Over The Mountains and Through The Mist

by Slip Kid

Rating: teen
Tags: Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Tragedy, Princess Celestia, Dark
Length: 5623

Ancient beliefs are being driven out and a war is on the horizon for the griffons; only one clan stands for the Old Ways, but the old must always be replaced by the new...

A pact between three prominent griffon clans and the Equestrian monarchy threatens to force a drastic change upon all of griffon society. Ancient beliefs are being stomped out and a war is on the horizon; only one clan still stands for the Old Ways, but will they be able to escape the fate of so many others?

This is just meant to be a little world-building exercise and a look into history. I've tried my best to avoid walls of exposition, though please alert me if you find yourself slamming face-first into an insurmountable cliff of text. Hope you enjoy it!

Published 2013-10-20 20:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-10-20 20:50:02 UTC

The Old and The New

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows found in Canterlot Castle, bathing the marble rooms within in light and banishing any shadows to be found within. It seemed like a perfectly normal day to most ponies, unaware that a very grave matter was taking place within the palace of their monarch.

Several Royal Guards were shifting nervously outside of Princess Celestia’s throne room, the object of their discomfort sitting calmly on one of the plush chairs provided for visitors. Though the guards would deny it if asked, the presence of the predator made them uncomfortable. The guest ran one of his talons through his dark grey head plumage and plucked out a loose feather; he needed to look presentable, after all. His head abruptly snapped up when he heard the groan of a large door being opened and his orange eyes focused on the stark white pony that had opened one of the throne room doors.

“Princess Celestia will see you now, ambassador,” the pony announced in a monotone voice. The young tercel took a few seconds to adjust his ceremonial armour; deep brown leather adorned with countless engravings of scenes from ancient myths and legends, underneath sat a shirt of decorated chain-mail. He moved towards the throne room with practised grace, his head held high and his armour faintly clanging in the near silent room. As he passed the guard he sank his head in a polite nod and turned towards his goal. What he saw nearly took his breath away; a room grander than any he had ever seen with the light shining through stained-glass windows bathing the hall in a soft glow. A bright red carpet led up to the marble throne of Princess Celestia herself, who was currently smiling serenely down at him.

The only thing that stopped him from standing there and dumbly staring at the room was months of practice for the visit. After a moment of hesitation, he strode into the room with as much confidence as he could muster. He noted that feeling of the soft carpet on his claws was unfamiliar, but not unwelcome as he approached the throne.

I shouldn’t be thinking about that, there’s too much at stake.

When he neared the form of Princess Celestia, she spoke for the first time since he had entered.

“Good afternoon ambassador, may I inquire as to what I may address you as?”

The tiercel sank into a deep bow, as was the Equestrian custom, before he quietly cleared his throat and spoke in a lightly accented voice. “I am teraas’an- I mean, ambassador Veer’an; it is a pleasure to meet you, your Highness.”

Princess Celestia considered his words for a few seconds before replying. “I believe Veer’an means ‘Graceful Speaker’ in Equish, would you mind if I called you that for the remainder of this meeting?”, she waited until Veer’an gave a hesitant nod in response before continuing. “I am well aware of your intent, so I will not waste any more time in letting you state your case.” Her ever-present smile had stayed exactly where it was during her speech, something that was starting to unnerve Veer.

Only the untrustworthy smile like that...

He stopped his musing and returned to the task before him, carefully selecting his words before he spoke. “The alliance you have formed with the Three Great Clans has considerably affected the lives of those who still follow the Old Ways; your allies have been pressing us to change our ways and conform to the standards set out by your alliance. We fear that our traditions will be lost if we do, yet they will not stop in their advance into our lands. The situation is quite… dire.”

He took a moment to collect himself and right his expression, which had gradually darkened as he recounted the situation his people were in. “I have come here to ask you, on behalf of my people, to placate your allies before our culture permanently vanishes. Please, before we have to take drastic measures to secure the future of our people…”

Veer had gradually lowered his head during his speech, an ancient sign of respect, until he was left staring at the carpet underneath his talons. When he looked up, he noticed that the Princess’s smile had dropped ever so slightly.

The Princess remained silent for a short period, still gazing at the griffin before her. Finally, after what had seemed like hours to Veer, she spoke.

“I am afraid I must deny your request, Speaker, I believe it would be best that griffin society as a whole moved on and embraced the new ways that our alliance has introduced. Your ways, I’m sorry to say, are at times brutal and unsettling. Wouldn’t you benefit in the long term? Please, tell your leader to accept our terms, I promise that it would be the best thing for everyone.”

