Who Needs Harmony?: An MLP Empire Quest
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Omake: An Account of the First Griffon Empire
This took way too long
From Imperium Sine Fine: An Account of the First Griffon Empire, by Archimedes, published 31 AD
Foreword
Dear reader, this author must confess that studying the history of the First Empire [Herz: Erste Gryphusisches Reich, Old High Griffonic: Primum Imperium Gryphicum) is a laborious task, both because of the scarcity of relevant sources, and because of the ambiguity that is so often present within these sources. Discordian machinations may corrupt the text into illegibility, the author may have been paid to obfuscate unfortunate truths by their patron, or the author may simply be trying to fill gaps in their own knowledge with outlandish tales; any of these occurrences may keep a historian from finding the truth of what went on under the Erste Reich.
Still, some information can be gleaned from the sources that have been passed down from before the Discordian, and especially those which have been recovered in the three decades of stability that the current Empire has brought…
Ch. 1: Early History
Our foremost source on the early First Imperial period is Caudius Geta, the court historian for Gallus Geriatrix, the sixth Imperator. According to Geta, the Erste Reich was founded by the great conqueror Gaius Gallantius, who was born in the city of Griffonstone (OHG: Petragryphonica) around 400 years Before Discord, and thus, 700 years before the present day.
Gaius Gallantius' mother, says Geta, was a decorated soldier in Petragryphonica's army, while his father was more similar in temperament to the Emperor on our throne today--a well-known and thrifty merchant. Though neither of his parents' names have survived, Gaius evidently gained much from both, displaying military valor early in his life while repelling raiders from a rival city-state. His first great deed, it is said, was to take up the fallen banner of his unguiple [1] of pikegriffs [2] and rally them back into a coherent formation, which allowed them to drive back the raid party that threatened to break through Petragryphonica's wooden walls. For this act, Gaius was promoted to unguipularion, [3] where before he had been a mere decanus.
From there, Gaius would ascend through the ranks, participating in numerous battles--at the Clawdine Fork, Serapium, and even against the Eastern Griffonic [Herz: Ostgreifen] tribe of the Avianes. It is unfortunate that, due to Discord's reshuffling of the world's geography, we have no idea where any of these battles occurred; neither have we been able to ascertain where most of Petragryphonica's (seemingly many) enemies lived…
...At around age 30, with a decade of military experience under his belt, Gaius was elected to the Senatus Petragryphonicus as one of its three military tribunes, who sat alongside three patrician, three plebeian, and three priestly tribunes to form the government of the city. According to Geta, and a slightly earlier, though more fragmentary, source, Maculus Galba, he quickly gained a reputation as a skilled orator, who could steer a debate in his favor in mere moments, and whose speeches, when on campaign, could embolden the hearts of his troops such that they could fly against any foe.
Over the course of Gaius' term, Geta says, he noticed that most of the other tribunes occupied much of their time with bickering and personal rivalries, rather than service to their city. The murder of military tribune Corgus Ducanius, a close friend of Gaius, by partisans of priestly tribune Septimus Sparatus galvanized the warrior to take action against what he saw as a deeply unjust political system. Thus, he resolved to gather support for himself however he could, and one way or another, become the sole ruler of Petragryphonica.
To that end, Gaius proposed a campaign to his fellow tribunes, one that would finally bring the tribes of the northwest, the Aquilones, Falcoii, and their brethren, to heel. Evidently, these tribes had been a thorn in the side of Petragryphonica and its league of associated cities, which seems to have encompassed much of the northern Old High Griffonic-speaking region. In any case, the other military tribunes quickly approved, as did the plebs and two of the three patricians, all of whom sensed opportunities for expansion in the wake of their rivals' weakening from internecine warfare. Only the priestly tribunes, who were much more cautious (Geta calls them "cowardly," while Galba merely says they were "apprehensive, and rivals to the military") as a rule, opposed the offensive, but they were conclusively outvoted.
Gaius Gallantius was the natural leader of this grand expedition, allegedly with 90,000 griffons under his command (archeological evidence of Petragryphonica's population suggests that the number was much lower, probably closer to 15,000), most of which were pikegriffs, with some windlancers [4] and archers among them. Once he arrived in modern Aquileia, he struck first at the Falcoii, whose raiders had drastically reduced trade between Petragryphonica and the west. His attacks were exceptionally bloody, making no distinction between warriors and non-combatants, and they only ceased once the chieftain of the Falcoii, Gorgobinus, swore to pay a heavy annual tribute to the Petragryphonican League…
…After seven years of campaigning, Gaius Gallantius finally brought the tattered remnants of the proto-Aquileian tribes under the domination of his home city. However, according to both Galba and Geta, in his absence, the priestly tribunes had imposed their tyrannical rule on Petragryphonica, overtaxing the rich, overworking the poor, and weakening the army so that it could not challenge them. As a result, the city and its league were in chaos, and the griffon city-states seemed poised to splinter entirely. Perhaps they would have, if Gaius had not returned at that moment with his 9,000 remaining battle-hardened troops, which swept away the priestly tribunes' depleted forces and seized Petragryphonica.
According to the official histories, the people celebrated this event, acclaiming Gaius their imperator et dictator out of sheer gratitude. It is possible, however, that they were "helped" in making that decision by the aforementioned 9,000 troops…
…By the time of the third Imperator, Gennadius Garamantius, the ruling family of the Empire became known as the Sanguine Aureum, the Golden Bloodline, a name which may have survived the Discordian Era and given rise to the current Goldenfeather dynasty's name…
Ch. 3: Prosperity: Society and Economy of the High Imperial Period
The economy of the First Empire was radically different from that of its successor. Chief among the differences was the primary source of labor: slaves. In contrast to the modern Gryphusian state, which uses exclusively free labor and abhors slavery as an institution, the First Empire was reliant on enslaved beings for nearly all menial tasks. Most slaves worked on the great estates of the nobility, the latifundia, consolidated from the previous small farms through mass buy-outs in the Early and Middle Periods. These individuals lived a backbreaking existence, tending to livestock, harvesting grapes and other crops, and having few possessions or rights. House slaves were also common in the homes of the wealthy, catering to their masters' every whim. Perhaps the most dangerous professions for a slave were mining and, surprisingly, milling. Mining slaves faced dangers that even modern miners confront—flooding, noxious gases, cave-ins, and more—but had longer, less forgiving shifts and less advanced technology to work with. Mill slaves, who ground flour, rarely lasted more than a decade as fine powders from the milling process infiltrated their lungs and slowly choked them to death. [5] Gladiators were the most prestigious slaves, fighting in arena matches and mock battles against animals and each other.
The sources of the First Empire's slaves remain obscure. Purchase records were not often preserved, or if they were, they were not preserved well enough to last until the present day. What few we have recovered mention some slaves coming from the northwest, the lands conquered by Gaius Gallantius; perhaps a few tribes remained there who were exploited for enslaved laborers, but their numbers could not have supplied the whole empire alone. Others state that slaves were traded from the south, and that not all of these slaves were griffons—a few ponies appear in the records, as well as potentially some diamond dogs (based on name evidence)…
…The Empire's society functioned as a vast patronage network, terminating with the Imperator at the top. To advance socially (and often economically), an individual would seek the support of a wealthy patron and enter into an agreement of mutual financial, political, and sometimes even martial or nuptial support. On the rare occasion that they were freed, slaves became clients of their masters, though they tended to be treated more poorly than freeborn clients, even if they were highly valued as slaves…
…Technologically, the First Empire appears to have been on par with the immediate pre-Unification, post-Discordian griffon realms for much of its 400-year existence. Only a few documents from the final decades of the Empire, as chaos began to rise in power and cause the decay of the latifundia economy, hint at significant technological progress, such as the famed sketches used to create the first modern himmelschiff; it is unknown if this and other inventions like it were ever built or implemented. This author theorizes that the omnipresent slave-agricultural complex that made up so much of the economy, coupled with a much higher population than the early Second Empire, made such inventions redundant—why build a machine to do a task that a few slaves could take on more or less just as well?
Ch. 4: Military Organization from the Early to Late Periods
According to sources such as general Gnaeus Cyprianus, the military of the early First Empire was organized similarly to that of pre-imperial Petragryphonica, with an unguipular system. The basic unit was, as the name suggests, the unguiple (unguipulus in Old High Griffonic), literally "clawful," a formation of 240 pikegriffs arranged six ranks deep. The first two ranks were comprised of hardened veterans, the triarii, to shield the less experienced troops in the rear and keep morale up; the next two were of the more senior soldiers, the principes, less experienced than the veterans but still more so than the ones behind them; and the greenest soldiers, the hastati, were in the rear, to protect them while still allowing them to contribute and gain valuable experience. [6] Ten unguiples, totaling 2,400 troops, plus four alae (wings) of 200 flying javelineers, or velites, totaling 800 troops, plus six 100-griffon flying windlancer alae, totaling 600 troops, made up a standard legio, or legion, of 3,800 troops…
…By the Middle Imperial period, a seismic shift in tactics and organization had occurred, with the reformations of Gallus Giulianus. Gone were the long pikes of the old unguiples; now, an unguiple was made up of 120 sword-wielding griffons with shields, arranged three ranks deep. The order of veterancy was now reversed—greenhorns at the front, veterans in the rear, allowing the veterans to come to the fore in the event of an especially tough opponent. The size of the legion remained the same, but the number of unguiples within it doubled, giving it more tactical flexibility on the field. The velites and windlancer formations remained largely unchanged, however…
…The neo-unguipular or Gallian legions gave way in the Late Imperial period to the cohortal legions of Garius Gracchus. A cohort (cohors in Old High Griffonic) was essentially a quadruple-unguiple, made up of 480 sword-wielding, armored but shieldless troops; ten of these, plus six alae of 200 flying or grounded archers, made up the cohortal legion. Within the legion, cohorts were numbered from one to ten, with the first being veterans and the tenth new recruits. There was also a major change in the way the legions fought. Previously, the main body of the legion fought on the ground, while the sky was held by velites and windlancers. The cohortal legions discarded the windlancers altogether in favor of equipping their legionaries with longer swords and heavier armor, which they would use in swooping aerial charges similar to those of the windlancers before them. It is these legionaries, clad in steel and swinging mighty blades, that evolved into the modern griffon knights. Indeed, today's knightly orders take their names from the cognomens of known First Imperial legions…
[Incomplete] List of Known Legions of the First Empire, c. 50 Before Discord
Legio I Leonis: Descended from the personal unit of Gaius Gallantius, the Leones, as they were called, were the protectors of Petragryphonica and the Imperial family. When the capital moved to Medialanum in the Late period, Legio I moved with it, and remained there until the city's fall to Discord. The remnants of Legio I fell in with Grover Gyagrius when he attempted to restore the Empire in the Discordian, but were again defeated. The last of the Leones finally congregated in the city of Gryphusberg, ruled by a cadet branch of the Sanguine Aureum, and pledged themselves to the service of King Gothius I as milites—knights—in 46 Reign of Discord. Thus, the Knights Lion were born.
Legio II Unguis: The Talons of the South, who guarded the cities of the central and southern Empire and the southern frontiers. They saw frequent action against what are thought to have been pony raiders, but their most famous foes were the Eastern Griffonic tribe of the Wingobards, who settled in Legio II's area of responsibility during the Late period. When the Empire fell, however, the remaining troops of Legio II actually allied with the Wingobard warriors against Discord's monsters, but they were decisively defeated, and ceased to exist except as individual knights. Their spiritual successors and namesakes are the Knights Talon, guardians of Wingbardy.
Legio III Pantherae: Legio III held the western lands of the Empire, conquered by Gaius Gallantius, and never fully Imperialized. Like Legio II, they saw much action against various tribes, who spoke the now-extinct Western Griffonic language family. They may even have engaged migrating yak clans, though the evidence for this is circumstantial at best. Legio III essentially dissolved as a fighting force when modern Aquileia's population collapsed due to post-Imperial, Discord-caused famines, and could no longer support a professional military unit of that size. Their spiritual successors and namesakes are the Knights Panther, guardians of Aquileia.
Legio IV Vagus: So named due to their "wandering" nature and frequent expeditions to the west of the Empire, not much is known about this legion other than its geographical bailiwick. Presumably, they collapsed much like the Legio III when their recruiting base dried up as the First Empire fell, though fragmentary sources hint at their wholesale disappearance by unknown means. Their spiritual successors are the Knights [I'll edit name in when we learn it], guardians of Kestrella.
Ch. 6: Languages of the First Empire
The First Empire was every bit as linguistically diverse as the Second, if not more so. The primary language spoken is known today as Old High Griffonic, the progenitor of the modern High Griffonic language family, which includes Aiglense [Aquileian] and Wingbardo, along with a number of smaller dialects thereof.
To the east, the aptly named East Griffonic languages were spoken by various tribes, including the ones who would settle the eastern Empire and even Petragryphonica in time—this is why the city is now known as Griffonstone [Greifenstein]. The East Griffonic family includes Herzlandisch and several smaller languages spoken in the eastern Feathisian cities.
The west of the Empire was once home to the little-known Western Griffonic languages, whose speakers eventually assimilated into Old High Griffonic or died out during the Discordian, though some loanwords survive in Aquileian. These languages included Aquilonic, Falcoic, and other related tongues…
Ch. 8: Fall of the First Empire
The Fall of the First Griffon Empire is an infamous and legendary event, and a formative one in the history of the griffon species. The process began with an economic downturn in 35 Before Discord; the tapping out of several silver mines in the west caused a currency crisis and subsequent panic among the people, especially merchants. A political struggle between the sons of Imperator Galvanus Gellarus (d. 27 BD) only compounded things; by 23 BD, multiple legions had pledged themselves to one son or the other, and the Empire plunged into its first civil war in over 200 years…
…The destruction from the Second Succession War was significant, and badly weakened the Empire's ability to combat the strange new diseases and monsters that were beginning to enter its lands in the late 10s BD. Ultimately, neither of the claimants won, due to the arrival of Discord himself in 0 BD. Upon the coming of this eldritch being, the two brothers, Gallianus and Gelba, put aside their conflict and united their remaining forces—approximately 19 legions strong.
They stood no chance.
All but two of the mustered legions were utterly destroyed by Discord's hordes, and both Gallianus and Gelba were killed, leaving the throne to Gallianus' young son, Gnaeus Gromulus. It was he who would rule during the Fall of Medialanum in 3 RD, which opened the way for the Sack of Petragryphonica the next year. The last Imperator was killed, and the First Empire effectively ceased to exist…
…There is a possibility that the hatred for slavery in modern griffon culture stems from the traumatic period of the First Empire's fall. Scattered historical sources record massive slave uprisings throughout this time, and archeological evidence shows that many towns of the modern Empire were built on the sites of old latifundia. This author theorizes that, due to the culling of the upper class by the uprisings and military disasters, former slaves made up the basis of society after the First Empire, combining with the remaining freeborn citizens to survive and create new settlements, and passing down their antipathy for unfree labor to their descendants…
Ch. 9: The Last Imperial: Grover's Reign
By the 30s RD, the First Empire was a memory, but still a vivid one. Many, especially those of the badly-reduced upper class, but including lower-ranked individuals, wished to see the lost age of prosperity come again.
