Contest In Equestria

Shoehorn Village was the northern most settlement of land ponies under the rule of Canterlot just outside of Equestria. It was built on the northern slopes of the Drakenridge mountains that formed the northen border of Equestria between The Griffon Empire. While technically on griffon land, it had never been contested or even noticed in the few hundred years that the tiny village had existed.

The ponies there were simple. Earning a rough and honest living working the cold, dense earth to scratch out an existence in the hilly land of the surrounding area. There were few trees nearby, the closest were at the edge of the Draken Forrest about a half day's trot away, but the rolling landscape was covered in a thick carpet of green grass under a usually overcast and cloud laden sky. The wind was free to blow across the rolling hills and often brought a bitter, biting cold with it. It was a damp and cool existence. Even during the summer months, the smell of wood fires heating homes hung thickly over the cluster of wooden structures and barns that perched on the top of the largest rise of land surrounded by well worked fields that stretched over valley and hilltop. The fragrant clouds of smoke never seemed to rise very high, rather they would hang low in the damp, gray air to be filtered by the occasional drizzle as the tendrils wound their way around the homes of the ponies who lived here.

Mayor Trotrow had just started his day when the first sign of trouble began. There really wasn't much to do as a mayor in Shoehorn and he was hardly more than a citizen himself. The village folk got along very well and the only disputes or decisions needed to be made usually involved who was responsible for repairing a section of fence or a tool borrowed but not returned on time. They were a simple community, but very happy with their lives all the same. By day, they worked hard to tend to their village and crops. By night, the inn was filled with almost everypony in the village for the communal meal and cider, complete with music and dancing.

It had been this way since their memories began.

Trotrow was well liked by everypony and when the last mayor had retired, there wasn't even an election held. Everypony naturally looked to Trotrow for leadership and there was not one pony who felt otherwise. He was quick to smile, and even quicker to laugh. A trait that had helped him settle even the most contentious disputes with good-natured humor and the ability to get others to see both sides of an issue. He lived alone, never taking a special somepony even though there were many a mare in the village that fancied him. He would... when the time was right.

"Mayor!" a young stallion galloped to him as he left his home, the hoe on his back sharpened and ready for the field of corn that needed tending to. The stallion's name was Cobalt, a dark blue pony with a brilliant green mane and sparkling pale blue eyes. His family had the fields next to Trotrow's. "Mayor! Did you hear? There are griffons camped over the far ridge on the north! A whole lot of them!"

"What? That's absurd, Cobalt. Have you and your friends been out pretending to be adventurers again?" the mayor said with a smile. Cobalt and his two friends, Bale and Ringright, had always had their heads in the clouds. When they were younger, the three colts had wandered off into the mountains pretending they were on some quest, only to be lost for days until the village formed a search party and found them. They were all dressed like adventurers complete with cloaks and wooden swords.

"No! Jeeze... can't you see?" Cobalt said, pointing off to the mayor's right towards the north.

He looked and then squinted into the grey sky. Camp fires were burning there. A great deal of them too given the number of thin white lines of smoke he could see. Something felt very ominous about that sight.

"Cobalt, go tend to your fields." the mayor said flatly, the smile falling from his face.

"But..."

"Go!"

The young male moved off, his ears flattened and his tail low as he did, looking back at the mayor with a hurt expression. Trotrow dropped his hoe and began to move towards the north, intent to see what was going on just outside his village fields.

It was a decent walk but he soon crested the northern ridge that marked the end of the fertile lands that the village had been founded on and the flat wastelands of the Feathered Flats began. The flats stretched to the north for a long distance and nopony from his village had ever ventured into them save to harvest the scented grass that grew in rough thatches used for incense.

As the orange coated mayor climbed to the top of the ridge, what he saw only confused him even more.

