A telling of a simple, yet content Griffon attempting to live his own life, forced into a terribly intense situation.
Unambitious, uncaring, simple, and utterly dull. Those are but a few adjectives that can accurately describe the lowly griffon, Gunther. A tailor, who's recently just received a boom in popularity from the newly elected Reformisten party, of Ordensstaat Hellquill. The griffon, while appreciating the newly attained profits and company, comes to question his role in society. And the life he lives now.
On an ever so warm and quiet day, a middle-aged griffon opens up his shop. The streets were quiet, as usual, for Hellquill wasn't the most advanced nation, like the old Empire to the west. And while all her neighbors were quickly advancing at a rapid pace to adapt with the growing world, Hellquill stubbornly remained the "shield of Griffonkind against the Riverpony menace." It was a land of knights, and peasants. The distinction was clear, and the roles were set. Gunther, the griffon tailor, knew this well.
Once, as a young chick, he aspired to be a knight, like all the other boys his age. But, as he aged, he came to realize his own special talent of tailoring. He knew he could never be a knight, but he could still aspire to mimic their proud and strong appearance. Their powerful armor, replicated in a graceful fabric. To Gunther, this was his passion, his own child. And he wanted to share that talent with seemingly like-minded people. Admittedly though, while he does get the rare customer every now and then, it isn't at the rate he would like it to be. The creatures of Hellquill are simply unable to afford Gunther's passion, let alone most luxuries. A shop open to all, with no one in it.
Gunther finally snapped out of his day dream to prepare for the day. While he knew well no one would come, diligence is a knightly virtue that he wishes to maintain. First, the fabrics were neatly organized into several categories. They were double-checked for any notable wrinkles, and carefully placed back in. Then, the floors were swept, and tables dusted. Mannequins with some of his finest examples were placed right behind the crystal clear windows. His tools were behind the front desk. And finally, to officially begin the day, the 'Closed' sign hanging behind the door, was turned to 'Open'. The griffon brushed his grey feathers, placed his glasses on his beak, talons on the desk, and waited. The old building he resided were very poorly insulated, and so he often shivered.
The day was dull, as usual. The shop was empty, as usual. And very few people even passed by, as usual. At least life was consistent. But this day wouldn't be the most usual day. Far from it. Several weeks ago, the Grandmaster of the Hellquillian Order of Knights, Siegfried Trappenfeld, had retired from his position. The honorable griffon was heavily respected among his peers and people, and was especially looked up to by Gunther, always taking note of his many victories. The news of Trappenfeld's retirement saddened Gunther, but was glad change might be coming to the order.
And change did indeed come, in the form of the Reformisten.
Gunther was never the most nationalistic griffon. He loved his country, and would always defend it, but he always knew it had flaws. The Hellquillian Knights had always led a simple and pragmatic approach to life, quelling most extremist elements from rising up in the order. Not all of them though. The Black Cloaks led by Wingfried von Katerinburg, preach of a strong Hellquill, adopting change it so rightly needs, and a united people. They also preach of a purely griffonian Hellquill, and to enact a great revenge on the Coalition to the east. With such nationalistic fervor such as that, it's hard not to get caught up with the excitement. And so it came to little surprise when the Reformisten party had won over the Knightly Council.
While mostly indifferent to the news, it partially excited Gunther. "Finally," he thought, "Some change in this ever so bland life of mine!". This was a similarly shared thought of many griffons in Hellquill. The backwater nation, stuck between two major powers, given the very possible golden age it desperately needs in these trying times. Oh the bliss of change did indeed soar in the streets.
For the first time in a very long while, griffons flooded the streets, hailing the marching knights in this national victory. And out of the blue, while Gunther was staring out the window in sheer amazement, a particularly excited griffon barged in and yelled, "Come brother, the new knights are giving a speech! Come and see!" And then he ran away, without even giving Gunther a chance to respond. And with that not-so-formal invitation, the grey-feathered griffon rushed to his coat, put on his finest cap, and ran off to view the spectacle, just before he closes the store.
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The speech given by the newly elected Grandmaster was fierce, passionate, emotional, almost any sort of hyperbolic adjective could be used to describe it. And to the griffons of Hellquill, they couldn't care less. Praises to the saviors of the nation were said en masse. "Heil der Ritter! Heil der Führer!" was chanted throughout almost the entirety of the crowd. The summer sun was shining on a new Hellquill. Its griffons were ecstatic, and ready to face Maar himself.
And then there was Gunter.
The grey-feathered griff couldn't help feeling unenthusiastic about the whole ordeal. Of course, he wasn't completely blank, there was of course some sort of emotion going through him. But not much of what was to be expected out of a speech like this. Feelings of vengeance, of some sort of sacred duty to be upheld. Gunther dismissed it, and was glad to be out in the open with many around him for once. It gave him some amount of comfort, no matter the aggression and passion made in the crowd.
When Grandmaster von Katerinburg had neared the end of the speech, several of the Sturmgreife, the loyal allies of the Reformisten, led by the slightly eccentric Edler von Wingenberg walked up to the stage and beside the Grandmaster. Their black uniform, their neutral facial expressions but flaming eyes, completely contrasted against the bright blue sky and summer sun. Their leader, Edler von Wingenberg, was even more unnerving. The scars on his face made him seem battle-hardened, but his age and old figure said otherwise. Feathers were a pale white, with an pitch black suit, symbolizing his S.G. allegiance. The griff's eyes and expression were the most noticeable out of all his features. His piercing yellow eyes made even the sun look dull in comparison. Not to mention the feeling one felt when they looked straight at them. Dread, and fear. That's what Gunther felt. He didn't want to stare, but he had to. For so long he stared, he didn't notice the Grandmaster had already finished his speech, and was already in the midst of leaving, along with the ominous Sturmgreife. "Gods that was incredibly rude of me!" Gunther though. "What kind of foolish damned griffon am I, staring at a person like that for so long?! People must think of me as some of damned creep, with my stupid glaring!" Feeling embarrassed, the griff went back to his shop, and wallowing in the fact that even with a change in leadership, a creature walking through the door to actually purchase something was incredibly unlikely. Still, Gunther remained as diligent as he could, and kept iT open. Fate may someday be with him.
