Daring Do and the Quest for the Gryphon’s Goblet

by Yura

Chapter One

The sun beat down upon Canterlot as the ponies within strolled through, going about their business grudgingly. On a day like this, no one wanted anything more than to be inside, with their heads stuffed into the icebox as the radio blared out random rubbish behind them. Except, of course, for one particular pony.

Daring Do flexed her mustard coloured wings excitedly, her head held high as she clopped over the cobblestones of the Museum courtyard. She, like many others, had a purpose today – however, hers wasn’t so trivial as fulfilling the desperate call of the ever-intrusive grocery list. No, hers was much more than that – hers was danger and adventure incarnate!

It had been over a month since she’d gone to recover the sapphire statue, and her wing had long since healed, so only one problem remained, and she intended to fix it: over the course of the past seventy-two odd days, she had been so incredibly bored. At this point, she’d completed three separate thousand-piece puzzles, read two novels cover to cover, and constructed a wonky sphinx out of sugar cubes. She had been so desperate for adventure and excitement that she would have taken anything that had come at her without so much as a second thought, whether it be ‘recover the lost tomb of the boy king, Coltkanhamun’, or ‘get my kitty out of that tree’. So when a note had arrived at her door, she had been all too ecstatic to jump at it.

It had turned up last night, without so much as a warning. It had slipped through her letterbox, resting on top of yesterday’s Canterlot Inquirer (and the day before’s… and the day before that’s) in a glaringly obvious red envelope. She had picked it up, and looked it over – blank. There wasn’t a word on it, not her name or address, nor a return address or the hint of a sender. Nothing but a stamp of sealing wax, glittering gold under the wane lamplight that flickered on and off in her entrance hall (she really did have to fix that): a prancing griffon, it’s scaled claws clutching at the air.

A lesser pony may have been unnerved by the letter and worried about it’s mysterious sender. But not Daring; she tore it open, shredding the envelope, and spread the paper out beneath her hooves, right there on the foyer. The light smell of irises tugged at her nostrils as she began to read the words scrawled on the parchment in fine (though obviously rushed) cursive – Need help. Come to Canterlot Museum at two pm tomorrow. I’ll find you. C.

How could she ignore the call of a letter? I mean really! In the history of all things holy, what was more exciting than a letter signed with a letter?! Now, as she crossed the courtyard, her wings restless and doing her best to keep from dashing into the museum, her red eyes darted from one pony to the next. Who could C be, she wondered? There were all types of ponies here: that red stallion sulking in the corner could have been C; the letter had been red, after all. But maybe not. How about her?! That pretty filly at the back, with the blue mane! That had to be her! She would bet her life on – oh, it wasn’t, she realised as the filly trotted past with her friends.

She chewed desperately on her bottom lip, trying not to seem to anxious – what if C didn’t find her? What if she’d changed her mind; maybe she didn’t need help after all. Or maybe they’d walked past each other, and they’d never notice!

Daring whirled around, head craning over the crowd to try and locate anyone who seemed suspiciously C worthy. Until – she felt a light tug on her shirt, and her head snapped back, eyes wide, to see who it was. “C?!” she exclaimed excitedly; but it only lasted a moment. Her excitement wilted when she noted the spotted brown and white colt at her heels. “Um…” he replied, obviously thinking twice about having imposed upon a random-letter-screaming lunatic. “No? Do you know where the bathrooms are?” he asked desperately, hopping from hoof to hoof.

Daring frowned at the child, disappointed. “Yeah. Head inside, down the hallway, first left on the right, and straight on till morning,” she told him distractedly, her eyes returning to the masses that huddled under the shade of the courtyard’s massive trees.

The colt looked at her a moment, confused, but trotted away all the same – clearly she was out of her mind.

Daring stomped her hoof against the cobblestones, looking both put out and disappointed as the clock struck two ten. “Does the letter C mean anything to anyone?!” she called out to nopony in particular, her frustration showing plain on her face and voice. She had been so excited about it too; and now she was almost one hundred per cent sure it had all been some sick and twisted joke.

“I see you got my letter then,” a slick, demure voice called from just over her shoulder. Daring whipped around instinctively, kicking herself automatically for allowing someone to sneak up on her – until she remembered she wasn’t in the middle of the jungle fighting for her life. And then it was perfectly fine.

Quickly, her magenta eyes landed on the voice’s owner. A tall, slender mare stood behind her, her pale coat well groomed and glittering as her cream and white mane tumbled like a waterfall down her neck and over her graceful withers. Her long legs were slim and strong, and she looked every bit a lady. She was almost an antithesis to Daring herself … kind of like the Anti-Do.