There were at least five hundred griffons camped here, more than twice the number of poines in his village. Makeshift tents had been set up and dotted the large encampment burning breakfast fires that trailed the lazy lines of smoke into the sky. Here and there a flag flew. A black banner with a white pegasus rearing up that he'd never seen before. He could also see several griffons moving about sluggishly near the edge of the camp, each of them working through the morning haze that slowed their bodies just after waking. Unlike ponies, griffons could not hop out of bed and get moving. Their bodies simply didn't work that way and they had to move around for a while to get their blood flowing. The camp's southern edge was only a few hundred feet away, close enough that he was seen almost immediately.

Trotrow was not immediately afraid. He had no reason to be. But the sheer number of griffons gathered and the hardened look on the faces of those who turned their beaks to him gave him an unwelcome feeling none the less. Remembering his position, he sucked in a breath and moved down the ridge into the camp below.

"Hello there!" he said warmly to the first griffons he encountered, waving a hoof and smiling at them. When they didn't return the smile, or the greeting, he let his hoof fall back to the hard earth under him. "Hey... I... What brings you all this far south?" he tried again.

No answer.

But now other griffons were moving, circling around him in a tight ring with hard, piercing stares. Trotrow hadn't really been this close to a griffon before and their size and makeup were suddenly unnerving. Their feathered heads, taken from an eagle, with sharp beaks and beady, slanted eyes contrasted sharply with the lions half of their lower body. The powerful talons of their front legs dug into the dirt and the claws of their back legs looked as if they could shred a tree in seconds.

"Uhh... I think I'll go now. Sorry to bother you..." he started with his ears falling flat and took a step back, only to have his flank bump into a griffon who had moved directly behind him. When the sudden blow to his head came from the flat end of a rock, he only felt the momentary sting before he lost consciousness and collapsed in a heap.

Several hours later, when he awoke, it was all over. Thankfully he'd been spared watching the events unfold in his village and found himself chained and housed in the Foalfield's massive barn along with everypony else. The first thing his eyes registered was the sight of Winny Wheels, a young filly barely out of diapers laying miserably in her mother's lap. The heavy chain on her small pink leg had already rubbed an angry looking raw patch through her tender fur and she wept silently.

"Wh... What in Equestria..." he groaned sitting up, putting a hoof to the throbbing part of his head that was obviously swollen.

"Mayor! You're alright! Oh thank Celestia, we were so worried!" came the anxious voice of Bragin Foalfield, the largest land owner in the village who was sitting next to him.

"What.. what happened? What is the meaning of this!" his voice began to grow loud as he tugged in the chain securing his own rear leg to one of the barn's support beams, just like everypony else in here.

"The griffons... Mayor! They've taken over the village!"

"What! Nonsense, don't be..." his retort was cut off by a loud bark from the far side of the barn.

"Silence your muzzles, ponies or I'll silence them for you!" said a large black colored griffon who was brandishing a nasty looking whip.

Trotrow was having none of it. This had gotten ridiculous! He didn't know who had put these griffons up to it but he was going to make sure they payed. Never in all his knowledge had the griffons attacked ponies before. It was unprecedented. Once Celestia hears about this... he thought.

"I will not be silenced when my village had been attacked! What is the meaning of this?! Why would you do something like this? I demand to see whoever is in charge!"

The ponies around him cringed, backing away from him with fear and lowered heads. The griffon at the end of the barn snarled, moving forward with lightening quick speed and lashed the whip out with expert skill. A large cut appeared on Trotrow's chest just below his neck at the same time a loud snapping crack rang out. Trotrow howled with pain, falling to his side and clutching his torn fur as red blood stained his orange coat. Another lash came and caught him on the side just above his flank, doing an equal amount of damage.

"You don't need to know anything other than this land is now the rightful property of The Griffon Empire, land slug! The sooner you accept it, the better off you'll be!" the griffon snarled and coiled his whip again. "Any other questions?"

Terrified silence greeted his question and the griffon's eyes surveyed the subdued lot with a cruel stare. Slowly, he retreated back to the far side where he sat again, his eyes fixed on the large group of chained ponies with a menacing grin. The only sound that could be heard was the stifled weeping of Mayor Trotrow, a sound that made the griffon only smile more.

No pony had escaped, and nopony was coming. Shoehorn Village rarely received visitors.