In a chilly, but bright day in September, Gunther travels to the market. On certain days of the week, he closes the shop for a day to purchase his basic necessities, and to at least see people once in a while. Walking down the road, the many shopping stands are completely occupied, with griffons bustling, interacting with each other, and being surprisingly friendly. The cool air brushed his face, and was always a lovely part of Gunther's day. "Good afternoon, brother! How goes your day today? Would you care for some lovely little trinkets to give to your wife, or decorations?" said a griffon store owner. His feathers were of a light yellow, with very friendly eyes. They were a bright, beautiful blue, like the sky. Gunther realized what he was doing. "Oh I am so sorry, my friend, I didn't mean to be rude. Yes, of course, that beautiful little green gem would go very nicely for an amulet! How much do you need?" "For you my fellow griff, I'll give you a discount, and only charge you, hm, 20 marks!" "I can afford that, here you go my friend. Have a lovely afternoon!" "You too! Good afternoon sister, how goes your day today?"
Everywhere around Gunther, large banners bearing the symbol of the Reformisten were scattered through out, emphasizing who was in control. The large emblem of a griffon skull, with an 'X' shape behind it, boldly stood out from the brightly colored shop stands, and joyous griffons. Gunther carried on, attempting to look for the earth pony food vendor who always had the sweetest of apples. Everywhere he looked, front and back, any tight corners large enough to contain a stand, even in places where the main market wasn't even located. Nothing. He tried, and tried, until it was almost evening, and most have gone to their homes, and the vendors were beginning to close. He hurried to the stand where he remembers the pony being from, and found a crumpled up piece of paper behind the stall, obviously with little care given to it. It said, "Am closing shop for while, apples keep getting steal, pleese take care of it, thanks - Red Marmalade" The handwriting was terrible, as is expected when using hooves to write. But that worried Gunther. He had always loved the apples she had grown, and had come to enjoy talking to her whenever he came to buy. Recently though, she had been looking less and less happy as the days go by. The griff knows how hard it is to be a pony here in the frontier, but the earth pony had always kept a smile. Then it just faded away. The letter says her apples keep getting stolen, but that can't just be it. With a little more thought though, he decided it was not worth looking into, maybe she had personal issues that were not of his concern. Either way, he was just another costumer to her. And to him, she was just an acquaintance, and maybe even a friend.
Walking slowly back to the shop, Gunter noticed a certain griff standing there, very patiently, but ominously as well. He seemed to be wearing mostly black and had a similarly colored cap on. Just then, when Gunther realized who that griff was, he introduced himself. "I am Scharführer Quill. I am a member of the Sturmgreife, and have noticed your example works behind the window, and they caught my eye. Do tell, who might you be?" Gunther was still quite shocked to be talking to a member of the Sturmgreife, no matter how low the rank, but he said with little fear in his voice, "I am Gunther Schneider. I am a tailor, and this is my shop." The Sturmgreife was visibly happy, although he did try to hide it. "I had a feeling. My dear friend, these works of art you have here have heavily peaked my interest, and I simply must ask, are you willing to make me a suit? While I proudly wear my S.G. suit, it's quite boring, and something with a little more *pop* would fit myself nicely." The nervousness in Gunther quickly turned into excitement, with, embarrassingly, his feathers flaring up. "My friend I'd be honored! I haven't had a costumer in weeks, but I've had so many plans thought up, and I didn't think I'd even keep the shop op-" The Sturmgreife quickly raised his talon, signifying that the ruffled grey-feathered griff could stop now. "My friend, I am sure you and I will get along very nicely. The money you will make will be sure to open an even bigger shop, and even hire some fine workers so you finally may relax." The promises of wealth beyond measure did not help with the feathers, in fact, they flared up so great, Quill looked visibly worried and started slowly reaching for his pistol as if Gunther was going to attack him. "No no no please, please, I am not going to attack you, I am just incredibly excited, that's all!" "Good, for a very split second I thought the tailor was about to murder me!" And then he laughed, and laughed until Gunther started to. For a solid minute, the two griffons laughed in front of an empty, and dark tailor shop, with the night slowly coming in. And while Quill was just about to stop, Gunther kept going, until he noticed he went on for a little too long. "Gunther, my friend," Quill said. "I will be seeing you tomorrow, yes? Same time unfortunately, since the ever so pretentious Sturmgreife high command are incredibly annoying on dress code, so my change in attire won't really help me." The griff had a little chuckle at that. "I shall be seeing you!" "To you as well my friend! Safe travels!" And so Gunther went inside, with a large smile on his face. And with his excitement, he immediately went to work and began planning the new plans for a proper, and fabulous Sturmgreife uniform to truly stand out. The night was long, and arduous, but he soldiered through it, and regained his passion that he had thought he had lost, long ago.
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For so long did Gunther toil, sketching up an overtly extravagant suit, that he would surely be unable to create in time, or even afford. The choice of fabric would've been of the finest touch, and the hardest punch to his purse. But none of that mattered, for when the adrenaline rush that is creative inspiration kicks in, you'd have to be a fool to stop. And so he kept on. Talons were aching, eyes were strained, mind was tired. None of that affected him one bit. He was shivering as well, for the light in his lamp had gone out, and never re-lit. It was only when he felt a dry thirst that he realized, "I FORGOT THE GROCERIES! DAMNIT ALL!" And in a fit of rage, he picked a chair and through it across the room. Luckily, nothing broke, just a slightly chipped chair and scratched floor, but Gunther was utterly shocked. "Oh by Boreas, that was a bit much." The griff just stood there. Contemplating what he's done. Thinking, ever so blankly. And then he fell knees flat and sobbed. He didn't know why. They were a mix of sadness, and happiness. It wasn't really clear what emotion was going through him at the time. His glasses were completely soaked, and he could barely see out of them. But he continued to weep. The feathers around his head weren't spared either, and soon, he just completely collapsed and sobbed like a madgriff. Gunther pictured the image of his current self in his head, and then cried harder. The cycle continued until he was completely dry. The sun was already beginning to rise when he stopped, and was utterly ashamed. In a hushed whisper, "Dear Boreas, grant me strength, and grant me happiness, amen." With a prayer said, he began preparing for another day.