Veer tried to quell the rising anger he had felt since the Princess had started speaking, only barely managing to contain what may have been a catastrophic outburst. He settled for clacking his beak in indignation before giving a short, stiff bow.

“Thank you for your time Princess, it is unfortunate that we could not reach an agreement.” His tone was terse and to the point, doing a poor job of concealing the rage roiling within his being. He abruptly turned around and quickly walked away from the throne, not sparing a glance back which would have revealed the slight frown on the alabaster face of the monarch.

The guards outside of the throne room flinched when Veer’an stormed past them, his talons producing harsh reports from the the force he used when walking on the marble.

How dare she presume that she knows what is best for us? And all with that infuriating smile! We can't all be peaceful little herbivores, Princess. Still, I’m glad I managed to control myself, considering what she did to her sister not too long ago… And how could she call me ‘Graceful Speaker’? My name is Veer’an, I am not one of her ponies or one of those damnable traitors.

His internal monologue was brought to an end when a magenta mare stepped in his path. He looked at her quizzically as she cringed away from him, his burnt orange eyes met her wide light green ones and she visibly relaxed, having mostly recovered from the shock of nearly being run down by a griffon twice her size.

“Ambassador Veer’an, I presume? Princess Celestia has prepared a carriage to take you back to your home…” she said while pointedly trying not to make eye contact.

Veer stared past her as he formulated a response. “Tell her she should not have bothered, a full-grown griffon who cannot transport himself has no place amongst our people.” He hadn’t realised it, but his features had become hard after the magenta pony’s proclamation, he glanced at her visibly uncomfortable features and tried to relax his face as much as he could.

Without another word, he quickly walked down the sunbathed corridors trying to find an exit. He tried to take his mind off of his conversation with the Princess by observing the scenery around him. The light pouring in from the high arched windows illuminated the dust motes placidly hanging in the air and he could smell the musky scent of ancient tapestries and history. Before he knew it, he was outside of the castle proper, on a balcony overlooking the verdant green Canterlot Gardens. He took a deep breath of fresh air before thrusting his powerful wings downwards and soaring into the sky.

The feel of the wind rushing through his feathers had always served to calm Veer'an, but even that could not take his mind off of his recent discussion.

If the talks with the Clans fail I don't even want to think about what will happen. I can't imagine that Lord Baelar will be too happy with the news I bring either... How did everything go wrong so quickly? It seems like we were staunch allies with the Clans one minute and hated enemies the next. Knowing Draksos and the other Clan leaders, it would appear that war may be on the horizon. But what could I do? I'm an ambassador, not a knight in shining armour ready to save the day at a moment's notice. Well, let's hope it won't have to come to that.

He tried to clear his mind of the grim thoughts by using a technique his father had taught him, he focused on the sound of the wind rustling through his feathers and the minute adjustments of his wings. He locked his gaze on the mountain range before him, peaks bathed in a warm orange glow from the setting sun. His thoughts had cleared somewhat, but his mind still played back to the blunt refusal he had received from Princess Celestia: even the normally kind and empathetic ponies were unwilling to aid them in their time of need. They were truly without allies.

Veer’an was laid prostrate before a large iron throne decorated with swirling shapes and interlocking patterns. Upon it sat a large, muscular griffon. His wings faintly glimmered with gold jewellery and a weathered looking golden crown sat upon his head. The large griffon looked around the torch lit hall before him, bereft of anyone other than himself and Veer’an, before panning his gaze back to the ambassador.

“So she was completely unwilling to help us? That is troubling news, talks with the Three Clans have also fallen through; we’re completely on our own. These are truly dark days if our last hope is the aid of Princess Celestia. I’m loathe to say this, but the time has come for war. General Thunder Strike-”, the name of the opposing general was said with obvious distaste, “has said that we either integrate into the Tar'ath Clan or meet them on the battlefield at the Mountain of Vaeryn in a week’s time.” He ran one of his talons through his greying brown plumage after making his statement.

“I-Isn’t there another way, lord Baelar? Surely there are those who would help us…” Veer’s beak was slightly parted in a grimace and concern shone in his wide eyes. Lord Baelar sighed heavily before replying.

