> When Friendship Was Magic
>  by MrHost56
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> When Home's Lost - Introduction
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Home's Lost - Friendship Was Magic ST


There was once a time when harmony existed in Equestria.

When laughter was not brought on by madness.

When honesty was a virtue, not a risk.

When loyalty was considered honorable, not foolish.

When kindness was from the heart, not for making a debt.

When friendship was magic.



That time has long since passed, and the Elements of Harmony are now just rusted memories. My friends, the princesses, so many have been corrupted by Discord's curse. The land of Equestria is now in chaotic ruin, but this time it is not chocolate milk rain or cotton candy clouds. No, it is storms of fire and chasms that split the earth to its core. Blizzards of rust and floods of acid. A forsaken land, where nopony dares to tread.
Fortunately this was contained to my home. For some reason it was the only place Discord wished to exact his revenge on. This gave others a chance to flee, yet the help offered by those that took them in was almost nothing compared to what they abandoned.
I fled to the Griffon Kingdom alone after my closest friend betrayed me, another victim of Discord's dark and twisted magic. Here I scraped out a living, denying any assistance from the government and accepting no help that was not completely neccesary. It was hard, but I eventually made a new home and a new life.
My name is Spike, I am a dragon, and I have spent the past nine years trying to forget the past.
But the past is about to catch up to me.
	
> Griffon Kingdom - Chapter I
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Griffon Kingdom - Friendship Was Magic ST

Sunlight streaked through the windows and tickled my eyes open. I felt my body swim out of a night coma. Sense started kicking in, sight and hearing, tasting and smelling. And feeling. Especially feeling.
"Uuuugggghhhhh....."
My head was throbbing, and the light burned my eyes. This could quite possibly be the worst hangover ever. I rolled over and tried to fall back asleep but was unsuccessful.
"Ooooohhhhhh, buckin' tartarus." I complained. I could tell this was going to be a bad day. Might as well just stay inside until the hamster in my head stopped hammering at my skull. I reached over to pull the shades shut, but when I threw my weight into it my hand caught empty air. I didn't even react as my disoriented blob of a body fell off of the cot and onto the cold hard floor.
One small step for a hangover, one giant leap for drunk kind.
A bottle of hard cider rolled off and landed on the back of my head. Normally with my thick scales I wouldn't have felt a thing, but this reignited the landslide in my brain. I shouted as needles poked my ears and started to rub my racked cranium. "Yep. It's a Monday." Which meant that the weekend was over. Which meant I had to report.
The thought instantly sobered me up, and I looked around my house with clearing vision. Well, “house” was an overstatement. More like a two room shack with a wood floor, small cot, a square hole with sheets for a window, and a decent sanitation system. I picked myself up and lumbered to the bathroom.
In the mirror I was met with my reflection. A tall, young adult dragon, with rags wrapped tightly around his upper body and black leggings. Only the hands, feet, and head were exposed.
I don't know why I started wearing clothes. I was probably the only dragon that did. Maybe it was to disguise my scales, maybe it was to look cool. Or maybe it was because I just felt like it and didn't gave a buck about what other people thought. All I knew was that I looked pretty damn good with them on.
I splashed some cold water on my face from the makeshift sink, scrubbed out my claws and teeth, threw on my purple coat, slipped on black fingerless gloves, grabbed my sunglasses then head out the door.
Outside, the fresh air was a huge relief and helped clear my head even more. Though the sunlight was blinding, and it took my eyes a few moments to adjust and take in the surrounding area.
I lived on the outskirts of a small griffon village next to a small lake in a small forested area. It had small animals that provided small meals and only needed small holes to bury the remains to help fertilize the soil of my small farm.
You can imagine that I felt very out of place.
Now, normally one would think that a dragon of my age would be holed up in a cave hoarding a huge pile of gems and treasure. I was a unique case, considering I had been raised by ponies for ponies. Literally, I had been bred to be a servant. Not to the point of slavery, mind you.
I looked up at the tree tops that were such a stark contrast to my sheet metal hut. The grass tickled my feet, still wet with morning dew. The pond that I drew my water from lay three feet ahead of me, clear to the bottom and completely motionless in the still morning air.
I loved waking up to this every morning. Peace and quiet, nobody around to bother me. Just the birds and the animals going about their daily business. It was almost perfect.
And right now the birds and animal were pissing off just about every one of my five senses, thanks to alcohol.
I took off to the griffon village, reminding myself that I still belonged to civilization.