The first and last attempt to realize that dream would come from Grover Gyagrius, son of magister militum Gyagrius Gracchus, one of the last generals of the First Empire who had survived the early Discordian. From his father, Grover inherited a shrewd military mind and two legions' worth of frontier troops, hardened by decades of battle against monsters and warlords.
To take on Discord, however, Grover would need even more, and the best sources of warriors at that time were the migrating tribes who had taken over swathes of Imperial land. Securing their loyalty through official land grants, gifts, marriages to himself and his officials, sheer charisma, and at least one drinking contest, Grover built an army out of ex-Imperials and tribal peoples (including the Wingobardi, Birdgundiones, Alagryphi, and Sparroebi), totaling between 25,000 and 50,000 troops.
Like their predecessors, the Army of the Two Brothers, they did not stand a chance.
They underestimated Discord's cosmic power, thinking that they could defeat him like a conventional enemy; they could not. Discord, according to the only source for this period, Goliatus, petrified Grover with a bolt of arcane lightning, causing the army to disintegrate as tribes broke off, due to their loyalties now being null and void with the death of their commander. The few who stayed, including the future Knights Lion, were shattered by hordes of monsters and scattered to the winds.
No one else tried to reunify the Empire until after Discord's fall.
OOC Footnotes
[1] Maniple, in the sense of a Roman military unit of 120 troops.
[2] These are essentially sarissa phalangites as employed by Macedon, rather than Roman swordsmen.
[3] A term I came up with for an unguiple leader; the -arion ending is a variation of the -urion ending in "centurion."
[4] These troops fulfill the same role as cavalry in our world; obviously, cavalry as we know it does not exist in the MLPverse.
[5] This is an actual thing that happened to Roman mill slaves, the dust got in their lungs and caused various respiratory diseases.
[6] This is basically a double-depth, reversed Roman maniple with sarissae instead of swords. I didn't want to just copypaste the Roman system from the beginning, so I decided to mix up the military a bit at first.
@Questor have
From Imperium Sine Fine: An Account of the First Griffon Empire, by Archimedes, published 31 AD
Foreword
Dear reader, this author must confess that studying the history of the First Empire [Herz: Erste Gryphusisches Reich, Old High Griffonic: Primum Imperium Gryphicum) is a laborious task, both because of the scarcity of relevant sources, and because of the ambiguity that is so often present within these sources. Discordian machinations may corrupt the text into illegibility, the author may have been paid to obfuscate unfortunate truths by their patron, or the author may simply be trying to fill gaps in their own knowledge with outlandish tales; any of these occurrences may keep a historian from finding the truth of what went on under the Erste Reich.
Still, some information can be gleaned from the sources that have been passed down from before the Discordian, and especially those which have been recovered in the three decades of stability that the current Empire has brought…
Ch. 1: Early History
Our foremost source on the early First Imperial period is Caudius Geta, the court historian for Gallus Geriatrix, the sixth Imperator. According to Geta, the Erste Reich was founded by the great conqueror Gaius Gallantius, who was born in the city of Griffonstone (OHG: Petragryphonica) around 400 years Before Discord, and thus, 700 years before the present day.
Gaius Gallantius' mother, says Geta, was a decorated soldier in Petragryphonica's army, while his father was more similar in temperament to the Emperor on our throne today--a well-known and thrifty merchant. Though neither of his parents' names have survived, Gaius evidently gained much from both, displaying military valor early in his life while repelling raiders from a rival city-state. His first great deed, it is said, was to take up the fallen banner of his unguiple [1] of pikegriffs [2] and rally them back into a coherent formation, which allowed them to drive back the raid party that threatened to break through Petragryphonica's wooden walls. For this act, Gaius was promoted to unguipularion, [3] where before he had been a mere decanus.
From there, Gaius would ascend through the ranks, participating in numerous battles--at the Clawdine Fork, Serapium, and even against the Eastern Griffonic [Herz: Ostgreifen] tribe of the Avianes. It is unfortunate that, due to Discord's reshuffling of the world's geography, we have no idea where any of these battles occurred; neither have we been able to ascertain where most of Petragryphonica's (seemingly many) enemies lived…
...At around age 30, with a decade of military experience under his belt, Gaius was elected to the Senatus Petragryphonicus as one of its three military tribunes, who sat alongside three patrician, three plebeian, and three priestly tribunes to form the government of the city. According to Geta, and a slightly earlier, though more fragmentary, source, Maculus Galba, he quickly gained a reputation as a skilled orator, who could steer a debate in his favor in mere moments, and whose speeches, when on campaign, could embolden the hearts of his troops such that they could fly against any foe.
Over the course of Gaius' term, Geta says, he noticed that most of the other tribunes occupied much of their time with bickering and personal rivalries, rather than service to their city. The murder of military tribune Corgus Ducanius, a close friend of Gaius, by partisans of priestly tribune Septimus Sparatus galvanized the warrior to take action against what he saw as a deeply unjust political system. Thus, he resolved to gather support for himself however he could, and one way or another, become the sole ruler of Petragryphonica.
To that end, Gaius proposed a campaign to his fellow tribunes, one that would finally bring the tribes of the northwest, the Aquilones, Falcoii, and their brethren, to heel. Evidently, these tribes had been a thorn in the side of Petragryphonica and its league of associated cities, which seems to have encompassed much of the northern Old High Griffonic-speaking region. In any case, the other military tribunes quickly approved, as did the plebs and two of the three patricians, all of whom sensed opportunities for expansion in the wake of their rivals' weakening from internecine warfare. Only the priestly tribunes, who were much more cautious (Geta calls them "cowardly," while Galba merely says they were "apprehensive, and rivals to the military") as a rule, opposed the offensive, but they were conclusively outvoted.
Gaius Gallantius was the natural leader of this grand expedition, allegedly with 90,000 griffons under his command (archeological evidence of Petragryphonica's population suggests that the number was much lower, probably closer to 15,000), most of which were pikegriffs, with some windlancers [4] and archers among them. Once he arrived in modern Aquileia, he struck first at the Falcoii, whose raiders had drastically reduced trade between Petragryphonica and the west. His attacks were exceptionally bloody, making no distinction between warriors and non-combatants, and they only ceased once the chieftain of the Falcoii, Gorgobinus, swore to pay a heavy annual tribute to the Petragryphonican League…
…After seven years of campaigning, Gaius Gallantius finally brought the tattered remnants of the proto-Aquileian tribes under the domination of his home city. However, according to both Galba and Geta, in his absence, the priestly tribunes had imposed their tyrannical rule on Petragryphonica, overtaxing the rich, overworking the poor, and weakening the army so that it could not challenge them. As a result, the city and its league were in chaos, and the griffon city-states seemed poised to splinter entirely. Perhaps they would have, if Gaius had not returned at that moment with his 9,000 remaining battle-hardened troops, which swept away the priestly tribunes' depleted forces and seized Petragryphonica.
According to the official histories, the people celebrated this event, acclaiming Gaius their imperator et dictator out of sheer gratitude. It is possible, however, that they were "helped" in making that decision by the aforementioned 9,000 troops…
…By the time of the third Imperator, Gennadius Garamantius, the ruling family of the Empire became known as the Sanguine Aureum, the Golden Bloodline, a name which may have survived the Discordian Era and given rise to the current Goldenfeather dynasty's name…
Ch. 3: Prosperity: Society and Economy of the High Imperial Period
The economy of the First Empire was radically different from that of its successor. Chief among the differences was the primary source of labor: slaves. In contrast to the modern Gryphusian state, which uses exclusively free labor and abhors slavery as an institution, the First Empire was reliant on enslaved beings for nearly all menial tasks. Most slaves worked on the great estates of the nobility, the latifundia, consolidated from the previous small farms through mass buy-outs in the Early and Middle Periods. These individuals lived a backbreaking existence, tending to livestock, harvesting grapes and other crops, and having few possessions or rights. House slaves were also common in the homes of the wealthy, catering to their masters' every whim. Perhaps the most dangerous professions for a slave were mining and, surprisingly, milling. Mining slaves faced dangers that even modern miners confront—flooding, noxious gases, cave-ins, and more—but had longer, less forgiving shifts and less advanced technology to work with. Mill slaves, who ground flour, rarely lasted more than a decade as fine powders from the milling process infiltrated their lungs and slowly choked them to death. [5] Gladiators were the most prestigious slaves, fighting in arena matches and mock battles against animals and each other.
The sources of the First Empire's slaves remain obscure. Purchase records were not often preserved, or if they were, they were not preserved well enough to last until the present day. What few we have recovered mention some slaves coming from the northwest, the lands conquered by Gaius Gallantius; perhaps a few tribes remained there who were exploited for enslaved laborers, but their numbers could not have supplied the whole empire alone. Others state that slaves were traded from the south, and that not all of these slaves were griffons—a few ponies appear in the records, as well as potentially some diamond dogs (based on name evidence)…
…The Empire's society functioned as a vast patronage network, terminating with the Imperator at the top. To advance socially (and often economically), an individual would seek the support of a wealthy patron and enter into an agreement of mutual financial, political, and sometimes even martial or nuptial support. On the rare occasion that they were freed, slaves became clients of their masters, though they tended to be treated more poorly than freeborn clients, even if they were highly valued as slaves…
…Technologically, the First Empire appears to have been on par with the immediate pre-Unification, post-Discordian griffon realms for much of its 400-year existence. Only a few documents from the final decades of the Empire, as chaos began to rise in power and cause the decay of the latifundia economy, hint at significant technological progress, such as the famed sketches used to create the first modern himmelschiff; it is unknown if this and other inventions like it were ever built or implemented. This author theorizes that the omnipresent slave-agricultural complex that made up so much of the economy, coupled with a much higher population than the early Second Empire, made such inventions redundant—why build a machine to do a task that a few slaves could take on more or less just as well?
Ch. 4: Military Organization from the Early to Late Periods
According to sources such as general Gnaeus Cyprianus, the military of the early First Empire was organized similarly to that of pre-imperial Petragryphonica, with an unguipular system. The basic unit was, as the name suggests, the unguiple (unguipulus in Old High Griffonic), literally "clawful," a formation of 240 pikegriffs arranged six ranks deep. The first two ranks were comprised of hardened veterans, the triarii, to shield the less experienced troops in the rear and keep morale up; the next two were of the more senior soldiers, the principes, less experienced than the veterans but still more so than the ones behind them; and the greenest soldiers, the hastati, were in the rear, to protect them while still allowing them to contribute and gain valuable experience. [6] Ten unguiples, totaling 2,400 troops, plus four alae (wings) of 200 flying javelineers, or velites, totaling 800 troops, plus six 100-griffon flying windlancer alae, totaling 600 troops, made up a standard legio, or legion, of 3,800 troops…
…By the Middle Imperial period, a seismic shift in tactics and organization had occurred, with the reformations of Gallus Giulianus. Gone were the long pikes of the old unguiples; now, an unguiple was made up of 120 sword-wielding griffons with shields, arranged three ranks deep. The order of veterancy was now reversed—greenhorns at the front, veterans in the rear, allowing the veterans to come to the fore in the event of an especially tough opponent. The size of the legion remained the same, but the number of unguiples within it doubled, giving it more tactical flexibility on the field. The velites and windlancer formations remained largely unchanged, however…
…The neo-unguipular or Gallian legions gave way in the Late Imperial period to the cohortal legions of Garius Gracchus. A cohort (cohors in Old High Griffonic) was essentially a quadruple-unguiple, made up of 480 sword-wielding, armored but shieldless troops; ten of these, plus six alae of 200 flying or grounded archers, made up the cohortal legion. Within the legion, cohorts were numbered from one to ten, with the first being veterans and the tenth new recruits. There was also a major change in the way the legions fought. Previously, the main body of the legion fought on the ground, while the sky was held by velites and windlancers. The cohortal legions discarded the windlancers altogether in favor of equipping their legionaries with longer swords and heavier armor, which they would use in swooping aerial charges similar to those of the windlancers before them. It is these legionaries, clad in steel and swinging mighty blades, that evolved into the modern griffon knights. Indeed, today's knightly orders take their names from the cognomens of known First Imperial legions…
[Incomplete] List of Known Legions of the First Empire, c. 50 Before Discord
Legio I Leonis: Descended from the personal unit of Gaius Gallantius, the Leones, as they were called, were the protectors of Petragryphonica and the Imperial family. When the capital moved to Medialanum in the Late period, Legio I moved with it, and remained there until the city's fall to Discord. The remnants of Legio I fell in with Grover Gyagrius when he attempted to restore the Empire in the Discordian, but were again defeated. The last of the Leones finally congregated in the city of Gryphusberg, ruled by a cadet branch of the Sanguine Aureum, and pledged themselves to the service of King Gothius I as milites—knights—in 46 Reign of Discord. Thus, the Knights Lion were born.
Legio II Unguis: The Talons of the South, who guarded the cities of the central and southern Empire and the southern frontiers. They saw frequent action against what are thought to have been pony raiders, but their most famous foes were the Eastern Griffonic tribe of the Wingobards, who settled in Legio II's area of responsibility during the Late period. When the Empire fell, however, the remaining troops of Legio II actually allied with the Wingobard warriors against Discord's monsters, but they were decisively defeated, and ceased to exist except as individual knights. Their spiritual successors and namesakes are the Knights Talon, guardians of Wingbardy.
Legio III Pantherae: Legio III held the western lands of the Empire, conquered by Gaius Gallantius, and never fully Imperialized. Like Legio II, they saw much action against various tribes, who spoke the now-extinct Western Griffonic language family. They may even have engaged migrating yak clans, though the evidence for this is circumstantial at best. Legio III essentially dissolved as a fighting force when modern Aquileia's population collapsed due to post-Imperial, Discord-caused famines, and could no longer support a professional military unit of that size. Their spiritual successors and namesakes are the Knights Panther, guardians of Aquileia.
Legio IV Vagus: So named due to their "wandering" nature and frequent expeditions to the west of the Empire, not much is known about this legion other than its geographical bailiwick. Presumably, they collapsed much like the Legio III when their recruiting base dried up as the First Empire fell, though fragmentary sources hint at their wholesale disappearance by unknown means. Their spiritual successors are the Knights [I'll edit name in when we learn it], guardians of Kestrella.
Ch. 6: Languages of the First Empire
The First Empire was every bit as linguistically diverse as the Second, if not more so. The primary language spoken is known today as Old High Griffonic, the progenitor of the modern High Griffonic language family, which includes Aiglense [Aquileian] and Wingbardo, along with a number of smaller dialects thereof.
To the east, the aptly named East Griffonic languages were spoken by various tribes, including the ones who would settle the eastern Empire and even Petragryphonica in time—this is why the city is now known as Griffonstone [Greifenstein]. The East Griffonic family includes Herzlandisch and several smaller languages spoken in the eastern Feathisian cities.
