Shattered Realms

Chapter 3

The Reclaimer

The midday sun shone high and hot in the Saddle Ariabian sky. Gaudy sunshades draped erratically over the entire bazaar did little to abate the piercing heat. Hot winds blew through the sand-blown alleyways and into open windows, clattering loosely hinged wooden shutters. Ponies and creatures from far across and beyond the land of Equestria milled about the bazaar despite the uncomfortable conditions. Traders, both exotic and local, displayed their precious wares, hoping eagerly to draw the attention of potential customers. The din of buyers' and merchants' haggling added to the crowded confusion of the bazaar. Midst the confusion, an ornately garbed zebra stood quibbling with an obstinate herb merchant.

"What you see here is what is worth and no more!" the zebra insisted. She pulled back her silk veil to reveal her stern eyes, letting the merchant know she was not one to be trifled with. The old grey pony merely gazed back indifferently.

"Ye don't know 'ow 'ard these 'erbs be t'come by 'round 'ere.  Ye gots te grow 'em in soft groun' dat'll hold moisture. Look 'round ye!  Aint be many places 'round here that ye kin grow 'em!"

On the brink of flying into a rage, the zebra shoved her hoof into the pouch she kept under her robes and withdrew another hoofull of gems. The merchant eyed the steadily growing gem pile, then looked up to address the fuming zebra. He noted the wealth of rings, anklets, and necklaces adorning her with a raised eyebrow.

"If ye give me that as well," he said gesturing to a jewel encrusted anklet, "then we'll have ourselves a barter."

At this, the zebra swept up her gems, outraged.

"Swindler! Cheat! You'll get no such business of mine!" She reached to place the gems back into her pouch, only to find it missing from beneath her robes. She immediately pointed an accusing hoof at the old merchant.

"A thief! Give me back what's mine, you charlatan, gem-scrounging, louse!" Her eyes flamed rage and hatred at the flimflamming trader. He put up his hooves in protest.

"I don' have yer gems, witch!"

"LIAR!!"

The squabble went largely unnoticed by the countless other arguments throughout the bazaar. None but an unassuming brown griffon really heard their angry shouts as he walked away from the scene, grinning.

A griffon's grin is quite an odd thing, if you've ever seen one grin, for they have only a beak and no teeth with which to grin. This leaves a griffon with its beak cracked open in a toothless smile. For this reason, a griffon's grin is much more odd, and infinitely more sly.

"The fools would probably squander 'em on pointless frivolities," mused the griffon to himself. He tucked the purloined pouch under his wing as the zebra's angry shouts merged with the countless other noises of the bazaar. As he joined with the throng of bargain hunters, his tail deftly explored nearby pouches or saddle bags for anything worthwhile. He casually slipped his talonless claw into the cloak pocket of a nearby stallion, who was completely oblivious to the griffon's presence beside him. He withdrew his claw sourly, finding nothing within, and continued to slide coolly through the mass. As he surveyed the crowd for another target, he slid his tail beneath his wing with the gold ring it had just picked off of a nearby mule. A fairly decent find. Not entirely by accident, he bumped into a mare crossing his path.

"Oof! Oi, watch where you're goin'!" she said angrily.

"My mistake," he replied, bowing. She continued on her way, huffily, the bag of bits she carried on her hip a fraction lighter.

Grinning, he put the coins into a pouch beneath his wing as he continued muddling though the bazaar. From beneath his other wing, he withdrew an ebony medallion he knew he would soon need. Skillfully, he ran it over and across his claw, a trick he would be unable to do with talons. In fact, he possessed a  great many skills that talons would otherwise inhibit, skills he had all acquired through a necessity to survive. He had always been shunned by society as a runt, freak, or some other variance of verbal abuse. But he didn't need to be served on a silver platter. Society was his orchard, and he harvested without prejudice. Young or old, rich or poor, it mattered little to him. He harbored no deep grudge against a society that had ostracized him. He merely felt entitled to take what he needed as he needed it. No longer did he even  foster hatred against his father for mutilating him so many years ago. He eyed his talonless claws as he remembered; the jagged blade of the knife,  the harsh cut, right through the quick. It marked an important day for him, one he would remember each time he saw his disfigured claws. From that day he was forced to lead a life of hardship, gaining him the skills that made him who he was.

The crowd was no less thin when he arrived at his destination: a small gem appraiser at the corner of the bazaar. Pushing aside the flap of fabric that served as a door, he entered the confined shop. The griffon surveyed the shop until his eyes rested on the counter.  A fair number of lamps cluttered the counter, along with magnifying instruments and other tools of the appraiser's trade. Upon hearing a patron enter, the wizened appraiser walked in from the back room. The old dark green pony was bent from years and had to squint to see the creature who entered.  He placed his large glasses upon his nose, which seemed to aid him little.

"Whet izzit ye be needin' t'day?" he said, coughing a bit.

Placing the ebony medallion on the counter, the griffon replied, "I'll need to know the value of this."

The appraiser sat himself in a rickety old wooden stool behind the counter and straightened his glasses. Squinting more than would seem to allow sight, he turned it over in his hoof. He muttered a few things to himself before bringing a lamp and a magnifying glass closer. He turned it over once more and noticed the symbols printed on the back. He gave a surprised splutter. The griffon cracked a grin, knowing the appraiser recognized the meaning of the medallion.

The old pony quickly shoved the medallion back to the griffon.

"S-second door to your left," he coughed, gesturing at the door to the back room.

"Thank you," replied the griffon with a cool grin. He swept off silently to the back room, the old appraiser looking on apprehensively.

