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                          Aileron                          
                   -by Smaug the Golden-                   
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                      Return Voyages                       
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Return Voyages
The Bounty’s designs were delivered to the Shipbuilder’s early in the morning. Cetan accepted them gratefully and began leafing through them. She frowned as she read through them, an action that made Peregrine’s stomach sink.. “You used Everfree wood on it?” Cetan asked, looking up from her reading. Peregrine nodded and Cetan let out a slight sigh. “That’s going to be tough. That stuff’s a pain to carve.”
Peregrine winced. “I was afraid of that. How long do you think it will take?”
Cetan scribbled some numbers down in her notebook, checked the folder on her desk, tore a page out of her notebook, and then handed it to Peregrine. “Yeah… you wouldn’t happen to have more of that wood on hand, would you?” He shook his head. “That’s unfortunate. We might have to charge you extra.”
Peregrine swore under his breath. “How much?” Cetan gave him the numbers. He swore again. “Alright. As long as my ship gets fixed. And how long do you think that’ll take?”
“Are you in a hurry?”
“Yes. I’d like to get back to sailing. I’m not a city griffon.” A shiver ran down his spine.
Cetan pursed her beak and nodded. “Alright. We’ll get to work on your ship. I’ll send you work updates and whatnot.” Peregrine thanked her and walked out of the building. Cetan sighed and began checking her schedule. “I guess if I’m working with him,” she muttered, “I might as well get used to his company.” She frowned as she looked across to both her own notes and those that Peregrine had delivered.
She leaned towards the nearest window, where she could make out her sister watching the ship. She leaned her head back, groaning softly. “Kestrel,” she muttered under her breath. “Of all the ships you could have an obsession with, of course it’s this one.”
Kestrel greeted Simurgh at the docks once more, waiting as The Bounty was set upon by the various members of the Shipbuilders, her sister being one of them. She had spent the majority of the day there, camping out with a pair of meals packed by Icarus, which she had long since devoured, making the arrival of Simurgh a welcome surprise. The black griffon carried a small book under one one wing, which she could barely make out in the fading light. He approached with a spring in his step, moving like a panther in the shadows.
His grin looked slightly macabre in the twilight, gaunt and eerie. But his eyes twinkled, which eased some of Kestrel’s worries. “So, what’ve you done since yesterday?” Simurgh asked, giving her a slight bow, and winking as he straightened himself. “I assume a wonderful individual such as yourself got something important done since yesterday.”
Kestrel gave him an odd look. “You don’t have to patronize me,” she murmured, her tone somewhere between embarrassed and scolding. “I’m not a sailor. Or anybody, really.”
Simurgh glanced at the half-a-dozen ships currently docked in the harbor, a slight frown spreading on his face. “You want to join one?”
Kestrel gave an embarrassed shrug, a tint of red appearing under her feathers. Before Simurgh could say anything else, she hurried to speak. “Before I take you to my uncle, anything else you need to care of? Anyone you’re looking for?”
“You wouldn’t happen to know anyone by the name of Icarus, would you?” Kestrel blinked in surprise. Simurgh shook his head after she had opened and closed her mouth a few times. “Nevermind, it’s a silly idea. He probably jumped ship ages ago. He was a hard fellow to pin down.” He stretched slightly, an action that reminded Kestrel of a feral cat, and sighed. “Alright, please show me to your uncle’s, if that’s alright with you.”
He turned to go, but Kestrel grabbed his wing before he could. “Actually, he’s my uncle. It’s his inn we’re going to.”
A baffled grin spread across Simurgh’s face. “They say that, if you speak of the Stormlord,” he murmured, looking up at the sky, “he’ll show up. Guess Icarus works as a close second.” He ruffled the jet black feathers on his head, his grin growing in size. “Then by all means, take me to see him.”
He bowed once more, and followed Kestrel to the inn. Icarus’ inn was relatively close to the docks, so they didn’t have far to walk. As they walked, Simurgh grinned and breathed in the air. Kestrel gave him an odd look. “What? Is the Griffonstone air that pure?”
He shook his head. “Nah. It’s just nice to be back.” Kestel frowned, but shook away the thoughts. When she arrived at the bar, she swung the door open to let Simurgh in. At this point, it was getting far too dark and she expected Icarus to give her a thorough talking to.
However, as Simurgh stepped inside and she followed, she didn’t hear her uncle's frustration at her tardiness. She heard a crash as something fell and broke on the floor. Icarus sat at the bar, his jaw practically touching the floor, his eyes wide as plates, as he stared at Simurgh. At first, the three other griffons still in the building frowned, but then they followed his gaze, frowning and murmuring as they took in the odd griffon standing in front of them. Well, all of them except Rook. He was just switching his gaze between Simurgh and Icarus and cackling.
Simurgh looked around, his grin only growing larger, and he made a flourishing bow the griffons in the establishment. “A wonderful place you’ve got here, Icarus,” he said, not lifting his head from the ground. “Truly, if I had known that this was the place you’ve had for the past couple years, I would ha-”
Icarus leapt over the table, like a tiger who’d spotted its prey. He landed directly in front of Simurgh, and slugged him across the face, faster than a snake. Simurgh almost crashed into a wall, but used his wings and back legs to hold himself up. He winced for a moment, but his wild grin soon reasserted itself. “You know,” he laughed, his voice overflowing with mirth, “if you had wanted to keep a low profile, you probably shouldn’t have started a bar.”
Icarus’ eye twitched, probably because he was ready to have a seizure. Before any of his three patrons could say anything, he whipped around to them. “Do me a favor,” he muttered, “and don’t start spreading gossip. Please.” This time he delivered a clenched talon into Simurgh’s chest.
Simurgh let out a wheezy laugh as he collapsed. “You still punch hard.”
Rook snickered slightly, making his way to where Simurgh lay spread-eagled. He took a few seconds to take in the somewhat ragged looking griffon, but after a moment he made his proclamation. “Simurgh, I presume?”
Simurgh began pushing himself off the ground. “Are tales of my exploits greatly exaggerated?”
Rook helped Simurgh to his feet before speaking. When he finally did speak, he couldn’t keep a cheeky tone out of his voice. “Depends.” He turned to the two remaining griffons. “Boys, lay off on mentioning this. At least until Icarus mentions it. Come on, The Raven’s a waitin’.”
His two crew members frowned, but hopped off their stools and followed their captain as they made their way out of the inn. As they left, Rook gave a slight nod to Icarus, who returned it gratefully.
Simurgh glanced at the door as it swung shut, brushing dust off himself. “You know, you could punch a bit less hard.”
“Bar fights,” Icarus muttered. “You fight hard or you quit the business.”
Simurgh’s beak opened slightly as he took that in. He said nothing for a moment, watching Icarus. But after a short while of Icarus watching him coldly, he spoke first, pointing to the door with a talon. “Can you trust him?”
“Rook’s good to his word,” Icarus muttered. “At least for now, none of his crew will mention it. Himself included.”
Simurgh glanced at the door, a minute frown on his beak. “You’ve got odd patrons.”
“A lot has changed,” Icarus said coldly, his eyes hard. “Now, can you tell me why you ran into my niece, presumably at the docks, after nineteen years of never hearing from you?”
Kestrel frowned. “Am I missing something?”
Icarus let out a long sigh, making his way to his bar. He pulled a trio of wooden mugs off one of the shelves, setting them on the counter with a hollow thud. He filled them, passing a drink to each of them. Kestrel let out a slight sigh as she realized that hers was not, in fact, alcoholic, drawing a look from her uncle. As Kestrel sipped her drink, she motioned for her uncle to continue.
After Icarus had taken a moment to collect his thoughts, he finally spoke. “We… were shipmates at one point. Don’t you remember me telling you about him?” Kestrel paused and thought back to the time her uncle had told her about his sailing exploits.
“I remember you mention some adventures with a crew, but that’s about it. Oh, and you mentioned mom. And dad. And a lot of nights with too much alcohol.”
Icarus groaned. “That’s the part you remember?” She nodded. “Alright. Long story short, as I said, we sailed together. Simurgh was-”
“Is,” Simurgh corrected.
“No,” Icarus snapped. “Very much was our captain. We separated about a year before Cetan was born.”
Simurgh sat his mug down rather forcefully, sending flecks of foam into the air. “About that. Is it true what I’ve heard?”
“You’ve probably heard a lot of things since you got back.”
Simurgh grinned. “You know what I mean.”
Icarus glanced slightly at Kestrel. To her surprise, her uncle seemed like he was somewhat worried. “Yes, Gabriel had kids. Is that what you mean?”
Simurgh’s eyebrows shot up, making it look like he had a pair of caterpillars inching off his head. “Damn. So, that makes you-”
“Not in line for clan leadership, no,” Icarus snapped, cutting Simurgh off before he could continue. “You’ve missed a lot since you’ve left. And yes, before you ask, Gabriel is also in charge now by fair dealings. As surprising as that may sound.”
“Yeah, I wondered about that,” Simurgh said, a puzzled tone in his voice, “how on earth did he actually end up in charge?”
“The Oracles,” Icarus explained, like a teacher lecturing a small child. “They’ve been tearing up any ships that go anywhere near the East. Gabriel proved to be rather good at organizing fights against them. Up until Glinda died, he was at the forefront of fighting them. When she died, he was the next logical choice of taking care of them. Unfortunately, they’re a wily bunch.”
Simurgh glanced at his mug. Icarus watched him quietly, as if expecting his friend to say something. But it was Kestrel who broke the silence. “So, what brought you here?”
Simurgh glanced at her, a grin on his face. “Oh, wanted to see some old friends.”
Icarus raised an eyebrow.
“Well, that and the fact that pirates abound. Being closer to a city probably will do wonders for my survivability.”
Peregrine grimaced as he sat in front of Gabriel, one of the High Lords of Griffonstone. He wasn’t happy. “Your masts got broken?” He asked, putting emphasis on the word. “Your sturdy masts, reinforced by the best runecarvers, woodcarvers and shipbuilders Griffonstone's seen in generations? The masts that served me well for sixteen years, yet never broke? And now they've been broken. By what, exactly?” They sat in Gabriel’s office, a fairly spacious building. Dozens of maps hung on the walls, all of them covered in red, green and blue marks, as well as a few of them possessing daggers pinned in them. The wooden walls of the tree of Griffonstone surrounded them, like they were sitting inside a woodpecker's nest.
Gabriel was extremely lengthy for a griffon, his strong wings folded against his incredibly snake-like form. His white feathers had the odd stain on them, remnants from his work out in the field, which he bore like a badge of honor. A small, gleaming necklace hung around his neck, swinging back and forth as he paced.
Aquila stood next to Peregrine, her cold eyes narrowed. She held her sword in one talon, fingering it pensively. Unlike Peregrine, she was significantly more tolerant of Gabriel. The two of them had served on the same ship when he had fought against the Oracle Union, and had then stayed on when Peregrine took over The Bounty, getting the whole crew with it.
“Storm,” Peregrine said quietly. “We also ran into The Specter.”
Gabriel paused in his pacing to look at them. “You ran into Raven?” He ran his talon through his feathers. “Damnit. I had heard that she was up near Roc’s Point. What was she doing down near the Reaches?”
Aquila winced as she cast a look at Peregrine, who sighed before speaking. “We were at Roc’s Point,” Peregrine admitted. “We had received a tip-off from the Reaches that she was making a stop to trade with some unsavory characters. Turns out she was.”
“So, you both defied orders and picked a bone with one of the Oracles.” Gabriel’s expression was grim, but it only got grimmer as he continued. “But that still doesn’t explain what happened to the mast.”
Peregrine grimaced and slammed a small item down on the desk. It clinked as it struck, making Gabriel frown and lean in close. “Like I said,” Peregrine said. “We got caught in a storm. But, believe it or not, we were pursued by Raven. She wanted that necklace.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow as he picked up the necklace and fingered it. “And this is?”
“It was around her neck,” Aquila murmured, speaking for the first time since they had arrived. “This is what I was referring to when I said we needed to wait for Peregrine. It's the one that she's always showing up in the posters with.” She nodded slightly towards it as Gabriel turned it over in the dim light. It was small and blue in color, likely made from some kind of sapphire. It shone brightly, despite the darkness, catching the light and reflecting it into Gabriel's eyes. “I have no idea as to what it is or what it does, but she was furious when we took it. She pursued us, even into a storm. That’s how we lost her.”
“And that’s what broke your mast?” The pair of them nodded fervently, neither of them speaking. Gabriel sighed and set it down back on the desk. “What do you think this is, exactly?”
“Probably a fortune, knowing Raven,” Aquila muttered. She glanced at her commander, her gaze drifting to his necklace. “Almost reminds me of yours, actually.”
Gabriel frowned and fingered the small, cloud shaped necklace that he wore. “There’s likely little correlation involved,” he said, taking Raven’s necklace and shoving it into one of his drawers, “but I’ll ask Grover when he’s back from Equestria.”
“About that,” Peregrine asked as he stood up and stretched, an action that drew an irate look from Aquila, “has he sent word of how it goes down in Equestria?”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “I thought that you knew.”
“Knew what? Why?”
“You’re friends with Rook, aren’t you?” Peregrine made an iffy gesture, drawing a sigh from Gabriel. “Of course. That twat goes on and on about the end of the world but refuse to tell you about the important stuff. Grover’s coming back tomorrow.”
Aquila and Peregrine blanched. “Surprising how that comment affects people,” commented a cheerful voice. A griffon had just come down the stairs; a trio of earrings pierced one of her ears, or an area close to that spot, each of them made from a different metal. Aside from that, very little adorned her, although she did wear a metallic circlet on her head, which glittered in the faint light. Her white feathers were groomed to perfection, like some vain queen. “I find it really interesting that you two are terrified by the idea of Grover returning.”
Gabriel gave the griffon a cold look. “Shikra, out of my study.”
“It’s a tree. It’s not exactly your personal private territory.”
“I thought Shikra was down by Maelstrom,” Peregrine muttered sidelong to Aquila.
“Check your sources,” Shikra said with a grin. “Turns out that when you’re dressed like a queen, generals aren’t hospitable.” She turned back to Gabriel. “Now, Gabe-”
“Gabriel.”
“Fine. Gabriel, I assume you’re explaining the whole deal with Grover coming back, eh?” Gabriel shot her a dark look, but nodded. Shikra’s grin grew. “So, I assume you’ve heard about the whole deal with the Equestrians, right?”
Gabriel mimed strangling Shikra, but he said nothing. Aquila swallowed nervously. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Gabriel snapped, making his way to where Shikra stood and ushering her up the stairs. “Go fly out a window or something. I’m busy.” Shikra grumbled under her breath as she left, but she did it anyway. Gabriel, once he was certain that his coworker had left, made his way back to his desk, sitting down with a sigh. “Ignore Shikra. I think she’s drunk.”
Peregrine paused to cast a sidelong glance at where the griffon had entered. “You sure? She sounded pretty clear headed, all things considered. In fact, I think she sounded significantly more level-headed than normal.”
“I’ll explain it once Grover gets back,” Gabriel snapped, his tail tail rigid as a pole. “Until then, I’m not talking about anything he wouldn’t appreciate.”
“Understood,” Aquila said, saluting him. Peregrine rolled his eyes. “Anything else we should know?”
There was a thud as a stack of papers landed on the table. Aquila frowned and began looking through them. Gabriel sighed. “The Oracles, suffice to say, have been far more active than usual. Geralt’s on the loose somewhere near Procella, searching for who knows what, and we think we have a lead on what Grimlock’s up to.”
Aquila blinked. “What?”
“We have a theory that he’s dead set on heading for Sulphur Rookery. But it’s just a theory at this point. Like I said, we don’t have any confirmation.” Gabriel sighed and took the papers back, leafing through them till he arrived at a section near the end. He pushed it back towards them, displaying a charcoal sketch of a hooded griffon. “She showed up again.”
Peregrine narrowed his eyes, his body standing entirely still aside from the tiny movement of his breathing. After a moment of taking in the grey hood, which obscured all but a few of the front feathers on the griffon’s face, he looked back towards Gabriel. “Gale?”