The west of the Empire was once home to the little-known Western Griffonic languages, whose speakers eventually assimilated into Old High Griffonic or died out during the Discordian, though some loanwords survive in Aquileian. These languages included Aquilonic, Falcoic, and other related tongues…
Ch. 8: Fall of the First Empire
The Fall of the First Griffon Empire is an infamous and legendary event, and a formative one in the history of the griffon species. The process began with an economic downturn in 35 Before Discord; the tapping out of several silver mines in the west caused a currency crisis and subsequent panic among the people, especially merchants. A political struggle between the sons of Imperator Galvanus Gellarus (d. 27 BD) only compounded things; by 23 BD, multiple legions had pledged themselves to one son or the other, and the Empire plunged into its first civil war in over 200 years…
…The destruction from the Second Succession War was significant, and badly weakened the Empire's ability to combat the strange new diseases and monsters that were beginning to enter its lands in the late 10s BD. Ultimately, neither of the claimants won, due to the arrival of Discord himself in 0 BD. Upon the coming of this eldritch being, the two brothers, Gallianus and Gelba, put aside their conflict and united their remaining forces—approximately 19 legions strong.
They stood no chance.
All but two of the mustered legions were utterly destroyed by Discord's hordes, and both Gallianus and Gelba were killed, leaving the throne to Gallianus' young son, Gnaeus Gromulus. It was he who would rule during the Fall of Medialanum in 3 RD, which opened the way for the Sack of Petragryphonica the next year. The last Imperator was killed, and the First Empire effectively ceased to exist…
…There is a possibility that the hatred for slavery in modern griffon culture stems from the traumatic period of the First Empire's fall. Scattered historical sources record massive slave uprisings throughout this time, and archeological evidence shows that many towns of the modern Empire were built on the sites of old latifundia. This author theorizes that, due to the culling of the upper class by the uprisings and military disasters, former slaves made up the basis of society after the First Empire, combining with the remaining freeborn citizens to survive and create new settlements, and passing down their antipathy for unfree labor to their descendants…
Ch. 9: The Last Imperial: Grover's Reign
By the 30s RD, the First Empire was a memory, but still a vivid one. Many, especially those of the badly-reduced upper class, but including lower-ranked individuals, wished to see the lost age of prosperity come again.
The first and last attempt to realize that dream would come from Grover Gyagrius, son of magister militum Gyagrius Gracchus, one of the last generals of the First Empire who had survived the early Discordian. From his father, Grover inherited a shrewd military mind and two legions' worth of frontier troops, hardened by decades of battle against monsters and warlords.
To take on Discord, however, Grover would need even more, and the best sources of warriors at that time were the migrating tribes who had taken over swathes of Imperial land. Securing their loyalty through official land grants, gifts, marriages to himself and his officials, sheer charisma, and at least one drinking contest, Grover built an army out of ex-Imperials and tribal peoples (including the Wingobardi, Birdgundiones, Alagryphi, and Sparroebi), totaling between 25,000 and 50,000 troops.
Like their predecessors, the Army of the Two Brothers, they did not stand a chance.
They underestimated Discord's cosmic power, thinking that they could defeat him like a conventional enemy; they could not. Discord, according to the only source for this period, Goliatus, petrified Grover with a bolt of arcane lightning, causing the army to disintegrate as tribes broke off, due to their loyalties now being null and void with the death of their commander. The few who stayed, including the future Knights Lion, were shattered by hordes of monsters and scattered to the winds.
No one else tried to reunify the Empire until after Discord's fall.
OOC Footnotes
[1] Maniple, in the sense of a Roman military unit of 120 troops.
[2] These are essentially sarissa phalangites as employed by Macedon, rather than Roman swordsmen.
[3] A term I came up with for an unguiple leader; the -arion ending is a variation of the -urion ending in "centurion."
[4] These troops fulfill the same role as cavalry in our world; obviously, cavalry as we know it does not exist in the MLPverse.
[5] This is an actual thing that happened to Roman mill slaves, the dust got in their lungs and caused various respiratory diseases.
[6] This is basically a double-depth, reversed Roman maniple with sarissae instead of swords. I didn't want to just copypaste the Roman system from the beginning, so I decided to mix up the military a bit at first.
@Questor have
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- Location
- Very very lost
here is a story, it is not that good or finished but I think it will serve as good inspiration to someone to make something better and finished
also I am probably using the word Glücklich wrong so any Germans please tell me how it is supposed to be used
A Lady and a Bastard
the Goddess of luck and the ancestor to the Gold-feathers
Long long ago, When the land was young and Chaos and Order still lived in peace, In the empire of Gryphus there lived a young griffin by the name of Glücklich, Named by his mother both in hope he finds a life of fortune and for his glistening, golden feathers.
Now Glücklich was a Bastard and not in the term that he was a bad griffin, No no no Glücklich was a very generous and gold hearted griffin, What I mean is that Glücklich was born from an one night stand. Now then Glücklich's mother works at a brothel as a whore in the small city of Walshofen, And one night a drunk and disguised emperor paid for her services and... well you know how that story goes, And thus she got pregnant and soon gave birth to her only child Glücklich.
Glücklich did not get the best childhood and his mother rarely has enough money to pay to keep them both well fed, But they cared for eachother very much, and Glücklich as a child always did his best to help his mother by doing some odd jobs here and there like cleaning some shops, helping some stall venders sell items, and cleaning some griffins chimneys. And it was during one of these jobs that he was hired as extra help by a traveling merchant, and soon in order to make him more useful the merchant taught him how to read and wright and how to do math and.
And soon Glücklich began to admire this merchant as he listened to tales of far away land filled with strange creatures and different cultures, like the great sea empire to the east filled with magical creatures and spirits all ruled by a mighty and wise emperor, And the island of the minotaurs, great sailors and travelers, Or (his favorite) the Dragonlands, a mighty country filled with wise and ancient Dragons, It was during this time that Glücklich promised himself that he shall be a merchant exploring vast new lands and selling there treuseur to make a great profit so that his family never have to go hungry again.
Then tragedy struck.
When Glücklich reached his 16th birthday his mother fell gravely ill, desperate and scared Glücklich began looking for a cure for the sickness which has overtaken his mother, yet soon he found himself traveling the world looking for that cure, and then selling any item he came across that he could not use as a resource, and giving rides to anyone who needed whether or not they paid for it, And soon Glücklich became a merchant, and a good one too.
And yet, He couldn't find it, He couldn't find that cure. And soon despair took over him as time went as when he went over to visit his mother time to time her health got worse and worse.
Than he met her,
A young hen by the name of Fortuna lost in the capital city of Griffinstone, she looked so lost that Glücklich can't help but walk up and ask her if she needed any help,
also I am probably using the word Glücklich wrong so any Germans please tell me how it is supposed to be used
A Lady and a Bastard
the Goddess of luck and the ancestor to the Gold-feathers
Long long ago, When the land was young and Chaos and Order still lived in peace, In the empire of Gryphus there lived a young griffin by the name of Glücklich, Named by his mother both in hope he finds a life of fortune and for his glistening, golden feathers.
Now Glücklich was a Bastard and not in the term that he was a bad griffin, No no no Glücklich was a very generous and gold hearted griffin, What I mean is that Glücklich was born from an one night stand. Now then Glücklich's mother works at a brothel as a whore in the small city of Walshofen, And one night a drunk and disguised emperor paid for her services and... well you know how that story goes, And thus she got pregnant and soon gave birth to her only child Glücklich.
Glücklich did not get the best childhood and his mother rarely has enough money to pay to keep them both well fed, But they cared for eachother very much, and Glücklich as a child always did his best to help his mother by doing some odd jobs here and there like cleaning some shops, helping some stall venders sell items, and cleaning some griffins chimneys. And it was during one of these jobs that he was hired as extra help by a traveling merchant, and soon in order to make him more useful the merchant taught him how to read and wright and how to do math and.
And soon Glücklich began to admire this merchant as he listened to tales of far away land filled with strange creatures and different cultures, like the great sea empire to the east filled with magical creatures and spirits all ruled by a mighty and wise emperor, And the island of the minotaurs, great sailors and travelers, Or (his favorite) the Dragonlands, a mighty country filled with wise and ancient Dragons, It was during this time that Glücklich promised himself that he shall be a merchant exploring vast new lands and selling there treuseur to make a great profit so that his family never have to go hungry again.
Then tragedy struck.
When Glücklich reached his 16th birthday his mother fell gravely ill, desperate and scared Glücklich began looking for a cure for the sickness which has overtaken his mother, yet soon he found himself traveling the world looking for that cure, and then selling any item he came across that he could not use as a resource, and giving rides to anyone who needed whether or not they paid for it, And soon Glücklich became a merchant, and a good one too.
And yet, He couldn't find it, He couldn't find that cure. And soon despair took over him as time went as when he went over to visit his mother time to time her health got worse and worse.
Than he met her,
A young hen by the name of Fortuna lost in the capital city of Griffinstone, she looked so lost that Glücklich can't help but walk up and ask her if she needed any help,
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...For some reason, now I am thinking that somewhere in the family line, there is gonna be a certain expy...
I mean, our luck/skill and the implications of the story made me think of this...😅
I mean, our luck/skill and the implications of the story made me think of this...😅
- Location
- Very very lost
Could someone please explain what this is referencing because from the song and name alon I think it is about a spy who is bad at his job yet somehow succeeds every time? or am I wrong?
Might have been. Was more referencing the MC of The Irresponsible Captain Tylor. Enigmatic new captain whom proceeds to muck up the war for all of the warhawks on both sides through an unholy combination of luck an skill until his actions led to peace being secured with both sides.
Witness the Insanity!
- Location
- Very very lost
it is not available in my country
😅😅
The general gist of the series, is pretty much the MC is the 'lucky idiot', except he isn't exactly. When he got his first officer assignment, assigned to a ship notorious for offing their captains( he made some enemies when he managed to 'earn' his officer rank). Well, he gave the order "Do what you want", he got a gift that was a bomb which he didn't get to open, having fallen asleep. Then, the marines tried to mutiny, and in the scuffle which he was asleep during, the random jump button was pressed, stopping the fight and putting them in front of an enemy fleet. And well, he decided to surrender and gave the gift he had to the officer that came to accept the surrender, and the blast led to the enemy fleet destroying itself due to damaged targeting computers I think...
And that is generally how things go, with everyone jumping from is he an idiot to is he a genius very often.
- Location
- Very very lost
so basically someone so unlucky it loops around to being extremely lucky
I really want to see it to bad it is not available in my country
...The big thing is is is more of a deconstruction/reconstruction of the lucky idiot trope. With one part of the series, that even people within is confronted is the question of just how much was some sort of a master plan and how much was just dumb luck? Which is a question that is debated quite a lot for good reason, for there is a lot that points towards both interpretations.
- Location
- Back in Cali
Alright i am back what have i missed?
- Location
- I think somewhere. I might be nowhere though
Nothing much. If you've already seen the Turn 31 results, then there hasn't been a new update since. We're just kinda waiting around, occasionally tossing out omakes and reviving the thread until such time Questor comes back once more.
Omake: To Slavery an End, and to Wealth, Increase
I started this one back in July or so, and it's set at the end of Hoofbeard's last raid. As this story involves slavery and all that it entails, minor content warning for brief, non-graphic mention of sexual abuse. Also some quest-typical violence.
To Slavery an End, and to Wealth, Increase
Late Spring, 30 AD
10 miles off Peninsula Orientalis, Maretonia
In the warmth of the dawn, Captain Hoofbeard could not sleep. How could he, when today was so important? How could he rest when he was about to put the capstone on the greatest pirate raid in history?
How could he rest, when he was about to finally fulfill the promise he'd made to himself, the night he'd stowed away from a life in bondage?
He could hardly wait!
Hoofbeard finally pulled himself out of bed, checking the gold watch he'd received from one of the finest artisans in Gryphus. After affirming that it was indeed time, he nodded to himself, then stepped out onto the main deck of his carrack, Breaker of Chains. Smiling, he barked out his first command.
"Bring out the prisoner, mates!"
A pair of burly pegasus sailors quickly complied, dragging a less-than-pristine unicorn out from belowdecks. His eyes were covered by a blindfold, his mouth was gagged, his limbs were bound, and his horn was nullified by a small piece of orichalcum--expensive trinket, that!--tied to his forehead. The crewmates unceremoniously dropped their cargo before their captain, who studied the bedraggled aristocrat carefully and contemptuously.
His name was Golden Dawn, a White Star loyalist who owned a 1,750-acre estate near the coastal city of Ostia. He had a wife, a son, and two daughters, whom he had sent to Ostia for safekeeping before the raid. To his peers, he was a kindly and fatherly figure, always willing to help the needy in his community, and the life of any party he attended.
To his 205 slaves, however, he was nothing short of an unholy terror.
Golden Dawn had nothing but hatred and contempt for those whom he kept in chains. If you faltered in your duty of collecting the indigo harvest, you would be whipped until your back was covered with rivers of blood. If you married another slave without his express permission, which he rarely gave, you would be beaten and sold to another master, never to see your family and friends again; the same happened to those he suspected of fomenting unrest among his slaves. He split up families often, so that you wouldn't have any sort of social safety net to fall back on when he or his overseers cracked down on you for "misbehaving." And the less said about what he did to his female slaves, the better. Hoofbeard estimated that perhaps a tenth of the slaves on Dawn's plantation had his own blood in their veins.
Once, one of Golden Dawn's slaves was an earth pony by the name of Whitecap, whose mother and father named him after the ocean waves that were easily seen from the edge of the indigo fields. When Whitecap was four years old, his mother died after a vicious whipping when her wounds became infected. Even though a slave was an expensive thing, one that most masters at least deigned to heal when they were injured, Golden Dawn was rich enough, and uncaring enough, to be able to simply replace any losses. When Whitecap's father broke his leg from a fall when his son was ten, Golden Dawn took one look at him, drew his sword, and severed his property's head in one swift motion. Fortunately for Whitecap, he was working when that happened, and didn't have to see his last family member perish so ignominiously. But he heard about it soon enough, and when he did, his soul broke into a thousand pieces.
It would take years for him to put himself back together.
When Whitecap was sixteen years old, he began thinking about escape. He'd heard about a network of those who wished to end slavery in Maretonia, and wondered if he could somehow link up with them to gain his freedom. Before he could put any sort of plan into action, however, he found himself caught up in an unforeseen situation.
One evening, Whitecap was hauling his part of the indigo harvest in for processing, under the watchful eye of Golden Dawn and his chief taskmaster, Polished Marble. He soon noticed that there was an unfamiliar pegasus with them; judging by his ornate, yet functional, armor, he was quite well-to-do--perhaps one of the newly-appointed warrior-nobles overseeing the west? Whitecap certainly didn't know. The newcomer was conversing jovially with Golden Dawn and Polished Marble, something about an exchange of slaves, nothing out of the ordinary on Dawn's estate.
As Whitecap dropped off his load of indigo leaves, however, one of the younger slaves, a timid colt, about fourteen, whose name he didn't know, collapsed under the weight of his own basket, back muscles strained well beyond the breaking point. The leaves were picked up by the ocean breeze, and scattered beyond recovery.
Instantly, an enraged Polished Marble set upon the poor boy, streams of invectives spewing from his lips as the young slave looked up at him in terror. Marble drew his truncheon from his belt, raising it high with his magic, and prepared to deliver a truly monumental beating to his unfortunate victim. Golden Dawn and the visitor looked on approvingly, with the visitor complimenting Dawn on the strict discipline of his plantation.