It usually takes about fifteen to twenty minutes to reach the village, but due to my current stupor the trip took up the better part of an hour. I tripped over almost ten roots, and the branches were no help either. I wasn't a big dragon, but I sure as Tartarus couldn't fit in a teapot.
I soon found a dirt path and began to follow it down to the edge of the woods. After about five minutes of walking I could see smoke columns rising into the sky. Chimneys from buildings.
I could tell one of them was from the local forge because it was thick, black, and heavy. It rose taller than all the other ones. The smallest one was obviously from some makeshift trashcan bonfire which would probably get put out by the local guards.
I eventually stepped out on the edge of the woods, expecting to come into the south end of the village. Instead I slammed my face right into the back window of a tavern. There was a loud donk sound as I reeled back and grabbed my nose. There were shouts of surprise from inside, a couple figures appeared in the window.
I heard the sound of large wings beating heavily, then a thump as a hawk-lion hybrid landed next to me. "Damn, kid, thought you were a bird." said StoneFeathers, the griffon who owned the Drunkenclaw tavern. I chuckled and gave him a buck you too look.
"So I guess it doesn't matter now, huh?" I retorted with a scoff, which was returned with a laugh.
"Well considering the fact you emptied half of my tankards last night I'm not surprised you’re still not functionin’ properly."
StoneFeathers was an old griffon. He had been born with all grey feathers, hence the name, which would have classified him as a runt in his culture were it not he was the biggest damn bird you've ever seen. The guy was easily a head taller than me, and that's saying something.
"Yeah, but I always pay you back. And in full" I said reassuringly. The gray-feathered bartender laughed and slapped me on the back with a claw that could crush marble.
"That you do boy! That you do, whatta ya say you come in and a mug or two, eh?". I reluctantly denied the offer.
"Gotta head to the guild, probably a nice big juicy contract on the board just waiting to get snatched up." The griffon sent me off with a bottle of hard cider anyways, on the house. Couldn't get through the morning without the proper breakfast.
I walked between Drunkenclaw and the general store to the left of it, and came out onto a street bustling with early morning activities. Griffons of all shapes, colors, and sizes were sweeping the front decks of their stores, pulling carts full of food and supplies. I could see Ironclaw setting up his weapon displays. Huge steel broadswords, razor sharp knives, and arrows that could pierce through most armors. Ironclaw was both locally and nationally known for his fine and unmatched craftsmanship in arms. He supplied many of the guards as well as the military. Though I'd never used a blade in my life, and I didn't plan on it.
Another thing Ironclaw produced, as well as a griffon specialty, was firearms. Unique weapons, they used gun powder and lead instead of muscle and steel. The weapons came in many shapes and forms, and fortunately I had enough dexterity to use one. I may not have been handy with a blade, but I was faster at reloading a double-barrel blunderbuss than a bee's wings could buzz a single note.
Ironclaw would sell to anyone with the right coin, especially to people like me. Mercenaries. I was a member of the Griffon Kingdom branch of the International Mercenary Guild, or IMG. It's HQ is the main reason why this town even exists. Now as to why it was on the ground instead of on the top of a mountain, like most griffon settlements, that’s because all IMG headquarters had to be built in an area easily accessible to all races.
Continuing my stroll down the street, it dawned on me that I had in fact not taken a single contract since the “phoenix incident”. The job paid for more than enough food and alcohol for over three months, but now those bits were down to pocket change after the combined forces of booze and weapons loans.. I needed to find a contract if I wanted to get supplies for the winter that was approaching soon.
I paused for a moment, noticing a tree's leaves that were a flush green only yesterday were now shades of deep reds and browns and oranges. For almost a minute I couldn't move.
Last time things changed so fast like this, so suddenly, it was so....
Chaotic.