“Nay, all of our allies are long gone, either joining the Clans or being crushed by them. I’m ashamed to say that there have been more of the former than the latter; it would seem that our allies were not all that we thought them to be. Especially that damned vooraak Draksos, may the Winds curse his name for eternity.” His deep baritone voice reverberated throughout the cavernous hall.

Veer looked to the dark wooden floor in intense concentration; a nervous chirp subconsciously escaped his beak. He slowly raised his his head to look into his lord’s hard grey eyes and prepared to speak.

“Just how many warriors do we have? Would we be able to hold them off?” he asked slowly, fearful of the answer he would receive.

Lord Baelar met the ambassador’s gaze with his own. “How many warriors do we have? Not enough. I’d say around fifteen thousand, maybe more if we recruit some veterans and train some younger griffons, even then we’d be severely outnumbered. Though we do have the advantage when it comes to the terrain, I fear that it won’t be enough to give us an edge… I’ll tell the Great Wuurd to give the Call soon enough, my subjects must know of this immediately if we are to adequately prepare for the oncoming storm.”

Veer’an nodded and turned to leave before a heavy set of talons were placed on his shoulder, he turned to find that Baelar had vacated his throne and was stood before him, standing almost a wing taller than him.

“Not yet, Veer’an, I have something very important to discuss with you. You can’t tell anyone about this, understood?” Veer nodded his head and motioned for Baelar to continue. “Good…”

It was some time later when Veer’an exited the Hall of Lords, looking shaken and conflicted. In this state he didn’t notice two tercels wandering by him, staring up at the twinkling stars in the night sky.

One of the tercels, with pure white plumage and a light grey coat, turned to his compatriot. “Hey, Dranna, you going to Greer’s Naming Ceremony tomorrow? I’m not really sure if I want to, so…”

The griffon with white and brown plumage turned his gaze back to the sky before humming in contemplation. “Hmm, no, it’s great that she’s found her calling and everything, but those things are usually so boring. We can congratulate her afterwards. Oh! By the way, how’s your sis-”

He was abruptly cut off by a haunting cry that echoed through the mountains, a cry that they had only heard of from their parents and grandparents.

Dranna was the first to speak after the call had faded into the distance. “Wasn’t that… the Call of Ancestors? The Order only does that when…”

The two shared a meaningful glance before they started sprinting towards the centre of their grand city.

Wooden buildings became brown blurs to them, they barely acknowledged everything around them. After a few minutes of running through the bare stone streets they arrived at a gigantic building; it’s circular walls stretching into the clouds that hung around the mountain where they resided, a faint bronze sheen that circled the roof could be made out through the thick clouds. Some of the impact of the sight was taken away by the fact that they had seen the Eyrie of the Order many times before. They also found that they were not the first to rush there after hearing the call, the immediate area around them was filled with griffons of various shapes and sizes, with more pouring in from all directions.

For the first time they noticed a griffon cloaked in grey walking out on to one of the balconies that jutted out of the Eyrie. At the appearance of the strange griffon, much of the crowd became quiet, with many others doing the same soon after. A lone golden eye could be seen shining under the grey hood the griffin was wearing, an eye that could briefly be seen scanning the crowd.

"As some may know, I am the Great Wuurd of our order... and I bring grim news. Our negotiations with the Clans have fallen through and Princess Celestia of Equestria has refused to help us; as of now we are to prepare for the battle looming on the horizon. All tercels of Naming age are to report to Ser Warryk of the Storm Knights on the ‘morrow to begin training for battle. If any hen wishes to join them you will not be stopped.” The distinctly female figure seemed to consider saying more, before deciding against it and brusquely walking back into the building.

All of the griffons present were quiet, before erupting into a mass of frenzied cries and movement. Dranna had to shout to his friend to get his attention. “What! They can’t just expect us to go to war like that, I’ve never even held a sword before! What are we going to do Jarn?”

Jarn shook his head and closed his eyes. “I just-I don’t know. We don’t really have much of a choice, do we? If Lord Baelar wants us to fight, then we fight. This is for all of us, Dranna, we can’t just ignore it…”

Dranna nodded his head apprehensively.

“You call that a swing?”

Jarn tiredly gazed up at the griffon taunting him, decked out in heavy steel armour with blue clouds etched onto the breast plate; a Storm Knight. He sluggishly tried to peel himself off of the hard stone floor but he collapsed in a heap before he could even manage to stand.

No more, I just want to go find a nice cloud to sleep on…

He felt himself being forcibly dragged back onto his paws, his wooden training sword leaving his limp grasp at the same time. He was once again met with the visage of his trainer, who was looking at him with a slight frown.