All this happened just a few meters away from Whitecap, and when he saw all of it happen, something clicked into place within his mind. After so many years, he still didn't know why he chose that moment, why that incident was the last straw. Perhaps it was due to the visitor, perhaps because the colt reminded him of himself, perhaps something else. What Whitecap did know was that if he was going to be free, he would take that boy with him, or die trying.
Whitecap took his indigo-cutting knife in his teeth, and sprang into a fearsome charge against Polished Marble. The moment before impact, Whitecap turned his head to the left, then snapped it back right. The knife's blade bit deep into the taskmaster's neck, and by a stroke of luck, it severed one of the main arteries within it. In moments, Polished Marble's pristine black-and-white coat, and the blue-stained blade of the knife, were red with fresh blood.
Whitecap dropped the knife and ran to help the lad that Marble had attacked, getting him back up on his hooves, despite the continuing pain in his back, stopping him from hyperventilating…
And then chaos descended on the scene.
The other slaves either started running, dropping their indigo on the ground, or began attacking Golden Dawn and his visitor, who were forced to draw their blades and call for the junior taskmasters to assist them. As the melee began, some slaves rallied around Whitecap and the other colt, whose name, he learned, was Black Sand. This group, relatively cohesive compared to the others, somehow managed to push through the insanity and reach the edge of the field, from whence they took off along the shore.
Whitecap, Black Sand, and a few others would eventually reach a hidden cove along the beach, filled with empty barrels and crates, a few broken bottles, and a small stone-ringed fire pit. They slept there for the night, guarding each other against the patrollers who would doubtlessly come, with their hounds and spells, to bring them back to bondage or death. Despite their precautions, however, they were ultimately found--but not by the patrollers.
Instead, a crew of Libertalian pirates and smugglers found them squatting in their cove. After a brief standoff, cooler heads among both sides prevailed, and the runaways realized that the smugglers had given them an opportunity. A deal was struck: the former slaves would work aboard the smugglers' ship as they moved their wares around the Maretonian coast, in exchange for passage to Libertalia. Soon, all of them were aboard ship, and the runaways, eager to get as far away from Golden Dawn's plantation as possible, held up their end of the bargain. Surprisingly, so did the pirates.
Years went by. Whitecap and Black Sand stayed together after reaching the Pirate Isle, joining various crews and saving their money, and after almost a decade, claiming their own ship from a trade convoy bound for one of the minotaur cities. From there, they contacted some of the slaves who escaped with them, and a few others who had run away from other plantations. Once the crew was convened, they elected Whitecap, who had grown a grizzly brown beard and wore an eyepatch by this point, as their leader. They raided up and down the coast of Maretonia, hitting treasure ships, trading ports, and most of all, aristocratic estates. At each of the latter, they always broke at least a few slaves out of their shackles, bringing them to Libertalia and freedom. Some even joined their crew; others became their eyes and ears on the island, spying on other captains and guarding the last raid's loot before it was spent or distributed to the needy.
Over time, the legend of "Captain Hoofbeard," Breaker of Chains, spread across land and sea. Eventually, it even reached an empire in the north, forged in ice and blood, who happened to share the Captain's incendiary hatred for slavery. They sent him funds, gifts, and promises, and even a new and powerful ship, the mightiest vessel any pirate ever sailed. All they asked in return was one powerful blow against the hated Maretonian nobles, one last raid that would set Hoofbeard up for a life of luxury…
And now the raid was done, successful beyond the captain's wildest dreams. Not only that, some of his loyal mates had hauled old Golden Dawn aboard their carrack. Finally, Hoofbeard thought, justice would be done.
The captain nodded in thanks at Black Sand, who had helped bring Golden Dawn up on deck, then turned to the prisoner himself, who glared at him with unbridled hate, breathing heavily and growling, fighting his restraints. Hoofbeard looked down at him calmly. "Dominus Golden Dawn. We meet again, after so long apart. I'm sure you've missed me, haven't you?" He removed Dawn's gag.
Dawn immediately launched into a tirade. "Listen well, pirate filth. I am a key financial backer of the noble House White Star, and you can be assured that they will come for me, and they will retaliate with force the likes of which you have never seen in your pitiful life! Untie me and return me to my family, and perhaps I can convince Duke Haygle's troops to show mercy on your--"
The captain interrupted with a barking laugh. "Oh, you're not a key financial backer anymore, old boy. Not after we took every denarius and talent in yer vaults, burned yer fields, and freed all yer ill-gotten labor. As for White Star, well, what I just said applies to the rest of ye aristocratic bastards--there's a lot more of us on the waves carrying the House's reserves back to ol' Libertalia!" He smirked. "And guess who's in command of all of 'em?" Finally, Hoofbeard removed Golden Dawn's blindfold. "Remember me, Goldie?"
For the first time in nearly two decades, Golden Dawn beheld the first slave to ever truly defy him. His eyes widened. "How in Tartaros are you still alive?! The slave catchers said they'd killed you!"
"Well, either they lied to ye to get yer money, or they killed some other poor sonofabitch who'd had the audacity to not want to live in chains. Any case, that doesn't really matter now. What matters is that you remember me, which makes all this even more satisfying."
"Makes what more satisfying?" Golden Dawn asked. The captain's response was to draw his fine steel cutlass and raise it high.
"Do you remember how I killed that overseer, Polished Marble?" Hoofbeard queried his former master, who was now shaking in his restraints. "Well, I seem to recall that I did it something… like… this!" At the final word, he drove the cutlass into Golden Dawn's neck, in the same spot that the knife went into the overseer all those years ago. Golden Dawn's eyes widened, pupils darting about, and a gurgling cry of alarm bubbled out from his throat. It didn't last long, however; blood loss saw to that. The slave driver's body fell limp and bloody upon the deck, to the great satisfaction of the captain, who soon began barking orders for the crew to clean up the mess.
"Set course for home, mates! We've done all we need to do here!"
@Questor merry chrysler
To Slavery an End, and to Wealth, Increase
Late Spring, 30 AD
10 miles off Peninsula Orientalis, Maretonia
In the warmth of the dawn, Captain Hoofbeard could not sleep. How could he, when today was so important? How could he rest when he was about to put the capstone on the greatest pirate raid in history?
How could he rest, when he was about to finally fulfill the promise he'd made to himself, the night he'd stowed away from a life in bondage?
He could hardly wait!
Hoofbeard finally pulled himself out of bed, checking the gold watch he'd received from one of the finest artisans in Gryphus. After affirming that it was indeed time, he nodded to himself, then stepped out onto the main deck of his carrack, Breaker of Chains. Smiling, he barked out his first command.
"Bring out the prisoner, mates!"
A pair of burly pegasus sailors quickly complied, dragging a less-than-pristine unicorn out from belowdecks. His eyes were covered by a blindfold, his mouth was gagged, his limbs were bound, and his horn was nullified by a small piece of orichalcum--expensive trinket, that!--tied to his forehead. The crewmates unceremoniously dropped their cargo before their captain, who studied the bedraggled aristocrat carefully and contemptuously.
His name was Golden Dawn, a White Star loyalist who owned a 1,750-acre estate near the coastal city of Ostia. He had a wife, a son, and two daughters, whom he had sent to Ostia for safekeeping before the raid. To his peers, he was a kindly and fatherly figure, always willing to help the needy in his community, and the life of any party he attended.
To his 205 slaves, however, he was nothing short of an unholy terror.
Golden Dawn had nothing but hatred and contempt for those whom he kept in chains. If you faltered in your duty of collecting the indigo harvest, you would be whipped until your back was covered with rivers of blood. If you married another slave without his express permission, which he rarely gave, you would be beaten and sold to another master, never to see your family and friends again; the same happened to those he suspected of fomenting unrest among his slaves. He split up families often, so that you wouldn't have any sort of social safety net to fall back on when he or his overseers cracked down on you for "misbehaving." And the less said about what he did to his female slaves, the better. Hoofbeard estimated that perhaps a tenth of the slaves on Dawn's plantation had his own blood in their veins.
Once, one of Golden Dawn's slaves was an earth pony by the name of Whitecap, whose mother and father named him after the ocean waves that were easily seen from the edge of the indigo fields. When Whitecap was four years old, his mother died after a vicious whipping when her wounds became infected. Even though a slave was an expensive thing, one that most masters at least deigned to heal when they were injured, Golden Dawn was rich enough, and uncaring enough, to be able to simply replace any losses. When Whitecap's father broke his leg from a fall when his son was ten, Golden Dawn took one look at him, drew his sword, and severed his property's head in one swift motion. Fortunately for Whitecap, he was working when that happened, and didn't have to see his last family member perish so ignominiously. But he heard about it soon enough, and when he did, his soul broke into a thousand pieces.
It would take years for him to put himself back together.
When Whitecap was sixteen years old, he began thinking about escape. He'd heard about a network of those who wished to end slavery in Maretonia, and wondered if he could somehow link up with them to gain his freedom. Before he could put any sort of plan into action, however, he found himself caught up in an unforeseen situation.
One evening, Whitecap was hauling his part of the indigo harvest in for processing, under the watchful eye of Golden Dawn and his chief taskmaster, Polished Marble. He soon noticed that there was an unfamiliar pegasus with them; judging by his ornate, yet functional, armor, he was quite well-to-do--perhaps one of the newly-appointed warrior-nobles overseeing the west? Whitecap certainly didn't know. The newcomer was conversing jovially with Golden Dawn and Polished Marble, something about an exchange of slaves, nothing out of the ordinary on Dawn's estate.
As Whitecap dropped off his load of indigo leaves, however, one of the younger slaves, a timid colt, about fourteen, whose name he didn't know, collapsed under the weight of his own basket, back muscles strained well beyond the breaking point. The leaves were picked up by the ocean breeze, and scattered beyond recovery.
Instantly, an enraged Polished Marble set upon the poor boy, streams of invectives spewing from his lips as the young slave looked up at him in terror. Marble drew his truncheon from his belt, raising it high with his magic, and prepared to deliver a truly monumental beating to his unfortunate victim. Golden Dawn and the visitor looked on approvingly, with the visitor complimenting Dawn on the strict discipline of his plantation.
All this happened just a few meters away from Whitecap, and when he saw all of it happen, something clicked into place within his mind. After so many years, he still didn't know why he chose that moment, why that incident was the last straw. Perhaps it was due to the visitor, perhaps because the colt reminded him of himself, perhaps something else. What Whitecap did know was that if he was going to be free, he would take that boy with him, or die trying.
Whitecap took his indigo-cutting knife in his teeth, and sprang into a fearsome charge against Polished Marble. The moment before impact, Whitecap turned his head to the left, then snapped it back right. The knife's blade bit deep into the taskmaster's neck, and by a stroke of luck, it severed one of the main arteries within it. In moments, Polished Marble's pristine black-and-white coat, and the blue-stained blade of the knife, were red with fresh blood.
Whitecap dropped the knife and ran to help the lad that Marble had attacked, getting him back up on his hooves, despite the continuing pain in his back, stopping him from hyperventilating…
And then chaos descended on the scene.
The other slaves either started running, dropping their indigo on the ground, or began attacking Golden Dawn and his visitor, who were forced to draw their blades and call for the junior taskmasters to assist them. As the melee began, some slaves rallied around Whitecap and the other colt, whose name, he learned, was Black Sand. This group, relatively cohesive compared to the others, somehow managed to push through the insanity and reach the edge of the field, from whence they took off along the shore.
Whitecap, Black Sand, and a few others would eventually reach a hidden cove along the beach, filled with empty barrels and crates, a few broken bottles, and a small stone-ringed fire pit. They slept there for the night, guarding each other against the patrollers who would doubtlessly come, with their hounds and spells, to bring them back to bondage or death. Despite their precautions, however, they were ultimately found--but not by the patrollers.
Instead, a crew of Libertalian pirates and smugglers found them squatting in their cove. After a brief standoff, cooler heads among both sides prevailed, and the runaways realized that the smugglers had given them an opportunity. A deal was struck: the former slaves would work aboard the smugglers' ship as they moved their wares around the Maretonian coast, in exchange for passage to Libertalia. Soon, all of them were aboard ship, and the runaways, eager to get as far away from Golden Dawn's plantation as possible, held up their end of the bargain. Surprisingly, so did the pirates.
Years went by. Whitecap and Black Sand stayed together after reaching the Pirate Isle, joining various crews and saving their money, and after almost a decade, claiming their own ship from a trade convoy bound for one of the minotaur cities. From there, they contacted some of the slaves who escaped with them, and a few others who had run away from other plantations. Once the crew was convened, they elected Whitecap, who had grown a grizzly brown beard and wore an eyepatch by this point, as their leader. They raided up and down the coast of Maretonia, hitting treasure ships, trading ports, and most of all, aristocratic estates. At each of the latter, they always broke at least a few slaves out of their shackles, bringing them to Libertalia and freedom. Some even joined their crew; others became their eyes and ears on the island, spying on other captains and guarding the last raid's loot before it was spent or distributed to the needy.
Over time, the legend of "Captain Hoofbeard," Breaker of Chains, spread across land and sea. Eventually, it even reached an empire in the north, forged in ice and blood, who happened to share the Captain's incendiary hatred for slavery. They sent him funds, gifts, and promises, and even a new and powerful ship, the mightiest vessel any pirate ever sailed. All they asked in return was one powerful blow against the hated Maretonian nobles, one last raid that would set Hoofbeard up for a life of luxury…
And now the raid was done, successful beyond the captain's wildest dreams. Not only that, some of his loyal mates had hauled old Golden Dawn aboard their carrack. Finally, Hoofbeard thought, justice would be done.
The captain nodded in thanks at Black Sand, who had helped bring Golden Dawn up on deck, then turned to the prisoner himself, who glared at him with unbridled hate, breathing heavily and growling, fighting his restraints. Hoofbeard looked down at him calmly. "Dominus Golden Dawn. We meet again, after so long apart. I'm sure you've missed me, haven't you?" He removed Dawn's gag.
Dawn immediately launched into a tirade. "Listen well, pirate filth. I am a key financial backer of the noble House White Star, and you can be assured that they will come for me, and they will retaliate with force the likes of which you have never seen in your pitiful life! Untie me and return me to my family, and perhaps I can convince Duke Haygle's troops to show mercy on your--"
The captain interrupted with a barking laugh. "Oh, you're not a key financial backer anymore, old boy. Not after we took every denarius and talent in yer vaults, burned yer fields, and freed all yer ill-gotten labor. As for White Star, well, what I just said applies to the rest of ye aristocratic bastards--there's a lot more of us on the waves carrying the House's reserves back to ol' Libertalia!" He smirked. "And guess who's in command of all of 'em?" Finally, Hoofbeard removed Golden Dawn's blindfold. "Remember me, Goldie?"
For the first time in nearly two decades, Golden Dawn beheld the first slave to ever truly defy him. His eyes widened. "How in Tartaros are you still alive?! The slave catchers said they'd killed you!"
"Well, either they lied to ye to get yer money, or they killed some other poor sonofabitch who'd had the audacity to not want to live in chains. Any case, that doesn't really matter now. What matters is that you remember me, which makes all this even more satisfying."
"Makes what more satisfying?" Golden Dawn asked. The captain's response was to draw his fine steel cutlass and raise it high.