A solitary lamp lit the hallway to the back room. The griffon came upon the second door on the left and entered the small room. It was filled with brooms, worn out lamps, and a few other odds and ends. The griffon immediately began scanning the wooden floor for the latch he knew would be there. Pushing aside a few buckets, he found what he was looking for. He lifted the latch to the trapdoor with relative ease, allowing a few rusty lamps to roll off with a dull, metallic clang. Below he could see the staircase, unlit except by the light from the hallway. He entered it smoothly and let the trapdoor close with a thump behind him. He was now in total darkness feeling his way down the stairs, keeping close to the walls. He could see a faint light indicating the bottom of the stairs and made his way towards it. As he approached the bottom of the stairs, heavy smoke of incense began to congest his senses. He was now at the bottom of the staircase, looking into stone walled room. He could not be sure how large the room was; between the darkness and smoke haze his vision was somewhat limited. A small shaft of sunlight filtered down through a grate in the ceiling. Dimly lit specks from smoldering incense burners shone weakly in the dim haze. Through the darkness, the griffon could see two tendrils of smoke moving together, as if attached to the same source. A deep, icy voice came from the darkness.

"Come. Come closssser."

The griffon levelly addressed the disembodied voice.

"Mentor, it is I."

"Ah, you have arrived at lasssst," the voice hissed, "I have been exssspecting you."

The two smoke tendrils moved out of the darkness, connected to two, pale nostrils. Behind the nostrils was a long, scarred muzzle and head of an ancient dragon; a wyvern. The wyvern moved slowly into the light, revealing a fraction of its long, lithe body. The scales along its whole body were pale blue. Parts of its body showed scars, and old skin clung to it in places. Its forked tongue flicked out and its nostrils flared, testing the air. Its eyes were milky white, stricken by blindness. As its head came into the light, one could still sense some malign intent behind those blank eyes.

"I have brought you a gift," said the griffon, reaching beneath his wing. He revealed the pouch of gems and placed it before the wyvern.

The ancient wyvern sniffed it, opening it with his forked tongue.

"Ah! Most exssselent!"

He began to shift through the gems, sniffing and tasting each one in turn. He was looking for something specific in the gems that few still had the skill to discern.

"I see you have someone new at the entrance, Mentor," said the griffon.

"Indeed," the wyvern replied, still sifting through the pouch. "The last one's eyesight was too keen for hisssss own good. He ssssaw.....too much."

He continued his meticulous evaluation of the gems. Many gems he simply set aside on the ground. He had gone through nearly the entire pouch when he found what he was looking for.

"Yesss, thissss is what I need!" he said, holding up a sapphire triumphantly. He swallowed the tiny gem in one gulp. No sooner had he done so, a soft blue glow began to run down the length of his body. The lithe coils of his body and tail filled the entire room with the pale glow. He shook himself letting all the dead skin that had clung to his body fall off. A subtle change was taking place. His pale blue scales began to regain some color. Some of the scars along his body grew smaller and disappeared. Some of the whiteness in his eyes faded, and you could tell now that his eyes were once a deep blue. His transformation complete, he settled back.

"I will need many more like that before I fully regain my sssstrength," he hissed. "Shame that sssso few ssstill exissssst."

"Mentor, I will bring more on my return," said the griffon reverently.

"Yessss.......yesss. But for now, there are things we must discussss."

"I know, Mentor. My purpose is clear, but my path is not. I know not what my next step should be."

The wyvern narrowed his sightless eyes towards the griffon as he sorted through the few gems remaining in the pouch.

"And what did the Ageless Onesssss reveal as your purposssse?"

"Reclaim."

The wyvern growled deeply, a sly grin spreading across his scarred muzzle.

"Ah yesss, you have been chosen by the Ageless Ones. Chosen for a special tassssk."

"What is this task they wish me to do?"

The wyvern tossed aside the pouch, having finished with the gems. Turning to address his pupil, he spoke slowly.

"The Ageless Onessss predicted a time of dissssorder, a time of upsssset," he leaned in closer to the griffon. "A time when the core of our Order would crumble."

The griffon nodded gravely. He knew what secrets the Order protected. He knew what would happen if the Order was to fall.

"Ssssso, the Ageless Onesssss laid plans for sssssuch a calamity. You are key to this plan, as are others. You are The Reclaimer."

"But what do the Ageless Ones need of me? What must I do for them to protect the Order?"

"I know not the deep workingsss of their planssss. You must learn for yourssself. I can, however, direct you to where you sssshall learn."

"Tell me. I am at the disposal of the Ageless Ones."

_______________________________________

The old appraiser sat pondering the enigmatic griffon who had gone into the back several minutes ago. He shuddered as he recalled the symbols on the ebony medallion. He was instructed not to ask questions about their meaning, or the business that his mysterious benefactor conducted. That is the way he decided to keep it. No questions asked. What could he do? He was only a humble gem appraiser. He was desperate. His benefactor came to him, asked him for help in return for the healing of his daughter. Now, he saw no way out of these dark dealings, the nighttime "feedings", and no questions asked. What sort of creatures would be doing business with his benefactor? His reverie was interrupted by the sudden swoosh of the back door, causing him to nearly fall off his stool. Wordlessly, the strange brown griffon exited the shop without giving the appraiser a second glance.

"No.....questions.....asked," he thought, closing his eyes. He realized that he had been holding his breath since the griffon had burst through the back door. Shakily he exhaled.

"No questions asked."

Out in the bazaar, the crowds were dissipating as was the oppressive heat. The Reclaimer bowed his head as he began muddling through the crowd, unnoticed. He now had a purpose and direction. From his Mentor's instructions, he knew what he must do. The need of the Order was dire. He would not let them down.

"The Timekeeper," he repeated to himself, "She holds the answers I need for my task."

He began to casually appropriate the supplies he would need for his journey, mentally estimating what he would need.

"Canterlot is a fair distance," he mused, "I'll probably need more."