“You’re getting better, I’ll give you that, but you’re not good enough for battle yet. If we had enough time, we could probably make you into a decent fighter, but that’s the thing; we don’t have enough time. Just… go to the hall and eat, you’ve trained enough for one day.”

Jarn faintly nodded and dragged himself out of the training grounds and towards the wooden building known as the hall, he vaguely noted that others were doing the same, in various states of fatigue and injury. He found himself staring at the door to the hall in no time at all, shaking his head he pushed open the heavy wooden door and peered inside at the hundreds of griffons sitting at massive tables in the dimly lit space. Spying his friend, he slowly wandered over to where he was sitting. When he got closer he noticed that Dranna looked just as bad as he felt. He languidly sat himself upon the clouds used as benches and let his gaze drift across the table; he was hungry but too tired to do anything about it.

“You know Dranna, you hear tales of Storm Knights going on grand quests and battling dragons, but I don’t think doing that is worth getting beaten half to death every day,” Jarn mumbled.

“Uh-huh,” was the only reply his friend was able to muster.

After a few more moments of blankly staring at the food spread out before him, Jarn was suddenly struck with a worrying thought. "Hey, Greer still went through the Naming Ceremony, right? Do you think... she might have decided to join the Knights? I mean, she always talked about joining the Storm Knights one day..." he let himself trail off, the thought starting to weigh heavily on the both of them.

Dranna raised his head from its position on the table and looked at his friend reassuringly. "I'm sure she's fine, knowing her mother Greer probably got locked in her room as soon as the announcement was made. I don't think she'll have a chance to join, no matter how much she tries. Why all of the sudden concern? Been thinking about her a lot lately...?" He casually winked at Jarn before bursting out laughing at his mortified expression.

"Oh, shut up." Jarn tried to keep a straight face for a few seconds but soon joined Dranna in his laughter.

For one brief moment it seemed like there wasn't a war going on, that nothing had changed and they hadn't a care in the world.

Veer'an felt more nervous than he ever had before, even more than when he was meeting Princess Celestia. It was a raw, primal fear that flowed through every inch of his body. The fear of death, of destruction and ruin. He knew what he had to do, Lord Baelar had marched off with his army in tow hours before, it was now time for Veer to do his part.

He started by knocking on the door of each eyrie, an action that was mimicked by the few remaining guards, and telling the occupants to gather in the main square of the town. After every griffin had exited their homes, he gave a subtle nod to the Captain of The Guard who promptly took off with the rest of the guards in tow.

He flapped his wings and set his course for the Eyrie of the Order, trying to bury his trepidation as much as he could. He landed with a muffled thump on the main balcony overlooking the courtyard and stared out at the confused faces of the griffons below, mostly hens and griffins too young to fight with a few time-weathered faces scattered around, the shapes of griffons became blurry as the crowd extended into the winding streets below. He took a deep breath and prepared to speak to the masses.

"You're all probably wandering why you have been called here, I'm sorry to say this but we cannot stay here. It is simply too dangerous to remain where we are." His speech was met with an uproar from the crowd, those further back in the crowd joining in as soon as they were told what was going to happen. Roars of indignation and squawks of protest swelled up from the massive crowd. Veer'an couldn't stand it. He closed his eyes and waited for the noise to die down, but it only seemed to increase in intensity

"Quiet!" he barked, his voice amplified by the structure of the Eyrie "You will all be able to return to your homes when the battle is over and Lord Baelar wins the battle. But, please, for now we must leave." He hated having to lie, but he couldn't let them panic. He had to do what Lord Baelar had ordered of him.

"Gather any essential belongings and prepare to depart before noon." His legs felt weak as he stumbled off of the balcony, he hated lying.

Jarn was nervous, he had been marching down the mountain pass for what seemed like hours, on his way to their confrontation with the army of the Three Great Clans. He felt sick to his stomach. They had been given time the night before to say goodbye to their families and bond-mates, but he didn’t want to see this family and start having second thoughts about the battle ahead. He was enrobed in a hardened leather cuirass and light iron gauntlets with sharpened talon ends, he was to be an airborne fighter which meant that he’d need to wear armour that didn’t restrict his mobility. He looked ahead of him to find a small number tiercels, and a few hens, enrobed in dusky grey plate armour and he suddenly felt very unprotected.