Not even 5 minutes after flipping the sign in the front to 'Open', an earth pony entered, visibly distressed, and very hurriedly. "Good morning to you, sir," she said very quickly. "This is a bit, ehm, strange to ask but do you mind if I stay here for a bit? I'm so sorry, I have no money, but I can-" Gunther cut her off. "Please, you do not need to pay me. You may stay. Just, please do be careful of the fabric and mannequins." "Oh thank you, thank you, please if there's any thing you require of me, just ask!" The unusual earth pony exclaimed. "There is one thing, who in Boreas's name even are you? Pardon my rudeness." The earth pony didn't seem to mind. "Oh please sir, if some madgriff just came running to my shop and said 'Please let me stay inside your home', I would've beaten him over the head, hahaha. Ah but I do apologize sir. To be frank, I'm quite scared, call me a coward all you'd like." The griff was confused. "Of whom or what? Hellquill is the safest its ever been in years. Would you like me to call the police, I'm sure they can-" Gunther was stopped by the pony, who was now more scared then ever. "NO! Please, please sir, calling the police is not necessary. In fact, I'm more worried for what the police will do to me!" Gunther stood, now worried he had just let in a criminal. The pony began, "I can see you are obviously nervous of myself. Please, I mean you no harm. Ever since those damn Reformisten bastards got into power, being a pony in Hellquill became even worse than before. Since you're a griffon, you don't care, or are just completely blind to it. You aren't the ones being targeted." She stood there, hooves shaking somewhat. "Sir, a dear friend of mine just went missing. And I know she wouldn't just leave the country either. Something terrible happened to her, and I can't do anything about it." The nervous equine began to have some tears trickle down her face, but she kept a strong appearance. "I can tell you aren't like the others. You haven't called me any slurs or attempted to kill me, hehe." She nervously laughed. Gunther finally responded, "I... I do not know what to say. Well, I must say, you are a bit too trusting, at least you came into my shop first. Uhm, but this may seem a bit odd, was your friend named Red Marmalade, by any chance?" Her face lit up. "Yes! Yes, that is her name! By Boreas, did you know her?" "I'd like to think so. She sold me apples, and we talked during the purchasing. I sometimes made her little scarfs to warm herself up, since she didn't have much in clothing." "You're a good griffon. Oh! I'm so sorry, how rude of me, I haven't even bothered to ask! Please, what is your name?" Gunther hesitated. As friendly as this pony seemed, her story of a kidnapped pony scared him. Fake or not. He wanted no trouble. "My name is Hazel Wing," The pony began. "I'm from north of the capital." The griff was a bit confused. "Oh, my father was a griffon, so he thought it'd make sense to name a pony a griffon surname!" Gunther finally submitted. "My name is Gunther Schneider. I am a tailor, and this is my shop." The pony laughed. She seemed to like laughing. But it didn't bother Gunther. "Well hello Gunther Schneider, the tailor! I could've hardly believed this was your shop!" He felt a little embarrassed. "Ah, I apologize for my odd nature. The shop doesn't get much business nowadays." "Ah it's fine, you're a strange griff, but a very nice one. Say, since I did technically just barge into your home, how about I make you some dinner? My father taught me how to make the finest baked potato, and it's always been a treat to make it. Have you any potatoes here?" The griffon began to straighten himself out, "Ah yes, over there in the back, in the left you should see a pantry. I don't exactly hide the fact that this shop is my home." "Oh don't worry my friend, an honest griffon is the best griffon. Gods know there aren't that many!" And with that, Gunther now has an earth pony he's just met, cooking him baked potatoes. What a world.
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"How'd you enjoy the potatoes, Mr. Schneider? Too mushy? My father always told me that." Gunther hadn't the time to make himself a proper meal in a very long while, and usually just settled for an apple. "It's absolutely splendid, Hazel. You're father must've been a very interesting griffon, considering how you made this ever so bland potato into such a lovely mix of flavors." The caramel colored pony seemed glad. She was a very joyful creature, but still had a certain oddity about her. She seemed unusually nice. Gunther might've just been projecting his own pessimistic view on it all, but it still posed a legitimate question. What really happened?
"Tell me about yourself Mr. Schneider. You're line of work is certainly an interesting one, especially here in Hellquill." The question came as a surprise to Gunther, who's rarely asked about himself, let alone his line of work. "Well, it seemed to have grown on me as I've aged. I love the appearance of a glorious knight. Powerful, yet graceful. I especially loved looking at the pictures of Arcturian knights in the north. They give off an aura of a sacred order, dedicated to a truly pure and righteous cause. And so, I wanted to try and replicate it into my suits. It's a little silly why I chose the tailoring profession, and not blacksmithing. Truth be told, knights are not the most social of fellows, and there is already plenty of blacksmiths in the country with far superior designs and materials. But I love my profession. No matter how hard it is to sell!" Hazel was glad to know more about the griffon. She gave him a smile. "Well I figure I might as well tell you about myself now. I come from a mining family up north, near the border with Diamond Mountain. My father owned one of the more successful crystal mines, and so was able to support me in my little adventures. I wanted to get a degree in botany at the University of Hellquill, and I did! Though, it quickly became void, since no one nowadays wants a botanist. Especially a pony one." Gunther finally asked what was bothering him. "What's happening to the ponies in Hellquill?"