I pushed open the double doors of the guild's main hall, which looked like a tavern except the people inside were armed to the teeth. Of course these were griffons, so, yeah.
A couple members turned to see who just came in, then when they recognized me went back to their drinks and food. I took a seat at the bar and ordered a bottle of wheatskey from a griffin with white body feathers and dark brown head feathers, the most common appearance of griffons. "You workin' today Gilda?" I asked the bully-turned-bartender.
She scoffed at me, "As if. I'm covering my brother's shift. He's out on another search and rescue contract."
I rolled my eyes. Gilda and I had run into each other when I had been a member for three years at the guild in GreenFeather village. Naturally I'd come to her with some hostility at first, until I found out she'd been disciplined into a very trustworthy soldier. I'd pick her over anyone of these drunk sword swingers for a partner anytime of the day. Except for diplomacy missions. She'd probably start a war or two with her, “social skills”.
"Where is it this time?" Geldur, Gilda’s brother and better half of the two, was always doing S&R. It was an honorable mission, but they usually were the most dangerous. You have to kill everyone going in, then kill everyone coming out with a new party member slowing you down. Unless you had killed everyone the first time, but that was a rare occurence.
Gilda looked down at the cup she was cleaning with a wet rag, "Don't know. He didn't say." Her expression was the most obvious color of worry.
Ponyfeathers, he'd gone somewhere really dangerous this time.
"I won't prod. Did I miss any good ones?" If you wanted to get a good contract, you had to get in early.
"Board's clean. Every last contract's been taken or in consideration." Damn, I'd have to get here earlier tomorrow then. Or stay the night. "And don't think about sleepin' in the back again. Meats' gonna throw a fit if you burn his food again." Gilda scorned, knowing exactly what I was thinking. The last time I had tried to stay here overnight the guild's chef Meats, full name MeatCleaver, let me sleep in the kitchen. Until then I had not known I sleep sneezed, and uncontrolled sneezing for a dragon could be dangerous.
"I'll just rough it in the woods. One night can't hurt."
"Until the timberwolves find ya."
"Then I'll just have to turn them into firewood."
Gilda laughed, "Yeah, you would do that wouldn't ya."
"They don't call me Firefly for nothing." Just an awesome nickname I picked up. No big deal.
I had received the title during a contract in my younger years for some griffon that got stuck in a tree that just so happened to be full of phoenix nests. I made the mistake of trying to reason with them, despite their clear lack of speaking ability, and thus was forced to show why dragons were more known for their fire than phoenixs… phoenixi… what was the plural for that again? Point is, it wasn't a good day.
"Probably wouldn't do any good to try and sleep in the hay bail too. Oh well." I took another swig of my cider. It would not be my last for the rest of the day.



I watched as stars swirled in the night sky, the moon melting like warm cheese. It was beautifully terrifying. It looked so pretty but reminded me just how small I was compared to it. Like an infinite span of light and darkness, stars and planets.
"I am so bucking wasted."
It had been a long, hard day of drinking and eating up the rest of my bits. Talking smack and raising Tartarus in the guild. I didn't even remember how I got up here in the first place.
At least I'd get in early tommorow.
> Griffon Kingdom - Chapter II
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wh-why are you doing this?!

Everything... has to be...perfect!

No! No stop! It… hurts… Tw-

Darling let him go! What are you doing?!