"Do you remember how I killed that overseer, Polished Marble?" Hoofbeard queried his former master, who was now shaking in his restraints. "Well, I seem to recall that I did it something… like… this!" At the final word, he drove the cutlass into Golden Dawn's neck, in the same spot that the knife went into the overseer all those years ago. Golden Dawn's eyes widened, pupils darting about, and a gurgling cry of alarm bubbled out from his throat. It didn't last long, however; blood loss saw to that. The slave driver's body fell limp and bloody upon the deck, to the great satisfaction of the captain, who soon began barking orders for the crew to clean up the mess.
"Set course for home, mates! We've done all we need to do here!"
@Questor merry chrysler
The Most Important Question
- Location
- Maryland
Isabelle hadn't ever believed in love.
Oh, she knew that it existed. She knew that many other Griffons got the chance to experience it. But she had never believed that she would ever be among them.
And why would she have? She had been born into nobility; not just any nobility, but into the House of Brochard. Her uncle had been King, ruler of a third of what had once been the First Empire of Gryphus, and set to become the founder of the second. Her fate was to be married off to the scion of a powerful noble house for the sake of a political advantage. Her husband would be chosen for her, and what she might or might not have felt about or for him would never have factored into the equation. She had known this to be her fate from a young age, and had come to accept it as the price for a life of privilege.
Then the Unification War had come. In what had seemed like the blink of an eye, everything that she had known to be true was turned on it's head. Her Uncle, his kingdom, his most loyal supporters, all had been swept away as if they had never existed, the lands of her home country absorbed into the reunited Empire.
And with the rise of the House of Goldenfeather had come the fall of the House of Brochard. Overnight, she and the rest of her family became pariahs, a symbol of the despised old regime. Nobles that had chafed under the now-dead king's iron grip had quickly directed their ire upon their former sovereign's remaining family, and families that had once bowed and scraped to get into the good graces of her parents now did everything possible to distance themselves from their former business partners.
For a time, she had feared that she and her family would be dispossessed of their lands and titles, stripped of their nobility and left to fend for themselves upon the hostile streets of the Empire, or even exiled into the wild lands beyond the nation's borders for their perceived crimes. But the expected punishment from the Emperor her relative had sought to oppose never materialized.
Then again, it wasn't like his personal intervention was necessary. His subjects did a good enough job tearing down her family on their own. Within but a few short years, they had been reduced to a pale shadow of what they had once been, only nobility by technicality as they found themselves ostracized by virtually everyone. Associating with them quickly became an act of social suicide, and Isabelle soon found that the crowds of suck-ups and hangers-on that had once attempted to cozy up to her in hopes of earning her uncle's favor now did everything they could to avoid being seen with her.
For many long months she had endured the whispers, the snubs, the words of derision from her peers, and she had come to fear that these things would follow her for the remainder of her life. Far from being concerned about marrying a male she did not love, Isabelle was now led to fear that she would never get the chance to marry anyone at all. And she had despaired.
And then, miraculously, like something out of a fairytale, a knight in shining armor had come to sweep her off her feet.
She had been terrified when the Crown Prince of the Empire had first approached her, fearful that she was to be made a spectacle, called out and publicly shamed as an example of what fate befell those who would attempt to oppose his own family. But when she had prostrated herself before him and all but begged for mercy, he had simply urged her to her feet and spoken to her as if she was no different than any other hen.
She hadn't known what to think. For a time, she had been utterly convinced that his friendly demeanor was an act, a cruel facade that would be pulled down when she was most vulnerable, that he would drop her like the tainted goods she was like all of her other former "friends" had. But the moment she feared never came. Instead, he had introduced her to his friends, who, like him, seemed to be completely indifferent to her heritage, unafraid to be seen associating with her. He had shown her places where she did not have to hide herself, where she did not need to fear the judgmental stares of others, and he had made it clear to her that he did not believe that she should be punished for the crime of being related to a Griffon who was now long dead.
The other nobles had been jealous of course, that she of all people had managed to gain the attention of the Crown Prince, but she had long grown used to their whispers and veiled insults, and the barbs thrown her way hurt far less now that she had others to support her and remind her that she was more than her bloodline. Despite the lies and slander others sought to spread about her, she had been content, happy for the first time in years.
But the Prince…Gawain, had not been satisfied. He had taken an almost personal offense on her behalf at the poisonous words that he knew were spoken about her when neither of them were present, and he had gone beyond her wildest expectations to see her elevated in the eyes of all those who looked down upon her.
The memory of dancing with Gawain, with the Emperor, as what had felt to her like the entirety of Gryphus looked on, was one that she would cherish for the rest of her days…but not nearly as much as the memory of what had happened after, when Gawain had told her why he had gone so far out of his way for her sake.
"So that others can see you the way I do. Because I…like you."
And Isabelle had finally allowed herself to believe in something as impossible, and wonderful, as love.
It was actually kind of funny how little their relationship had changed after that night. They had already been close, already relied on and confided in each other, already enjoyed each other's company before they had crossed the invisible boundary between friends and something more. But there was definitely something indescribably different about their interactions after that eventful gala. Their talks became more intimate as they discussed their hopes and fears for the future, their shared silences more comfortable as they simply appreciated being in each other's presence, and, of course, their gestures of affection, both physical and otherwise, became far more frequent.
They cherished every moment that they got the chance to share together…with Gawain's growing responsibilities as his father's diplomat, and her family's resurgent popularity necessitating her presence at countless meetings and functions, the opportunities for them to slip away from the crowds of nobles and bureaucrats together were few and far between. But it only made them appreciate the time that they spent with each other even more.
Every day Isabelle gave thanks to the ancestors and whatever guiding force that existed in the universe that she had been so unbelievably fortunate as to meet Gawain.
But despite her joy, a tiny part of her, a voice in the back of her mind nurtured by years of verbal abuse and childhood conditioning, could not help but fear that this wonderful thing that she had found would not last. That Gawain would find a smarter, prettier, more outgoing hen, and leave her all alone once again.
____________________________________________________
Isabelle landed upon the mountainside, Gawain greeting her with a smile and a warm embrace as she arrived at their chosen meeting place. The two sat down upon a blanket together, staring out at the city beneath them.
Gawain had been right. The capitol was beautiful at night.
They sat quietly for a time, neither wishing to be the first to break the silence, before Gawain finally spoke.
"My father used to bring me up here, when I was very young. He'd point out all of the landmarks, teach me how to navigate from the air before I started to fly longer distances. He would tell me that everything I saw from this peak were lands and people that he was responsible for...that it was his duty to watch over and protect them...and that that duty would one day fall to me."
Isabelle did not speak, merely shuffled closer, leaning into his side as he once again shared his innermost thoughts and feelings with her, one of the only people in the world who he felt he could speak to freely and without fear or shame.
"It was...humbling. To know and understand the weight that my father bore, that he continues to bear...that I will eventually have to carry myself."
He shook his head slowly, sighing.
"It is a weight that I do not think I can bear alone."
Isabelle opened her beak to speak, to reassure him, to let Gawain know that he wouldn't have to do anything alone, that she would always be there for him when he needed her...but her words died in her throat when Gawain reached underneath his mantled wing and withdrew a jewelry box.
"Isabelle...I love you. You are the kindest and most beautiful hen I've ever known...and I can't imagine a future without you by my side. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
She could scarcely bring herself to breathe as he opened the box, a diamond ring glittering in the moonlight before her as Gawain's hopeful eyes gazed into hers.
"Isabelle...will you make me the happiest male in Gry-"
The Crown Prince did not get the chance to finish as the object of his affections tackled him to the ground, her beak meeting his as she wept tears of joy, her loud, repeated and enthusiastic agreements shouted from the mountaintop for all the world to hear.
Gawain loved her. He loved her, and she loved him, and for as long as they lived, they would never leave each other's side.
Isabelle Brissette is now Isabelle Goldenfeather.
Oh, she knew that it existed. She knew that many other Griffons got the chance to experience it. But she had never believed that she would ever be among them.
And why would she have? She had been born into nobility; not just any nobility, but into the House of Brochard. Her uncle had been King, ruler of a third of what had once been the First Empire of Gryphus, and set to become the founder of the second. Her fate was to be married off to the scion of a powerful noble house for the sake of a political advantage. Her husband would be chosen for her, and what she might or might not have felt about or for him would never have factored into the equation. She had known this to be her fate from a young age, and had come to accept it as the price for a life of privilege.
Then the Unification War had come. In what had seemed like the blink of an eye, everything that she had known to be true was turned on it's head. Her Uncle, his kingdom, his most loyal supporters, all had been swept away as if they had never existed, the lands of her home country absorbed into the reunited Empire.
And with the rise of the House of Goldenfeather had come the fall of the House of Brochard. Overnight, she and the rest of her family became pariahs, a symbol of the despised old regime. Nobles that had chafed under the now-dead king's iron grip had quickly directed their ire upon their former sovereign's remaining family, and families that had once bowed and scraped to get into the good graces of her parents now did everything possible to distance themselves from their former business partners.
For a time, she had feared that she and her family would be dispossessed of their lands and titles, stripped of their nobility and left to fend for themselves upon the hostile streets of the Empire, or even exiled into the wild lands beyond the nation's borders for their perceived crimes. But the expected punishment from the Emperor her relative had sought to oppose never materialized.
Then again, it wasn't like his personal intervention was necessary. His subjects did a good enough job tearing down her family on their own. Within but a few short years, they had been reduced to a pale shadow of what they had once been, only nobility by technicality as they found themselves ostracized by virtually everyone. Associating with them quickly became an act of social suicide, and Isabelle soon found that the crowds of suck-ups and hangers-on that had once attempted to cozy up to her in hopes of earning her uncle's favor now did everything they could to avoid being seen with her.
For many long months she had endured the whispers, the snubs, the words of derision from her peers, and she had come to fear that these things would follow her for the remainder of her life. Far from being concerned about marrying a male she did not love, Isabelle was now led to fear that she would never get the chance to marry anyone at all. And she had despaired.
And then, miraculously, like something out of a fairytale, a knight in shining armor had come to sweep her off her feet.
She had been terrified when the Crown Prince of the Empire had first approached her, fearful that she was to be made a spectacle, called out and publicly shamed as an example of what fate befell those who would attempt to oppose his own family. But when she had prostrated herself before him and all but begged for mercy, he had simply urged her to her feet and spoken to her as if she was no different than any other hen.
She hadn't known what to think. For a time, she had been utterly convinced that his friendly demeanor was an act, a cruel facade that would be pulled down when she was most vulnerable, that he would drop her like the tainted goods she was like all of her other former "friends" had. But the moment she feared never came. Instead, he had introduced her to his friends, who, like him, seemed to be completely indifferent to her heritage, unafraid to be seen associating with her. He had shown her places where she did not have to hide herself, where she did not need to fear the judgmental stares of others, and he had made it clear to her that he did not believe that she should be punished for the crime of being related to a Griffon who was now long dead.
The other nobles had been jealous of course, that she of all people had managed to gain the attention of the Crown Prince, but she had long grown used to their whispers and veiled insults, and the barbs thrown her way hurt far less now that she had others to support her and remind her that she was more than her bloodline. Despite the lies and slander others sought to spread about her, she had been content, happy for the first time in years.
But the Prince…Gawain, had not been satisfied. He had taken an almost personal offense on her behalf at the poisonous words that he knew were spoken about her when neither of them were present, and he had gone beyond her wildest expectations to see her elevated in the eyes of all those who looked down upon her.
The memory of dancing with Gawain, with the Emperor, as what had felt to her like the entirety of Gryphus looked on, was one that she would cherish for the rest of her days…but not nearly as much as the memory of what had happened after, when Gawain had told her why he had gone so far out of his way for her sake.
"So that others can see you the way I do. Because I…like you."
And Isabelle had finally allowed herself to believe in something as impossible, and wonderful, as love.
It was actually kind of funny how little their relationship had changed after that night. They had already been close, already relied on and confided in each other, already enjoyed each other's company before they had crossed the invisible boundary between friends and something more. But there was definitely something indescribably different about their interactions after that eventful gala. Their talks became more intimate as they discussed their hopes and fears for the future, their shared silences more comfortable as they simply appreciated being in each other's presence, and, of course, their gestures of affection, both physical and otherwise, became far more frequent.
They cherished every moment that they got the chance to share together…with Gawain's growing responsibilities as his father's diplomat, and her family's resurgent popularity necessitating her presence at countless meetings and functions, the opportunities for them to slip away from the crowds of nobles and bureaucrats together were few and far between. But it only made them appreciate the time that they spent with each other even more.
Every day Isabelle gave thanks to the ancestors and whatever guiding force that existed in the universe that she had been so unbelievably fortunate as to meet Gawain.
But despite her joy, a tiny part of her, a voice in the back of her mind nurtured by years of verbal abuse and childhood conditioning, could not help but fear that this wonderful thing that she had found would not last. That Gawain would find a smarter, prettier, more outgoing hen, and leave her all alone once again.
____________________________________________________
Isabelle landed upon the mountainside, Gawain greeting her with a smile and a warm embrace as she arrived at their chosen meeting place. The two sat down upon a blanket together, staring out at the city beneath them.
Gawain had been right. The capitol was beautiful at night.
They sat quietly for a time, neither wishing to be the first to break the silence, before Gawain finally spoke.
"My father used to bring me up here, when I was very young. He'd point out all of the landmarks, teach me how to navigate from the air before I started to fly longer distances. He would tell me that everything I saw from this peak were lands and people that he was responsible for...that it was his duty to watch over and protect them...and that that duty would one day fall to me."
Isabelle did not speak, merely shuffled closer, leaning into his side as he once again shared his innermost thoughts and feelings with her, one of the only people in the world who he felt he could speak to freely and without fear or shame.
"It was...humbling. To know and understand the weight that my father bore, that he continues to bear...that I will eventually have to carry myself."
He shook his head slowly, sighing.
"It is a weight that I do not think I can bear alone."
Isabelle opened her beak to speak, to reassure him, to let Gawain know that he wouldn't have to do anything alone, that she would always be there for him when he needed her...but her words died in her throat when Gawain reached underneath his mantled wing and withdrew a jewelry box.
"Isabelle...I love you. You are the kindest and most beautiful hen I've ever known...and I can't imagine a future without you by my side. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
She could scarcely bring herself to breathe as he opened the box, a diamond ring glittering in the moonlight before her as Gawain's hopeful eyes gazed into hers.
"Isabelle...will you make me the happiest male in Gry-"
The Crown Prince did not get the chance to finish as the object of his affections tackled him to the ground, her beak meeting his as she wept tears of joy, her loud, repeated and enthusiastic agreements shouted from the mountaintop for all the world to hear.
Gawain loved her. He loved her, and she loved him, and for as long as they lived, they would never leave each other's side.
Isabelle Brissette is now Isabelle Goldenfeather.
Capitalism is Magic: Chapter 1, The Art Of the Deal
- Location
- Maryland
"Thirty bits."
Gallus squawked, staring up at the disinterested face of the shopkeeper.
"Thirty bits!?"
The blue-feathered fledgling gestured at the fish in the display case before him, its dead eyes staring unblinkingly at the pre-adolescent Griffon as it rested on a bed of slowly melting ice.
"That thing is a minnow! It's bite-sized! No way is it worth thirty bits!"
The fishmonger simply glared at Gallus from the other side of the counter.