Suddenly, a knock came from the front door of the shop. Hazel heard it and went to answer. Until she saw who it was. As soon as she saw, she ran trembling to Gunther, with a heavy breath. "THERE'S A STURMGREIFE AT THE DOOR." The pony loudly whispered shakily. Gunther's eyes widened. "By Boreas, I forgot about Quill!" He thought. "What's the matter, why are you shaking?" Hazel looked as if she was going to pass out. She quickly ran to Gunther's bedroom, and locked the door behind her. Gunther, not a fool, he understood something was terribly wrong. But it was unwise to ignore a Sturmgreife. So he quickly went to open the door. "Greetings Gunther, my friend! I came as I said! I will say, you did take quite a while." Gunther responded rather quickly. He was worried, and knew something was wrong, but had no idea what it was. "I apologize, Scharführer Quill, I had to attend to other matters at that moment." "Please Gunther, call me Johanne. Only my troops call me 'Scharführer Quill'. You are my friend, and have no need to call me that." That softened Gunther up a bit. "Thank you, Johanne. Would you like to come in? I have some of the designs for your suit, and I wonder which one would suit you best." Johanne responded in a very polite manner. "I shall. I am very excited for what you have come up with."
Gunther led the Sturmgreife in, and cleared the way for him. The store was messier than it usually is, due to the arrival of Hazel, and the griff's general poor state of mind. Definitely not the finest first impression to an officer of the S.G. The chair Gunther threw was still chipped. The mannequins were facing the wrong directions. The windows haven't been cleaned since yesterday. The aroma of the baked potato was still looming. Gunther's mind was clogged with these observations. "So, tell me what we have here, Gunther?" The tailor answered, trying his best to clear his head. "Well, this design here uses a very fine silk, native to Nimbusia, and has a color palette that goes very nicely in the winter time. It doesn't have too much *pop*, as you would want, but I believe it to be a fine-" He was cut off. "Gunther, my friend, what I'm looking at looks fascinating, and I would love to wear it. Sadly though, it relies on a Nimbusian fabric. A pony, fabric. I myself could care less, but, like all things, my higherups despise all things fun, and will immediately court martial me, if they found out I was wearing a suit of Nimbusian silk." The tailor was disappointed, but he pressed on. For a few minutes, Gunther explained several designs to Johanne, and each one was considered, except for one particularly colorful piece. "Ah!" Johanne pointed. "This one, will do nicely." Gunther looked at it once more. "This one? I must admit, it's a bit, much? Velvet? With a fedora as well? I have to admit, I was pretty exhausted when thinking up this one and was actually going to throw it in the trash." The officer grew a great smile. "Gunther, my boy, this one is perfect. The fedora could maybe be switched out for a proper officer cap, to at least *somewhat* resemble an army suit. But everything else is perfect! The Sturmgreife ranks are so dull, and boring, with the same old black and red always being used. While I do like the ominous feeling it wreathes on folks, I think a friendlier color would suit me much better!" The tailor was bewildered, but imagining how it would look, he seemed to love the idea as well. "I am surprised Johanne, I never thought a griff like yourself would be so fabulous!" The now friendly figure in black chuckled. "Oh please, as good as the rewards are in this job, and how much I respect the people in it, I am not the most orthodox griffon in the frontier. Just imagine myself, rising up to the rank of field marshal, with such an outfit as this? Please, the troops would fight Maar himself for me!" Gunther never noticed Johanne's appearance until now. His feather's were in a shade similar to Gunther's, only slightly darker. His eyes a warm brown. And his figure was on the slimmer side. By no means was he a small griffon, far from it. His height was much taller than the likes of Gunther, but he isn't a hulking giant, like what a Sturmgreife is imagined to be. When given a closer look, Johanne Quill doesn't appear to be a very threatening griff. "Well Gunther, don't you need to measure me up now?" The tailor snapped out of it. "Oh, yes thank you for reminding me, I haven't done this in a while you see, so I do forget things." And for the rest of the time Johanne was there getting measured, the two exchanged more about each other. "To be fair Gunther, I only really joined the Sturmgreife for the career opportunities. After the success of Sturm Zigaretten, and the rise in popularity of the Reformisten, I thought, 'You know, this could be good for a griff such as myself, much potential'. It's like I'm investing in a business, except this business could possibly get me killed." Johanne never spoke much more of his personal life besides his role as a Sturmgreife commander. Stories of disobedient troops wasting away in bars, brothels, threats of violence against one another, and not-so-friendly competition. He said he would've spoke about his higher ups, but then said that the state had eavesdroppers everywhere, and that he liked his life. That cracked Johanne up, but Gunther didn't really know what to feel about it. And after about two hours of measuring and chatting, Johanne took off. "Goodbye Gunther, I will be seeing you in, mmm, about two days? I have had some new assignments given to me, so I might show up a little later. Think of me as a looming entity, always there, and never there! Auf wiedersehen!" Gunther looked on his friend with a bit of a sad look. "I'll be seeing you Johanne, please don't spy on me, hehe!"
After that encounter, Gunther rushed back to the room to find Hazel in the corner, shaking. "Hazel, Hazel, what's wrong?" The earth pony's anger seemed to seep through the thick, brown fur. "WHY WAS THERE A FUCKING STURMGREIFE HERE? AND WHY DID YOU SPEAK TO HIM THAT DAMNED LONG?" The tailor, was shocked. But very quickly, he was mad. "Who, in gods name are you, to be yelling at me, scolding me for who I choose to talk to, IN MY OWN DAMN HOUSE? I have taken the risk of even giving you some damned shelter, when no one else would, and this is how I am treated?! Like this?" The pony tensed up. Gunther's breath became harder, and he too started to tense up. His chest began to hurt, sting even. Breathing became hard, his muscles were slowly starting to give out. And then, he collapsed.
Waking up in a cold sweat, mind in the clouds, and body seemingly numb, Gunther rises from his sleep. He's on his twin size bed, fit for one. It always hurt his back, and this day was no different. The room was dank, and blinded him. He didn't have much in décor, only a large table on the side smothered in trinkets, and a hung up coat and cap he uses to go out. Then, on his side, Gunther realized he did not have his glasses on, and quickly put them on. While the darkness was certainly not lifted, he could at least see a little more clearer. The griffon couldn't remember a thing that happened before this period of rest he had. One moment, he was yelling at Hazel, and the next, he's in his bedroom. Alone. Realizing what he did, he quickly rose from the bed, and on the floor. His hind legs still ached, and were obviously dormant for a long while. But he soldiered on, walking a little slower now. From the door of the room, he sees a sliver of light bleed in. It's coming from the kitchen. And from the kitchen, a beautiful aroma sneaks into Gunther. "Apples..." The griff thought. He put his talon and the side of the door, readied himself, and swung it open.