“Wah!” I sprung out of my slumber, rolling off the roof and falling ten feet to the hard dirt below.
“Ugh, ponyfeathers.” I spit out into the dirt, kicking up a small cloud of dust. I managed to drag myself up into a cross legged position and rubbed my head. I’d woken up two mornings in a row like I’d got rip-roaring drunk…. Oh wait, I had. “Buck.” I chuckled to myself, looking at my hands. They were shaking like leaves. My senses and perception were dulled, my mind black. I wiped cold sweat from my brow, and took deep breaths as I gripped my chest over my heart. Eventually I calmed down, and the shaking stopped.
“Alright, let's get a contract.” It was still early morning, and I had a chance to get a good one.



I dragged my feet through the back door. Thankfully, Meats had left me the key while I was unconscious.
His mind worked in some weird ways.
The tavern was so quiet in contrast to its normal hustle and bustle during the day. It seemed I was the only one in right now. I skirted around tables with chairs stacked on top of them all the way to board at the far right end of the room. I leaned against it with one arm as I skimmed over the pinned contract advertisements, looking for something that could last me the next few months.
“Let’s see…rabid timberwolf pack...stolen family heirloom...missing Stark family members…” None of them seemed to pop out, at least not cash wise. The biggest pay I could see was around 500 coin("Coin" being the official currency of the Griffon Kingdom). I stood up, threading my fingers through each other and resting the back of my head in my palms, elbows outstretched, and sighed. I closed my eyes and leaned back, basking in the sunlight streaming through the windows.
A shadow passed through it.
My eyes shot open as they registered the sudden change in brightness behind their lids. I looked over to the small windows high up in the rafters, seeing something crawling across the roof. It was on all fours and had a haggled limp to it. I watched, frozen in my position, my hard gaze tracking the silhouette.
It disappeared around the corner of the roof, and I heard a loud thump of a body falling hard to the ground. Next came a bang on the door, the padlock knocking against the old wood.
I made my way slowly over to it, keeping my steps light. I pressed up against the door, putting my eye up to a small crack between the boards. Through it, I could see a middle-aged griffon male with tattered steel armor and bandages all over his body. He lifted his head to reveal a feverish face with brownish-red feathers. A necklace of wood charms hung around his neck.
“Shit, Teldar!” I ripped the padlock off along with the metal latch, the wood splintering as the nails tore out and my claws put in deep gashes, not taking the time to use the key I had with me. The doors fell open from the weight of the griffon, and he slumped into me as I caught him. “What in Tartarus happened to you? Where’s Geldur?”
Teldar was a long time friend of Geldur, a friend of the family. They went on almost every mission together. The fact that he had come back alone, bruised and battered, sent some chilling thoughts through my mind.
The griffon took heavy, shaken breaths. “We… We were at the cave entrance… Geldur… He never saw it coming…” He keeled over in a fit of coughing.
I rested my hand on his back, “Wait, saw what coming? What happened to Geldur?” Teldar could only keep coughing, but he managed to spit out one word.
“Dragon.”
For a moment I stood over Teldar, the word festering in my mind. I brushed the muck away.
“Come on, get up.” I helped the griffon to his feet, pulling down a chair from one of the tables and letting him drop into it. I walked over behind the bar, pulled out a glass and filled a pitcher of water. I brought it over to him and watched as he gulped down one after the other. “Slow down Teldar, you’re gonna make yourself sick.” Though I guess my warning didn’t matter since he’d already finished off the entire pitcher.
The griffon slouched in his seat, rubbing his head. “Ah, man.” His eyes opened wide, as if he hadn’t even been concsious before. He looked around the tavern, and then to me. “Spike, oh man, I thought it was you.”
Have you ever been so tired that you collapse and fall asleep in your bed as soon as you hit the pillow, and when waking up, everything felt like a hazy dream? Well, Teldar was like that all the time unless he kept drinking water. No one really knew why.
“Yeah Teldar it’s me. Now tell me what happened, is Geldur hurt?” He shook his head and rubbed his eyes.
“No, no… I don’t know what happened to Geldur… We- we got separated… I came back here… The townspeople, they wouldn’t help…”
I raised my eyebrow at the last statement, not that the other ones weren’t important, “What do you mean they wouldn’t help? What town?” Teldar took in another deep breath.
“They’re afraid of the dragon, they think they’ll anger it and it’ll destroy their town if they try anything.”
I rubbed my head after hearing this. “Well then who sent the contract? And why was it search and rescue?” Teldar looked up at me for a second, as if he was thinking over his next words carefully.
“There's some people trapped in the cave. Not griffons. We don’t even know if they’re still alive. Listen, Spike, I know how you’ll feel about this, but just take a moment to think about it before-”
It was then Gilda walked out from the back, her eyes falling on the broken-off lock. “Spike what the buck- Teldar!” She rushed over and came up to the beat up griffon, her front hand going over his face. “Oh, god, honey what did you and Geldur get yourselves into this time!”
Another thing, Gilda and Teldar are a couple. I’m guessing it’s pretty freaky just to hear me tell you about Gilda acting like some doling wife instead of a hardened badass. Imagine seeing it: going from a brutal warrior to cutsey caretaker in the blink of an eye.
Horrifying, I know.
“Gilda, I’m alright.” Teldar put a hand on her’s(blegh). “But Geldur…” Gilda’s face contorted in anger.
“What happened to my brother? Who’s skull do I have to crack?!” She made a crushing motion with her claws. Teldar put a hand on her shoulder. “Hun, this is a dragon we’re talking about-”
“A dragon?! That stupid son of a bitch!” Gilda roared and flipped a chair off of the table in rage. “He’s always doing the most dangerous shit!” The griffon stood there, seething in rage. After a few moments, she began shaking, and fell to her knees.
Tears flowed from her eyes and over her feathers. Teldar managed to get up and wrapped his arms around her. “Trust me Gilda, we both know Geldur better than anyone. He’s alive, he’s alright, we just gotta believe in him.” Gilda sobbed into his arms while I sat in my chair, watching and thinking over the chances of Geldur actually being alive after pissing off a dragon. I would be one to know.