“Very likely. But until we figure out anything else, I’m forbidding either of you from going anywhere near where she’s been. If you do, I swear I’ll revoke your privileges as sailors. I’ll stick you down in some backwater city and forbid any captain from taking you. And Aeolus himself won’t be able to change that.”
Aquila opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. After a momentary silence, she managed to clear her throat. “So, you’re saying,” she said, her voice hoarse, “that we can’t do our job?”
“Nothing of the sort. You’ve still got full privileges with the rest of the Oracles. But you’re not sailing within a hundred miles of Gale. Or anything she’s got her hands in. That little warmonger is enough trouble as-is without us handing two of our best sailors to her. Or your crew, for that matter.”
Peregrine took a moment to swallow before speaking. “And if she comes after us?”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow, but he shook his head. “That won’t happen.”
“It’s not your fault,” Raven said absentmindedly as she ran a talon along her temple. “Unfortunately, it means that I have to deal with a significant loss in profits.” She currently was leaning against the rail of her ship, The Specter, any eerie, skeletal ship. Unlike many of the ships, this one was lacking of wood in several places, held in place instead by various clouds.
Over a hundred oars stuck out from the side of the ship, whether through the clouds or through slits in the wood, but currently they hung listless. Her crew milled around behind her, a mess of griffons of all shapes and sizes.
Raven was a thin, bony griffon, gaunt and haggard no matter how much she ate. A wicked, thin blade hung at her side, partially obscured by the tattered feathers that comprised her front half. Her skeletal appearance was enhanced by the entire lack of feathers on her head, displaying tight skin, and a very recently healed cut along her neck.
The subject of her address stood across from her, on his own ship. He stood there, tapping one of his hooves against the wooden planks of his ship. His grey feathers were immaculate, without any wear or tear on them. “Raven, I assume there’s a reason you called me here?” His voice was exasperated, a tone that was only enhanced by his accent, something that Raven had never been able to place.
Much like on The Specter, his crew worked behind him, although unlike Raven’s, his was comprised of far more than just griffons. Raven could spot a pair of pegasi working behind him, as well as a few more unsavory creatures working behind him. Hybrids, for the most part, something that always made Raven nervous.
Raven’s gaunt face split in a slight smile. “Well, Grimlock, I actually do. Multiple, even.”
Grimlock’s pale blue eyes were distant at first, as if he was staring past her- despite the fact that he was looking directly at her. When his eyes eventually focused, his voice came out clipped. “I hope that your reasons are worth my time. My schedule is tight.”
Raven’s smile morphed to a sneer. “Come now, you know that I wouldn’t call you here unless I had need of your particular brand of services.” She gestured with a wing towards her crew. “I’d rather discuss this in private. Any chance you’d be willing to come to my cabin?” Grimlock shook his head, making Raven sigh. “That’s what I thought.” She leapt from The Specter’s deck, pulling off a tight spin before she landed on Grimlock’s ship.
“Showoff,” Grimlock commented coolly, one of his eyebrows rising up ever-so slightly. He motioned for her to follow, and the two of them making their way into the underbelly of the massive ship. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, providing some illumination into the darker reaches of the ship.
Wooden doors lined the hallways, each one with a rune inscribed on them. Raven recognized all of them, a combination of identifiers and protective words designed to keep out any but Grimlock’s crew. She tapped one of the doors as she passed, causing it to glow a faint blue. Grimlock cast her a dark look, but he said nothing.
Grimlock took the lead, his crew members stepping aside when he approached to let him past. One of his members, a griffon clad in metallic armor, frowned as the pair of them approached. “Captain, what’s she doing on our ship?”
“Guest,” Grimlock said. “Don’t worry.”
The griffon grimaced as he took in Raven, who gave him a gaunt smile. He sighed. “Alright.” He spread a wing for Raven to see, displaying a collection of sharp flecks of metal. “Trust me,” he said as Raven took in his metallic weaponry, “I’ve been in need of some practice.”
Grimlock made a shooing gesture to the griffon, who slunk off, not removing his gaze from Raven. Grimlock pushed open the door that the griffon had been blocking, opening up a large cabin. The two of them entered and seated themselves at the wooden table that sat in the center of the room. Raven whistled appreciatively as she took it in. Books sat on shelves, ranging from topics of magic, deities, cooking and even exotic flora and fauna, a testament to Grimlock’s years spent sailing. A map of the charted territories hung on wall, with vague outlines drawn in with black ink.
They both took their seats. Grimlock watched Raven in silence, his gaze never leaving her, like a statue in a staring match. Raven grimaced, but spoke. “Look, I need your help with something.”
“With what?”
Raven nodded towards the way they had come. “You saw The Specter. I need to get her patched up. I… I might have gotten thrashed when trying to sink a ship.”
Grimlock’s stony features broke into a slight smile. “You know, it’s about time you got your comeuppance.”
Raven waved a dismissive talon. “Yeah, yeah, but you don’t understand. I lost about a dozen crew members, ninety percent of my cargo, and they gave me this cut.” She pointed to the mark on her neck. “I need your help.”
“Says the griffon who believes in sinking anyone who tries to give her ‘struggling’ ship a hand.”
Raven snickered slightly, but with a look from Grimlock she soon quieted. “Look, The Specter is a legend at this point. Which is why I need your help. I ran into Aquila and Peregrine. They proceeded to knock us about a fair bit. They took my necklace. My reputation will never recover if I don’t take care of this.”
Grimlock’s tiny smile faded. “The Bounty? And your necklace?” Raven nodded. Grimlock muttered a curse under his breath. “What, in particular, do you want my help for? I’ve got business to attend to. Roc Point is in need of a visit, and I certainly have no interest in helping you under normal circumstances. These aren’t those.” There was a slight pause before he continued. “I’m tempted to just leave you to flounder and lose your precious popularity contest. Why not go meet up with a different Oracle?” He ran a digit along the cracks in the woodwork, leaving slight nicks as it went. When he removed it, he examined it for a moment and blew the sawdust from it.
Raven’s grimace only deepened. “What? You think the others are going to help me? We’re the ringleaders, but that doesn’t mean that any of them are going to work with me.”
“Passerine is less than a hundred miles from here.”
“He’s a sadist,” Raven said coldly.
Grimlock raised an eyebrow. “And you aren’t?” Raven gave him a bitter look, making Grimlock chuckle, but he continued. “Regardless, there are over two dozen minor captains who would be happy to lend their services to you. At least five or six of them are in the general vicinity.”
“No offense, but they’re bigger assholes than you are. Plus they’re inexperienced in matters of griffon politics. You aren’t.” Raven stared at Grimlock’s unwavering eyes and let out a sigh. There was a clink as a bag of coins landed on his table, several of them spilling out. “They took far more than this when they looted me. I need a few replacement crew members and I swear to you, on everything that we stand for, that I’ll pay you back tenfold. And far more for every death that happens under my watch.”
Grimlock examined the coins, turning one of them over in the dim light. He gripped it in his beak, clamping it down until it finally broke. The coin fell from his grip, a wicked crack down its center. Raven winced at his hit the table and made an ominous thud. “You know,” Grimlock said, “I’m in the Oracles for far more than just gold.”
Raven nodded, a sneer drifting across her face. “Sure, and I’m also chasing after that ship for far more than the riches. But what griffon can’t resist a little gold?”
It was Grimlock’s turn to smile back. “Then make use of those slaves of yours. I’ll lend you some of my crew- if you give me the same number of your rowers. Permanently.”
Raven raised an eyebrow. “What’s it matter to you? You’re a sailing ship, not a rower.”
Grimlock snorted as he stood up, brushing his shoulder with a wing as he did so. “Raven, you and I might not get along. I don’t understand your methods. I don’t understand how that demented mind of yours works. But I’m certain that the concept of freedom has entered your mind from time to time. Give a griffon a taste of freedom, and he’ll only seek it more. Give it to him forever, he’ll come back to you in time. His loyalty will be yours. And that’s worth far more than any amount of gold or jewels.”
Raven’s managed a slight smile, but it was brittle and forced. “You’re such a damn preacher, Grimlock. And not even a good one at that. But fine, I’ll give you some of my rowers. In exchange for an equal number of your crew? That’s a fine deal.”
Grimlock shrugged and made his way to the door of the cabin. “Come, let’s give you your ‘loan’, as disgusting a term as that is.”
Raven gave him a real grin and followed, her talons making eerie clicking noises on the ground. “So, you’ve got an impressive crew. Who’ll I be getting?”
“Not up to me,” Grimlock said coldly. “We’ll see who’s willing. You can pick from them.”
Raven gave an irritated huff, but followed him regardless. The two of them came up onto the deck of the ship, the crew of Grimlock’s ship turning to face them as they arrived. As she took them in, Raven was finally able to realize the extent to which Grimlock went to assemble a diverse crew. Griffons, hippogryphs, unicorns, and even a pegasus or two were identifiable in the crowd. And those were just those standing near the front. Grimlock’s crew was gathered in nothing short of a mob, probably close to a hundred and fifty or sixty, who wore a variety of weapons ranging from biological to mechanical.
Their expressions ranged from cold to straight up hostile, something that Raven was quick to note. Not that it mattered to her. There were rules in place amongst the Oracles. One of them included their being exempt from any justice other than that of a fellow captain. And Grimlock would let her live. At least for now. He needed her, just as she needed him, like a vicious example of mutualism. After a moment of quietly exchanging glances, a griffon with a grim smile on his face stepped forward. He waved a wing towards Raven. “Why’s she still here, Grimlock? I thought you said, and I quote, that ‘she is an example of the worst of the worst.’ Why’d you not knock her over the edge?”
There was a murmur of agreement from the crew; several of his crew members threw jeers toward Raven. Grimlock waited for his crew to subside, and then pointed a wing towards Raven. “Raven has requested our services. She needs half-a-dozen volunteers.” A snicker came from somewhere in his assembled crew, but Grimlock continued. “In exchange, she’s willing to free an equal number of her rowers to join us.”
That got a response from the crew, something that quite impressed Raven. Normally, she steered as far as possible from Grimlock due to his… self-righteous nature, but he did know a thing or two about keeping his crew in check. If she had asked her crew to if anyone wanted to help out a fellow Oracle, they would have asked what was in it for them. A king’s ransom was the general price she asked from the other captains. Grimlock was getting his crew to help a griffon they hated, all for half-a-dozen measly slaves. All things considered, that wasn’t a price that a pirate should be accepting. But if Grimlock wanted to lend her a few of his crew members for practically nothing, what was it to her?
The griffon who had been clad in metal earlier stepped forward. Raven noted that, when not covered in armor, his feathers were a brilliant shade of gold, while his back fur matched in tint. “I’ll go.”
Grimlock shook his head. “Unfortunately, I can’t spare your services, Ajax. You’re needed here.” The armor-clad griffon grimaced, but he did step back into the throng that was Grimlock’s crew. A few others stepped forward, several griffons, a unicorn-like creature that Raven had never bothered to learn the name of, a pegasus, and even a hippogryph. Grimlock nodded towards them. “Great. You’ll be serving with Raven- up until she either tries to get your killed or you’ve helped her retrieve her treasure.”
He turned to Raven. “They’ll be working with you. Try actually get to know them.”
“Are they any good?” Raven asked dubiously.
“They’re some of my best. You’ll make use of them somehow, of that I’m certain. Make certain that you keep them alive. Or I’ll happily shove your precious treasure down your throat. And throw it to your crew.”
Raven swallowed nervously, but nodded. “I guess it’s my turn to fulfil my word?” Grimlock nodded. Raven turned to her six volunteers, gesturing for them to follow her. “Come on, I’ll show you the ropes. And,” she said, turning back to Grimlock, “let’s get you your rowers.”
Grimlock gave her a curt nod and followed her onto The Specter. In many regards, the ship was a threat to anyone who couldn’t fly. Clouds were all that held up several portions of it- normally, clouds would be used in case of an emergency repair, but Raven had decided to make them a more permanent feature. The less aerial oriented members of Grimlock’s crew had to do their best to avoid stepping there for fear of falling to their deaths.
Thousands of runes decorated the ship, the meaning of many of them obscured to all but a handful of living griffons; Raven knew the meaning of every single one of them. They spiraled around the mast and across the floor like thousands of snakes, fluid and sinuous. Grimlock watched them coldly, his slit-like eyes making him look like a snake poised to strike.
Raven led Grimlock towards the bottom of her ship this time, her six borrowed crew members following close behind. They came into the belly of the ship, to where rows upon rows of griffons and pegasi sat chained, forced to row by Raven and her crew.
The smell of sweat and water filled the air, as did the sound of those too tired to work any more. Some of Raven’s honorary crew members let out horrified gasps as they were assaulted by the smell of blood and sweat, an overpowering stench, and the sight of the chained rowers. Many of them had cruel lash marks on their backs; Grimlock’s anger increased as he noticed that it tended to be the younger ones who had the worst marks. Dozens of twisted runes sat on the oars and the walls as well, deadly contraptions devised by Raven to ‘encourage’ harder work.
When Grimlock was finally noticed by Raven’s slaves, the reaction was varied. Some panicked, fear spreading across their faces. A few let out sighs of release. But most looked at one another in confusion. Acheron’s captain was standing in The Specter’s dreaded ‘rower pit.’ The last time Grimlock had entered here was nine years ago, back when the two of them had first met. Only three of the slaves from then had survived to today. And Grimlock knew that.
Raven couldn’t help but snicker as she saw the look of horror on Grimlock’s face. “Don’t worry too much. I’ve been avoiding overworking them since last time. Turns out they last alot longer.”
“You know,” Grimlock muttered, fingering the sword at his side, “if we weren’t both on the same side, and I wasn’t onboard your ship, I would happily cut you down right now.”
Raven sneered, clearly enjoying having the upper hand. “But we are. Besides, you know my line of work. We’re here for the same goal: to overthrow the current rules in the griffon kingdom. We just happen to have different reasons.”
“Come to think of it,” Grimlock said half to himself as he moved a talon towards one of the many blades he kept concealed in his feathers, “I probably should kill you.” Raven felt the sweat begin to form on her forehead, but Grimlock stopped his movement, let out a long sigh and nodded towards the slaves. “Release the youngest. I’ll take them.”
Raven shrugged and gave the order. “Sure. Take them off my hands. In fact, you’re probably doing me a favor. Less dead weight.” There was a clink of chains being unlocked by Raven’s crewmen, followed soon after by a tired weeping as Grimlock made his way towards the collapsed slaves. Raven gave him a wide grin. “Thanks a ton for the help. Really appreciate it.”
“Make sure my crew survives,” Grimlock spat as he shepherded the now free slaves, who could barely manage to walk, up the stairs. “Otherwise I’ll almost certainly kill you. Same side or not.”
“You do that,” Raven said cheerfully. “Thanks for the help. See you around.” She aided Grimlock in getting to his ship, making it his turn to leap from one deck to the other, as he helped the former slaves across the gap. Raven watched them go, a sneer drifting across her features. Once Grimlock had finished crossing, Raven gave a shout of orders, and then The Specter began to pull away from Grimlock and Acheron’s crew, heading off for revenge and bounty.

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                        Foreigners                         
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Foreigners
The next morning, Icarus had the task of explaining why a mysterious griffon from his past was in his inn. Guests he could have easily handled. His eldest niece? Not so much. “He just ‘found’ Kestrel?’” Cetan asked, her voice incredulous. The sun was just beginning to rise, its golden glow shining into the inn, and Icarus’ guests were either still sleeping or beginning to rise, leaving Icarus with no ways out.
Cetan kept glancing nervously at Simurgh, who twiddled his thumbs at the front of the bar, an innocent grin on his face. Icarus, who was searching through a variety of stores, paused to look at Cetan. “He’ll play nice, no matter how coincidental he may seem.”
Cetan scowled. “How can you be certain? For all you know, he could be a pirate.” She nodded towards the missing fingers on his talons. “How do you know he didn’t lose those during, say, piracy?”
“I cut them off in a bet with your father,” Simurgh commented. “Icarus will vouch for that.”
