Power was never a thing to waste if you knew how to wield it correctly. When in the right hands, power could bring the loyalty of a thousand and more, a well of great fortune, fame (or infamy), and so, so much more. From the smallest foal to the mighty Alicorn, there lays the will to rally and guide others deep within, a great power to bring forth hope from the masses...or great despair from them. But always with power comes the burden known as responsibility, a burden which all leaders must carry in their time. Though there does come the matter of patience...
The City of Tambelon, located in the mountains of the far Frozen North, 35,000 miles from the heart of the Crystal Empire...
“Blast it all, where is that infernal fool? That damn mule has kept me waiting for far too long!” Grogar muttered darkly, tapping a jagged nail impatiently upon the arm of his ice-bitten steel throne. The lone throne stood alone in a room made of cold grey stone, the walls laced with numerous banners and tapestries of fallen foes in the past while a large rug made from the pelt of a black warg laid at his hooves. Upon its seat sat a large azure Satyr adorned in a flowing black cowl, his exposed skull home to a pair of glowing indigo eyes and wicked curved horns. Around his neck was his prized possession; what seemed to be a simple silver bell attached to a vermillion collar around his gullet. Normally by now that idiot would be whimpering his way right now into the throne room after the first call. The Satyr narrowed his eyes to the thought, his patience wearing off more quickly now.
“Bray! Get your miserable flank in here this instant or else!” The ram roared as icicles shattering outside on the windows from the sound. Outside the wooden door, a loud frightful squeal was heard, then followed by a crash. The overlord resisted the urge to plant a claw hard upon his own skull, though a groan escaped.
“Blast it all…” he grumbled. The door soon swung open and in entered a miserable excuse of a mule, his long ears drooping over his orange hood while he stared to his master with vulnerable blue eyes. His tail hung between his rear legs as the slave slowly scuttled before the throne and attempted to bow.
“Y-You summoned for me, oh Lord Grogar? Lord of the Satyr Horde, Archfoe of Equestria, Slayer of a Thousand, the Keeper of…” Bray began to whimper in fear before Grogar raised a claw to silence the idiot.
“In spite of your crime of making me wait for too long, I shall spare you this day as you mentioned something important earlier…” Grogar said, leaning back into his seat as his indigo eyes narrowed. Bray gulped though his terror was lifted slightly.
“O-Of course master.I come bearing word for you, only you!” Bray squeaked before lifting a hoof to clear his throat. “P-Presenting before His Lordship, the heads of the Cyrosmith and Beastcrafter guilds…” The slave announced in spite of his shaky voice.
At the rather pathetic announcement, two new figures soon crept into the throne room, smaller than Grogar though they stood taller than the cowering mule. Both were dressed in long ragged cloaks with slightly pointed hoods to conceal their skulls, though a pair of dark green eyes shined from the first hood while the second bore a set of yellows.
“Awww...Masters Ordred...And Thrunn.” Grogar mused out loud, a bit happy to have some intelligence now present before him. With a glare to his slave, he gave a silent order to leave, something Bray was more than willing to do.
The mule zipped out of the room at once, managing somehow to slam the door behind him so the three masters were now alone amongst themselves. Such matters were never meant to be shared among non-Satyrs, especially slaves. Green and yellow soon stared up to indigo before the smaller figures gave a respectful bow.
“Lord Grogar...A pleasure to meet you well and ruling.” The Satyr with the green eyes, Ordred, croaked. “We have come bearing news of their current status in our roles in the war against the southern lands…”
The overlord soon hummed quietly as he leaned back again into his throne; his way to show intrigue. “Is that all? Then, do tell, Master Cyrosmith…” he stated, extending a claw over his jaw to mimic the action of stroking a beard.
The ice-forger soon stepped forth, bowing once more before gazing back to his superior. “The mining of precious blackfrost continues to be slow as expected, though the forges have managed to produce enough for the armory over the course of these long winter months…” Ordred spoke, lacing importance upon the mention of blackfrost.
Blackfrost was a creation of their kind from ages past, as Grogar knew: merely ice infused with rare dark magic to become a material harder and stronger than steel. These were meant to be a substitution for the dark crystals that were difficult to locate and more-so to harvest. Still, the process of gathering blackfrost was a great task but in the end, would serve its means to bringing extinction to their enemies.
“Hmmm. As usual, do not slow even for a moment, dear Master Cyrosmith. The forges must continually burn with fresh blackfrost as we desire absolute victory over all. Any who dare slow on their work...Must be executed swiftly.” Grogar ordered, to which Ordred silently bowed before turning for the door.
Soon Ordred, now leaving the other dark safe alone with Grogar, silence now hanging between the pair. The yellow-eyed Satyr soon began his signature cackle, snorting away to some unknown joke. Grogar rolled his indigo eyes, cautiously remaining in his seat. “Beastmaster...What do you have to report?” He soon asked, though he already guessed what the lunatic had to say.