Eventually the regular crowd started filling up the tavern, and Gilda took the day off. We moved Teldur to her room upstairs, laying him on her bed to let him rest. While the griffon slept fitfully, Gilda and I made plans for the dragon we were going to kill.
“Spike, I can only guess how you're feeling about this, how you might feel about killing your own kind-”
“They’re not my kind.” I said flatly.
I hated most of the dragons I came across. They were barbaric hoarders, who cared only for themselves. But I had also met some very old and regal dragons, ones that still held onto the old code. This one seemed to just be a savage, having gone feral a long time back as he buried himself in treasure. Gilda had never been on a dragon hunt with me though. She didn't know the sadistic pleasure I took in it.
Gilda shrank back, nodding. “So you’re okay? You’re good?”
I grinned, “I’ll give the killing blow.” The griffon forced a smile, but I could tell that by looking in her eyes, she was concerned about me. In reality, I just didn’t care sometimes. Maybe when I was still naive and living with six ponies, I would actually give a damn about the well-being of something that hurt my friends. Maybe even tried to reason with it.
Now I just negotiated with fire and gunpowder.
> Griffon Kingdom - Chapter III
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Let me tell you something.
I. Like. Guns.
If I could, I would take some home and have them breed. Raise a gun farm. Blunderbuss and flintlock hybrids, cannon and musket mix.
Alas, that’s not physically possible. Maybe if I just applied magic to it, that might work.
Anyways, after we put Teldar to bed and discussed a general plan of attack(which involved a lot of guns), me and Gilda made a quick stop at Ironclaw’s forge. As I drooled over a rack of blackpowder bombs, Gilda talked to the blacksmith.
“Scale piercing rounds? Shit, those are expensive, Gilda. Ah only got about two-thousand rounds or so in stock mahself.” 
The female griffon raised an eyebrow. “Two-thousand rounds seems like more than enough.” Ironclaw let out a chuckle that sounded like a hammer striking an anvil, “Not with a dragon, honey.”
“He’s right,” I piped in, “Unless you’re hitting him with every shot, and then you’re definitely not trying to shoot it down from the air.”
Gilda looked over to me. “So…. We just have to take out his wings so he can't fly and fill him with lead. Sounds simple enough.”
“Thing is though, that’s the first move it’ll make if it gets the chance. Which means we’ll have to catch it in its cave. And even then it can just turn the place into an oven.” I started pulling tightly on the straps around my thighs and chest for four flintlock holsters. “The big mistake most people make is the fact that scale piercing rounds are just supposed to wear it down, not actually kill it. You’d need a shit-ton of rounds to do that. What you really wanna do is get it to roar out at you when it’s pissed off, and right before it breathes fire-” I hefted a metal canister of blackpowder, “-you get this little baby down its throat. The fire gets stuck, ignites it, and pop!” I gestured with my hands like my head blew up.
Gilda raised her other eyebrow this time. “That’s pretty brutal. How could we get the thing in its gullet, anyways? Throw it in?” she laughed, jokingly suggesting that last part.
“Yup,” I responded with a devilish grin. There was a pause from Gilda, and if I could see the skin under her feathers, I bet it would have paled. Her eyes certainly made up for it, mimicking dinner plates. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Gotta get right up in the things face and chuck it in there.” I chuckled, giving her a reassuring pat on the back. “Don’t worry, my scales are fireproof, so you’ll just be on pissing-it-off duty.” I slung a long-barreled musket over my back, along with a sawed-off blunderbuss. A belt of black-powder charges and rounds went around my waist, enough ammo to fight a small war. Which was pretty much the equivalent of what we were going into.
All in a day's work.