Cetan looked like a fish for a moment, her beak simply hanging open. She waved an incredulous talon at Simurgh, who gave the impression that he was trying hard to contain his amusement. Icarus sighed and stood up from his search, bringing up a piece of fruit as he did so. “He’s staying here, at least for the time being. For now, he’ll be a good guest. I’ve put him on the top floor.”
Simurgh grinned as a pair of griffons came down the stairs, chatting amiably. When they noticed him, they waved, a gesture which he quickly returned. After they had walked out, Simurgh turned to Icarus. “You know, we probably should have realized that we could have made a fortune just serving food and possessing board. Certainly would have made us more than we did while sailing.”
“Very funny,” Icarus snorted, passing a plate of food to Simurgh before turning back to his niece. “Look, don’t worry about him, Cetan. He was my captain once, and he never did us wrong then. He’ll be fine. I doubt that you’ll even run into him that much. Consider him another boarder.”
“Generally, they leave before the month is up. I have no idea how long this fellow will be here.”
Icarus raised an eyebrow as he looked at Simurgh. Simurgh shrugged. “No clue. Aegle’s down by Procella. I might have told her to pick me up with she ran into anything interesting. Or vice versa. So I’m in here until either of us runs into anything worthwhile.” He leaned back in his chair, letting out a slightly irritated puff. “We were planning on charting some new territories, but the Oracle Union has done a good job of messing that up. Them and pretty much every bit of trouble in the east.”
Cetan gave her uncle an incredulous look. “I’ve got to go, but I really want some answers to all of this. I really do. And I swear, if he takes off before I get my answers, I’ll take it up with father. I’m certain that he’d like to know about Simurgh being here.”
Simurgh raised an eyebrow as he cast a wary look at Icarus. “She’s an informant?”
Icarus snorted and motioned for Cetan to go. “Nothing quite so dirty. She’s on good terms with her family members. Unlike certain griffons.” Cetan made her way out, slinging her bag of papers of her shoulder as she went. The door swung shut with a loud bang, and Icarus turned back to Simurgh. “I hope you’re coming to the celebration tomorrow.”
“What’s it for?” Simurgh asked between bites, finally wolfing down his food now that Cetan had vanished.
“Grover’s coming back.”
There was a loud clatter as Simurgh’s fork fell from his grip. The griffon’s maimed talons had paled, like burnt wood that was beginning to crumble. “Grover? As in the uniter of the clans? The guy who, supposedly, went beyond the edge of the world? Fought Aeolus, the Stormlord, and came back alone?”
“You bet he is,” Rook said. The pair turned to face the captain, who had just opened the door and entered, his feathers in a disheveled mess. “Grover, arguably the greatest warrior, navigator, scholar and uniter of this day and age.”
“Rook,” Icarus said, his voice stern, “you could do better not listening in on conversations from the behind the door.”
“Schematics,” Rook said, reaching into his purse as he approached. “Grover’s going to be here. I can be as bloody disrespectful as I want.” He turned to Icarus, tossing a handful of coins onto the table. “I’m hungry. Nothing against Flora’s cooking, but I have to put up with it for months on end. I think that unicorn’ll understand if I want something different for a change.”
Icarus nodded and began rummaging once more in his barrels, beginning to prepare another meal. Before long, the smell of eggs, non-griffon, began to fill the air. “I take it you’ve not told anyone?”
Rook pulled up a chair, placing his black paws against one side of Icarus bar. He spread his talons in a gesture of mild amusement. “You asked me not to. I’m good to my word. Although,” he commented, leaning close to Simurgh, a conspiratorial smile on his face, “I’d absolutely love to hear your story. Things always get more interesting when a stranger arrives in town.”
“What are you lunatics talking about now?” Caladrius came down the stairs, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His tail dragged along the ground, like it was still asleep. “It’s barely morning and here you are talking about strangers coming to town.”
“There’s only so many topics of conversation,” Rook pointed out.
“Forget it,” Caladrius muttered, making his way out of inn. “Save my room. I’ll be staying here tonight. Probably.”
“See you then.” Icarus turned back to Simurgh and Rook, but was cut off before he could speak as more griffons began to make their way down the stairs, either chatting amongst themselves or simply waiting. They left in singles or pairs, most of them stopping to make a renewal on their stay or simply to let him know that they wouldn’t be back tonight.
Rook watched the tide of griffons with a grin on his face, like a schoolboy watching a parade. He winked to Simurgh as they passed. “Let me tell you something: you haven’t seen anything yet. Grover will be here later today. And he’ll blow all of this out of the water.”
Simurgh gave the fellow black-feathered griffon a look, a mildly smug smile on his face. “Believe me. I look forward to it. But I’ve seen spectacle before. You get to see some things when you’re in the Reaches.”
A moment later, when the mass of griffons had ebbed, Rook gave his response. “Ooo!” He waggled his thick eyebrows. “You were off in the Reaches? Now that’s a story worth hearing.”
Simurgh sighed and returned to his food, only pausing to speak to Icarus. “Do you have a bouncer for this guy?”
“No.”
Simurgh groaned and turned back to Rook. “I’ll tell you later. That fair?”
Rook chuckled and actually leapt from his chair, his lithe form performing a mild twist so that he would land properly when his paws struck the ground near the door. “I’ll look forward to it.” He winked at the two of them and snuck out of the inn, the door barely creaking as he left.
“Could you tell me why you let him stay around?”
Icarus didn’t deign to respond, focusing his attention on preparing breakfast for the griffons who had decided to stay. Simurgh watched him work for a minute, finally beginning to take everything in. “So, um,” he trailed off as Icarus continued to work. “How much, exactly, has changed since I left?”
A slight snicker escaped Icarus lips. “In nineteen years? You’ve missed almost a quarter of a century back here. Although I assume you’ve kept up on the big stuff.”
“First king ever, apparent duel with something from ancient mythology, yup, I’m up to date on that.”
Simurgh couldn’t see his head, but he was certain that Icarus rolled his eyes. “Technically, he says that he made a deal with Aeolus, the Stormlord. Fought the Primordial or something like that, came out of it stronger. But yes, that’s accurate enough.”
Icarus pulled his head out of the barrel and tossed a piece of fruit to one of the griffons at the bar before turning to Simurgh. “And Aegle’s in Procella, yes?” Simurgh nodded, making Icarus frown. “Which means that it’s pretty much Griffonstone that you’re behind on, correct?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
Icarus muttered something under his breath, but before he could say anything audible, Rook burst through the door of the inn. “Would you stop that!” Icarus snapped at Rook.
Rook gave the innkeeper an amiable grin. “I could, but I think you layabouts would be interested in hearing that Surprise is on the horizon.”
Rook barely had time to let out a surprised ‘oof’ before he was plowed over by the remaining patrons. Leftover dust that Icarus had missed was thrown into the air, which promptly settled on the, currently splayed, Rook as the inn was abandoned.
Icarus followed the mob, but at a significantly slower pace. He knelt down by the door, helping the captain to his feet. Simurgh approached, his expression puzzled. “‘Surprise?’”
“Grover’s ship,” Rook managed to say with a chuckle, although it was closer to a cough. “Icarus,” he said as he brushed himself off, “could you put up a no running sign?”
“You brought that upon yourself.”
Rook gave Icarus a rueful grin. “I guess so. You two want to come? I’ve had Nimbus save us a spot. I figure he can manage to let two more in.”
Icarus gave Simurgh a questioning look, to which the oily griffon responded, “Sure. I’d enjoy seeing the king. Never met him. Or seen him, for that matter. But I’d love a chance.”
Rook motioned for them to follow, which they did. The three of them made their way out of the inn, only pausing for Icarus lock the inn, as they stepped out into the streets of Griffonstone, where there were massive cheers sounding for the coming ship.
The streets were filled with cheering griffons. The mass of griffons were pressed, one against one, making navigating the treacherous mess dangerous. Some of the griffons floated above or watched from rooftops, like an army waiting for orders. Kestrel could be seen near the front of the crowd, her feathers practically bristling with excitement.
Surprise could be seen on the horizon, growing larger every moment. The first visible thing were the massive sails, which made The Bounty, arguably one of the biggest ships ever made, look like a child’s toy. The sun was rising behind it, making the scene feel all the more picturesque. The wind billowed in its sails, propelling it forward with tremendous speeds. As it advanced, it became more and more distinct. The most sharp-eyed of the griffons began to make out the massive sails first, followed soon thereafter by the crew, who were making themselves busy with the ship.
Rook tapped Simurgh lightly with one of his wings. “They’re a serious lot, Grover’s crew.”
Simurgh nodded but continued to focus his attention on the approaching ship. “So, where’s the famed king?” He watched the ship, waiting to see if someone would point it out to him.
But he didn’t have to wait. Standing at the bow of Surprise, a dark cape covering his darker-still feathers, stood a griffon who radiated authority. His cape billowed over his wings and back, and his face was split in a massive grin. Hanging on one side was a massive sword. Unlike most of the swords that griffon’s used, this one lacked the characteristic curve or the well-known thin blade. This sword's blade was thick, and was almost as long as Grover was. It was made of some crystalline metal, gleaming and pure.
There was a sharp bark from one of the griffon’s onboard Surprise as the ship approached the shore, and the ship’s crew made good time moving about the sails, tying ropes, covering unnecessary surface, all of it was set upon in an orderly fashion. The ship slowed to barely a crawl, and it turned so that its starboard side was facing the dock. Ropes were thrown onto the shore, quickly seized by the griffons and tied to nearby outcroppings. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.
The cheer that was coming from the crowd of griffons was deafening at this point. Despite not being a native of Griffonstone, the king was well loved. Plus the de facto capital was now Griffonstone, so that had something to do with it.
While Grover’s crew had gathered silently behind him, a grinning Grover stood at the front of the party, his cloak finally beginning to settle down on his back. His green feathers were standing up in a spiky mass, like the spines of a dragon. His back paws were tapping against the deck in some pattern, like a tune only he could hear.Two griffons stood next to him, both of them smiling to one extent or another.
On his right stood Grace, his queen and mate, a wildly grinning griffon, her feathers giving her the impression of something between a hawk and a vulture. Her eyes were filled with glee, and much like her mate, a cloak sat on her back, albeit being significantly more tattered.
On his left, stood Iris, Grover’s runist and rumored to be one of the few griffons to have gone beyond the world’s edge with Grover. Her icy blue feathers were pressed flat against her head, although whether that was their natural state or the result of the wind was unclear to Simurgh. No cloak adorned her, and her icy smile sent shivers down the spines of many of the griffons there.
Simurgh raised an eyebrow as Surprise's crew began to unload the ship, Grover and Grace being the first to step off, with Iris shouting orders to the crew as they docked. He tapped Rook on one shoulder, making the captain turn to face him. “Hm?”
Simurgh nodded in the general direction of the king and queen. “How’d they meet?”
Rook’s jaw dropped open. After a few moments of sputtering, and Simurgh handedly pushing his mouth open, Rook managed to formulate some words. He waved his wings wildly as he spoke, almost hitting several of the griffons in the crowd. “You’ve… you’ve never heard that story?”
Simurgh watched the pair of them make their way through the cheering crowd, flanked by Iris, who’s frigid gaze cleared a path through the mob all on its own. He shook his head. “I’ve been out of the city for the past nineteen years. He got crowned, what, ten years ago?”
“Twelve,” Rook murmured, his gaze mirroring Simurgh’s. He locked eyes with Grover for a moment, giving the king a wink as he passed. Grover returned it, his grin growing ever wider every time he saw an old friend or long-time colleague. “Really? You don’t know the story?”
Simurgh shook his head, his mouth dry as he watched the king. “I know the basics. Aeolus, found that idol thingy, journeyed across the world, Zephyr, Notus, Boreas and Eurus, and some pirates. Is that correct?”
There was the unmistakable noise of Rook ramming his head into his talon. “That’s the barebones, yes. Grace was the captain he sailed with. Iris was one of the sailors. That a better explanation?”
“I suppose,” Simurgh said, still watching Grover. His eyes seemed unfocused, like he wasn’t fully noticing the king of the griffons standing less than a hundred feet from him. And, while Rook couldn’t have been certain, he thought he saw Simurgh’s feathers droop ever-so slightly.
Grover, Iris and Grace made their way past the throng of griffons to where Gabriel and the other minor griffon leaders stood. Rook watched them quietly, but his eyes kept darting towards Simurgh, who looked like a deer that had spotted a predator. He tapped his beak thoughtfully, diverting his full attention to Simurgh.
The griffons parted, forcing Rook and Simurgh to one side as they realized that Grover was coming their way. Simurgh’s ears pressed hard against his head, flattening till they were nigh invisible against his head. An expression of utmost panic crossed his face, and his tail stood out straight. “He’s right there,” Simurgh kept repeating to himself, a mantra that got quieter with every word, until it would have taken the eye of the hurricane for it to be heard. His mutilated talon was paling, looking more and more like the hands of a smoky ghost.
Rook’s eyes widened as Grover stopped in his walk, Gracen and Iris’ stopping behind him in deathly quiet. Grace leaned towards the king, murmuring something into his ear. Grover whispered something back, but it was too quiet for any to hear. Grace nodded and fell back, while Iris’ cold gaze swept around the crowd, drawing shivers from many of them.
For a moment, Rook could have sworn that Grover’s eyes held a speck of doubt in them as he looked around the crowd. The king’s normally grinning face was troubled; the massive sword at his side seemed to gleam, like it was waiting to be used. But the moment passed. Grover smiled ruefully, and he resumed making his way to where Gabriel, Shikra and Notus waited. The crowd resumed their cheering, like the fickle lot that griffons could be.
Grover turned to the crowd, motioning for them to quiet. At first, there were no silence. The cheers continued, most of them either unwilling or having failed to see Grover’s gesture. But then Iris made the gesture as well. Rook shuddered. That griffon had spent her life learning how to turn words into power. She had a way with words. Saying them- and not saying them.
“Friends,” Grover said, his quiet voice carrying far better than one could have expected, “it’s good to be back in Griffonstone.”
The crowd erupted in cheers, letting out screams of adoration for their king. Grover watched them with a bemused smile on his face, his surprisingly young features making him look like a schoolboy. He absentmindedly tapped the sword at his side, but it was a gesture with no malice in it. When the crowd had quieted, he continued speaking. “Princess Celestia, monarch of Equestria, sends her greetings. She acknowledges the new powers arising in the East, and she wishes us well with our business. But she also sends a guest.”
There was a shocked murmur from the crowd, which was once against silenced with the barest of gestures from Iris. Grover waved towards Suprise, where an unfamiliar face could be seen amongst the easily recognizable members of Grover’s crew. It was a pegasus.
“What?” One of the members of the crowd spoke, his high-pitched voice cutting through the silence like butter. Rook was unable to identify the speaker, but he was willing to be that everyone was thinking it, himself included.
Grover nodded towards the pegasus. “Admiral Fairy Flight, of the wonderbolts. She’s here on behalf of Celestia.”
“We just got united! What’s that alicorn doing meddling in our business?”
Iris took a step forward, her cold eyes gleaming. Rook was fairly certain that the runist knew who had spoken, even if he didn’t. But Grover motioned for her to stop. And she did so. That was the bit that always confused Rook. Everyone listened to Grover because they respected him—and he had been chosen by Aeolus, the Stormlord. Everyone listened to Iris because they didn’t know what she could do. So it was something of an odd choice for Iris to listen to Grover. All in the city knew that she had little reverence for the Stormlord or any of his four children, one of which Grover himself revered.
Grover nodded towards Admiral Fairy Flight, and the crowd swung round to take her in. The pegasus had a somewhat torn uniform on her back, probably the result of many years of service. Her yellow mane stood in sharp contrast with her red fur and blue uniform, making her look like a child’s color wheel. “Admiral Fairy Flight,” Grover continued, speaking slowly and a tiny bit firmer, “is here on business unrelated to our politics. However, you are to treat her with the respect you would give to any authority on official business. She is a guest and we are to treat her as such.”
There was a nervous murmur from those gathered, but they nodded. Grover gave them all a grateful nod. “Thank you. Now, if you will allow me, I have business to take care of with my governors,” he nodded to Shikra, Gabriel and Notus, “but I will look forward to hearing from all of you in the coming months. Thank you.”
