back to rest on the wooden wall behind him.

“Have you ever,” Tor asked, opening an eye, “simply sat down to enjoy the rain?” Rovena looked to the ground, thinking to herself.

“Not since I was young." She shrugged. "It always felt like an activity for a fledgling.”

“You should enjoy the rains while you can, Rovena,” Tor said, turning his eye back to the outside. Opening the other one, he gave his thoughts. “It’s unlike the snow that howls through the night in the winter, or the chilling waters that drone on in the autumn times. Summer rain is something, like a gift. When it is given to you, you first don’t expect it. The heat of the sun’s glow gives no reprieve except for when you go inside, or wait for the loving moon to grace the sky. But after awhile, you accept it, and allow it to give you it’s gift.”

“The rain is usually a little less welcome where I live,” Rovena rebutted. “It makes the ground muddy and it seeps through the holes in the roof. I don’t feel comfortable when a mist washes over me; it’s always cold and uncaring.”

“You shouldn’t be so dismissive of the rains, my friend. There is sometimes a rainbow to be seen within.” Tor saw the blazed put a talon under her beak, lightly stroking the underside with the top of a digit. She was about to speak when the squealing shriek of a tram’s brakes screamed through their heads. Tor groggily hopped off the bench, catching himself on its armrests.

Tor walked through the archway into the interior of the station, and the stench of burnt rubber was strong. Looking back to Rovena, she held a talon to her nose. He nodded towards her, and she did in return, assuring him she was alright. They climbed a metal walkway, its talonholds curved in bands of brass and steel. They continued in silence across until they began to descend.

“You’ve still yet to answer my question, Rovena,” Tor said as they reached the other side. She kept silent as he pulled out the ticket, revealing a second one to Rovena. Tor approached the conductor and placed a simple ticket into her gloved talons. The conductor bowed while she opened the door.

Tor stepped up and through the hatch, only to turn to Rovena, who was apprehensive to approach. She stroked her tail again, indecisive. She tried to avoid Tor's gaze, but couldn't help to look at him. Tor smiled softly to try and assure her. With a lopsided smirk, she stepped forward with a nod.

Tor placed the other ticket into the conductor’s talons. While she was confused, she let Rovena through without question. He helped her up into the car. Rovena stepped up hesitantly, her tail wagging wildly like a fledgling walking into her first day of school. She joined Tor at a seat nearest to the door, and clasped the railing. Though she was nervous, she took the time to look at Tor to grin.

When the car hummed to life, Tor yawned. After a few minutes, he soon fell asleep.


The lights waved over Rovena’s face as the tram slowly climbed the tiers of the foggy Stoneanchor. Her heart fluttered as the city grew smaller after each stop, which — Thank the Six! — picked up no more passengers. The further they rose, the more ornate and beautiful the buildings became, and how insignificant the world grew below. She had missed her old home up here, staring down at the world.

I hope you've kept my garden alive, Felix, or I'll sic mama on you! She smiled softly out the window. It had been years since she rode the executive tram, not since that foggy night after Captain Highwind came back from the frontier. Not since that day she had to dye her headfeathers.

However, on the seventh tier stop, one new guest climbed aboard. He looked ragged and tired, but he wasn't drinking tonight — he was occupied with something more important. Rovena knew businessgryphs when she saw them. The tiercel casually strolled to a seat in front of her and Tor. He fiddled with what looked like a talon-held crossbow without a lathe, with a strange contraption replacing the release mechanism. Whatever it is, Rovena thought. It looks silly.

But while looking at the device, she didn’t take into consideration that he would be looking look at her, as well. Rovena’s eyes met scarlet, and that scarlet was glaring straight at her. His wide eyes darted to Tor, and his face grew in alarm. Rovena shrunk in her seat, covering herself with Tor's coat. She recognized him as the gryphon accompanying Tor the evening before.

Until the tram stopped at the eighth tier, they shared a stern gaze. Gareth, without a word, shot up from the seat, shoving his talon-held device into the holster under his arm. Their eyes were locked until he left, rushing quickly off of the platform. Rovena looked to Tor, then back to the empty seat where Gareth sat, with a simple thought bouncing in her mind:

Uh oh.