“Keekeehee...Of course milord, of course! The new samples of specimens have boosted our research by tenfold! A great success, if I do say so myself!” Thrunn snickered, his voice almost sounding to break into a cheer.
“And these new samples...are being used for your new breed of Tambelonian gargoyles in the works, I suppose?” Grogar questioned, to which a crackle was his answer.
“Keekeehee, of course! Though I am still debating on what new features to give to my pets...I’m torn between the Chimera’s toxic blood or the flame-producing glands we have received from those lovely dragon corpses…” The mad Beastmaster cooed, stroking his jaw gently with bony claw. Grogar could only muster a sigh as he watched.
Thrunn was known by all to be bordering on the energetic side, if not full-blown lunatic. But his madness however had proved useful for the cause, as the Satyr had a natural talent...for creating abominations from the parts and remains of fallen beasts. Have a dead Tatzelworm on you? He’ll give it the skull of a Cragadile and the claws of a Manticore together with the lethal poison. Offer him a vulture and a wolf and you could have a winged hound; barking and snarling as it divebombs you from the air. Any creature was not safe from Thrunn’s greedy grasp, who always seeked to create the most fearsome of warbeasts for the war.
But the pride and joy of this mad tinkerer were the unholy fusion of dying Satyr and dire bat found deep in the surrounding mountains; together which formed the infamous living gargoyles which stand guard over the frozen city. These creatures were no longer Satyr when Thrunn was finished with them, now nothing more than mindless predators driven by instinct. While it did provide the city with cost-free sentries and possible future shock troops, many a Satyr found this to be a mockery of their species.
“Uh...Yes...Most...splendid to hear.” Grogar coughed into his claw, drawing Thrunn’s attention back to him. “Though now, shall you not return to your work, dear Thrunn? There is sooo much to do by the sounds of it.”
“Hmm...Always correct, milord. I must resume my work - those soft southern fools will never know what will hit them! Keekeehee!” The yellow-eyed Satyr laughed, giving a quick bow as he turned for the door. Once the door slammed shut, Grogar leaned back into his seat as he gave a sigh of relief.
“Finally...Free of that nut and his rambling…” The overlord muttered under his breath, however his moment of peace sadly ended as the door swung open, a new figure stepping inside before bowing before the throne. The newcomer was adorned in ebony armor which covered his skull and torso, a large halberd held in one hand which marked his status of one of the palace guard.
“Milord…” The guardsman said, leaving his sentence in pause as he waited to speak after his master.
“Have you anything to report?” Grogar questioned, tilting his head slightly to have it rest upon a raised fist. He was not in a best of moods after dealing with one of his strongly...disliked comrades.
“Well...You see…” The lower Satyr began, before suddenly being interrupted by what sounded like a loud feminine scream coming outside the tower, followed by a series of savage barks. What followed was an awkward silence between servant and master that seemed to last an eternity.
“Uh...Sire…”
“Was that…?”
“Bray? Yes milord.”
“...The warg stables again?’
“Yes milord.”
A sigh came forth from the overlord before his palm slapped right onto his skull. “Retrieve that damned fool alive this instant…” Grogar groaned out loud, earning a nod from the guardsman who rushed out the door. Silence returned into the throne room as the overlord kept his claw over his face, his head lowered to show his present shame. After a few long minutes, a single phrase was uttered...
“...Blast it all...Blast it all to Tartarus…And someone fetch me a bowl of deep-fried Breezies, I’m craving something crispy about now. Served with some chili sauce.”
Somewhere in Equestria...
Far off in a simple flower-filled meadow slightly distant from a certain town in the heartland of Equestria, a light blue Breezie with a fizzy pink mane and adorned in a dark gray suit suddenly sneezed in the midst of collecting pollen for his family. The strange sensation also felt him feeling a bit of a tingling that ran from the tip of his antennae to his pink tail.
"Huh, that was weird..." he muttered to himself, rubbing a hoof over his sniffling snout while his antennas bobbred lightly.
"I can't be allergic...Was somebreezie talking about me? Hmph. Hope it wasn't..." Seabreeze soon found himself shuddering, forcing out the unpleasant thought with a shake of his antenna-ed head.
"Nah...Couldn't be. Yelp, gotta get back to work!" he soon buzzed off to continue his work, his tiny wings flapping about as he darted from petal to petal, scooping up as much pollen he could get into his tiny hooves. The quicker he finished, the more time he could have to lead the others back to the safety of the grotto and back to his loving family.
Oh Seabreeze, if only you knew...
Author's Note
This fic was not meant to be anti-Breezie...To note, Satyrs see the little critters as the equivalent of potato chips or french fries. While the Breezies are hard to find due to their constant migration and the magical portal which conceals the Breezies' grotto from outsiders, Satyr castes alike get giddy when they are able to snack upon the ones captured...in deep-fried form. Which is another reason to get away from these guys...Especially if you're a Breezie.