He turned away, making his way down a back alley that had yet to be filled with griffons. Grace followed him, while the governors did their best to keep away the griffons. Iris gave them all a cold smile, and turned one of the carved rings on one of her talons, and she was gone. Simurgh pointed to where she had been standing, eyes wide. “Wha…”
Rook shrugged as the griffons began to disperse. “Iris is, most likely, one of the strongest runists currently living. She knows what she’s doing.”
Simurgh just stood there in silence, making Rook sigh. He made his way to Kestrel, who had stood there in awestruck silence all the while. “Come on, let’s go back to the inn. Icarus’ll kill me if I go off and gossip before getting you back.”
Gale made her way through Maelstrom’s streets, her head down. A white cloak and hood covered her body, making sure that none would recognize her. She doubted they would- Maelstrom was a city of thousands of years of proud, griffon history. She was barely twenty-nine. Compared to the city, she was a blink of the eye. But that didn’t matter. She could still do her duty.
A few of the griffons she passed cast her odd looks, but most of them ignored her. That was fine by her. The less trouble she encountered, the better. Her talons and paws tread lightly in the clouds that comprised the city’s base, reminding her of the days when, as a hatchling, she would play on her father's bed with her sisters. It was soft, but solid enough for her to walk safely. That was the beauty of Maelstrom. It was one of the few cloud cities that griffons possessed. She had heard that, back in Equestria, they had a city like this. Cloudsdale, it was called. She had often wondered if they were built by the same people.
Gale raised her head slightly as she turned a corner. Griffons were gathered in the streets, arguing with one another over shop prices, proper building regulations, everything that made the city tick. On all sides of the city, she could see ships docked around it, proving that Maelstrom, despite being near the edges of griffon territory, was still one of the most influential cities in the East.
A small smile graced Gale’s surprisingly youthful features. Aside from one scar running on the tip of her beak, she was unadorned by the typical hallmarks of her job; Gale was young, and some might say inexperienced, but she was a survivor. She slipped through the bustling crowd of griffons, her supple form letting her move like some amorphous blob, sliding through cracks and avoiding obstacles.
She continued to make turns that led her towards the city's center, where the city’s leaders were housed. It was a white tower, gleaming where it was carved from stone, and still beautiful where it was built from clouds. But that was a later goal. First, she had to deal with what lay outside. A massive wall, about twenty feet high, rose into the air. Ramparts sat on it, and griffons marched across them, a clear reminder that Maelstrom’s original purpose had not been forgotten. Thankfully, the wall had an obvious entrance.
A massive gate, forged from a metal that did not fit with the rest of the city, stood not far from her. Murder holes could be seen above it, from where griffons had once rained down attacks upon the less aerial oriented besiegers of the city. Now, due to Grover’s unity, there was far less war… but that hadn’t stopped the city from having its uses. Hence why Gale was here.
A quarter of armored griffons stood by the gate, wielding a variety of weapons, although curved swords seemed to be the fashion. Their dark armor reflected the rising sun off of them, which would have made them an impressive lightshow were it not for the time of day. Gale approached them, her hood still over her head. As expected, they weren’t going to let a visitor in without a fair bit of convincing.
The griffons’ leader stepped forward. He stood a good head taller than the rest, and his armor only accented his air of authority. It had a slightly darker hue, making him look closer to a shadow than a soldier. “I’m sorry, miss. But you can’t enter without permission. The outer wall is closed to all visitors, at least for now.”
Gale let out a slight huff under her breath. So her sources hadn’t been inaccurate. But this was why, despite everything that her peers might say, she spent several weeks, if not months, preparing before she actually went to take care of her business. Less hassle on the actual mission, that way. “I assume you’re the commander?” Gale asked, still keeping her head low.
The armor-clad griffon nodded. “Commander Sparrow. And I have orders not to let anyone through the wall without permission.”
Gale ran her tongue along the inside of her mouth, thinking. “What’s to stop me from flying over?”
“Far too many runes to count, several dozen spare soldiers, and a lot of metal.”
“Just curious,” Gale conceded. She reached under her robe, pulling out a sheet of papers. She handed them to Sparrow, who began looking through them. “That should provide enough proof that I’m… honest with my dealings.” She tapped her right paw against the clouds, watching Sparrow coldly.
After a moment, the commander handed the papers back to her. “Gale? As in...?” He trailed off, as if unsure as to what to peg her as.
“The same.” Gale gave him a slight smile from under her cloak.
“I didn’t finish.”
“I do a lot of things. Now may I go in?”
Sparrow grunted and gave quick shout to his soldiers. “I see you’ve got an official invitation. From the general himself, it seems. What ever did you do to get that?”
She gave him a dazzling smile, although he probably was unable to see it. “That’s my secret. Now, I assume the general will be waiting?”
Sparrow gave her a wary look but waved for her to go in. “As rare as that is, the odds are that he will be.”
Gale gave the commander a curt nod and made her way forward. His soldiers parted nervously, keeping their weapons between themselves and Gale. She snorted quietly to herself as she advanced, letting the rise into the air to allow entry.
The moment she had entered the courtyard surrounding the tower, there was a clang as the gate slammed shut behind her. She paused to look at it, the metal mass locking her in until such a time that the general deemed it worthy for her to leave. Hopefully that wouldn’t be too long.
She made her way towards the tower, gently pulling her hood over her head ever so-slightly further to avoid letting it slip down. A few of the soldiers or workers at the tower cast her looks, turning away from their work to raise eyebrows or murmur to one another. Gale snorted under her breath as a pair of soldiers looked away from their work to fawn at her. Idiots.
She came to the massive stony gates of the city. Skystone, it was called. One of the few materials that could actually stand on clouds without any other support. She wrapped against it, her talons a ghostly white. Well, more ghostly than usual.
There were some muffled shouts. One of the two speakers sounded puzzled, as if he hadn’t been notified of Gale’s arrival, while the other mostly sounded irritated. Gale tapped her right paw impatiently, a scowl spreading across her hidden face.
After what felt like minutes, there was a creak as the gates opened wide, revealing the interior of the tower. There were no stairs. Instead, there were sections of cloud, stretched tight by pieces of Skystone, that allowed griffons to propel themselves from floor to floor with little effort.
The second thing that Gale noticed was that the tower was far from empty. Soldiers stood on every floor, their weapons gleaming in what little light there was in the building. On each of the floors, there stood at least half-a-dozen griffons who were clearly not soldiers. On the third floor, Gale could see a room filled with charts, receipts, and far too many quills. Cleary a room for bureaucrats.
She paused to look at the griffon who had opened the door. He was thin, lanky, and was probably able to tear her to pieces if she misstepped. “I’m here to see the general.”
The lanky griffon sighed and stepped aside to let her in. He followed her as the doors closed, however. He raised five talons, then pointed upwards. Gale swallowed but stepped to one of the stretched cloud pieces. She took a moment to gather her wits, pulling the hood further over her head. She crouched down, a cat prepared to leap, and then flew into the air. It took less than a second for her to arrive at the fifth floor.
She landed on what was undeniably a war room. Maps hung on the skystone walls, marked with the positions of important cities, local armies, deadly ships and various monsters. One table sat on the floor, its wooden legs standing firmly on the skystone floor. A map of all of the charted east sat on it, a giant game of chess, with miniature ships, cities, soldiers, pretty much everything that they had data on. Sitting in the middle of it, constantly moving, if only barely, was an exact replica of Maelstrom.
Surrounding the table were seven griffons. They were all clad in armor, with weapons at their side. Several of them looked up as Gale entered, reaching for their weapons. Gale made a gesture for them to be quiet, pulling her hood over her head more tightly before she spoke. “General Gaius, I presume?” She nodded towards one of the griffons who hadn’t reached for his weapon.
Gaius, contrary to common belief, was not a hulking brute of a soldier. He was somewhat small, barely larger than Gale. Three daggers were attached to various parts of his body, with another lying on the table. His feathers were a mix of blue and red, with his razor sharp claws leaving skid marks on the floor. “I’m he.” Gaius’ voice was somewhat nasal, like he was talking through his crooked beak. “You are?”
Gale smiled smiled. “Gale. We arranged a meeting.”
“There are a lot of griffons who would like to claim that name.” Gaius gave a slight nod to one of the griffons who had stood up. There was the a moment's pause, and then Gale found herself with a sword at her throat. “In fact, there are a lot of griffons who want that griffon dead. How do I know you’re genuine?”
Gale sighed and brushed the edge of her wing out from the edge of her cloak. Gaius’ eyes widened as he took it in. “Stand down, commander. She’s genuine.”
His commander gave Gaius a grimace, but he nodded and sheathed his sword, giving Gale a grudging nod. The others in the room exchanged nervous glances as they noticed what their commander had seen, right before it vanished under her cloak. Gaius frowned and made his way to where Gale stood, a frown spreading across his face. “You’ve been tormenting me for the past month, telling me you needed to speak with me. What do you want?”
“A myriad of things,” Gale said coldly. “But I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say. Without a sword at my throat.”
Gaius grunted. “Grover’s a pain in my ass recently. I don’t need your posse in my business as well.”
Gale made a calming gesture with a talon. “I’m not here to meddle in your affairs. Maelstrom, for all of its wonders, isn’t worth starting a war in. I’m here on less… political matters.”
The general raised an eyebrow. He turned to his commanders. “I’ll be back, gents. Don’t order any marches until I’m back.” He made his way to where Gale stood, retrieving his dagger on the way over. He kept it between the two of them. “I assume you’ll want to discuss this in a less open area?” Gale nodded, then Gaius walked to the section of cloud used for leaping.
He crouched down, throwing himself upwards to the top floor. Gale grimaced, but followed, landing it what was obviously Gaius’ personal study. A bookshelf sat on one wall, filled to the brim with books and scrolls. A table sat in the middle of the room, which Gaius was quick to sit at. The tiny griffon smiled slightly as Gale entered and readjusted her cloak. “The rumors about you are true, it seems.”
Gale sighed as she made her way to the table, taking care not to let her cloak slip. Gaius motioned for her to take a seat, which she did, if grudgingly. Gaius raised an eyebrow as she tapped a talon against the table. “What do you want?”
“Maelstrom’s on the move. What’d you find?”
“Is it a crime for the city to move?”
“No, but you’re a strategist. Always have been. You either found something valuable or worth investigating. What is it?”
Gaius gave Gale a cold look. “That’s my business.” His eyes met hers head on. They were hard, and full of determination.
“My business is all of griffon business, general. You know how it works. What have you found?”
“Like I said, that’s my business. Piss off if you don’t like it, but the moment I tell you what I’ve found I’m slitting your throat.”
Gale paused to consider this for a moment, the gears in her head clearly turning. Finally, she spoke with a calm, collected air, her words coming out steady and calmly. “Fine. But there’s one other thing I need to know.”
Gaius scratched his chin. “Will you stay out of my business?”
She gave him a slight shrug, but stopped it before it knocked the cloak off her shoulders. Gaius gave her a bitter look, but Gale spoke without a hint of spite. “You can handle this one. And, to my knowledge, nobody will be hurt.”
Gale didn’t flinch as Gaius’ dagger flew by her head, clanging against the far wall and falling to the floor with a faint clatter. Gaius himself had pushed himself towards her, his feathers bristling. “Nobody will be hurt? You’re a liar.”
Gale let out an amused chuckle. “Alright. Allow me to revise that. Any harm that will be caused will not be directed towards Maelstrom or its inhabitants. Or any of the civilians or those who have done me no wrong. Our bone is solely with Grover and the rest of his little sycophants and heretics.”
“I would be more willing to trust you if you weren’t working with The Specter,” he spat, drawing another dagger and fingering it with cruel carefulness. “If I wanted to, I could eliminate you now and cut off a head of this beast.”
There was a rustling as Gale re-adjusted her seating position, letting her hood fall back the smallest bit, revealing her piercing, pale red eyes. “Go ahead, if you want. But I’ve got Finch watching this place like a hawk.”
“How?” he snarled, this time pinning Gale to her chair with a dagger. “That little spy of yours isn’t inconspicuous. You’ve indicated that you’ve been in the city for the past few weeks. How come none of my soldiers have spotted your crew?”
“I don’t reveal all of my secrets.” There was a few seconds of silence as the hood was pulled back over her eyes, then she continued. “But I will say that he’s got someone inside here working for him. That’s all.”
“Damn Oracles,” Gaius muttered. “You’re the worst of them, you know that, right?”
“I’ll be sure to send Passerine or Raven to negotiate next time.”
Gaius waved a talon dismissively, falling back into his chair with a dejected sigh. “I know you’ll get whatever it is you want, one way or another. What’s the second thing? And what’s your price? I assume you’ve got one of the best bargaining chips if you expect me to trade.”
Gale’s smile was the widest she had had in ages, although, as usual, it was obscured under her cloak. She raised a talon, pointing up with one of the claws. “One word: autonomy.” Gaius raised an eyebrow, making her sigh and continue. “I’ll give the order. We’ll all steer clear of your territory. I’ll let you head to wherever it is you’re headed, give no indication as to what’s there, and put one of the six watching to make sure nobody breaks in. In fact, I’ll send Pandora or something like that. You’ve had dealing with her, yes?”
Gaius let out a whistle. “That’s worth more than anything you or your damn posse has ever offered me. What do you want? The city’s weight in gold? The Idol of Boreas, straight from Grover’s private quarters?”
“Nope. In fact, it’s far cheaper than that.” It was Gaius’ turn to look surprised. Gale’s smile grew wider and continued. “I want to talk to that prisoner in your bottom cell. And, if she’s what I want, you release her to me. I’ll take care to make sure she stays out of your business.”
Gaius’ next words came out cold and in a vicious whisper that indicated his suspicion to no end. “How do you know about that?”
“Informant.”
Gaius looked at the ceiling for a moment, evidently considering who on his staff could have been reporting to Gale. When he returned his attention to her, his made a steeple with his talons, and his words came out slowly. “Why… why do you want her?”
Gale shrugged. “That’s my business. But, if you agree to the trade, I’ll throw in the information for free.”
Gaius ran his tongue along his beak, his eyes troubled. After a moment of Gale’s tapping of her claws on the table, he gave his answer. “Done.”
“Wonderful,” Gale enthused. “Now, take me to your dungeon. I’ll give you the information there. It’ll save me an extra conversation.” She stood up, making her way to the entrance between floors. Gaius followed, tripping over his chair as he tried to keep up.
“Wait- it’s on the bottom floor. You’ll have to fall through clou-”
“I know.” She jumped, falling down like a bullet from a gun. She pierced through the piece of springy cloud and onto the hard ground of the prison below. She landed, looking up at the reforming cloud above her. A moment later, a gasping Gaius broke through. He landed unceremoniously, only avoiding injury because of the cloud he had just broke through. Gale gave him an unsympathetic look. “Work on your landing next time.”
“Readjust your hood,” Gaius snapped as he stood up, brushing himself off as he did so. “I can stare right at your precious little birth defect.”
Gale’s eyes widened, pulling her hood so far forward that it obscured her entire head. Gaius chuckled for a moment- but only up until the point he found himself pinned to the wall by Gale with a knife at his throat. “Don’t. Don’t speak of what you saw. Or I’ll gut you like a fish.”
Gaius looked at the knife, then at Gale, whose sudden burst of strength had caused fear to spread across his face. “Point taken. Never tick off a pirate who can sneak a knife past everyone. And… I think I’ll take Pandora as my escort. No offense, but I don’t like the other options.”
The Oracle snorted and dropped him, striding off as he began to compose himself. “Where’s the prisoner?”
Gaius sighed and led her through the dark cells of the tower’s dungeon, past a variety of prisoners. Most were griffons, either war criminals or those that violated his authority, but a few others included a creature that kept changing form sporadically, an ironclad creature that vaguely resembled a minotaur and spouted steam, and a beast that would have likely been a dragon- were it not for the fact that magma seemed to ooze off of it, falling into the watery enclosure that it was trapped in.
Gale nodded appreciatively as she watched the prisoners, taking in the stone walls and the dim light as well. “You’ve redone the place.” Gaius raised an eyebrow, but Gale snickered in response. “Like I said, informant.”