Entering the kitchen, Hazel Wing the earth pony prepares a nice loaded potato, along with a beautifully scented apple pie. The sweet smell of cinnamon filled the room, and was simply divine. The pony did close the windows, along with any curtains as well beforehand. Most likely to not be seen inside. The kitchen itself though, was quite a mess. Chopped up vegetables and apples scattered about. Failed pie crust. Many little pools of water on the floor, along with fallen flour. All this tensed Gunther up, and he began to feel light-headed. Either from shock, or because he rose up so quickly. Hazel noticed this and helped him regain his balance. "Are you okay, Mr. Schneider? I know this is a bit of a mess but I made you some pie and a loaded potato, just how you like it." The griffon responded in a slower manner. "Yes, thank you Hazel. I'm fine, do not worry about me. I just need to-" He tripped and could barely stand. The pony, while small, was quite strong, and helped him sit down. "Mr. Schneider, I believe you had a panic attack. You were out cold for an entire day, and you seemed like you were on the brink of death. I'm so sorry for bringing all this stress on to you." Hazel looked away from Gunther, not seeming to want to even look at him out of guilt. Gunther took a breath, and began. "It was my choice to let you in. While I didn't know what you were like, I decided you could stay. You are my guest, and I haven't considered you as much as I should've. I'm sorry for letting Johanne in." She then seem to tense up a little bit at the mention of the Sturmgreife, but settled down. "Mr. Schneider, I know I can not influence who you befriend, but you need to know where I am coming from as well."
"When I first got my degree in botany, I tried to become a florist, and went to find myself a shop that needed one. Well, I found none that wanted me. So I thought that 'If my father tags along, maybe they'll see me as some kind of honorary griffon or some silly stuff.'" Gunther frowned ever so slightly. She continued. "So one day I went with him to this one floral shop, near the market. And to make a story short, it didn't work out. My father and the storeowner yelled at each other viciously over the fact of my very existence, and why a 'pure, honorable griffon would intermingle with a disgusting dung-equine'." Hazel stopped for a moment, to recompose herself, for she knew what she was going to say next. "When we left the store, one Sturmgreife brute grabbed me and began to strangle me. My father, old as he was, tried to release me. But, another one came from behind. And by Boreas I will never forget what that monster looked like. That, fucking terrible smirk he had, his dark red feathers, and his weight. The fat bastard was the very antithesis of a, 'pure, honorable griffon'. And in less than a minute, my..." She stopped one more time. "My father was killed. From behind. The daemon couldn't even look him in the eyes. But, as he fell, he scratched his talons against the brutes leg, and I was released from my near death. My natural instincts forced me to run away, but not before I saw how brutally beaten my already dead father was. They had no mercy. I tried to go to Red Marmalade's house but, she wasn't there. I opened the door to her old, crumbling house, and it was terrible. Broken pictures, vases, furniture, all the sort. And when I realized what was going on around me, once the adrenaline went away, I felt like I was going to simply end my life there. That was in the same time I found you, Gunther." Gunther looked hesitantly at the pony, face completely scrunched up, and soaked in tears. She continued. "When I first saw you, in all honesty, I was prepared to kill you. I knew I had to settle for you, because you were the nearest, and all the other ponies I knew of had been lynched or scared away. The moment you did anything threatening, I was going to kill you. It was unlikely I would've succeeded, but I guess I had a death wish at the time." Gunther couldn't respond. Mainly because he was just told that someone was ready to kill him, and that one of his only friends is part of an organization that kills even innocent griffons.
The cool wind seeped through the cracks, and shivered the vulnerable creatures. The clouds covered the sky, and let little to no light in. The shop itself was even darker, with the only source of light emanating from the kitchen. And in it, the pony and griffon sit near each other, contemplating both of their situations. In moments like these, the only thing you can do, is just silently respond to each other. And in this case, an agreement was settled on. And for the next few weeks, then turning to months, Hazel lived with Gunther in his shop, doing the same routine. And as the days went by, the control on daily lives grew worse. Sturmgreife patrols became more frequent, a mob storming pony ghettos became front news almost every day, each time being hailed as a victory for griffonkind. That's not even accounting for the screams. They all weren't even at night either. While Gunther and Hazel were eating, or he attending to customers, off in the distance, they could be heard. Either individually, or en masse. The worst part about it, was how nonchalant every one was about it all. As it was a normal, daily thing. It terrified both of them. Johanne still came more and more, with Gunther having more and more mixed feelings about the officer every day. And when Gunther was found to be more than trustworthy, more and more Sturmgreife came to the shop, mostly from the recommendation of Johanne. To Gunther's luck, they were quite wealthy. And they in turn, brought great wealth to Gunther as well. They were also rich in hate and awful personalities. Besides their grotesque bragging of how many ponies they've killed and harassed, they were very obnoxious too. With every time they leave the shop, it was completely trashed, and shown no respect. At least the money was good. Of course, there were the occasional diamond in the rough, with some just average troops trying to find a place to fit in, or even creatures like Johanne. But they were few, and far between. This was the daily routine for 3 months. Until one broadcast, on a particularly quiet afternoon.
"My dear griffons," said the voice radiating from the radio in Gunther's front desk. It scared the griff half to death, and then he noticed who the voice was. It was Edler von Wingenberg. The leader of the Sturmgreife. And that was incredibly odd, because the mysterious old griff almost never made any public appearance or broadcast. Hazel heard it, and waved over at Gunther to bring the radio near her, because they both needed to hear what was going to be said. The volume dial was turned about loud enough to hear crystal clear. "For too long has the griffon race toiled, dying, defending our borders from the filth in the east, and relying on the ever so distant, and crumbling 'empire', to the west. For too long have we idly sat by while the whole world is consumed by a disgusting Equine world order, known as 'harmony'. For too long has Hellquill withered away into obscurity by the idiotic, and terribly outdated knights, who were ever so resistant to needed change! This, has ended, my friends. Wingfried von Katerinburg, was not fit to rule anymore. It came to my attention that he was planning on selling the country out to the low stock in the west, for his own personal gain. This age of selfishness has ended. Me and my Sturmgreife have successfully liberated the nation from the rule of a degenerate. And I, have replaced him. From now on, Ordensstaat Hellquill, shall no longer be ruled and controlled by Equine rot! From now on, Hellquill shall remain griffonian, and only griffonian! We shall prevail, in unity, strength, and purity! Heil der Führer! Heil Wingenberg!" The speech ended with a thunderous applause. Gunther and Hazel could only look. At what, that does not matter. This was the beginning of the end. The madgriff had just seized power, and life for both griffon and pony, would only get worse.