Daring knit her brow at the other mare, whose elegant, swan-like neck curved gracefully as she looked down at the smaller, more athletic mare. “Are you C?” she asked, knowing the answer before it was given to her.

“Of course I am,” the other mare said, tossing her elegant head, sending tendrils of blonde and white mane licking out at the sky. “I told you it was my letter, didn’t I? Given the setting and the context, I’m hardly Nightmare Moon, thank you very much. Really, darling, do keep on the ball or I’ll find someone else to do my dirty work … or rather…. Anyway, we can’t talk here, there’s too many ponies. Come along, darling! Step lightly! Here we go – tally ho!” she announced, trotting rather anti-climactically away through the museum doors, down the corridor, and into the head curator’s office.

Daring hated her already. She seemed haughty and stuck up. And she said ‘tally ho’. Who the hell said tally ho?! What was this, a secret fox hunt?! Gosh, she hoped not. Nevertheless, she trailed after her like a shadow, lured in by the prospect of adventure and the familiar stench of danger. Daring, having worked at that same museum for ages, knew immediately where they were headed, but held her tongue as the elegant earthpony pushed open the door into the head curator’s room. She was pretty sure that at this point, they were breaking and entering. And when C started rummaging through the books on the shelf, pulling them down and tossing them on the marble floor, she was one hundred per cent sure they were going to get caught. Now, being the pony she was, being opposed to this sort of behaviour would have been downright hypocritical. And she wasn’t; she didn’t mind snooping. It was bad snooping that made her want to gouge her eyes out. This C mare may have been a stunner, but goodness knows she wasn’t any sort of spy.

“What the heck are you doing?” Daring asked, frowning as a five-hundred page volume on ancient artefacts of the east flew past her head.

“Searching. Now hush up and pay attention – aha!” she exclaimed, yanking down hard on a very conspicuous, title-less book with bright orange binding. Daring ducked in anticipation on the old volume’s pages flapping at her head, but it never did. Instead, it hung, suspended seemingly in mid air as it hung off the bookshelf. “What the heck?” she asked again, frowning at the book. She had half expected the book case to pop open, and to her surprise, it didn’t. “What is that?” she asked, baffled as the book hung upside down.

“Nothing you need bother with, really,” C told her pulling aside a portrait and revealing a wide, door-shaped hole. “Switches off the security system. There’s no sense in both of us dying here today! Not that anyone’s going to die today of course. Except maybe whoever has to clean up this monstrosity of a room. Dear lord, it’s atrocious. Anyway! Moving on, my darling Daring doll! Moving on!”

“It’s Daring Do,” she corrected her as the tall pony disappeared through the tunnel. Daring let out an irritated snort and followed, jumping a little as the painting snapped shut behind her and the brick wall slid back into place.

She looked around the dimly lit tunnel – it was archaic, the only lighting coming from flame-lit braziers hanging from the ceiling. It was amazing though; she’d been working here maybe five years, and she’d never even heard of this tunnel, much less known it was hidden in the bosses’ office. She wondered briefly if anypony else knew of it’s existence; she doubted it though. Judging by the moss growing on the damp stonewalls, and the fact that theirs were the only set of prints on the loosely packed dirt floor, she doubted anyone really came down here.

“I suppose it goes without saying, delightful Daring darling, but you mustn’t breathe a word about this to anyone else,” C said as she led the way down the cold corridor, the delicate clip-clopping of her hooves resonating off the dark walls. “It’s rather a family secret, and hardly anyone comes down here anyway; which is why we have no idea how long it’s been gone.

Daring dragged her eyes away from the fourteenth century braziers, which were an art form in themselves, each one similar and yet no two exactly alike – they were absolutely amazing and had she had the time, she would have loved nothing more than to stop and examine each one in turn. “Family secret?” she asked incredulously, raising her eyebrows at the mare walking ahead of her. “Who exactly are you?”

“Casablanca Lily, of the Canterlot Lilys,” she told her, not looking back as they turned a she spoke.