Gaius made a rude gesture, but led her down several flights of stairs, till they reached the bottom floor of the dungeon. Here, there were only three cells. The first was empty, save for a few bones. Gale snorted under her breath. Apparently Gaius had little ability at keeping his prisoners alive, just like his skill at keeping soldiers alive.
The second was entirely empty, not doing much for Gale’s impression of the bottom floor. But the third cell had what she was looking for. A pegasus, dressed in a tattered uniform, sat in the cell, her body battered and worn.
The prisoner sat in the cell, her wild mess of a mane hanging over her face. It was grey and tangled- evidently the time spent in the cell had done little for her appearance. An glazed over eye, her left, stared at nothing in particular. The other was sapphire in color, and filled with distrust for Gale. Her coat, had she been in the light, would have likely been an emerald green. Now it just looked dull and faded. Gale could make a bright, if small, coin on her flank. Yes, she would do nicely.
Gale glanced at Gaius. “How long has she been here, exactly?”
“Two weeks, tops,” he replied. “She had most of those scars when she arrived.”
Gale frowned and turned back to the pegasus, watching her closely. “Who are you?”
“What do you want?” the pegasus growled, her voice surprisingly smooth.
“To talk.”
“Don’t trust anyone who’s carrying a weapon.” The pegasus nodded her head towards the thin dagger which hung at Gale’s side.
There was a small clink as Gale’s knife landed in the cell in front of the prisoner. The pegasus raised an eyebrow, looking from the dagger to the Oracle. Gale shrugged slightly. “I’d prefer to deal in good faith. That’s the only weapon I brought in here. Keep it, if you like. But will you listen to what I have to say?”
The pegasus sighed and leaned against the wall of her cell, her dark eyes cold. “I don’t have anything else to do. Aside from see if I can hit that general with your blade.” She knocked it towards herself with a hoof, slipping it behind her tail. “Alright. What do you want?”
“Still wanting yours answered first, hm?” Gale commented. “Fair enough, I suppose.” She sighed as she noticed Gaius fiddling with one of his daggers. She knocked it from his talon, drawing a gasp from the pegasus as her cloak slipped momentarily She growled and readjusted it, but not before making a mental note to either get the pegasus to leave with her, or to get her into a position where she’d never mention what she saw. She knelt down to where the pegasus sat, a sneer gracing her face.
“Listen closely, Gaius,” she said, shooting a glance to the general. She turned back to the prisoner, tapping the bars lightly. “A pegasus arrived in Griffonstone less than an hour ago.” The pegasus’ eyes widened slightly, something that Gale noted. “She wore a uniform not unlike yours. But in significantly better quality.”
“You’re lying.”
Gale smiled, stating her next words with relish. “Goes by the name… Fairy Flight?”
There was a panicked clatter as the pegasus pushed herself upwards, using her wings to force herself higher and higher into the cell. “Celestia, no… you can’t be serious. She’s here? No… no…”
Gaius took a moment to take in the panicking pegasus, then turned to Gale. “How in Tartarus do you know that?”
Gale winked, although it was probably hidden. “I have fantastic sources.” She turned back to the pegasus. “Relax. She’s over a thousand miles from us, at least for now. But I’ve got an offer for you. Come down and let me explain it to you. I mean you no harm, Weather Vane.”
The pegasus let out a panicked scream. “You’re with her. That’s the only way you could know that name. You-”
Gale snorted and gestured for the pegasus to calm down. “I’m not with Fairy Flight. But I would like to have a small chat with you- and offer you a job, while I’m at it. So, is there something you prefer to be called? Nickname, something your friends call you?”
“What’s it matter to you?” Weather Vane hissed, her one good eye shooting daggers at Gale.
“I like to know employees personally, as opposed to on a formal basis. The more I know, the more easily I can figure out what jobs one individual should handle, and what would be better suited for another.”
The pegasus landed, looked at Gaius and Gale warily, but nodded. “Vane. Call me Vane.”
“Wonderful. Well, Vane, I assume you’d like to leave the general’s company?”
“Not sure I like the idea of yours any better.”
“Understandable, seeing present company,” Gale laughed, her talons absentmindedly drawing runes on the floor of the room, “but I mean you no harm. I assume you’ve seen the ships?”
“One or two.”
“Would you have any interest in joining one?”
Vane glanced at Gaius, then at Gale. “You? A captain?”
“Yes. Although, if you’d rather not lodge with me, I’ve got connections. Friends from all over the East, ranging from dragons to hippogryphs. I’d be happy to land you on one of their ships if you’d rather not deal with me. I’ll order the captain to treat you with respect, or you can stay with me until you get to wherever you’re going.” She waved a talon at the cell. “Or you can spend some more time down here with Gaius and his soldiers.”
There was a moment’s silence as Vane knocked Gale’s dagger from one hoof to the other across the floor. “I’ve heard of your team, haven’t I? You’ve got green eyes emblazoned on your ships. You’re their leader, aren’t you?” Vane knocked the dagger back to the Oracle, then leaned against the wall once more. “There are posters of a griffon with a face shrouded in black. You’re her. Captain of the Clipper. I wasn’t certain at first, but I am now. You’re the one that the king wants swinging from the gallows.”
“Probably.”
“Then why offer me my freedom if I can just go straight to him?”
“Because Fairy Flight is there. And no matter how scared of me you are, I can see you’re far more scared of her.”
“Fine,” Vane muttered. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere anyway.”
Gaius grimaced as he glanced between Gale and Vane. “You two, hurry up. I need to get back to my commanders.”
He wilted as the Oracle’s hood turned to him, like the front of a haunting ghost that knows every crime you’ve ever done. Gale’s sneer could be seen from under her cloak, her mouth barely moving as she spoke. “Do you want me to get my job done or not? The less time I spend talking to you, the more time I leave you to your business.” She swung her gaze to Vane. “Well? You want your freedom? Willing to answer me a few questions?”
“I already said yes.”
“Release her.”
Gaius walked up the stairs, grumbling to himself. Gale tapped her her talon calmly as she glanced around the room, her gaze eventually settling on Vane. “Why are you so scared of Fairy Flight?”
“I don’t have to tell you that.”
“I’ve got six questions. Make it five.” Gale smirked as Vane cussed, and then motioned for her to continue.
“I’ve done some poor things,” Vane said quietly, so quiet that Gale had to strain to hear. “I’m a murderer. I’m a traitor. So I’m leaving. East. I’ve heard that you griffons made for quite the bunch of scoundrels. I’ve not been disappointed yet.”
Gale licked her beak slightly, considering the value of her next question. “You have any interest in stopping?”
“That one of your six?”
“Indeed. I can live with that.”
“Not really. Like I said, I’m a murderer and a traitor. I’m not worth dealing with.”
“Sounds like you’d fit in well with the Clipper,” Gale commented. “We’re all outlaws. Consider giving us a try.”
Vane raised an eyebrow, but before she could speak, the silent griffon from earlier returned, carrying a ring of keys. Gale tilted her head slightly to him as he knelt, unlocking Vane’s cage and letting her come out. Vane took a step out, her lungs filling with the air that, while it technically had been there, did not belong to a prison cell. The silent guard waited till Vane had exited, then closed the cell with a loud clang.
Gale gave him a brief nod. “Finch will hear of this.”
The silent guard nodded gratefully, then led them out of the prison. On their way out, Gale gave Gaius a spiteful grin, but they walked out of the tower, passing Sparrow, and heading towards the edge of the city, past all the griffons from earlier.
They neared the very edge, where the clouds simply dropped off. Vane and Gale stood there, waiting quietly. Vane swallowed as the silent griffon turned around and headed back towards the tower. “Is he one of your ‘sources?’”
“Not mine,” Gale said absentmindedly. “He’s Finch’s. You’ll meet that particular worker of mine not long from now. He’s… he’s got contacts all over the place. But you never answered my question. Willing to give us all a try?”
Vane swallowed, her lone eye wary. “And if I say no?”`
“Like I said, we’ll let you off at wherever you need to go.”
Vane looked out the endless expanse of sky. Clouds drifted lazily in the peripherals, but everything that could be seen ahead was empty sky for hundreds of miles. “Um, maybe. But where’s your ship? I thought you said you had one.”
“Currently?” a new voice asked. Vane whipped around, but Gale simply continued to stand there. A small griffon, his feathers standing up like the spines on a dragon or some hideous insect, stood behind them. Both his fur and feathers were muddy in color, which probably did not help him with the heat. “Well, the Clipper is sitting around a hundred feet below us.”
Vane swallowed and gestured at him with a hoof, looking at Gale as she did. “This Finch?”
“Depends,” the griffon said snidely. “Currently? Yes, that’s one of my aliases. Although I’ve gone by Abacus, Boron, and Chitin, to name a few. I’m still using the first, although I’m considering just combining them. Abacus Finch. Fantastic name for a foreigner, don’t you think?” An exotic accent and an odd name do wonders for my line of business.”
Vane looked the griffon over, her expression neutral. “As does sounding cooky- and you’ve got that down.”
Finch glanced at Gale. “Where’d you get this stick-in-the-mud?”
“Your spies told me about her.”
Finch frowned. “Did they now?” He glanced around momentarily, watching to make sure that no one was nearby, then leaned in to Gale. “Two things. One, we keeping her?”
“Maybe,” Gale snapped. “It’s up to her. But can we get back to the Clipper? We’ve got work to do.”
Finch made a placating gesture. “Hold your hippogriffs. Actually, strike that. I don’t want you doing anything to Grimlock’s crew. Anyway, we’ve got news drifting in. Raven seems to have messed something up, although it’s hard for me to contact her.”
Gale raised an eyebrow and turned to Vane. “Well? You have any interest in staying with us? Otherwise I’ve got to go.”
Vane swallowed, massaging her throat with a hoof. “I don’t know…” Gale sighed and raised a wing, turned to Finch and opened her mouth, probably to give the order to leave, but then Vane stopped them. “Yes. I’ll come.”
Gale nodded and then extended a talon to Vane, which she took. Finch grabbed onto both of them, there was a momentary sinking feeling, and then the three of them vanished, leaving an indent on the cloudy ground of Malestrom as they fell downards.
Author's Note
Somehow forgot to italicize Clipper and Surprise when I first uploaded this. Has since been fixed, but just goes to show how confusing ships can be. :facehoof: https://static.fimfiction.net/images/emoticons/facehoof.png

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                     An Expected Party                     
//-------------------------------------------------------//
An Expected Party
Icarus couldn’t help the fact that his eyes bugged out of his head when Grover walked into his bar. The griffon king simply swung the door open, tossed a few coins to Icarus, and then promptly sat down at the bar. “So… what’s the special?”
Icarus swallowed and looked around. The bar was still empty, likely because all of the king’s fans were off looking for him. “This place is going to be swarming with your fans any minute now, isn’t it?”
Grover held out a wing, showing a feather with an inked symbol on it. “Iris has been tinkering around with some rather… unique runes. Draw them on feathers, and you can have nearly any function, so long as you avoid straining them. Plus Grace happens to be really good at making it look like whoever she’s walking with has an intimate relationship with her. Your brother-in-law is serving as her little puppet. We’ll be fine, at least for a while.”
“You know,” a voice murmured as Iris materialized in the middle of the room, “it isn’t much of a secret if you go telling the bartender about it.”
Grover glanced at her and gave her a wolfish grin. “I mean, this might spur you into perfecting those a bit faster. Oracles and all things considered.”
“If I wanted to serve as your warmachine, I would have applied as that back when we met on Maelstrom.” Iris turned her crystalline eyes to Icarus. “I assume you’re Icarus, yes?” Icarus managed a slight squeak, which made Iris roll her eyes. “If ever there was a griffon that deserves a medal, it might well be you.”
“Why?”
“Because, according to what Grover tells me, you’ve got Rook as your most common patron. That idiot needs to get back to sailing. Or at least finding a form of sailing that doesn’t involve him coming back here at the end of each voyage.”
“Every type of sailing involves returning home,” Icarus murmured.
“Then he should get a different job,” Iris snapped.
“He’s a cartographer,” Grover pointed out, leaning back in his chair as he watched Iris. “One of our best. I’m not firing him.” He swung his gaze to Icarus. “So, you never did answer me. What’s the special?”
“Um…”
“Here,” Grover said and plucked the rune coated feather from his wing and set it on the table. “Look at that and tell me the special. Less face-to-face that way.”
Iris sighed as the feather disintegrated, sweeping the ashes onto the floor with a wing. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t waste my work.”
Grover nodded, but then turned to Icarus, raising an eyebrow.
Icarus swallowed as he glanced at Iris. “I’m making porridge, seeing as it’s not yet lunch… but why is she so talkative?”
“Equestrians are like addictives,” Iris muttered. “They’re a freaking terrible thing to get used to.”
Grover chuckled softly as Icarus returned his gaze to the king. “I’ll take the special, plus whatever else you might have handy. I need to get something to eat before Grace gets bored of this charade.”
“Frankly,” Iris murmured, “your mate sucks at times.”
“Shush,” Grover hissed back as Icarus began to work. “You’re not still bitter about that, are you? I thought we’ve been over this.” He paused to look at Icarus, who had the air of a griffon bent on not hearing a thing.
Iris frowned slightly, an expression that was only enhanced by her icy features. “Is this really the place to discuss that type of thing?”
“You brought it up.”
There was a moment’s pause, during which Icarus kept his head stuck in a barrel, feigning deafness. Iris looked nervous for a moment, took a second to scratch something on the ground- the runic word for hidden, then vanished in a tiny flash of light, leaving a hazy afterimage of fog. A few seconds later, she reappeared at a table in a far corner of the inn, where the walls blocked a fair portion of the light. Grover sighed, his eyes almost sad. He returned his attention to Icarus, a smile beginning to spread across his face. “So, Icarus, how have you been? It’s been what, six months?”
“Seven and a half,” Icarus murmured as he came out of the barrel, clutching a couple herbs close to his chest as he stood up. He went to work with haste, lighting a fire in the small fireplace behind him and hanging a pot over it.
Grover watched him work, but did not say a word. The monarch quietly tapped a digit against the bar, which was the only sound in the nigh empty tavern. Icarus occasionally glanced over his shoulder, a mildly nervous expression his face, but aside from that there was little activity.
While Icarus was in the final stages of preparing the meal, Grover finally spoke. “Rhea says hello.”
Icarus paused and looked up, a slight smile on his face. “Huh. Is she enjoying it down in Equestria?”
“So-so,” Grover said, taking a bite of his porridge in between sentences. “She’s become the unofficial official diplomat, so there’s that.”
“Like Fairy Flight?”
“First off,” Grover said, one of his eyebrows rising, “you weren’t in that crowd. How did you hear that? Second, no. She’s here on other business.
Icarus smiled slightly, but he didn’t turn around. “Oh, you know. My niece was in the crowd. She makes a wonderful informant. Gabriel’s. She’s a nice fledgling”
“Cetan?”
“Nah,” Icarus said, pausing to take Grover’s dish and carrying it to the pot and refilling it, “Kestrel. You know she’s obsessed with sailing. Evidently, the king sailing into the harbor makes for a wonderful attraction. The inn’s been coming along well, and she makes for a great way to refill on news from the sailors. The harbor, for all of its dangers, is Kestrel’s and Cetan’s element. For different reasons, of course, but that doesn’t really matter.”
"There a reason she isn't here now?"
"Not in particular," Icarus said, dipping his hands in a bucket of cold water. "But I am grateful for her absence."
"Not a fan of her knowing your exploits with me?"
Icarus snorted. "Wasn't my idea. Gabriel requested it when he realized that the Oracles weren't just a passing craze. Far as Kestrel knows, I sailed with Simurgh for a handful of years, and that was the end of my sailing career." He sighed and stirred the porridge pot with a spoon. "Aside from that, she mostly thinks I've been an innkeeper since I left sailing with Simurgh. Not..."
Grover looked up, nodding in understanding. "And none of your patrons catch on?"
Icarus grinned. "You kidding? Only ones who would know are stuck with you. Gabriel and Njord are the only exceptions, and they sure aren't going to tell anyone. Nine years is a long time to remember someone's job, especially when that someone was naught but a cook."