Fast forwarding to the town, after Gilda suited up with her arsenal of death and destruction, we arrived by carriage a half a day later in a small and depressing setting. All the griffons seemed exhausted, that was probably because of the burnt down warehouse that once held food and supplies. Probably from the dragon. Asking around, we learned that it had also burned down any attempts at tilling the soil or planting crops since the farmlands were so near its cave.
When we went to the mayor, a griffon by the name of ClawQuill, to tell we’d come to the people’s assistance, he told us that they in fact were not the ones who had sent the original distress letter. A white cat had carried the letter out of the cave to them, assumed to be the pet of one of the trapped people, but died a few hours later due to exhaustion.
When I prompted him to tell me who the damsels were, he responded with: “Equestrian Refugees, ponies. Four mares, three of younger age than the fourth.” The mayor rubbed his head, “I’m sorry that I can’t provide an appearance; everything’s been so troubled lately, I barely noticed them pass into town.”
There was a long, silent, awkward pause. Gilda stood there, her gaze hard. Her eyes were on the mayor, but they looked as if they were gazing past.
My own were pointed downward, my face dark. I could feel my mind getting mucky.
Gilda saw my reaction, and cut in before things got worse. "Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything at all?"
The mayor was absolutely bewildered by the scene, not sure how to take the sudden plunge in mood. "U-ummm, well,... The mares, the three younger ones, they kept calling themselves the "Crusaders" or something of the like. Though I'm not sure what that could me-"
I couldn't have slammed the door harder.



What had once been a simple search and rescue mission of a failed search and rescue mission had suddenly taken a twisted, sick turn for me. I stormed through the streets, bee-lining it through crowds, scattering griffons with tired and long faces.
"Spike!" I heard Gilda call, but I didn't heed it, only kept with my objective. We'd memorized the map of the place and estimated the location of the dragon's cave. I was going there, I was going to kill the damned thing.
Except I felt a sharp pain in the back of my neck just then, and suddenly I was on the ground, looking up at a griffon with a long-rifle. For a moment I thought it was Gilda, and was about to throw her off, but then it registered that this claw was way too heavy for her size. The dust settled, and I looked up to a surprising, yet familiar face.
"Oi, Spike, did you come all this way just to save my dumbass?"