By the Winds, I’ll be cut to pieces! There’s no way I’ll survive out there, I’ve barely even got a weeks training-

He tried his best to steady his fraying composure, he’d been warned that being nervous before a fight was likely to get you killed. He looked over to Dranna, who was a few griffons away from him, and received a reassuring smile from his best friend. He again started scanning the ranks, coming across the intimidating figure of Lord Baelar in his combat armour. Large interlocking mithril plates were finely etched with clouds and his breast plate had a misty mountain engraved upon it. An enormous great-sword was slung over his shoulder, its finely embroidered scabbard still glittering even on such an overcast day. The very sight of his leader bolstered his courage ten-fold; knowing that he would be going to battle with Lord Baelar, a legendary warrior in his own right, caused a swell of excitement to well up within him. It was the kind of thing legends were made of.

All of his pride and excitement, however, drained out of him when the path in front of him widened and he finally saw what he would be fighting.

On a rocky plateau joining two mountains stood a veritable field of glistening golden armour, thousands upon thousands of griffins stretching from horizon to horizon. The metallic stench of recently sharpened blades and smoke pervaded the dense, foggy air. He felt like a rock had been dropped into his stomach; he could barely comprehend the magnitude of the army standing before him. He could vaguely hear Lord Baelor saying something over the din of metal striking metal and thousands of griffons moving as one.

“By the Winds, there’s got be be at least three of them for every one of us. All wearing that Equestrian forged drak too.” Lord Baelar turned to look at his army, which had grown silent, before continuing. “I’m not going to tell you that we’re going to win this, we might not. I’m not going to say all of you will survive, but just remember one thing out there in the heat of battle; you’re not doing this for me or for any other lord or king, you’re doing this for your families. For the Old Ways a countless number of your ancestors lived and died by. Remember just why you’re fighting… Would any here be selfish enough to surrender when the lives of your families are at stake? None have spoken, and that is why I would take one of you over a thousand of them; you don’t fight for gold or favour, you fight for what is right!”, his voice rolled across the ranks of his soldiers, filling each and every one of them with conviction, including Jarn.

“I will meet General Thunder Strike halfway, if he still has a shred of honour left, anyway.” A few griffons amongst the ranks laughed at the name of their enemy; the Equish name was seen as a mark of weakness.

Jarn watched as his Lord set off towards the opposing army, and as the General did the same, with a sense of pride. He was so wrapped up in the heat of the moment that he didn’t notice when General Thunder Strike gave an almost unnoticeable nod just after he had started walking. He did notice two clouds being destroyed by brown blurs. He noticed when they went to strike Lord Baelar. Before he knew it, two griffons were lying still on the ground in pools of blood and Lord Baelar was clutching a severed wing in his talons. Jarn was too dumbstruck to do anything for a moment before he was pulled back to reality by the sudden force pushing him towards the enemy. The battle had started.

He unfurled his wings from his sides and soared into the air, unsheathing his short sword as he did so. He and the thousands of griffons with him charged towards the heaving golden mass that were the enemies. Soon the roar of blades impacting metal filled the air and Jarn found himself in the thick of the battle. He saw a golden blur charging towards him and nimbly dived out the way.

He spun around to slash his foe, barely missing the neck of the tercel that had attacked him. He spared a split second to stare at his foe before diving at him. His blade clashed against one of his enemy’s gauntlets and he received a shallow slash across his beak in return. He swung his blade again, only to be parried by a gauntlet. His enemy briefly lost concentration and Jarn’s blade scraped off of the gauntlet and plunged deep into the neck of the light brown tercel.

The sickly smell of iron briefly assaulted him as blood washed over his talons before the the lifeless griffon dropped to the ground.

Recovering from his state of shock, he saw a new golden-clad enemy darting towards him. But that was not what had captured his attention, behind his new enemy he saw Dranna with a short spear deeply embedded in his gut. The world seemed to stop as he saw the body of his friend drop to the ground. A heavy fog seemed to descend over his mind and time seemed to stop. His only thoughts were to kill. To crush. To make those who would dare hurt his friend pay. He belted out a monstrous roar before charging at the clansman too quickly for him to react. Jarn barely felt his sword pass through flesh and bone, he paid it no mind, he was already charging towards a new target.