In a beautifully bright and clear day in March. The sky was a lovely blue. Griffons were going about their day, doing business, and having nice chats. Sounds of factories roared in the distance. And in this day, the weekly military parade was conducted. The sounds of griffons going about their lives was rudely interrupted by the loud and bombastic marching music, with massive artillery guns and tanks being driven down the main street, and the black clad soldiers marching in tune. Their faces were stone cold and showed little to no emotion. There was a difference from professionalism, and excellent programming. Griffons, every single time the weekly parade happened, always cheered. Never were they tired of their lives constantly being interrupted, harassed, and even ruined, because of what the Reformisten had done. Gunther had always attended these parades. And cheered along. Not because he wanted to.
Every griffon was forced to take a purity test, as is new policy. No matter if you were a child coming straight from the womb, or a near death griff on death's door, you had to take one. As in the words of the Führer, "Any proper griff should be completely pure. From the mind, the body, and even to your very genetics. And if you're not pure, well then that explains everything, now does it?" Gunther took his purity test, and was expectedly, "a pure enough griffon". He was completely griffon until he reached his great-great-great-great-grandfather who was a Longswordian pony. Gunther still received a nasty glare from the chief tester. At least he wasn't "perverted by pony magic, rotting his brain and soul."
The traditional Temples that worshipped the old griffonian gods like Boreas, and Maar had been abolished. Replaced by the Sturmgreife propped up Ogledd society. Their teachings state, in short, that the griffons are not only the master race, but were meant to be gods amongst all creatures. And that the only reason they haven't reached their potential, is because of the disgusting pony magic, like from the tyrannical sisters in Equestria itself. All schools have required young chicks to be taught this as well. And any old Temple naysayer who disagrees, quickly goes away. Gunther makes sure to tune in to his daily bread every day.
In order to prevent any further naysayers from propping up and disrupting the regime, the Abwehr was formed. Made up of the most clever, ingenious, and sadistic Waffen-S.G. members alive, they fight the good fight against the secret seditious elements of the great Hellquillian society, and make sure to expose traitors who didn't even know they were traitors. Gunther used to remember the sly shop owner who sold him gems. Now he doesn't. The tailor did have a plan for that though. He knew full well he could not keep up a lie for long, or even attempt to hide an earth pony. So, he just had to prevent it from happening at all. The Abwehr was just a subdivision of the Sturmgreife, and Quill had recently been promoted to Oberführer of the Swordsson region in the long-ago integrated Longsword. Both him and Gunther were a little confused as to why he even got it in the first place, but he soon realized after the constant pipe bombs received in his mail by pony partisan remnants. He surprisingly didn't mind though, and was just glad to be away from the obnoxious fools in the capital. So Gunther decided to write him a letter, requesting immunity. Obviously, he couldn't just say he was hiding a pony in his home, so he made up another crime that he "committed". "Illegal Nimbusian silk imports, perfect!" The tailor thought. As horrid as it sounds being tortured by sadistic griffs who enjoy seeing you squirm, it's quite easy to avoid it entirely if you know the right people.
But by no means was living a normal life easy in anyway. There was still the matter of keeping Hazel away from the outside at all times. Being wary of the constant stream of curious Sturmgreife troops, who disregard boundaries. The feeling you're being watched. "Praising", all the gross propaganda spewed, and making sure that one keeps up the façade of a nationalistic, party loving citizen. And then the hardest obstacle of all, the mental strain. The stress, of trying to do all these and more. The paranoia, the nightmares, and the feeling of dread and horror that one day, Gunther and Hazel may be found out. Even with his new found wealth, the tailor had to save it. One, it was unwise to recklessly spend money, and one must always be content. And two, because that would draw more attention. But no matter what, Gunther could not abandon a friend, and he had to remain brave and diligent.
Though, all of that could not prepare the two for when the Führer called for the Grand Crusade. And released the Purple Plague.
It was all over the papers, and all over the propaganda films. A once unknown plague, lost to time, now revived by this madgriff and his horrid regime. This finally made Hellquill noticed by the many global powers, and none were glad about this recent development. The fascists in Wingbardy, while not wanting the Riverponies to become a dominant power, couldn't stand for the barbarism and sheer genocide committed by Wingenberg. The theocratic Griffonian Empire to the west similarly looked in disgust, for they were an empire of all races, and didn't care to cause more divide. But, one of the bigger concerns was over the abolishment of the Temples, which the Imperial Regent, Archon Eros personally condemned with fiery tenacity. And to the Equestrians fighting their own war for survival against the Changelings, quickly grew even more ferocious as now they saw that ponykind in the east was being exterminated, and deemed that this was the final battle between their own existence, and their extinction. And to the River Coalition, words on paper couldn't express what they felt when hundreds of thousands of their people, in every nation, perished to the plague. Newborns, coming into life, and then simultaneously having it taken away from them. The once healthiest pony, now being reduced to a mere sickly mass. And such an outbreak was not contained. Infection rates were astonishingly high, and all the Coalition could do was watch their people die. And all the madgriff in Hellquill could do was laugh. This was Hellquill's Endsieg, their great revenge, their final victory. The lights in Ost-Griffonia were beginning to wither away, and in this lifetime, none may see them shine again.