Daring’s bright eyes widened. The Canterlot Lilys! How had she not known?! She knew of them of course; everybody knew of them. They were the closest things you could get to royalty without the actual crown and title! But… why in Equestria would a Canterlot Lily want to see her?! And what were they doing crawling through a tunnel that was at least five hundred years old?!
Before she had the chance to open her mouth and voice the many questions streaking across her curious mind, Casablanca spoke up again. “My family’s owned this museum for centuries,” she explained briefly. Duh, Daring thought, resisting the urge to spit it out at her. Everypony knew that. “But for ages, we’d lost this tunnel. We only found it again by accident. My sister Calla Lily and I were playing hide and seek here when we were fillies. It was my turn to seek. I have no idea how she did it, but she found a way to open the wall, and that’s where she hid. I couldn’t find her for hours, and when she finally came out, I made her take me to her ‘cave’ as she called it. This is it,” she recited as the corridor came to an end.

Daring’s eyes grew to the size of saucers, her jaw dropping down as low as was ponyly possible. She’d never seen so many treasures in one place, and she’d seen her fair amount of treasure. The walls glittered with gold and silver; blue and white pottery vases soared far above them, and rich, hand-painted bolts of hundred-year-old silk glittered under the lamplight, as bright and beautiful as though they had been stored away yesterday. There were statues of jade and gold, and sculpted horses of ebony with giant rubies for eyes, wearing ivory gowns. In the centre of the room towered an intricately wrote pedestal – more like a pillar really – made of pure gold. Mares and stallions danced around it, trees and vines ensnared it and wound together, their leaves and branches carrying it up and up as gold birds roosted and flapped among them. And on top – on top! On top was… nothing. It was very anticlimactic.

Daring wanted to ask about three million questions: how long have these been down here? When did they date from? Was that Pangare pottery?! Did she know how old that was?! Did she know how valuable – could she TOUCH it?! She’d never seen a real Pangare! There were only three remaining in existence! That they had known of anyway, but down here, there were at least five more! And she was one of the very first to ever set eye on them! The excitement was almost unreal, and she wanted to touch everything at once, and explode into a thousand pieces at the same time! Of course, the only question that came out was a very blunt: “What’s that?”

Casablanca followed her eyes to the pedestal, standing erect in the middle of the room. “Ah, that,” she said mysteriously – have we ever mentioned how much Daring loved mysterious-ness? “That, my Dare-darling-Do-delight, is the reason you’re down here.”

Daring’s heart skipped a beat, though she wasn’t quite sure if it was at the prospect of a new puzzle to put together or if it was from the sheer horror of being called a Dare-darling-Dwhat ever.

Casablanca crossed the room and pulled an ancient scroll from one of the honeycomb shelves that had been carved into the wall. She brought it over and rolled it out onto the dusty floor, letting it unravel itself until it was nearly three meters long.

“What the heck…” Daring whispered to herself, studying the drawings and flowery text that covered the ancient parchment. In the centre was a large chalice, made of glittering gold with a rearing gryphon for a hangle, whose long tail curled in towards it’s back to make a handle. On the golden basin was a large ruby, guarded by four small… diamonds? Maybe. Adrenaline coursed through her body as she realized what it must have been, and she held her breath as Casablanca spoke once more.

“This, my Do-dear, is what’s called the Gryphon’s Goblet. It’s possible you’ve heard of it?” she asked, looking curiously at Daring through her bright blue eyes.

“Heard of it?!” Daring exclaimed excitedly. “Heck YES I’ve heard of it! I live and BREATH it! It’s my dream to hold that cup! I’d feed myself to Ahuitzotl’s CHILDREN for that cup!” she practically yelled, her loud voice reverberating off the walls as her wings beat frantically and her hooves pounded fiercely against the dirt. “Finding that cup has been my dream for like… EVER! Oh my god! Is it here! Please say it’s here, please say it’s here, please say it’s CAN I TOUCH IT?!” she asked, letting her excitement get the better of her.

Casablanca blinked at her. “Ahuitzowho?” she asked blankly, then shook her head dismissively. “No! Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Anyway, in answer to your question, yes, you could touch it. However, I don’t have it.”

Daring’s face fell until it resembled something very much like a puppy who’d been slapped with a rolled up newspaper. “Oh,” she muttered, not even attempting to hide her disappointment.

“Unfortunately, we’ve never had it,” Casablanca continued; if she noticed Daring’s downward glance or the sense of shattered dreams that clung to her like fly paper, she certainly didn’t show it. “I mean, we did of course, at some point, but from the moment Caly found this place, it hasn’t been here. According to the scroll, it’s supposed to be sat atop that golden pedestal there. However, as you can plainly see… it’s not. Unless it’s invisible, which I doubt. Which only leaves one conclusion: it’s been – ”

“Stolen,” Daring interrupted her, studying the bare pillar. “Which means someone else has been here, and someone else knows this place exists.