"If I say it's thirty bits, then it's thirty bits. Don't like it? Don't buy it. Simple as that."
Gallus grit his beak, turning and walking away from the market stall. He knew better than to waste his time trying to haggle.
His stomach growled in protest at his walking away from a potential meal, the familiar pangs of hunger making him wince as he made his way down the trash-strewn streets of Griffonstone, passing row after row of crooked houses with rotting timber and moldy thatch, the shouts of hawkers trying to shill their wares echoing alongside the occasional sound of wingbeats. He ducked into an alley between two vacant buildings, taking shelter from any prying, greedy eyes.
Glancing back and forth, making certain he was alone, he retrieved his coin purse from its place behind his wing. The skinny young gryph carefully emptied out his wallet, running his talons over the shiny golden coins he'd managed to scrounge up over the course of the past week.
All four of them.
He groaned, hanging his head as he carefully hid his meager savings away again. It wouldn't be enough for a meal. Not even the sketchiest of the city's street food vendors would be willing to sell their questionably edible cuisine to him for so little. After all, if they gave someone a discount, others might expect to receive the same low price themselves.
Another dull throb of hunger drove him out from his hiding place and back out onto the street, the azure Griffon wandering in search of a garbage bin that might hold a few discarded scraps. It chafed at his pride to rummage through the trash for food, but pride wouldn't sate his hunger.
Not for the first time, he briefly considered trying for a five-talon discount at one of the busier food stalls, but quickly rejected the idea. If there was one thing all Griffons despised, it was a thief, and if he got caught in the act he'd be lucky to walk away with a few bruises.
He had no desire to be tarred and defeathered.
"...there is nothing more to say. You can take it or leave it."
The scratchy voice pulled him out of his thoughts, Gallus lifting his gaze from the cracked and cratered road to view the source.
Sure enough, there was Giovanni, the old clothing merchant. Rail-thin and missing more than a few feathers on account of his age, looking as if he'd just bitten into something particularly sour. In front of him stood a young adult Griffon Gallus couldn't recall ever seeing before. In contrast to the dismissive, borderline hostile tone of the shopkeeper, the stranger's voice was nothing but calm and polite.
"Come now Mr. Giorgio, I'm sure we can work something out. I know that times are hard as I'm something of a merchant myself, so I wouldn't dream of trying to cheat you out of your well-earned profits. But I'm afraid I'm just not as successful as you are. Perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement?"
Gallus almost snorted.
Giovanni Giorgio was infamous in Griffonstone for his utter unwillingness to lower his prices to anyone for any reason. That, combined with the fact that he wasn't the most pleasant person (even by the low standards of Griffonstone) meant he wasn't particularly liked. However, his shop was the only place in the city where one could get clothing of a decent quality without going to a tailor, which meant he always had plenty of customers around, especially now, when the autumn cold was starting to bite and people started to look into acquiring scarves, hats and jackets.
Giovanni knew this, so he didn't bother with haggling, and he didn't hesitate to inform the stranger of that.
"I don't haggle. You either take what I have at my price, or you don't take it at all."
"I'm not talking about haggling, Mr. Giorgio. I know there is no point in haggling with a business-gryph as experienced as yourself."
The stranger smiled disarmingly.
"I was thinking of something more along the lines of a...mutually beneficial arrangement. One that would allow us both to profit. You see..."
———————————————————————————————————————————
Gallus stared, dumbfounded, as Giovanni and the young stranger shook talons, a pouch of gold changing ownership as the older male returned to his store while his customer walked away, a bolt of expensive Equestrian-made fabric in hand.
Gallus blinked, unable to mentally process what he had just seen unfold before him. He felt like he had just witnessed an impossible feat. Giovanni was one of the most stubborn bastards in Griffonstone, and he'd just been talked into giving a guy he'd never met a discount. And he didn't even look mad about it!
Dazedly, Gallus clutched his coin purse, staring after the stranger with a thoughtful expression.
———————————————————————————————————————————
It wasn't until Gallus was standing right in front of him that he realized just how big the stranger was. And he didn't mean fat either. Granted, Gallus was a child, almost every Griffon he'd ever met was bigger than him, but this guy looked like he would stand head and shoulders above almost everyone else in Griffonstone.
Under any other circumstance it would have been mildly interesting, but as it was it just made Gallus even more nervous than he already was as the stranger looked down his beak at him.
"So, let me get this straight…you saw me deal with that shopkeeper…and now you want me to teach you how to haggle?"
Gallus nodded, not trusting himself enough to speak. The stranger stared silently for a moment, then cocked an eye ridge.
"And why exactly should I?"
Gallus stared up at the Griffon, fighting to hold back a wince. Of course. Nothing was ever free. That was a lesson every Griffon learned early in life. The blue-feathered fledgling pulled out his wallet, staring forlornly at it for a moment before reluctantly holding it out to the older Griffon.
"This...this is all I've got."
Gallus knew that he must have looked pathetic: a child, offering up literal pocket-change to a stranger, practically begging on his knees for a chance to learn from him. But Gallus was tired. Tired of rooting through the garbage for food, of being scammed and overcharged. If this Gryph could teach him how to avoid that fate, to take some measure of control over his own life, he was prepared to do anything.
"Please."
The older Griffon hummed quietly to himself before gently took the offered bag, opening it and examining the paltry sum of currency within with an unreadable expression before glancing back at Gallus, staring at him silently for a long, tense moment.
Then he pulled the drawstring tight again and pressed the pouch back into Gallus' hands.
"Lesson one: never let anyone know just how much you want something. Ever."
He huffed, the corners of his face twitching in the slightest show of amusement.
"Seems you could stand to learn a thing or two."
Gallus stared, blinking in shock and confusion. No Griffon ever turned down the chance to make a few quick bits, especially for something so trivially easy to provide as a few words.
He didn't know what to make of it.
"So...you'll teach me?"
The stranger shrugged.
"Why not? I don't have anything else planned for the day, and I can think of worse ways to pass the time."
He gave the child before him another once over, as if properly seeing him for the first time.
"So, what do they call you kid?"
The Griffon chick dared to smile.
"I'm Gallus."
The stranger matched the child's grin, holding out a talon to shake.
"Garrick Goldenfeather."
———————————————————————————————————————————
"Always keep your word, honor agreements you've made, and pay your debts. A good reputation is one of the only things that can't be bought, and in some ways is the most valuable currency of all. If you don't have any, people won't be willing to work with you. If you do, you'll be able to gain more than you otherwise could with coin alone."
Gallus blankly stared at the steaming bowl of soup in front of him, almost not hearing the words Garrick was speaking from his place on the other side of the table as he ate his own lunch.
Gallus had walked alongside the odd dealmaker through the streets of Griffonstone, listening to his words so intently he almost hadn't noticed when he'd followed him through the doorway of one of the city's few restaurants. He'd then been urged to sit at a table as Garrick (should he call him Mr. Goldenfeather? He wasn't sure what the rules were for a situation like this) had paid for two meals.
Gallus had assumed that he was simply a big eater, that he had just decided to get himself something to eat while Gallus listened to him speak. Then he'd pushed the second bowl right in front of Gallus and silently gestured for him to dig in.
Gallus didn't understand. Griffons weren't supposed to waste their money like this. Griffons didn't spend money on others…they barely spent money on themselves. That was the unspoken rule of life in Griffonstone: hoard as much wealth as you can, because those who had more gold were more important than those who had less. That was simply the way of things, had been for as long as anyone cared to remember.
His stomach growled, reminding him of how long it had been since he had eaten, and he reluctantly picked up the provided spoon, trying to eat slowly to better savor the taste of something that hadn't been pulled out of a garbage heap.
Garrick carried on, seemingly oblivious to Gallus's reaction to being fed.
"Always be looking for new opportunities. Be willing to accept some risks, but never go all in on a risky gamble. Practice your poker face and brush up on your acting skills; the best way to make a good deal, or to win an argument, is to make the other person think that your idea was actually their idea the whole time. But resist the urge to take advantage of people. You may make a great profit in the short run, but alienating potential customers and business partners is a great way to wind up penniless once word gets around that you aren't to be trusted. You'll make far more money in the long-term if you can convince everyone that working with you will also benefit them. And the best way to convince them of that claim is to make it a truth."
The trader paused to take a sip from his water (which was very much not complimentary. Nothing in Griffonstone ever was) before looking Gallus in the eye and giving one more pearl of knowledge.
"Above all, its important that you ask yourself these three questions: what do you have? What do you want? And how do you use the former to acquire the latter?"
Gallus had lived in Griffonstone his entire life. He'd seen, and in a few cases been the victim of, every dirty trick in the book. He'd been sold shoddy goods dressed up to look better than the actually were, seen Griffons cheated out of their money by swindlers and con-gryphs while others lost a week's wages with a single throw of a pair of loaded dice.
And here was a Griffon who claimed that it was not only possible, but better to make money by telling the truth, being honest, and making sure that everyone profited. It was unbelievable...more than unbelievable, it flew in the face of almost everything he'd ever learned on the streets. Who had ever heard of an honest Griffon merchant?
But...he'd seen that philosophy in action today hadn't he? And wouldn't it be nice, to be able to get rich without hurting other Griffons like himself?
Oblivious to the younger Griffon's sudden revelation, Garrick finished his meal before pulling out his own wallet (which was much larger and much, much heavier than Gallus's) and began counting out bits. Gallus blinked, nonplussed. He'd already paid for his...their food.
"What are you doing?"
Garrick barely glanced up, gathering up a small handful of bits before placing them on the table.
"Leaving a tip."
Gallus stared.
"A what?"
The strange, strange Griffon pulled the drawstring on his coin purse before looking to Gallus, casually explaining his actions as if what he'd done was perfectly normal.
"A gratuity. A little something extra for the staff, a way of saying thank you. If the food has been bad, or the service poor, I wouldn't have left it. But it was decent, so I did."
Gallus's beak opened and closed repeatedly as he struggled to come to grips with what he'd just heard. Just…giving money away? It was madness, and he couldn't help but express his confusion verbally.
"Why!?"
Garrick glanced down at him with a raised eye ridge, leading the fledgling out of the restaurant and back out onto the street.
"Do you know why every restaurant and street vendor in Griffonstone asks you to pay before they give you the food?"
Gallus blinked, not sure where the older male was going with this.
"Well…because if they asked for the money after someone ate, the customer would either leave without paying or try to come up with an excuse to not pay the full price?"
Garrick nodded.
"Exactly. No business wants to deal with that, so they ensure that such a situation cannot occur in the first place. They set things up so that they have a superior bargaining position where they have all of the power. It doesn't matter if the food is over cooked or if the server is rude, they already have your money, and since there's only a handful of restaurants in Griffonstone, all of which behave in roughly the same manner, there's nothing you can do about it."
The corners of Garrick's beak turned upwards in the barest flicker of a smile.
"But by introducing the gratuity, I took some of that power back. Now, when I return there, they will know that I'm willing to pay them extra for providing me with good food and good service…but if they ever give me bad service, I can simply refuse to tip them. Now they have an incentive to treat me well."
Gallus pondered his words, trying to wrap his head around the extremely un-Griffon-like concept.
"But…you're spending money you don't have to!"
Garrick gave him a look.
"There's a saying I'm particularly fond of: you get what you pay for. I'd rather pay more for something good, then pay less for something terrible. At least then, I know that I'm getting my money's worth."
Gallus blinked, utterly stupefied. He'd known Garrick Goldenfeather for less than an hour, and he'd already come to the conclusion that he was either a genius or utterly insane.
But judging by the size of his wallet, he was pretty sure it was the former.
The Griffon in question suddenly stopped and looked at Gallus as if for the first time.
"How would you like a job kid?"
Gallus blinked.
"W-what?"
Garrick tilted his head, his facial expression not giving away his inner thoughts.
"You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders…and you clearly know an opportunity when you see it. And my business has recently reached the point where I need an extra pair of hands to take care of everything. So…you interested?"
Gallus struggled to speak. This…this was too good to be true. Things like this just didn't happen, not to people like him. He waited for the other feather to drop, for Garrick to laugh and say he was kidding because why would he just hire a kid off the street?
But the older Griffon just stood there silently, awaiting his answer.
Gallus nodded, trying not to look too eager.
"Y-Yes! Yes, I-I'd like to work for you."
Garrick smiled lightly and nodded back, before frowning slightly as he continued.
"Glad to hear it. Now, I should warn you that my job requires a lot of travel from place to place. You'll likely be spending quite a lot of time away from Griffonstone. Is that going to be an issue for you?"
Griffonstone had been his birthplace, and he'd lived the entirety of his short life within it…but Gallus didn't have anything tying him to this place. If he was being honest with himself, he didn't think he'd shed a tear if he never saw it ever again.
He shook his head, and Garrick's smile widened as he put his talon out to shake for the second time today.
"Well then, glad to have you aboard Gallus. I look forward to working with you."
For the first time in years, Gallus smiled back.
"Likewise boss. Likewise."
Gallus squawked, staring up at the disinterested face of the shopkeeper.
"Thirty bits!?"
The blue-feathered fledgling gestured at the fish in the display case before him, its dead eyes staring unblinkingly at the pre-adolescent Griffon as it rested on a bed of slowly melting ice.
"That thing is a minnow! It's bite-sized! No way is it worth thirty bits!"
The fishmonger simply glared at Gallus from the other side of the counter.
"If I say it's thirty bits, then it's thirty bits. Don't like it? Don't buy it. Simple as that."
Gallus grit his beak, turning and walking away from the market stall. He knew better than to waste his time trying to haggle.
His stomach growled in protest at his walking away from a potential meal, the familiar pangs of hunger making him wince as he made his way down the trash-strewn streets of Griffonstone, passing row after row of crooked houses with rotting timber and moldy thatch, the shouts of hawkers trying to shill their wares echoing alongside the occasional sound of wingbeats. He ducked into an alley between two vacant buildings, taking shelter from any prying, greedy eyes.
Glancing back and forth, making certain he was alone, he retrieved his coin purse from its place behind his wing. The skinny young gryph carefully emptied out his wallet, running his talons over the shiny golden coins he'd managed to scrounge up over the course of the past week.
All four of them.
He groaned, hanging his head as he carefully hid his meager savings away again. It wouldn't be enough for a meal. Not even the sketchiest of the city's street food vendors would be willing to sell their questionably edible cuisine to him for so little. After all, if they gave someone a discount, others might expect to receive the same low price themselves.
Another dull throb of hunger drove him out from his hiding place and back out onto the street, the azure Griffon wandering in search of a garbage bin that might hold a few discarded scraps. It chafed at his pride to rummage through the trash for food, but pride wouldn't sate his hunger.
Not for the first time, he briefly considered trying for a five-talon discount at one of the busier food stalls, but quickly rejected the idea. If there was one thing all Griffons despised, it was a thief, and if he got caught in the act he'd be lucky to walk away with a few bruises.
He had no desire to be tarred and defeathered.
"...there is nothing more to say. You can take it or leave it."
The scratchy voice pulled him out of his thoughts, Gallus lifting his gaze from the cracked and cratered road to view the source.