All griffons had been mobilized for this long prepared war. Even Gunther. Not all of it was for frontline combat. Gunther had been "contracted", by the gracious quartermaster who "requested", that he design a new elite uniform, that specializes in the the mountainous terrain of several Coalition nations. In fact, most businesses had been "contracted", by the government to contribute in the war effort. Females had been made to work in the factories, since they were not allowed to fight in the frontlines. The thing that scared both Hazel and Gunther, was that the screams in the ghetto had stopped. They hadn't heard them in a long while. In fact, no pony was seen for a while. Gradually, they became less and less apparent, until one day, they were no more.
Letters from Johanne became more frequent, and each time, Gunther became more and more worried. Being a commander of one of the frontline regions, he got the brunt of all the resistance, and authorized the ultimate destruction of it. Not only was resistance a problem, bombing raids were also incredibly frequent. Hellquill had been heavily militarized and was surrounded by the many AA guns, but Longsword was not. While integrated, it was always absurdly difficult to get anything done, or built there. "The bombing raids happen so often. Every time I hear any sort of loud noise, I instinctually run to the bunker near my office. Everyone laughs whenever it happens, in fact, they are the source of the more recent noises. Bastards, I've been thinking of having them all court martialed for gross negligence. But I can't. The velvet suit, remember that? Well, I decided to add some little touchups to it myself. And I must say, this might be some of my finest work. All thanks to you of course. This might be my last letter in a while, because I am going to be transfered closer to the Lake City front. Many victories there, the filth have been running away whenever our boys in black come in. But I will try to keep in contact. And someday we may meet again. Provided, the newest pipe bomb doesn't blow me up that is." That was Johanne's most recent letter. It scared Gunther, because his friend is constantly at the risk of death, and his transfer makes that chance even greater. And, because Hellquill was winning.
*****************************************
"Hazel, Hazel, where have you gone to?" Gunther shouted, not too loud though. "I'm over here, Gunther, on the bed." The pony said. It was barely audible, so the griff went to check. "What are you doing?" He asked. "I'm lying down. Doing nothing. Because we can't do nothing. *I*, can't do nothing. Gunther, we need to realize, that Hellquill will win. We will be found. And we will die. Why, do we have to extend the inevitable, staying in that damned shop, doing the same routine, over and over? Is this what you want? I know you like your consistency, but we might as well be dead already." The tailor always knew she was unhappy, so this came to no surprise. He explained his reasoning. "Hazel, I can't just leave my shop, this is my life. It's what my purpose is. Just because these times are bad, doesn't mean they will never end. We have survived in peacetime, and we continue to do so in wartime. Who's to say the madgriff won't fall?" Hazel quickly chipped in and gave her reasoning. "Gunther, I love you and your optimism, but you need to wake up! Who's to say the Sturmgreife won't crack down on their corruption? Who's to say your little damn 'friend', won't blow himself up and in turn remove your immunity? Anything can go wrong, you naïve griffon! We need to get out of this place! We have to risk it! Because I will not live a pathetic life, and die a pathetic death!" The tailor stared blankly at the pony. She had to be wrong, she just had to. There is always hope for the future. He cannot abandon that. He could feel his frustration and stress rising to great levels, and knew this was not good for his being. When he began to speak, to offer one more rebuttal, the griff's breathing became labored. Both of them noticed, and she got up to get him some water. He sat down to collect himself, and breathe in. And out. The water was from the tap, and very poorly filtered. But he still drank it all down. "Calm yourself Gunther, we will speak of this later. I don't want to further damage you." The earth pony said. He stared at her. Her eyes were so kind, so confident. They reassured him of some hope. Gunther couldn't lose Hazel. But he couldn't abandon his life either. It was what kept him sane. And, at the same time, kept him insane.
When he heard the radio begin to speak, he thought he was hallucinating sounds. Reality was already broken. Only small fragments remained, and they scattered and few. When he heard that Hellquill had won the Crusade, he laughed. It was incredibly funny. He kept laughing and laughing. The voice in the radio kept going on, and spoke about a "formation of the Ost-Griffonian Empire." Gunther couldn't stop, it was so comical. Why wasn't Hazel laughing? She had to, this was the most nonsense they've both heard in a while. Absolutely no way. What was once a few minutes became a few hours. There some pauses in between laughter but he kept on. It was the best medicine after all, yes? It was only until the moment he heard air raid sirens that he snapped back to reality. "What's going on?!" Gunther asked Hazel. She was scared, terrified even. No words came from her mouth. "What happened? Why are you shaking?" He stepped closer, and she stepped back. The griffon didn't remember a thing that happened. It was suddenly darker out, all of a sudden. Why were there troops out? What's happening? The sirens were still blaring, and he had no idea why.