“Yes, quite,” Casablanca added, clearly put off by the fact that she’d been cut off. “We’re not sure when it was stolen – as I told you, this place was lost to us for at least two hundred years.”

Daring nodded. “And in the wrong hands, the Gryphon’s Goblet could be – ”

“Disastrous, yes. It could end life as we know it! And I, for one, quite like life, and I’m not ready to give it up. So we need to get it back. Or rather, you need to get it back. I hear you’re exceptionally good at these things. I am not. My hobbies include shopping and not dying, so I’ll leave the life threatening, near death experiences to the experts! I trust you know the legends surrounding the cup?”

Daring nodded solemnly, all of a sudden in quite a grave mood. If the cup was in fact real, then so were its powers. Which could prove disastrous indeed. “In the hands of good, the substance poured into the cup will bring health and prosperity; what flows from it’s basin will be the most powerful healing substance Equestria has ever known, and the land will be fruitful and at peace with itself,” she recited, recalling the storybooks she had as a child. “But in the hands of evil, the water becomes as poisonous as it’s master, and grass will turn to ash beneath our hooves and the rivers shall run red with blood. Brother shall turn upon brother, and pain and suffering will engulf all of Equestria.”

Casablanca nodded, her fluffy, perfectly styled mane bouncing flamboyantly as her head did. “That’s very good; how long did it take you to memorise that?” she asked curiously; ever colt and filly knew the story of the Gryphon’s Goblet – probably because every colt and filly had a copy of the Tales of Girth.

“Not very long. I’ve heard that story since I was a filly, so it’s kinda like, embedded into my – never mind! There’s more important problems at hand! We got a goblet to find!” she said excitedly, but cringed back at the poisonous look Casablanca gave her. “…I’ve got a goblet to find?” she corrected herself.

Casablanca smiled and nodded. “Too true! You have a goblet to find indeed!” she confirmed as Daring Do hopped over the scroll and down the steps to examine the unusually large pedestal.

“Is there anything else you can tell me about the goblet? Or the lack of goblet?” Daring asked, standing up on her hind hooves to examine the wrought gold; even then the thing was easily a head and a half taller than her.
Casablanca watched from her place on the steps, following Daring’s every move with her pale blue eyes. She thought for a moment as Daring searched, but moved foreward, back to the honeycomb shelves. She searched them for a moment, looking from scroll to scroll, all of which seemed identical from Daring’s point of view. When the cream mare finally pulled something out, it wasn’t a scroll. It was a piece of what looked like burned scrap paper. “Caly found this by the base of the pedestal when we came in. Whoever took it likely dropped it; I doubt they meant for us to find it. It doesn’t really matter though. I’ve looked over it nearly a thousand times and can’t make head nor tail of it. There’s no date on it, no name, just this.”

Daring glanced at the small piece of paper curiously, studying it. It was torn and singed, and yellowed and blackened either by age or smoke – she couldn’t quite tell. Maybe it was both. The word scribbled across it was just as cryptic as the small piece of paper itself, and though she hated to admit it, Daring had no idea what it could mean. “Kathiawari?” she read out loud as Casablanca rested the paper on top of one of the many statues.

The cream mare nodded. “Does it mean anything to you?” she wondered out loud, and Daring could have sworn she heard the faintest touch of desperation hidden beneath that lilting voice of hers.

She looked at it hard for a moment, trying to force some meaning into the jumble of letters. When she couldn’t, she huffed dryly. “No,” she admitted. “Not yet, anyway.”

Comments

[Yura]

DISCLAIMER OF SORTS:

Hello all who read! I just want to make perfectly clear that this is my version of how I believe the Quest for the Gryphon's Goblet would be. It is in no way canonical, and it's very likely that all there will be no real canon characters except for Daring Do (and possibly later Ahuitzotl, but not entirely sure yet), because let's face it, there's not much we know about the mysterious world of Do.

CHEERS!
Yura

[animeyasha66]

THIS IS AWESOME!!!

[SpacePaladin]

Hmmm... I would probably suspect the Gryphons being involved. Largely because with a name like "The Gryphon's Goblet" it sounds like it used to belong to them.

[Xeddrief]

I certainly hope that when the villain is apprehended they yell "And I would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for that meddling explorer! And her dumb hat!"

[Trivial]

OK. I'm going to say it now: "The culprit is Casablanca." There, now you can change the story to prove me wrong... (just kidding)

This looks like it's going to be great! On to the next chapter!