"And a few other things," Grover muttered, giving his friend a sly grin. "Three years gets you a fair bit of authority, especially when you were one of the first to join."
Icarus chuckled softly, smiling when the laugh faded. "You'd be surprised at some of the rumors people have about me. There's plenty regarding me working with you- but there's also plenty about me being the griffon god of cooking, so it tends to get tossed aside."
Grover smiled as he dug back into the porridge. “Wonder what they say about me.”
Icarus paused in the middle of his cooking to look at Grover, a nervous look on his face. “Um…”
“Out with it.”
“You sure?”
"Icarus."
"They're not common," Icarus admitted, removed the spoon from his pot and turning to face his friend. "But there have been a few rumors circulating, about, well..."
Grover cast a sidelong glance at Iris, who was fiddling with some silverware left at her table. "About what, exactly?"
“Regarding the things going on since you left. About the Oracles, the Idol of Boreas’ origin, and what the Oracles want.”
This did get Grover to look up. “What about it?”
Icarus’ throat felt dry as he continued. “Well, some are saying that the Idol, isn’t, well, you know… real.”
Grover’s stare was icy, but the look that Icarus hadn’t expected was the one from Iris. She looked like she was having a seizure, and Icarus half expected her to breathe fire. She charged towards Icarus, towering over him like a monster from a long gone age. “What?” She hissed. “Who’s saying that?”
Icarus let out a nervous squeak. “Just random griffons. I don’t exactly have a list.”
Iris opened her mouth to speak, but Grover silenced her with a wave of his talon. “Nevermind, Iris. Anything else, Icarus?”
“Are some of the other rumors true? Are some of the Oracle’s actually your former crew members? The Viper being captained by your half-brother or something like that?”
Grover snorted, Icarus’ previous question seemingly forgotten. “Trust me. If Drake was my half-brother, I’d not be standing here today. He goes out of his way to eliminate records of his past. Including burning priceless documents when they’re chilling next to his own birth records.”
“Still bitter about Roc Point’s library?”
“There’s no such thing as being bitter about the destruction of centuries of records. Icarus, we were meant to go in there, arrest that loon, and promptly take out one of the deadliest pirates in history.” Grover ran a talon through his feathers, an expression somewhere between a snarl and a grimace on his face. “Well, we lost the records of about half of the previous pirates, so we ended up losing a lot of baselines, but the point still stands.”
Icarus gave Grover a bitter look. “It’s not my fault he had a torch. It was a tree! You’re not supposed to have fires in there in the first place!”
Grover waved a talon towards the ceiling. “He’s a known fire runist. Why would he not be using fire of some kind?” He sighed, rubbing one corner of his eye with a wing. “Suffice to say, yes, I’m still bitter about that library. But we’ve got bigger issues right now. Such as the fact that Gareth is on the up-and-up again.”
Icarus whipped around, knocking the pot over and spilling the remaining porridge onto the ground, as well as some sparks. He swore and doused it with a wave of his wing, grimacing as he turned back to Grover. “You can’t be serious.”
Grover raised an eyebrow as Icarus began mopping up the porridge. “I am dead serious. He was hanging out near Equestria, in fact. There’s a reason I cut my stay short. I think he’s following me. Not sure why, though.”
Icarus frowned, rubbing his chin. “Maybe it’s the fact that you’re the damn king of the griffons. You also happen to claim to have beaten up the Stormlord, had an affair with his eldest daughter, and trounced up whatever lies beyond the fog.”
“You’ve improved your sarcasm.”
“Rook’s been in port for the past three months. It happens.” Icarus sighed as he took Grover’s now empty bowl, this time depositing it in his sink. He turned back to his friend, a sour expression on his face. “You could be a bit more… mystic, is the word I want. You claim to have fulfilled hundreds of prophecies, yet here you are chatting with a barkeep about local news.”
“Can’t help it.”
Icarus waved a talon dismissively. “Sure you can. You just don’t want to.” He ran a talon through his feathers, making Grover take notice of a few grey feathers in his normally white mess. “According to half the rumors I hear about the Oracles themselves, they want you off the throne. Specifically for that reason. The worst thing you could do, as of right now, is be flippant about your achievements.”
Grover grimaced and stepped out of his seat, setting himself back on the ground. He stood there for a moment, clearly lost in thought. Icarus watched him carefully, and after a moment, Grover spoke. “I’ll think about it. Thanks for the food and the talk, I needed that.” He paused, a questioning look crossing his face. "You coming to the party tonight?"
"Wouldn't miss it. "Icarus gave a slight nod, smiling at his friend. “Pleasure chatting with you, as usual.”
Grover grinned slightly and turned to go. But, before he could leave, there was a ringing of a bell and Rook stepped into the building. The cartographer looked up, adjusting his hat slightly, and grinned. He turned his head to the doorway, clearly enjoying himself.
Grover swore under his breath as Icarus pointed with his tail up the stairs. “Use the window,” the innkeeper hissed. “Third floor. Second room.” Grover gave a barely perceptible nod, and then dashed off just as Rook turned back to Icarus as he finished saying ‘he’s here.’ Icarus snorted slightly. “I had no idea I was such a celebrity.”
Rook grinned cheekily and made his way to Icarus as the inn slowly began to fill up with griffons. “What? You think I wouldn’t pass up the chance to get more customers in here?”
“Still not giving you free drinks.”
Rook made a mock-sad face, but it was quickly replaced by his grin once more. “Ah, well, at least you’ve got some business now.”
Icarus raised an eyebrow. “Ruining my chat with a friend? Not sure if I prefer the business over that.”
Rook’s grin widened as he pointed towards the door. “Think of it like this: they’ll keep out of our friend’s way, at least for now. Kestrel headed off to see Gabriel, and your friend is… somewhere. Took off shortly after Grover fled. Not sure where.”
Icarus grimaced. “You didn’t think to follow either of them?”
Rook chuckled slightly as he pulled himself into the chair where Grover had sat not moments before. “For starters, I’m not your servant. That friend of yours is probably twice my age, three times as mean, and happy for me to leave him alone. Kestrel’s with her father. Both of them are fine.”
“They weren’t the ones I was worried about,” Icarus muttered under his breath. But he was soon distracted for orders of food or drink, and his work began anew. But as he worked, he couldn’t help but worry about Grover’s, and Iris’, response to his question.
Kestrel grinned to herself as she made her way through the streets of Griffonstone. Following her uncle’s affirmative to, in his own words, ‘spend some bloody time with him’, she had dashed off, slipping through the crowds towards where she knew her father was headed. The crowd, by the time she was halfway through the mile walk, had moved elsewhere, letting her move with ease.
The smell of wood filled the air, which was in part due to her decision to swing by the shipbuilders. The Bounty was being worked on, with her damaged masts being slowly removed by an intricate pulley system. Cetan waved to her as she passed, only to return to shouting at her underlings a moment later.
Kestrel breathed in the smell of the wood, enjoying every second of it. As she walked, her gaze still locked on The Bounty, she failed to notice the griffon right in front of her. There was a collective ‘oof’ as Kestrel was knocked over, while the other merely winced.
“Watch where you’re-” Kestrel began as she began to brush herself off, realizing a tiny bit too late who she was addressing. “Peregrine!” She gasped, gazing in awe at the captain. His feathers were just as untidy as ever, and he carried a thick book under one wing. He clearly looked like he didn’t want to be there, but that didn’t stop Kestrel was gazing in awestruck wonder.
Peregrine raised an eyebrow. “Kestrel?”
“You know me?” Kestrel gasped, unable to help but drop the various papers she was carrying in surprise.
Peregrine frowned, but bent over to help her gather up her papers. “I work for your father, and your sister is fixing my ship. You’re also sitting there while my ship gets unloaded every single day. Yes. I know your name.”
Kestrel winced slightly as Peregrine picked up one of her papers. “Um, I can take that. You don’t need to-”
Peregrine looked somewhere between befuddled and amused as he read the paper. “‘The benefits of using dark oak for runes and rudders?’ This yours?”
“Cetan’s, actually,” Kestrel muttered. “The other ones are mine, that one was what she wrote to get her license.”
“Hm,” Peregrine murmured. “You’ve got quite a talented family.”
“Yeah,” Kestrel assented, collecting the rest of her papers into a pile, enormously thankful that Peregrine hadn’t read the others. “They’re a talented lot.” She did a brief look through her papers to make sure they were all there. She let out a sigh of relief when she spotted all of them there. “Um, Peregrine, out of curiosity, you expanding your crew?”
Peregrine frowned slightly, but nodded. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
Kestrel swallowed, thinking about her options. Eventually, she gave her answer. “No reason.”
Peregrine raised an eyebrow, but nodded all the same. “Alright. Take care of yourself.” He set off, leaving Kestrel to make her way to her father’s.
It didn’t take long. Within a couple minutes, she arrived at the tree, her papers still tucked under one wing. She knocked on the door with a burst of energy, quite excited about what might come. After a few seconds waiting outside, the door swung open to reveal Gabriel. Her father’s feathers were disheveled, and she could clearly make out the bags under his eyes, but a smile split his face as soon as he realized who it was.
“Kestrel,” he said cheerfully, widening the opening so she could enter. “Didn’t expect you here today.”
She shrugged, making her way into her father’s study as she did so. “Well, you know, figured you would have some free time, what with Grover finally being back and all.” She frowned to take in the mess that lay around her. Her father’s papers covered his desk, spread out like an artist’s canvas. The smell of paper and wood filled the air, a scent that Kestrel quite liked as a refreshing break from the smell of her uncle’s inn.
A pair of small necklaces sat in the middle of her father’s desk, placed on top of the open pages of a massive, thickly bound book. She made her way towards them, picking one of them up and turning it over. “This mom’s?” She asked as Gabriel made his way over to her.
Gabriel took the necklace from her talons, fingering the cloudy shape on it. “Yes, actually.” He sighed and pulled up a chair, positioning himself across from his daughter. “We had a pair made. Or, more accurately, we each made one. Your mother has the one I made, and I got the lucky part of the deal and ended up with the half-decent one.” He raised an eyebrow. “This has never come up before?”
Kestrel grinned. “Well, you know, always a fun story. Plus, you know, mom’s in town one month every year, you’re busy twenty-four seven, so I figured I’d get a dosage of stories about you two at the same time.”
Gabriel snorted under his breath. “And how is Icarus treating you?”
Kestrel waved a talon dismissively. “Wonderful, as always.” She had begun to finger the other necklace, turning over the blue stone inquisitively. “What’s this?”
“That,” Gabriel muttered, removing it from her talons as she almost dropped it, “is currently the only possession of Raven’s that we have. Touch it again and I’ll have to kick you out.” He watched his daughter for a moment, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his beak as her’s dropped open. “You look like a fish,” he commented. “And before you ask, no, you cannot take it to show your uncle.”
“But-”
Gabriel waved a talon dismissively to her, drawing an irate look from her. “Last thing I want you doing is fiddling with anything the Oracles have gotten their claws on.”
Kestrel frowned. “Well, can you at least look over my application?”
“Application?”
She grinned, taking the papers out from under her wing and setting them on the table. “To join Peregrine’s crew. It’s been ages, but I think it’s finally time to get a job. Besides, it runs in the family. Icarus sailed, you sailed, mom sailed, Cetan works with ships, we’ve got it in our blood. What better occupation for me to take an interest in?”
Gabriel looked through Kestrel’s papers, a frown creasing his features. As he continued to advance through the papers, it only worsened. Kestrel grinned, seemingly oblivious to her father’s expression. “So, what do you think? Am I qualified, or am I qualified?”
Gabriel said a word, then promptly covered his mouth when he realized that Kestrel had heard it. “Am I allowed to mention that comment to Icarus?” Gabriel said another word, then instantly regretted it as well “Wow, thank you so much, dad. You’re expanding my vocabulary so much.” She waved a dismissive talon. “Nevermind, dad. So, you like it? I was sure to include all of the stuff about previous experience, understanding of sails, ranks, and so on, just so that it’d be great. All the stuff I’ve learned from you, it’ll finally pay off.” She beamed at him, her smile radiant. “So, do you think Peregrine’ll take me?
Gabriel sighed and removed his talon from his mouth. “No applications.”
Kestrel frowned. “What?”
Gabriel repeated himself. “No applications to join Peregrine. You’re not going anywhere near the cabins on that ship.”
“Well, I’ll admit that it’s probably a bit risky, considering how often you send them after the Oracles, but I really enjoy the idea.” She made a so-so gesture, watching her father for a hint of a positive reaction. She didn’t get it- he was stone faced, probably more than usual. There were a few seconds of silence between them, where Kestrel could have sworn she heard the creaking of the tree. When she couldn’t take the silence any further she decided to blaze ahead, continuing her upbeat method of pitching her idea. “Well, what about a different crew? Like Brighid’s? She’s a good captain.”
“Brighid goes to the far north on regular occasions. You’re not going anywhere near there.”
Kestrel sighed and leaned back. “Fine. But what about Rook?”
Kestrel promptly learned her third new word that day. “Do you want me to tell your mother that you’re sailing with Rook?”
“Point taken,” Kestrel muttered, wincing slightly. She looked away from her father for a moment, rummaging through her papers, drawing another irritated look from Gabriel. After a sterm ‘ahem’ from her father, following her knocking a rather large book onto the floor, she looked up and grinned. “So, what ships can I join? Any recommendations? I’ll admit, those three were my first pick, but I’m certain you know plenty of great captains. Any favorites you’ve got?”
Her father took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Kestrel,” her father said, looking almost terrified in the dim light of his study, “you’re not joining any ships.” Kestrel’s jaw dropped in shock. She opened her mouth to speak, but Gabriel cut her off. “The Oracles are killing griffons, whether for sport or for whatever they’ve got planned. You are not applying to join any ship, nor would any ship try to take you at this time, given the dangers that the profession holds.”
Kestrel let out a nervous whimper. “But…”
Gabriel cut her off once more. “Your mother and I, we’ve met the Oracles on occasion. We’ve both almost died. A friend of mine was killed years ago by one of their earliest members. Until Gale swings from a noose, you’re not joining a ship.
“The Oracles, up until this point, have been the direct cause of the deaths of one hundred and eleven various griffons, and have indirectly caused hundreds more. The risk associated with joining a crew, especially at your age, is in no way recommendable or wise.
“I don’t care how much you want to join a ship. You’re not doing it. It isn’t safe. Damn it, I can’t let you. There’s enough going as is.” He focused his gaze above his daughter’s head, too worried about looking down. “If you want to get a job, join Icarus at the inn, or Cetan at the shipbuilders. But I cannot let you leave the city, not right now.”
He swallowed, finally looking down at Kestrel. Kestrel looked at him in turn, tears beginning to form at the corners of her eyes. “You mean that?” Gabriel nodded, wincing slightly as he did so. Kestrel promptly burst into tears, gathered up her application, and fled from the building, leaving Gabriel in his study.
Gabriel said another word, which would have made it Kestrel’s fourth new one for the day, were if not for the fact that she was far out of earshot by now, nor would she have listened to another word uttered by her father.
Later that day, Rook chuckled slightly as he cornered Peregrine in an alley. He had arranged his hat in such an angle that he looked like what was, in his mind, a dashing rogue, and had managed to accost his friend before he could reach The Bounty. A few shifty looking merchants watched them with interest, but none of them looked like they wanted to speak with Rook.
Peregrine rolled his eyes as he turned around. “What do you want?” His tail lashed back and forth in a jittery motion, and in-between words his gaze would flicker to the direction of the docks.
Rook grinned and put a wing around the larger griffon, a feat that some might deem impossible, and started talking like someone trying to sell you a sham product. “Come on to the party tonight.” He waved a talon in an arc, his tone taking on a wistful quality. “Can’t you imagine it? First feast in Grover’s honor since he took off for negotiations with the rival nations. Njord, Shikra, Gabriel, Grover, Brighid, they will all be there.”