Someone was banging on the door. Very loud. And it went on for a long while. Gunther raced to it to find that it was Johanne. And he two Sturmgreife troops with him. They all were armed with submachine guns, and were wearing their combat uniform. Even Johanne, except it was the version the both of them worked on. The velvet suit was covered completely in medals. A lot of them weren't even related to his role, and were most likely stolen. His peaked cap had the symbol of the S.G. on it, and had many signatures of different names. The lad even put some fake wings on the back, as if he was some Prywhenian hussar. "Gunther! Hahahah, it's so good to see you again!" Quill hugged him, and he had an astonishing hold. "I know, these aren't really the best conditions, the assholes to the west like to invade when were weak, but I'm sure we'll get out of this a-ok." Gunther tried very hard to comprehend and respond. "We're... at war? With the Empire?" "Oh yes, we just finished wiping out the east, and since we're pretty tired, they decided to go after us. Don't worry, me and my boys will defend the city real good." Gunther stood there. Johanne saw, and sighed before he began to speak once more. "Actually, I came to say goodbye, my friend. I don't wish to involve you in this fight. I'm aware it's affected you greatly. And frankly, I think it's about time I go and be an actual soldier for once. Couldn't hurt, right? Hehe." Gunther had many emotions at that moment. While his friend was part of a terrible organization, he knew he was good inside. He knew that he wasn't a bad griff. Tears fell from them both. The velvet clad griffon and tailor embraced each other, one last time. Before Johanne noticed Hazel peeking out the kitchen. The moment of solidarity quickly dissolved, and the Oberführer marched heavily towards the now stunned equine. He pushed her to the ground, and proceeded to place his paw right on her chest, pinning the pony down. "What is this, THING, doing here? WHO ARE YOU, VERMIN?" The Sturmgreife yelled. The two of his accompanied troops pointed their guns at her, and Gunther. "NO! Johanne please! Do not harm her!" Gunther yelped. "What, you mean, you know this filth? You?!" The voice of Quill was filled with rage, and hate. "Yes, she's my friend. Just like how you are mine as well." When the tailor said that, the look on Johanne went from anger, to shock. His squinted eyes widened, and his dark grey feathers flared. Just like how Gunther's did when they first met. "How can you tell me, you treat this thing, with the same treatment you give me? How could you? Please, oh please don't tell me you're not lying. Please just tell me you're messing with me. I cannot have my friend be a degenerate!" The hurt look in his eyes were genuine. The griff couldn't believe it. "Johanne, I know you're beliefs. I know how you feel. All the bombs, all the lies, all the war, it has hurt you and me. But if you respected me, as your friend, you would understand why I have Hazel with me. I plead to you, don't hurt her." Quill began to tear up, and shout. "You lied to me! For that damned immunity, you said it was for that damn Nimbusian silk!" He laughed after that. But he began again. "You never told me! Am I nothing more than a burden? Another obstacle in this, fucking game?" The tailor stood his ground. "NO! You are my friend Quill. But she is my friend as well. I did and said what I did to protect her. Just how I would do the same for you. I could've extorted you, I could've easily reported you for the slander against Wingenberg. You're big mouth could've gotten you killed if I was the kind of griffon you accuse me of. But I never did. You're secrets were kept with me. Friends have to protect each other. And thus, I had to protect Hazel." The S.G. troops pointed their guns further, but the defeated looking Johanne raised his talon. He frowned, his eyes were full of sadness. The playful attitude withered away. "Gunther. I cannot forgive you. I trusted you, and I'm afraid it has been broken, no matter how much you convince me other wise. But I, as a griffon, respect you enough to let this vermin go. And as a friend, I respect you enough to leave you alone." Then, he began to walk to the door. And as he opened it, he said a few last words. "Thanks for the suit, Gunther. A shame we couldn't settle for some silk instead."
The tailor looked on as Johanne Quill left the shop, with a broken heart, knowing his friend betrayed him. Gunther looked, and hung his head. His talons were filthy. The floor was as well. Things were not the same. When the bombers soared through the skies, eradicating the city slowly, Gunther could only stare. He used his eyes so much, yet had such poor perception of reality. Hazel slowly trotted to him. "Thank you. You saved my life. Thank you." The griffon looked at the pony, and stated. "And I lost one of my only friends. Maybe I was meant to be alone." "Don't say that Gunther. Sometimes, people leave you in life. But don't let it grieve you, no one leaves for good. You are not alone." The griffon saw the pony's eyes once more, her reassuring gaze, her kind nature. She meant it. And he knew she meant it.
Anti-air guns fired and brought the war back to the two creatures. "Come with me, there is a cellar outside we can go to!" The two ran to the outside and saw the bombed, war-torn city. The market in the distance was burning to ashes, and left nothing standing. Gunther could see even young chicks fighting against the monarchists. Not even children, but the elderly, and women too. No one was spared to fight. All had to commit against the violent call of the Fatherland. Artillery shells blasted, and shots were constantly fired. The sound was too much, and the ringing began. Gunther covered his ears, but could still hear the accursed ringing. It was awful. His paws felt as if they constantly were being stabbed through. It was unbearable. This was the most pain he felt in his life. A few feet more, the griffon and equine reached the cellar and bunkered there.
In the cellar, the two waited out the fighting. It was horrible. The ringing continued, and once the adrenaline went away, the injuries became noticed. Shrapnel had tore through Gunther's hindleg, and was bleeding heavily. It wasn't severe, but the griff's pain told him otherwise. He looked to Hazel, she was scared. Anyone would, but her expression seemed as though she had accepted the fate that would come to her. "Gunther, if we don't make it. I love you. Even if I die an agonizing death, know I still do." The grey-feathered griffon embraced her tightly, and said the same. "I love you too Hazel. If Maar takes my soul, I hope he takes yours too. Or maybe that wouldn't be the best thing to happen." They laughed. It seems they've found friendship within each other. And with that, they both passed out.
The sky was finally clear. The fires had stopped, and the sounds of tanks driving loudly down the street intensified. Soldiers could be heard singing several marching songs, and quite off tune as well. The fighters in the air were accompanied by screams of victory. The two friends had risen up from a lengthy nap, and went to open the cellar door to the outside. Outside, they see a truck with several soldiers in it waving the flag of the Griffonian Empire. Signifying, that the Ost-Griffonian Empire had fallen. The war was lost. They got on their paws and hooves to see the damage fully. Prisoners of war were being dragged out of hiding places, and gunshots could be heard. Several Sturmgreife officers and troops were seen being marched by the victorious Empire's soldiers to Boreas knows where. And among that crowd, Johanne Quill was seen. His velvet uniform was torn up, and riddled with the blood of his comrades, and with with shrapnel. His face was not spared. He had several recent scars on on the sides, and was smothered in dirt and grime. The griff had noticed the gazing of the two, and saw them himself. Both Johanne and Gunther looked at each other. It seemed that the officer would be angry, but simply looked tired. He had accepted the fate of both him and his friend. While he was being escorted, he nodded his head to Gunther, with the tailor doing the same. They smiled.
The shop was gone. As is to be expected with bombers, they didn't hold any love for any enemy building. Gunther looked upon his livelihood with sadness. But his stages of grief were short, and quickly came to accept it. His passion, was gone. His country, conquered. His friend, taken away. It seemed that it was all gone. But, he could begin again. It will be hard, but entirely possible. And with a friend by his side, it was even more likely. "Well Hazel," Said Gunther Schneider. "This was one long day. Let's go to the pub in the barracks, drinks on me."