Sure enough, there was Giovanni, the old clothing merchant. Rail-thin and missing more than a few feathers on account of his age, looking as if he'd just bitten into something particularly sour. In front of him stood a young adult Griffon Gallus couldn't recall ever seeing before. In contrast to the dismissive, borderline hostile tone of the shopkeeper, the stranger's voice was nothing but calm and polite.
"Come now Mr. Giorgio, I'm sure we can work something out. I know that times are hard as I'm something of a merchant myself, so I wouldn't dream of trying to cheat you out of your well-earned profits. But I'm afraid I'm just not as successful as you are. Perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement?"
Gallus almost snorted.
Giovanni Giorgio was infamous in Griffonstone for his utter unwillingness to lower his prices to anyone for any reason. That, combined with the fact that he wasn't the most pleasant person (even by the low standards of Griffonstone) meant he wasn't particularly liked. However, his shop was the only place in the city where one could get clothing of a decent quality without going to a tailor, which meant he always had plenty of customers around, especially now, when the autumn cold was starting to bite and people started to look into acquiring scarves, hats and jackets.
Giovanni knew this, so he didn't bother with haggling, and he didn't hesitate to inform the stranger of that.
"I don't haggle. You either take what I have at my price, or you don't take it at all."
"I'm not talking about haggling, Mr. Giorgio. I know there is no point in haggling with a business-gryph as experienced as yourself."
The stranger smiled disarmingly.
"I was thinking of something more along the lines of a...mutually beneficial arrangement. One that would allow us both to profit. You see..."
———————————————————————————————————————————
Gallus stared, dumbfounded, as Giovanni and the young stranger shook talons, a pouch of gold changing ownership as the older male returned to his store while his customer walked away, a bolt of expensive Equestrian-made fabric in hand.
Gallus blinked, unable to mentally process what he had just seen unfold before him. He felt like he had just witnessed an impossible feat. Giovanni was one of the most stubborn bastards in Griffonstone, and he'd just been talked into giving a guy he'd never met a discount. And he didn't even look mad about it!
Dazedly, Gallus clutched his coin purse, staring after the stranger with a thoughtful expression.
———————————————————————————————————————————
It wasn't until Gallus was standing right in front of him that he realized just how big the stranger was. And he didn't mean fat either. Granted, Gallus was a child, almost every Griffon he'd ever met was bigger than him, but this guy looked like he would stand head and shoulders above almost everyone else in Griffonstone.
Under any other circumstance it would have been mildly interesting, but as it was it just made Gallus even more nervous than he already was as the stranger looked down his beak at him.
"So, let me get this straight…you saw me deal with that shopkeeper…and now you want me to teach you how to haggle?"
Gallus nodded, not trusting himself enough to speak. The stranger stared silently for a moment, then cocked an eye ridge.
"And why exactly should I?"
Gallus stared up at the Griffon, fighting to hold back a wince. Of course. Nothing was ever free. That was a lesson every Griffon learned early in life. The blue-feathered fledgling pulled out his wallet, staring forlornly at it for a moment before reluctantly holding it out to the older Griffon.
"This...this is all I've got."
Gallus knew that he must have looked pathetic: a child, offering up literal pocket-change to a stranger, practically begging on his knees for a chance to learn from him. But Gallus was tired. Tired of rooting through the garbage for food, of being scammed and overcharged. If this Gryph could teach him how to avoid that fate, to take some measure of control over his own life, he was prepared to do anything.
"Please."
The older Griffon hummed quietly to himself before gently took the offered bag, opening it and examining the paltry sum of currency within with an unreadable expression before glancing back at Gallus, staring at him silently for a long, tense moment.
Then he pulled the drawstring tight again and pressed the pouch back into Gallus' hands.
"Lesson one: never let anyone know just how much you want something. Ever."
He huffed, the corners of his face twitching in the slightest show of amusement.
"Seems you could stand to learn a thing or two."
Gallus stared, blinking in shock and confusion. No Griffon ever turned down the chance to make a few quick bits, especially for something so trivially easy to provide as a few words.
He didn't know what to make of it.
"So...you'll teach me?"
The stranger shrugged.
"Why not? I don't have anything else planned for the day, and I can think of worse ways to pass the time."
He gave the child before him another once over, as if properly seeing him for the first time.
"So, what do they call you kid?"
The Griffon chick dared to smile.
"I'm Gallus."
The stranger matched the child's grin, holding out a talon to shake.
"Garrick Goldenfeather."
———————————————————————————————————————————
"Always keep your word, honor agreements you've made, and pay your debts. A good reputation is one of the only things that can't be bought, and in some ways is the most valuable currency of all. If you don't have any, people won't be willing to work with you. If you do, you'll be able to gain more than you otherwise could with coin alone."
Gallus blankly stared at the steaming bowl of soup in front of him, almost not hearing the words Garrick was speaking from his place on the other side of the table as he ate his own lunch.
Gallus had walked alongside the odd dealmaker through the streets of Griffonstone, listening to his words so intently he almost hadn't noticed when he'd followed him through the doorway of one of the city's few restaurants. He'd then been urged to sit at a table as Garrick (should he call him Mr. Goldenfeather? He wasn't sure what the rules were for a situation like this) had paid for two meals.
Gallus had assumed that he was simply a big eater, that he had just decided to get himself something to eat while Gallus listened to him speak. Then he'd pushed the second bowl right in front of Gallus and silently gestured for him to dig in.
Gallus didn't understand. Griffons weren't supposed to waste their money like this. Griffons didn't spend money on others…they barely spent money on themselves. That was the unspoken rule of life in Griffonstone: hoard as much wealth as you can, because those who had more gold were more important than those who had less. That was simply the way of things, had been for as long as anyone cared to remember.
His stomach growled, reminding him of how long it had been since he had eaten, and he reluctantly picked up the provided spoon, trying to eat slowly to better savor the taste of something that hadn't been pulled out of a garbage heap.
Garrick carried on, seemingly oblivious to Gallus's reaction to being fed.
"Always be looking for new opportunities. Be willing to accept some risks, but never go all in on a risky gamble. Practice your poker face and brush up on your acting skills; the best way to make a good deal, or to win an argument, is to make the other person think that your idea was actually their idea the whole time. But resist the urge to take advantage of people. You may make a great profit in the short run, but alienating potential customers and business partners is a great way to wind up penniless once word gets around that you aren't to be trusted. You'll make far more money in the long-term if you can convince everyone that working with you will also benefit them. And the best way to convince them of that claim is to make it a truth."
The trader paused to take a sip from his water (which was very much not complimentary. Nothing in Griffonstone ever was) before looking Gallus in the eye and giving one more pearl of knowledge.
"Above all, its important that you ask yourself these three questions: what do you have? What do you want? And how do you use the former to acquire the latter?"
Gallus had lived in Griffonstone his entire life. He'd seen, and in a few cases been the victim of, every dirty trick in the book. He'd been sold shoddy goods dressed up to look better than the actually were, seen Griffons cheated out of their money by swindlers and con-gryphs while others lost a week's wages with a single throw of a pair of loaded dice.
And here was a Griffon who claimed that it was not only possible, but better to make money by telling the truth, being honest, and making sure that everyone profited. It was unbelievable...more than unbelievable, it flew in the face of almost everything he'd ever learned on the streets. Who had ever heard of an honest Griffon merchant?
But...he'd seen that philosophy in action today hadn't he? And wouldn't it be nice, to be able to get rich without hurting other Griffons like himself?
Oblivious to the younger Griffon's sudden revelation, Garrick finished his meal before pulling out his own wallet (which was much larger and much, much heavier than Gallus's) and began counting out bits. Gallus blinked, nonplussed. He'd already paid for his...their food.
"What are you doing?"
Garrick barely glanced up, gathering up a small handful of bits before placing them on the table.
"Leaving a tip."
Gallus stared.
"A what?"
The strange, strange Griffon pulled the drawstring on his coin purse before looking to Gallus, casually explaining his actions as if what he'd done was perfectly normal.
"A gratuity. A little something extra for the staff, a way of saying thank you. If the food has been bad, or the service poor, I wouldn't have left it. But it was decent, so I did."
Gallus's beak opened and closed repeatedly as he struggled to come to grips with what he'd just heard. Just…giving money away? It was madness, and he couldn't help but express his confusion verbally.
"Why!?"
Garrick glanced down at him with a raised eye ridge, leading the fledgling out of the restaurant and back out onto the street.
"Do you know why every restaurant and street vendor in Griffonstone asks you to pay before they give you the food?"
Gallus blinked, not sure where the older male was going with this.
"Well…because if they asked for the money after someone ate, the customer would either leave without paying or try to come up with an excuse to not pay the full price?"
Garrick nodded.
"Exactly. No business wants to deal with that, so they ensure that such a situation cannot occur in the first place. They set things up so that they have a superior bargaining position where they have all of the power. It doesn't matter if the food is over cooked or if the server is rude, they already have your money, and since there's only a handful of restaurants in Griffonstone, all of which behave in roughly the same manner, there's nothing you can do about it."
The corners of Garrick's beak turned upwards in the barest flicker of a smile.
"But by introducing the gratuity, I took some of that power back. Now, when I return there, they will know that I'm willing to pay them extra for providing me with good food and good service…but if they ever give me bad service, I can simply refuse to tip them. Now they have an incentive to treat me well."
Gallus pondered his words, trying to wrap his head around the extremely un-Griffon-like concept.
"But…you're spending money you don't have to!"
Garrick gave him a look.
"There's a saying I'm particularly fond of: you get what you pay for. I'd rather pay more for something good, then pay less for something terrible. At least then, I know that I'm getting my money's worth."
Gallus blinked, utterly stupefied. He'd known Garrick Goldenfeather for less than an hour, and he'd already come to the conclusion that he was either a genius or utterly insane.
But judging by the size of his wallet, he was pretty sure it was the former.
The Griffon in question suddenly stopped and looked at Gallus as if for the first time.
"How would you like a job kid?"
Gallus blinked.
"W-what?"
Garrick tilted his head, his facial expression not giving away his inner thoughts.
"You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders…and you clearly know an opportunity when you see it. And my business has recently reached the point where I need an extra pair of hands to take care of everything. So…you interested?"
Gallus struggled to speak. This…this was too good to be true. Things like this just didn't happen, not to people like him. He waited for the other feather to drop, for Garrick to laugh and say he was kidding because why would he just hire a kid off the street?
But the older Griffon just stood there silently, awaiting his answer.
Gallus nodded, trying not to look too eager.
"Y-Yes! Yes, I-I'd like to work for you."
Garrick smiled lightly and nodded back, before frowning slightly as he continued.
"Glad to hear it. Now, I should warn you that my job requires a lot of travel from place to place. You'll likely be spending quite a lot of time away from Griffonstone. Is that going to be an issue for you?"
Griffonstone had been his birthplace, and he'd lived the entirety of his short life within it…but Gallus didn't have anything tying him to this place. If he was being honest with himself, he didn't think he'd shed a tear if he never saw it ever again.
He shook his head, and Garrick's smile widened as he put his talon out to shake for the second time today.
"Well then, glad to have you aboard Gallus. I look forward to working with you."
For the first time in years, Gallus smiled back.
"Likewise boss. Likewise."
The Queen and the Slave
- Location
- Maryland
All of Her sisters had been precious to her, but one had stood above all others in Her heart. Their Mother had named her Lamina, and she had adored her younger siblings.
Lamina had been the one to teach Her everything that She now knew. She had shown Her how to use Her magic, how to disguise Herself, how to defend Herself should She ever be caught.
But Lamina had also told Her about the world beyond the walls of the Hive. Of snow-swept plains and towering mountains, of cities and peoples quite unlike the Ponies of Canterbury. Lamina would always return from a mission with something for her siblings, something to brighten up the secluded chamber where they all lived separately from the rest of the Hive. Had it been possible, She was certain that Lamina's love could have fed the entire Hive.
One day, Lamina had returned with a bouquet of red flowers. She said that they were Roses, and that, while they were beautiful, they hid thorns that would prick you if you did not pay attention.
Lamina had trimmed the thorns off of one with her magic and slipped it behind Her ear with a smile before being called away by Their Mother for another mission.
She would never see her sister ever again.
——————————————————————————————————
Maretonia was quite different from Canterbury.
It wasn't simply the weather, which, thanks to the greater number of Pegasi to shape it, was far more regular and predictable. Nor was it the fact that, due to the lack of any hordes of ravenous beasts prowling it's interior, the Kingdom possessed a larger, more prosperous population.
No. For her, the biggest difference was that she didn't have to look over her shoulder for her Mother's spies.
In her mind, that was the best part of assignments such as this. It was her only chance to get as far away from the Hive as possible...as far away from her Mother as possible.
Of course, she knew that that was half the point of these missions: to get her away from the Hive, away from her sisters, away from any potential allies or co-conspirators.
Her Mother barely bothered to conceal her motivations from her daughters when she sent them out on their missions to foreign lands, venturing deep into hostile territory. It was evident in how she never expressed concern or disappointment when her children failed to return, how she seemed just as pleased with her children's failures as she was with their successes.
And why should Her Mother feel any different? Whether her children lived or died, she always got what she wanted in the end.
She had known this for a long time. Known it when two more of her Sisters had not returned from their journeys West, when she was summoned to Her Mother's throne room and told that it was now her time to "serve the Hive".
And so She had bowed her head, held her tongue, and gone to Maretonia.
She hated Her Mother. Hated her more than She could ever hate anyone else. But She still obeyed her. She knew her place...knew that to not obey Her Mother was to sign her own death warrant, as so many of Her sisters had.
In that way, She was not too dissimilar from the enslaved Ponies and Dogs of Maretonia. Perhaps that was why She had lingered here, in Roam, a city of haves and have-nots, where a privileged few lived in luxury while so many others lived in bondage.
Perhaps that was why Her Mother had sent her here...to show her that things were not so different outside the Hive. To remind her of her place.
The homes of slaves were the same, no matter what the species.
"But Nerine said, 'No, My Master, I need more time'."
She stopped, disguised ears twitching, and before she could even consciously choose to do so she found herself moving towards the voice of the speaker.
"And Nerine's Master was angry, but not so angry that he forgot how badly he wished to know the secret of Manna. And so he told Nerine that he would give her one more day, but if she failed to learn the secret it would mean her death."
She rounded a corner and there they were, seated in a circle under a shade awning in one of the larger courtyards of the city's slave quarter: a group of twelve foals, the storyteller in the middle. She was an old mare, her mane long-since turned gray with age, with a smile that was more gaps than teeth.
"But Nerine said, 'My Master, I do not believe they will share the secret with me. But if you will give me some bundles of canvas to trade, perhaps they may be persuaded to part with their knowledge.' And Nerine's Master agreed."
She stood silently in the shadows of an alley, listening to the old mare speak. Stories, She had found, were a constant in every culture. When peasants returned from their fields, or knights from their campaigns, it was a common event for them to gather around their hearths and cooking fires to share tales; either their own, or those that had been passed down by their ancestors.
The slaves of Maretonia were no different in this regard. In the course of her missions within the slave kingdom, she had heard many folk tales whispered between the laborers on plantation fields, or spoken in hushed tones by mothers to children who had been born into the world as property. Stories that only fellow slaves were meant to know.
There were many stories about the mare named Nerine. How she was born free, only to be captured and made a slave. How she used her wits and her skills and her charm to trick her master and help her fellow slaves.