Peregrine frowned and nodded slightly, the fading light making his green feathers look surprisingly dark. “That might be nice.” He turned towards the direction of the Tree, where all ceremonial events tended to take place. All non-ceremonial events were inevitably held at Icarus’ inn, and with too much wine in everyone’s body. But before Peregrine could start walking, Rook’s words came out.
“They’ve even saved you a seat of honor.”
Peregrine turned around to glare at Rook. “What?”
“Like I said, there’s a seat of honor saved for you.” Rook’s grin was wide enough to escape the confines of his hat, which was probably not good for his long-term health.
Peregrine let out a groan of discomfort, his gaze returning to the direction of the docks. “Why?”
“You’re Gabriel’s number one. Of course you’re on the list of honored guests.”
Peregrine, had he possessed them, would have long since ground his teeth to dust. He glanced once more at the docks, then turned back to Rook. “I assume they’re expecting me but don’t want to admit it?”
“Why else would they have sent me?” Rook beamed, displaying a sadistically wide smile. He grabbed the larger griffon by the wing, dragging him in the general direction of the tree, leaving the shady merchants watching them bitterly. “You could just come,” Rook said to them as he dragged Peregrine away.
Walking past the various buildings in the city, the two of them made their way to the tree, where shouts and excited voices could likely be heard all the way to Procella. Griffons crowded the roots and streets surrounding the tree, either having decided not to go in or simply just enjoying the massive party that was going on outside.
Peregrine swallowed. “How many griffons came?”
Rook shrugged as they pushed their way through the crowd. “I don’t know. Probably about half the city, plus visitors, so… hundred fifty, two hundred?”
Peregrine blanched. He whipped around, prepared to run, but Rook’s grip was too tight. The griffon dragged his friend into the building, shutting the door behind them with a slam. “Ta-da,” Rook said cheerfully as Peregrine looked ready to faint.
A mob of griffons filled the tree. Peregrine could spot the majority of his crew mingling with the crowd, as were a few of his old friends, such as Brighid and the now vanished Rook. He muttered a curse under his breath, but made his way to the table where Grover, Gabriel and the rest of the governors sat, doing his best not to throw something at Rook’s mousy black mess of feathers that he spotted by Brighid, who was smirking slightly in his general direction.
Aquila gave him a slight nod as he made his way to the table, her eyes cheerful. “Captain.”
“Traitor,” he muttered under his breath as he took the seat to the left of her, which sat, conveniently, by Gabriel. He gave a respective nod the governors and the king, who was busy speaking with Njord, head of clan Notus, in hushed tones.
Gabriel raised an eyebrow as Peregrine sat there, eyes cast to the floor. “Something wrong?” he asked quietly, shooting a questioning glance at Aquila when Peregrine didn’t respond.
“He probably wanted to slip into some dark room somewhere,” Aquila said coolly. “That’s what he does.”
Gabriel patted Peregrine on the back, earning him an irate look from the captain. “Peregrine, it’s one day every few months. Stop moping.”
Peregrine refused to speak, still focusing intently on his meal, a mixture of meats and various plants harvested from the surrounding area. He nudged it every so often, mostly as an excuse to not have to talk to an of the griffons who swung by the table.
A few minutes later, he turned to Gabriel nervously. “Sir, I’ve got a question to ask you about your daughter-”
Gabriel sighed. “Which one?”
Peregrine frowned slightly. “Oddly enough, both of them. Long story short, I bumped into Kestrel at the docks, and I noticed she had a pile of pages regarding ships and the like-”
Gabriel let out a quiet moaning, rubbing his eyes with a talon. To Peregrine's surprise, he looked almost on the brink of tears. “Peregrine, tomorrow. Please.”
Peregrine frowned, but nodded and returned to his food, unwilling to aggravate his employer. Peregrine perked up slightly at the smell of salmon that was wafting out from the kitchen. When it was eventually brought out by a group of chefs, among whom he spotted several griffons he knew, Peregrine didn’t hesitate to dive into the delicious meal, finally enjoying himself for the first time that evening. He assumed that Icarus had had a hand in its cooking, given that he tasted a variety of spices only used at that inn, and the simple fact that Icarus handled ninety percent of catering in all of Griffonstone.
Following the meal, he noticed Grover and Gale get up from their seats, mingling with the crowd and listening to a performance on a variety of instruments done by Rook and his crew, singing a ballad about the origins of their kind. Peregrine shot a look at Gabriel, who seemed to be enjoying Rook’s performance. Aquila, meanwhile, was grinning like a schoolgirl when she found out she got a wonderful grade.
Toasts were had shortly afterwards, with many cheers for a squirming Peregrine and a beaming Aquila, the vanquishers of the formerly undefeated Raven. Grover and Grace raised their glasses higher than anyone, joining in the resounding cheers for the heroes.
Following the toast, Peregrine leaned over to Gabriel to whisper, “they do actually know she’s still alive, right?”
Gabriel shrugged. “Certainly. But according to what you said, she’s out of business for the time being. Not only that, but she’s been around for years, undefeated till recently. Your achievement proves something. That, coupled with Grover’s return, means they’ll toast anything tonight.”
As the night wore on, he spotted the majority of his crew drink too much at the bar Icarus had set up, one after another, until only Aquila was the only one left to drink far too much. He was eventually pulled out of his slump by a nudge from Aquila, about an hour after midnight. The majority of the party had cleared out, with about thirty or so griffons remaining.
He finally looked at her, certain his face was in a scowl. Aquila grinned slightly. “High and mighty captain, would you have any interest of getting away from this table?” She nodded towards the door. “The stars are out.”
“Stormlord,” Peregrine swore, pushing himself out of his chair. “Thought you’d never ask.” Gabriel cast Peregrine a dark look, but refrained from commenting. Peregrine and Aquila made their way out of the tree to where a handful of griffons stood, most of them experienced sailors or one kind or another- a side effect of the business was a stronger tolerance for alcohol, leading the experts to have a higher chance of not having to go home drunk.
The stars shone down on Griffonstone, burning bright in the night sky. Peregrine whistled quietly to himself as he watched them burn. Aquila stood next to him, smiling giddily, although whether that was because she was tipsy or because of the mood was anyone’s guess.
Peregrine glanced at Aquila, muttering bad words under his breath to himself. Aquila, catching a few of them in passing, simply widened her grin and nodded towards the stars once more. Peregrine sighed and sat back on the grassy lawn outside the tree, gazing up through the tree’s numerous branches, where he could make out a handful of nests, owned by the griffons who preferred a more birdlike living condition.
The murmur of his fellow sailors quieted down after a few minutes, having headed back into the tree to rejoin Grover and Grace. Peregrine let out a sigh of relief, putting his talons behind his head to help against the hard ground. “Aquila,” he muttered as she approached, “you were studying Gabriel’s notes earlier, correct?”
Aquila nodded, flopping down onto the ground to join him. “Yes.” She turned her gaze upwards as well, attracting an irate look or two from a few other stargazers above them.
“What’s the Oracle furthest from Griffonstone?”
She frowned, turning her neck so that she was looking at him. “Why do you ask?”
Peregrine sighed. “Being back in the city has made me realize how much I want to get out of it.” He traced the constellation of Ganymede, the great griffon warrior, with a talon as he waited for Aquila’s answer.
She didn’t answer for quite some time, choosing instead to continue looking at the constellations. “You know that we have a duty to the city, not just to you.”
Peregrine sighed, pushing himself back up onto all fours, frowning at Aquila as he brushed himself off. “I know. But…” He trailed off, his frown only deepening.
Aquila’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”
Peregrine was about to speak, but he was cut off from the sound of the tree’s main door opening to let out Grover, who was followed by a wide crowd of griffons. Peregrine swore again, but quiet enough so that nobody heard him. He sighed and walked over to Grover, giving him a long bow. “Your majesty.”
Grover chuckled. “Seriously, stop that.” He gave a long bow to both Peregrine and Aquila, his eyes dancing. “And how is the night air?”
“Refreshing,” Aquila commented. “Speaking of which, I needed to ask you about something.”
Grover's eyes twinkled. "Ask away. I've had one too many mugs of Icarus' grog tonight, so I'll answer anything."
Peregrine noticed that Grover had his sword tucked under one wing, an odd decision for the party. Not that Peregrine disputed it. He was a deep believer in never going unarmed. He had begun to try to understand the sword's metal when Aquila's next words jolted him out of his thoughts. "Have you ever seem the stars near Roc Point? They're surprisingly..." Aquila and Grover continued their conversation regarding eastern stars, leaving Peregrine to continue doing actual stargazing.
He continued to gaze up at the stars, pondering his thoughts. It felt like yesterday that he had engaged in combat with Raven. While none of his crew would admit it, Peregrine had been confined to the medical chamber for two days after that battle, his chest bleeding profusely. Even if it had come up, he was certain that Aquila, or anyone on his crew, would have claimed he took it dueling Raven herself. In all truth, it had been an ordinary sailor of Raven's who had managed to give him the concealed scar on his chest.
Peregrine cut short that line of thinking, cursing himself for getting philosophical. That was the job of historians. He leaned himself so that his wings held up his back, and he listened intently to Aquila's words. "So, it interested me that the only constellation native to the east that we have here is Ganymede. Is it possible that that constellation doesn't move at all, and is instead-"
“Quiet,” Grover snapped, his expression suddenly dark.
“What?” Aquila asked. She was joined by the murmuring of the incredulous crowd. Peregrine began to reach for the dagger he always kept concealed under one wing, casting nervous looks around as he did so.
Grover took a step forward, moving his wing so that Peregrine could easily reach the massive sword at his side. “Something’s not right.” It took Peregrine a second to notice, but the sword at Grover’s side was trembling, shaking, like a window about to break in a storm.
The crowd at this point was terrified, huddling behind the king and his advisers who had at this point pushed their way to the front of the crowd. Iris cast a look at Grover, who returned it, his eyes furious. Iris was the first to speak. “Impossible.”
Grover was about to speak, but he cut off by a flash of brilliant light. Flames leapt from the epicenter of the flash, burning away the grass, wood and metals in a five foot radius. A massive pillar of flame, striking down at the epicenter, spun there for a moment, like a tornado of fire. It burst in a flash of light, not unlike a cocoon bursting open. By the time that the aftereffects of the light had worn off, a figure stood in the epicenter.
It was like a griffon in shape, if not in other perspectives. Its wings burned with white fire, forcing the gathered griffons to stand a good thirty or forty feet from the figure as it burned. Its eyes, meanwhile, were a dazzling blue, which burned like coals in the night, gemstones in its bleached form. A crown, composed of dark yellow flames, sat upon its head, flickering every few seconds and licking against the air around it.
It stood there, kingly and regal, like something out of a legend. Every few seconds, the flames on its wings flickered to red or yellow, giving it the appearance of dancing flame, despite its lack of movement. After a few seconds, it turned its gaze toward them, a haughty expression in its burning eyes.
Grover covered his still shaking sword with one wing, his eyes blazing with fury. Meanwhile, Peregrine and Aquila reached for their weapons, while Iris stood there, her crystalline eyes glittering darkly in the night.
“Is this how you greet me?” The figure spoke, its voice rich and melodious at the same time. “Your god, Boreas himself?” It cast its gaze across the gathered griffons, the blue eyes piercing and furious. It watched Peregrine draw his weapon, only to wave a talon. Peregrine’s blade burst into flame for a millisecond, turning the blade to a burning liquid. “Stay thy hand,” the figure hissed as Peregrine shook the scalding liquid from his talons, refusing to scream even as he noticed several nasty looking burns.
Boreas turned its gaze to Grover, its hate-filled gaze, smoldering with fury. When it spoke again, it sounded much like a king addressing his subjects. “Grover. My so-called champion. Is this what my champion has been reduced to?” It waved a talon at the circle of flame surrounding it. “A fool, too scared to even approach me.”
They stood there for some time, the god and the griffons, just watching each other. Finally, one nervous voice piped up from the crowd. “I thought the stories said that Grover swore allegiance to you.”
“Lies!” The figure screamed, flames spouting from its mouth and burning away another branch of the tree, bringing down a flaming nest that was incinerated before it touched the ground. The terrified owners of the unfortunate nest fled as Boreas continued its rampage. “Grover,” it roared, pointing a blazing talon at Grover, “is a heretic. A liar and a fool. That Idol,” it continued, pointing towards the spot in the Great Tree, where all knew that the Idol of Boreas sat, “is a mockery. A lie.”
The crowd of griffons, at this point backing away from their leader, cast nervous looks to one another. Grover, years ago, had claimed sovereignty from Boreas’ favor. And now their god was telling them that it all was a lie.
Boreas sneered, looking at the retreating griffons. “Cowards,” it spat. It returned its gaze to Grover. “Shall I prove it to you?” Boreas surged forward, scorching the grass beneath its blazing form as it moved. Before any could react, Grover was raised into the air, a flaming talon around his throat. The burning griffon held Grover aloft, turning its sneer to the panicked crowd. “Do you see this? Your king is a weakling, lying to you all with his heresies and silver tongue.”
Grover’s mouth was moving, but no words were heard, although Peregrine was uncertain if that was because of the crackling fire of the figure, or the pressure around the king’s windpipe. Boreas’ tongue ran across its lips, a hideous, flaming, snakelike thing, more serpentine than birdlike. “You have grown weak,” the creature spat, throwing a gasping Grover to the ground. Grover’s still shaking sword clattered and bounced away from him, landing about thirty feet from the burning figure.
Nobody spoke for some time. Flame continued to dance from Boreas, whose tongue continued to run across its beak. Grover, meanwhile, pushed himself back onto his paws and talons, wiping sweat from his brow as he did so. He coughed, but motioned to Iris. She frowned, but retrieved the sword and approached Grover, seemingly unaffected by Boreas’ heat. Grover took his massive sword back, using it to keep himself standing. “Liar,” Grover snarled, only to burst into a rapid succession of painful coughs. Grace tried to push her way through the crowd to her mate, but Gabriel held her back.
Boreas’ flaming eyes darkened, becoming a shade of deepest blue. “Who is to be believed, then?” The figure made a sweeping gesture to the gathered crowd, a cruel sneer spreading across its face. “The king, barely more than a hatchling when it comes to the world’s dealings, or the god, who can do this?” A small, pulsating sphere formed in the griffon’s talon, burning so bright that all had to shield their eyes.
“Shall I demonstrate my strength to you? Shall I level this city to a crater?” The crowd let out a panicked request for that to not pass. The star pulsated for a few more seconds, but finally Boreas snorted and closed its talon, snuffing out the brilliant orb.
Silence followed. None dared speak for fear of drawing the inferno’s ire. No crickets chirped, nor birds sung, leaving the night in an eerie silence, with naught but the crackling of the god’s form to be heard. The smell of ash and charcoal filled the air as well, radiating from the burnt circle that the figure had created.
Nobody spoke for quite some time. Peregrine counted the seconds in his head, reaching far over a hundred before anyone broke the silence. At last, it was Grace, who had managed to make her way to her mate’s side, that spoke. “You’re not Boreas.”
The crowd gasped. A terrified murmur began to spread amongst them, many of them wondering if Grace had long left to live. The burning figure chuckled softly to itself. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I’ve met Boreas,” Grace said, her voice eerily calm as she helped a still coughing Grover to his feet. “And she sure is a lot less arrogant than you are.”
The crowd’s terrified murmur grew into a panic. Several began to back away, doing their best to draw away from the situation, while some straight up screamed at Grace, asking her what in the Stormlord’s name she was thinking.
The god, meanwhile, watched Grace for a moment, then closed its eyes, replacing blue with white. Its form shook, like a building experiencing an earthquake. Soon, Peregrine realized that it was laughing. It reopened its eyes, which now glowed dark purple, nearly black. “Is that so?” Grace nodded. The figure sneered, running its tongue along its mouth once more. “Very well.”
The griffons' panic was hysterical at this point, almost all prepared to flee in pure terror. But the figure's words stopped them. “I come with a message. Perhaps I should have started with it.” It waved a talon at Griffonstone. “You have grown weak, while the Oracles have grown strong. Soon, they will surpass you. Unless you can stop it.”
Peregrine swallowed nervously, certain that he spelled doom for himself, but he had to know the answer. “And how do we do that?”