The next golden armoured tercel moved his sword to defend against the enraged warrior charging towards him. The swords clashed and they both shattered into a thousand shards. Jarn swiped at the shocked soldier and felt his metal encased talons sink deep into his flesh. The next few minutes were a blur of striking talons and pained screams; he saw only blood and iron. He felt his talons pass through countless enemies before he felt a slight prick in his side. He ignored it.

He was about to attack again until he felt his wings become strangely heavy, everything went black for a moment, when he next awoke he found himself on the ground with a griffon charging towards him. He tried to defend himself, but his body refused to respond. He weakly tried to raise a talon, only for it to crash back down to the ground. He saw a metallic glint descending towards him and then... nothing.

The mountain pass was silent and the stench of blood still filled the air, most who were still breathing had left long ago. All apart from General Thunder Strike, still in his unblemished armour, who was surveying the area for the body of his long time enemy Baelar. His head snapped towards a faint coughing sound, following it to its source he found the large, bloodied form of Lord Baelar. Blood leaked from various rents and gashes in the flesh not covered by his barely scratched mithril armour. He weakly turned his head to regard the General and spoke in a weak, quiet voice.

“Oh, it’s you. I never would've thought that you'd be down here on the battlefield, you might tarnish your armour." He briefly stopped to spit at the General.

"Dishonourable voorak, too scared to fight me like a real griffin? So, have you come to finish me off? Well go on, haven’t got all day.” His statement was punctuated by a rapid series of coughs.

Thunder Strike looked upon his defeated foe sadly. “Why did it have to come to this? Why couldn’t you just accept that times were changing and move on? Well, it’s over now, all you accomplished here was sacrificing thousands of your subjects for a pointless cause and you-” His statement was cut off by a harsh chuckle from Baelar. He looked down upon the dying warrior, confused.

“You don’t really think that the Old Ways will die with me, do you? In the end… I accomplished exactly what I wanted to. I knew I'd never be able to win, even though your warriors couldn't fight a blind cockatrice with a bloody armoury at their disposal. Heh, doesn’t matter now anyway. So, are you going to leave me to bleed out on this forsaken mountain like an abandoned chick, or will you give me a proper death?” Baelor looked at the General’s short spear pointedly.

Thunder Strike took a steadying breath before raising his spear; Lord Baelor’s eyes stayed firmly locked with his own, never wavering.

The spear came down, and all was quiet on the mountain pass once more.

Veer'an stared wistfully up at the sky, a sky that had been filled with thousands griffins only an hour prior, noon had come and gone but he had stayed. He had stayed to make sure the task he was given by his Lord was fulfilled. He stood on the precipice of the city, a sheer drop at his back. He took one last look at the city his family had lived in for generations. The home of Veer'an son of Ayrin' thar. He noted the the crackling substance that lined where the city was connected to the mountains: the damp rock occasionally fizzled and flashed in the waning sun.

The substance was concentrated lightning, a rare and unstable agent that had been created by the Order in days gone by. Veer's task was to make sure that the Clans had no idea where Lord Baeran's subjects had gone; they would have been hunted to to the four corners of the Midnight Sea if even a shred of the city remained. Better to destroy it than to let it fall into the talons of traitors.

He soared into the sky to get away from the blast before signalling a group of Baelars' guards perched on a thundercloud that cast its shadow over the city. There was a deafening boom and a flash of blinding light as the buildings below were turned to ash and the foundations supporting the city gave out, sending the former city crashing into oblivion; echoes rumbling throughout the land. The mountain was left smouldering as slagged rock lazily dripped down the mountainside.

Veer'an let out a deep sigh before turning to face the horizon, scanning for any tell tale signs of pursuit.

May the Winds bless your name for eternity and may songs be sung of your sacrifice forever more, my Lord

He spared one last look towards the scorched mountain before turning to follow the trail he had planned out. The followers of the Old Ways were left without a place to call home or a tercel to call lord. But they had survived.

Author's Note

I slaved over a keyboard for hours to write this, so ya'll better appreciate it. But seriously, I hope you all liked it and don't forget to leave comments and whatnot. Please leave constructive criticism and if you give me a down-vote without explaining why I will fly into a murderous rage the likes of which have rarely been seen by mortal eyes.

Handy griffon dictionary*:

Teraas'an - can be roughly translated as 'foreign speaker', or ambassador.

Voorak - basically means 'untrustworthy coward' or something similar

Wuurd - kind of like a monk mixed with an alchemist. Also teachers. Meaning 'listener of the winds'.

Drak - waste, refuse/completely useless

*All griffon words are (to my knowledge) completely made up