She did not think that Nerine was ever a real pony. But to the slaves that told her stories she was real enough.
The storyteller continued.
"The next day, the Master called Nerine before him, and asked if she had learned the secret of Manna. And Nerine bowed her head and said: 'No my Master. I need more time.'"
"And Nerine's Master was angry, and he called for his guards so that Nerine could be executed immediately. But Nerine said 'I have learned the first part of the secret, my Master. I believe, if you give me just one more day, and perhaps some useless things to trade, some iron nails perhaps, I am certain I can get the rest of the secret from them.' And while Nerine's Master was angry, his desire to know the secret of Manna was greater than his rage, and so he gave Nerine one more day, and a bag of iron nails."
She listened from her spot in the alley as the old mare continued.
It was one of Nerine's most elaborate tricks. Each day, Nerine's Master threatened her with death if she did not deliver the secret of Manna, and each day Nerine convinced him to give her something else to trade to the other slaves, and returned with one more element of the recipe. Eventually, Nerine had traded so many seemingly useless materials to the slaves that they were able to build themselves a boat, and they climbed aboard it and escaped, sailing across the great ocean to a land where they would be free. And as for Nerine...
The old mare smiled as she reached the end of the story.
"Then Nerine went to her Master, and told him that she had finally learned the secret of Manna. And her Master was eager to know the one secret that his slaves had ever managed to keep from him, and he demanded that Nerine tell him at once."
"And Nerine smiled and spoke: 'Here is the secret of Manna, my Master. It is made with the bones of the earth and the light of the stars. It is made from the words of the old and the blood of the young. It is made with magic, and skill, and trickery.' And Nerine laughed. 'I have deceived you Master. By your own gifts have your slaves gained their freedom. You will never find them again, and you will never know the secret of Manna.'"
"And Nerine's Master was filled with a great rage, and he cut down Nerine where she stood. But Nerine died with a smile upon her face, and her Master was left alone with no slaves, and no secret. And that is the story of how Nerine tricked her Master into giving his slaves their freedom, using the secret of Manna."
She did not move, staying rooted to her spot in the shadows as the foals hopped to their hooves and ran off to play, the innocence of youth still strong in them despite everything.
"Are you going to stand there all day?"
Again, She moved without thinking, exiting the alley to stand before the elderly mare, who was staring at Her with tired, jaded eyes.
"Did you like the story then?"
She nodded silently, not sure how else to respond.
"What is your name child?"
She hesitated, but responded all the same.
"Calliphora."
She didn't know why she had given this old mare Her true name, why she had not given her one of the numerous pseudonyms She used when on missions. But She could not find it in herself to lie, as She had so many other times throughout Her life. That was what Her Mother had named Her, and so that was the name She gave.
The mare huffed in displeasure.
"I didn't ask for what your Master calls you child. I asked for your name."
She had no answer to give. She was what Her Mother had made Her. That was all She was...all that She ever would be.
The old mare's gaze softened alongside her voice.
"What have they done to you child?"
My sisters are dead. Dead because of our Mother. A Mother who never loved us, who never saw us as anything but threats to be dealt with. My entire life is a lie, a series of acts to please a being that will never be satisfied with anything but my death.
All She could answer the old mare with was silence. The elder hummed to herself, as if she could divine some kind of meaning from Her silence, and asked Her another question.
"Do you understand why Narine dies at the end of so many of her stories?"
She did. She wished that She didn't but She did. Someone else may have merely found it unusual. Weren't the heroes in stories supposed to live happily ever after? But She knew the moral of the story, of every story where Narine died at the end.
Slaves did not get to live happily ever after. The best they could hope for was to die free.
"I do."
The old mare nodded solemnly.
"Then you know what you must do, I suspect."
She did.
Her Mother had sent Her here to remind Her of Her place. To learn what it truly meant to be a slave.
And She had.
_____________________________________________________________
She returned to the Hive two weeks after she was meant to. Two weeks after Her Mother had ordered her to.
She knelt before Her Mother's throne, head nearly scraping the ground. She felt Her Mother's displeasure like a crashing wave, threatening to sweep her away and dash her against the stone floor.
Displeasure that She had returned. Displeasure that She had lived.
"Calliphora. I trust you have an explanation for your tardiness. And that your mission was successful."
She did not look up. Did not rise. She had not been given permission.
She remembered Her sisters who had never returned. Remembered the slaves in Maretonia.
She remembered Lamina.
She cast off the shackles that She had been born into and made Herself anew.
"No My Queen", said Rose.
"I need more time."
Lamina had been the one to teach Her everything that She now knew. She had shown Her how to use Her magic, how to disguise Herself, how to defend Herself should She ever be caught.
But Lamina had also told Her about the world beyond the walls of the Hive. Of snow-swept plains and towering mountains, of cities and peoples quite unlike the Ponies of Canterbury. Lamina would always return from a mission with something for her siblings, something to brighten up the secluded chamber where they all lived separately from the rest of the Hive. Had it been possible, She was certain that Lamina's love could have fed the entire Hive.
One day, Lamina had returned with a bouquet of red flowers. She said that they were Roses, and that, while they were beautiful, they hid thorns that would prick you if you did not pay attention.
Lamina had trimmed the thorns off of one with her magic and slipped it behind Her ear with a smile before being called away by Their Mother for another mission.
She would never see her sister ever again.
——————————————————————————————————
Maretonia was quite different from Canterbury.
It wasn't simply the weather, which, thanks to the greater number of Pegasi to shape it, was far more regular and predictable. Nor was it the fact that, due to the lack of any hordes of ravenous beasts prowling it's interior, the Kingdom possessed a larger, more prosperous population.
No. For her, the biggest difference was that she didn't have to look over her shoulder for her Mother's spies.
In her mind, that was the best part of assignments such as this. It was her only chance to get as far away from the Hive as possible...as far away from her Mother as possible.
Of course, she knew that that was half the point of these missions: to get her away from the Hive, away from her sisters, away from any potential allies or co-conspirators.
Her Mother barely bothered to conceal her motivations from her daughters when she sent them out on their missions to foreign lands, venturing deep into hostile territory. It was evident in how she never expressed concern or disappointment when her children failed to return, how she seemed just as pleased with her children's failures as she was with their successes.
And why should Her Mother feel any different? Whether her children lived or died, she always got what she wanted in the end.
She had known this for a long time. Known it when two more of her Sisters had not returned from their journeys West, when she was summoned to Her Mother's throne room and told that it was now her time to "serve the Hive".
And so She had bowed her head, held her tongue, and gone to Maretonia.
She hated Her Mother. Hated her more than She could ever hate anyone else. But She still obeyed her. She knew her place...knew that to not obey Her Mother was to sign her own death warrant, as so many of Her sisters had.
In that way, She was not too dissimilar from the enslaved Ponies and Dogs of Maretonia. Perhaps that was why She had lingered here, in Roam, a city of haves and have-nots, where a privileged few lived in luxury while so many others lived in bondage.
Perhaps that was why Her Mother had sent her here...to show her that things were not so different outside the Hive. To remind her of her place.
The homes of slaves were the same, no matter what the species.
"But Nerine said, 'No, My Master, I need more time'."
She stopped, disguised ears twitching, and before she could even consciously choose to do so she found herself moving towards the voice of the speaker.
"And Nerine's Master was angry, but not so angry that he forgot how badly he wished to know the secret of Manna. And so he told Nerine that he would give her one more day, but if she failed to learn the secret it would mean her death."
She rounded a corner and there they were, seated in a circle under a shade awning in one of the larger courtyards of the city's slave quarter: a group of twelve foals, the storyteller in the middle. She was an old mare, her mane long-since turned gray with age, with a smile that was more gaps than teeth.
"But Nerine said, 'My Master, I do not believe they will share the secret with me. But if you will give me some bundles of canvas to trade, perhaps they may be persuaded to part with their knowledge.' And Nerine's Master agreed."
She stood silently in the shadows of an alley, listening to the old mare speak. Stories, She had found, were a constant in every culture. When peasants returned from their fields, or knights from their campaigns, it was a common event for them to gather around their hearths and cooking fires to share tales; either their own, or those that had been passed down by their ancestors.
The slaves of Maretonia were no different in this regard. In the course of her missions within the slave kingdom, she had heard many folk tales whispered between the laborers on plantation fields, or spoken in hushed tones by mothers to children who had been born into the world as property. Stories that only fellow slaves were meant to know.
There were many stories about the mare named Nerine. How she was born free, only to be captured and made a slave. How she used her wits and her skills and her charm to trick her master and help her fellow slaves.
She did not think that Nerine was ever a real pony. But to the slaves that told her stories she was real enough.
The storyteller continued.
"The next day, the Master called Nerine before him, and asked if she had learned the secret of Manna. And Nerine bowed her head and said: 'No my Master. I need more time.'"
"And Nerine's Master was angry, and he called for his guards so that Nerine could be executed immediately. But Nerine said 'I have learned the first part of the secret, my Master. I believe, if you give me just one more day, and perhaps some useless things to trade, some iron nails perhaps, I am certain I can get the rest of the secret from them.' And while Nerine's Master was angry, his desire to know the secret of Manna was greater than his rage, and so he gave Nerine one more day, and a bag of iron nails."
She listened from her spot in the alley as the old mare continued.
It was one of Nerine's most elaborate tricks. Each day, Nerine's Master threatened her with death if she did not deliver the secret of Manna, and each day Nerine convinced him to give her something else to trade to the other slaves, and returned with one more element of the recipe. Eventually, Nerine had traded so many seemingly useless materials to the slaves that they were able to build themselves a boat, and they climbed aboard it and escaped, sailing across the great ocean to a land where they would be free. And as for Nerine...
The old mare smiled as she reached the end of the story.
"Then Nerine went to her Master, and told him that she had finally learned the secret of Manna. And her Master was eager to know the one secret that his slaves had ever managed to keep from him, and he demanded that Nerine tell him at once."
"And Nerine smiled and spoke: 'Here is the secret of Manna, my Master. It is made with the bones of the earth and the light of the stars. It is made from the words of the old and the blood of the young. It is made with magic, and skill, and trickery.' And Nerine laughed. 'I have deceived you Master. By your own gifts have your slaves gained their freedom. You will never find them again, and you will never know the secret of Manna.'"
"And Nerine's Master was filled with a great rage, and he cut down Nerine where she stood. But Nerine died with a smile upon her face, and her Master was left alone with no slaves, and no secret. And that is the story of how Nerine tricked her Master into giving his slaves their freedom, using the secret of Manna."
She did not move, staying rooted to her spot in the shadows as the foals hopped to their hooves and ran off to play, the innocence of youth still strong in them despite everything.
"Are you going to stand there all day?"
Again, She moved without thinking, exiting the alley to stand before the elderly mare, who was staring at Her with tired, jaded eyes.
"Did you like the story then?"
She nodded silently, not sure how else to respond.
"What is your name child?"
She hesitated, but responded all the same.
"Calliphora."
She didn't know why she had given this old mare Her true name, why she had not given her one of the numerous pseudonyms She used when on missions. But She could not find it in herself to lie, as She had so many other times throughout Her life. That was what Her Mother had named Her, and so that was the name She gave.
The mare huffed in displeasure.
"I didn't ask for what your Master calls you child. I asked for your name."
She had no answer to give. She was what Her Mother had made Her. That was all She was...all that She ever would be.
The old mare's gaze softened alongside her voice.
"What have they done to you child?"
My sisters are dead. Dead because of our Mother. A Mother who never loved us, who never saw us as anything but threats to be dealt with. My entire life is a lie, a series of acts to please a being that will never be satisfied with anything but my death.
All She could answer the old mare with was silence. The elder hummed to herself, as if she could divine some kind of meaning from Her silence, and asked Her another question.
"Do you understand why Narine dies at the end of so many of her stories?"
She did. She wished that She didn't but She did. Someone else may have merely found it unusual. Weren't the heroes in stories supposed to live happily ever after? But She knew the moral of the story, of every story where Narine died at the end.
Slaves did not get to live happily ever after. The best they could hope for was to die free.
"I do."
The old mare nodded solemnly.
"Then you know what you must do, I suspect."
She did.
Her Mother had sent Her here to remind Her of Her place. To learn what it truly meant to be a slave.
And She had.
_____________________________________________________________
She returned to the Hive two weeks after she was meant to. Two weeks after Her Mother had ordered her to.
She knelt before Her Mother's throne, head nearly scraping the ground. She felt Her Mother's displeasure like a crashing wave, threatening to sweep her away and dash her against the stone floor.
Displeasure that She had returned. Displeasure that She had lived.
"Calliphora. I trust you have an explanation for your tardiness. And that your mission was successful."
She did not look up. Did not rise. She had not been given permission.
She remembered Her sisters who had never returned. Remembered the slaves in Maretonia.
She remembered Lamina.
She cast off the shackles that She had been born into and made Herself anew.
"No My Queen", said Rose.
"I need more time."
- Location
- Maryland
Merry Christmas! Here's an Update and two Omakes to make up for the long wait.
This Quest now has a million views. Words cannot describe how happy I am that so many people have enjoyed this crazy thing I've made. Thank you all so much for all of your support and contributions to this story. This Quest would not be possible without all of you.
I wish all of you a very happy holidays.
This Quest now has a million views. Words cannot describe how happy I am that so many people have enjoyed this crazy thing I've made. Thank you all so much for all of your support and contributions to this story. This Quest would not be possible without all of you.
I wish all of you a very happy holidays.
ConfusedCanuck
Where did it all go wrong?
- Location
- Neverland
Well now my thanks for a Christmas eve update!
I'm very glad to see our heir getting married! Both because it'll secure our line as rulers of our empire once and for all and because the main contenders that could have threatened our line is no longer a problem for us since there daughter is marrying into the family.
And the Omakes were welcomed additions!
I'm very glad to see our heir getting married! Both because it'll secure our line as rulers of our empire once and for all and because the main contenders that could have threatened our line is no longer a problem for us since there daughter is marrying into the family.
And the Omakes were welcomed additions!
- Location
- Attempting to cast animate object on a black hole.
But would the stockings be for the paws and look like something I'm not going to mention, or for the forelimbs and look like a long three-fingered glove with holes in the end for the claws?
- Location
- Texas
I really liked this omake, though something about it seems familiar…
Have you ever heard of the discontinued Naruto fanfic 'The Art of the Deal'? It's an old one, but maybe the haggling scenes made me think of it.
Not that I'm complaining! I liked that fic and that's what made me think about it is all.
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- Location
- Where I an right now
This first half is almost a perfect adaptation of Art of the Deal by case13, man I wish he wrote more to it
I see a fellow who also favors the classics
FictionPack
Monochromatic Ursine
- Location
- Tennessee
- Pronouns
- He/Him
...I feel like that's skipping a pretty big ceremonial step there...
The Rise and Fall and Rise again of House Brochard. The Mad King finally got what he wanted, his bloodline on the Throne.
Gallus is adorable. I hope we kept in touch.
Rose is awesome here, such a bittersweet memory.
Glad to learn she did give us her real name.
Nerine sounds like Scheherazade.
She's Scheherazade combined with Ekkreth from Fialleril's Tatooine slave culture fics, I think