The figure turned to look at him, smiling maliciously. “Simple. Beat them to the end of the world.” A wave of intense heat began to radiate from the figure, which was soon followed by a flash of bright light as a pillar of flame struck the earth once more, rising into the air, taking the figure with it. Soon, the figure was gone altogether.
Peregrine stood there, the silence deafening. Then, all hell broke loose amongst the gathered griffon.
Author's Note
Before anyone complains about Boreas using fire powers, despite being the Greek god of frigid winds, I know my myths. The decision I made was not an attempt to disservice the myths, nor do I think that it is illogical. I'd give a longer explanation, but it'd kind of overwhelm this little box.

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                         Immortals                         
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Immortals
Kestrel stared at Icarus in disbelief. “Boreas appeared at the party?” Icarus and Simurgh had come back into the bar a few minutes earlier, and had promptly been accosted by a very excited Kestrel. Neither of them had noticed the wetness in her eyes, something that she was very grateful for.
Icarus had immediately poured a drink for each of them, for some reason even handing Kestrel the same drink as the two of them, a dark liquid that smelled rich, but had a somewhat bitter taste to it. “According to that burning griffon, yes, it was indeed Boreas. If you believe Grace and Grover, was definitely not Boreas.”
Simurgh set down his mug and balanced his arms like a pair of scales. “In his defense, he wasn’t exactly friendly in his method of identifying himself. Definitely going to throw the city into an uproar.” He grabbed a nearby glass from that morning, still halfway full of something viscous, and drank it, earning him a less than pleased look from Icarus.
“What happened next?” Kestrel asked, leaning forward in her seat, her talons gripping the table tightly.
Icarus’ beak made a slight frown. “I’m not sure. He said something about getting to the end of the world, then took off” He paused and turned to Simurgh. “I’m curious. You dashed off the moment he arrived. Where were you headed?” Simurgh said nothing. Icarus sighed and grabbed a rag from under the bar and began cleaning off the counter.
Kestrel glanced at darker griffon, who was currently lounging with his back to the wall, still sloshing . “Why would he know about the griffon?”
Icarus shrugged. “He has a habit of trying to find out things that he shouldn’t know. That, and he keeps secrets fairly often.” Simurgh gave him a sour look. Icarus didn’t even bother looking up from his scrubbing. “It’s true. There was the time back in Yakyakistan with the tribal princess, when you decided that going off and hunting yetis- without telling us, I might add.”
Simurgh stood up, gave Icarus another sour look, and stretched. “I’ve got nothing worth commenting on. I know nothing about why ‘Boreas’ showed up here.” He made quotation marks with his talons, his expression deadpan. “I am, however, curious as to where you got that necklace.” He nodded to the necklace clutched in Kestrel’s claw, a blue gemstone that neither Simurgh nor Icarus could identify.
“What do you mean?” Kestrel felt a twinge of regret for taking it, now that Simurgh mentioned the necklace, but she feigned ignorance all the same.
Simurgh grinned, and Kestrel noted a gleam in his eyes. “I’ve never seen you with that before.”
“Gift from my dad,” Kestrel muttered.
Icarus raised an eyebrow, unseen by Simurgh, but he made no comment, and Kestrel made a mental to note to beg him not to talk to her dad for a few days. Icarus sighed and folded up his cloth. “Simurgh, you have any interest in helping me prepare food for tomorrow?”
Simurgh frowned. “What kind?”
“Non-perishables. Given what happened tonight, I’m going to have a lot of orders for food that lasts. I’ll need all hands on deck.”
Kestrel sighed and made her way over to her uncle, slipping the necklace over her head as she did so. “I’ll help. Dad suggested I take up working here.”
That drew a response from both Simurgh and Icarus. “He did?” Icarus commented, his eyes shooting up.
Meanwhile, Simurgh’s response was more subdued. “Interesting.” He craned to neck to take a look out the window. “It’s a bit late tonight, but I’ll try and figure out what that griffon meant tomorrow.” His tail flicked back and forth, only reinforcing Kestrel’s opinion that it had a mind of its own. “What type of lock does Gabriel use to keep his house locked?”
Icarus set down his rag and glared at Simurgh. “No. You’re not doing anything stupid while you’re here. I have enough on my mind already, what with Kestrel and Cetan trying to join a crew whenever they get the chance,” Icarus snapped, failing to notice Kestrel’s pained look, “and you’re not going to increase that. Besides, don’t you remember what happened last time you did something this stupid?”
Simurgh took a long sip from his mug before speaking. “That was nineteen years ago, yet you act like it was yesterday.” He set his mug down, wrapped his tail around it and threw it into the air. He then deftly caught it with his talon. “I know what I’m doing.”
Icarus gave him another disapproving frown. “You’re going to get into so much trouble for this,” he muttered before returning to his work. He tossed a piece of fruit to a still perplexed Kestrel, who caught it and ate it.
“Thanks,” she muttered as she wolfed it down. The three of them sat there in silence for a moment, with a tired Cetan coming down the stairs and breaking the silence. “Whats going on?”
Simurgh and Icarus shared a glance. Neither of them spoke, leaving it to Kestrel to inform her sister. “Boreas showed up at the party,” Kestrel explained. “Simurgh wants to go and raid dad’s study to see what’s going on.”
Cetan paused in the middle of grabbing a drink, her face deadpan. “Uncle Icarus, do you make it a habit to make friends with people of Kestrel’s personality?”
Kestrel grinned, and Icarus gave her a look. “I need to start cleaning up,” he said. “Simurgh, you might want to get some sleep. Knowing this city, there’ll be so much news about the griffon that you won’t have to go anywhere near a library, or Gabriel’s study, without running into someone who knows you.” He then pointed towards Cetan and Kestrel, and then to the stairs. “I’m cleaning out the inn tonight. I need you two in bed.”
Kestrel shrugged and went up to her room, careful not to meet Icarus’ gaze. Cetan gave her uncle a long look, but eventually went up as well. Simurgh, however, stayed down. Icarus sighed. “You’re not going to bed tonight, are you?”
Simurgh gave him a massive grin and turned to look out the window. “Where’s Gabriel’s house?”
“Just go to bed,” Icarus snapped. Simurgh laughed and headed toward the stairs. Before he went up, Icarus asked him a question. “Why did you choose now, of all time, to return to the city? And don’t say anything along the lines of ‘nobody would recognize me,’ or ‘I wanted to see you.’ Those excuses never would have factored in with your plan.”
Simurgh gave his friend a soft smile. “I needed a break from my normal life. The winds of change brought me here. I’m here to see what happens.”
“So you didn't just come here to avoid the Oracles?”
Simurgh’s smile turned a bit hard. “If I wanted to, I’d be fine sailing through their lands. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.” He gave his friend a nod and took his leave.
Icarus watched him walk up the stairs, pondering the griffon’s words. ‘Winds of change’ indeed. Simurgh was up to something, and it wasn’t just a change of pace. He sighed, finished his cleaning, and went to the back of the tavern, where his solitary room sat. He pulled one of the few books he had off the shelf and flipped it open to the back. He was greeted by an old drawing that smelled of dust. Words, scrawled and marked to near incomprehensibility, ran along the pages, notes “Let’s see, Winds of Change. What about it would have brought Simurgh here?”
An ancient painting greeted him when he had finished searching the book. In it, four figures sat around a table, an old game board sitting between them. Dice, game pieces in the shape of ships and griffons, and a deck of cards sat on it. The four figures, each of their forms indistinct, each held some variety of the components required for whatever game they were playing. Their expressions, which were the only truly discernible parts of their physical forms, were all haughty.
Icarus read the words underneath the painting, and promptly swore. “Dammnit, Simurgh.
Gale stretched herself in her bed, gazing at the ceiling of her room in the Clipper, her thoughts bounding throughout her head. Outside her door, she could hear Finch shouting orders to the crew, and the odd question from Vane, who was still being introduced to the ship as a whole.
Her cabin was, for lack of a better word, spacious. Clipper was a work of runic magic, held together by over a thousand unique runes, and then some duplicates. Due to that, runes ran along the vast walls of her cabin, glowing a faint shade of red, a choice that Gale herself had decided upon, despite the preference among most runists for green or blue.
A wide oak table sat in one corner, with a pile of maps and inkwells arranged on it. Some maps hung above it as well, along with a few charts and pinned sheets from various pamphlets or documents, many of them detailing her various escapades. The Ghost Steals Seventy Thousand Bits Worth of Religious Texts and Artifacts was still her personal favorite, one that hung in a position of honor above the rest, next to the most recent versions of her wanted posters.
Beside the table sat a thin cutlass, so thin that it looked almost nonexistent. The hilt was made of some odd crystal, glinting red in the candlelight cast across her cabin, in addition to the runes. A gift from her father, before he passed away. The sole remnant from him that she possessed- the had rest ended up in the hands of her various sisters. Being third of seven, and the outcast at that, didn’t lead to much love in regards to one’s kin.
The rest of the room was decorated with portraits, relics, works of art, or various other treasures she had ‘collected’ over the years. Every time she stood in this room, she felt a swelling of pride at her achievements. No other griffon, not even Grover, how she loathed him, had reached the heights that she had reached in her ten years in the sky.
She heard a comment come from Vane that was, frankly, rather embarrassing for any sailor to say, and Gale couldn’t help wince. “I hope you were right about her,” Gale muttered, still gazing upward. “Otherwise I gave Gaius a wildcard.” She felt a twinge of regret, but it was gone in instance as she heard Finch speaking to Vane, followed by a Vane’s voice very clearly mocking her number one. She grinned slightly, taking a moment to gather her wits about her, then stood up and strode out of the cabin, swinging her doors wide open.
Her crew met her in hushed tones, gazing at their captain in awe. Gale had, for that evening at least, decided to forgo her typical cloak, letting her crew see both her face and her wings, which she displayed in radiant splendor.
Vane frowned, leaning over to Finch and muttering something into his ear. Gale grinned to herself- this was a rare occasion, one that she typically saved for the initiation of new sailors into the crew, and with Vane coming along, she was certain that the pegasus would be suitably wowed. Finch muttered something back, making Vane’s eyebrows shoot high up.
Vane had, at this point, been fitted with an eyepatch, which covered her blinded eye. Despite Gale’s urging, however, the pegasus had decided to leave her mane as it was, letting it flow free and wild, despite the crew’s urging to either cut it or tying it into a ponytail. She approached Gale, a frown creasing her features. “Wow. Didn’t expect…” She gestured with a wing towards all of Gale, her expression still incredulous.
Gale smiled slightly, making her way to a massive table that sat in the middle of Clipper. A map sat upon it, modeled off of the entirety of the east. Miniature mountains rose up to two feet into the air, with the cliffs slowly making their way down to the see. Griffonstone sat on the far left corner of it, detailed down to the last building. Moving past there, the map detailed Procella, Roc Point, the Reaches, and more, slowly but surely becoming less distinct as one headed eastward. Eventually, the map ceased to be altogether, ending at a point shortly past Dymestl, a city that many considered to be naught but a legend.
Imaginary or not, the city had been included in the map at its construction, which had occurred due to the combined skill of Raven and Finch, of which only the latter enjoyed the project. In addition to the various locations, small runes, each of them signifying a specific captain, marked the map. Grimlock’s name, scrawled in incredibly small runes, sat in the middle of the map, somewhat near the position of Sulphur Rookery, while that of Raven, for whatever strange reason, sat smack-dab in the middle of Griffonstone. Gale grimaced when she noticed that fact. “Any updates?”
Finch grimaced as well when he noticed who Gale was referring to. “Afraid not, at least from Raven. We did notice some activity last night, but it’s definitely not Raven.”
Before Gale could continue, Vane spoke. “Why’s Maelstrom moving?”
Gale chuckled as she looked at the pegasus. “It’s a sky city. Only griffon controlled one to boot. We have no clue who built it, but it, along with Dymestl and a handful of others, are rumored to exist out here in the east.”
Vane’s one good eyebrow, the other obscured by the eyepatch she was now wearing, rose. “Sky cities? You mean like Cloudsdale?”
There was a slight gasp from Finch. “You’ve got one back in Equestria?”
Vane grimaced, but nodded. She pointed on the map to the area past Griffonstone, which, unfortunately, Gale had not yet had the opportunity to either explore in person, or acquire maps of the area for, meaning that it was naught but an empty area on the map. “Well, yes,” Vane said, “but we know who built ours. Early pegasi constructed it years ago. We were building a new one, even, last time I checked.”
Finch grinned, leaning towards Vane, his talons gripping the map. “Really? You must tell me more-”
Gale cut him off, an irritable expression on her face. “Moving on. Finch, you said you detected activity yesterday?”
Finch’s smile faded, replaced with an ugly grimace. “Afraid so. Gale, I swear I’m not making this up, but the rune shut off a little while back. It shouldn’t be able to do that, not unless-”
“I know,” Gale growled, her eyes widening. “Then why is it activated now?”
Finch blanched. “Well, um, we think someone put it on-”
Gale grabbed Finch by feathers around his neck, a furious glow in her eyes. “I hope you’re wrong. If not, well, I think we know who’s to blame.”
Finch swallowed. “It gets worse. It faded out shortly afterwards, then turned back on less than thirty minutes later.” Gale dropped him, her pale talons nearly translucent.
Vane was the one who spoke. “Why would it have done that? Did someone break it and then fix?”
Gale, who was already on her way away from the map, shouted back. "No! That means that something was interfering with the magic of the necklace. And that’s bad news.” She grabbed a cloak as she made her way up the stairs, wrapping it around herself.
Vane sped to catch up with Gale. “Why?”
Finch followed close behind, making gestures to the crew not to leave their posts. “Because,” the small griffon said, massaging his neck as he moved, “it means that something of the same brand of magic as the necklace showed up nearby. And by the Stormlord, that’s damningly bad news.”
Gale, who had already made her way onto the deck of the ship, didn’t bother hiding her frustration at what she saw. A stream of curses escaped her mouth, and she tightened her cloak around her. “Of course.”
A storm was gathering in the distance. Dark clouds, rolling and spinning like a hurricane, approached them, closing the distance far too quickly for any normal clouds. Rain cascaded against the sea far below, and lightning flashed in quick beats, making an almost incessant glow of bright light.
Finch was the first to say anything other than creative curses. He turned to the crew, his feathers blowing wildly. “Tie the sails! Store all the ropes! Leave no loose ends.” He grimaced and turned to Vane. “You’ve got two options. Get below deck, or stay up here and watch it unfold.”
Vane cast her eye to the storm. “The storm?”
Finch was about to respond when Gale let out a frightening moan. The captain had collapsed on the deck of the ship, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. Finch cursed and lunged towards her, but not before Gale had pulled herself into a fetal position. She was twitching quite visibly, her wings hanging limp at her side aside from the odd spasms from the rest of her body.
Vane’s one good eye widened. “What’s wrong with her?”
Finch glanced at Vane, a grimace spreading across his face. “I was hoping that this wouldn’t happen today. She suffers from erratic spasms like this. Prophecies and the like soon follow. But we cannot have it with this storm going on.”
Vane swallowed nervously, glancing at the swirling maelstrom that was almost on top of them at this point. “That’s not natural…” she whispered, trailing off midsentence.
“Welcome to our world,” Finch snarled, dragging the twitching Gale towards the stairs. “The Griffon Empires, where chaos reigns supreme.” His captain let out a wild scream, her back arching in a painful pose. Finch let out a string of curses, his eyes furious. “Vane, help me carry her-”
A flash of lightning split the air, followed immediately afterwards by the sound of thunder. Shouts came from further down Clipper’s massive deck, screams regarding fire and the need to get the ship moving. Finch continued to curse, although this time his anger was directed towards gods of the storm and other names that Vane did not recognize.
Vane swallowed, glancing between the storm, which now raged around them, tugging at the sailors and dousing feathers, fur, ropes and sails equally, and the struggling Finch and curled-up Gale. “What should I do?”
Finch glared at her. “Unless you can get this storm to stop, or get Gale out of this, then I’m not sure what you can do.” He said something else, but it was lost in the booming of another round of thunder.
Vane glanced at the wheel of the ship, where a struggling griffon stood. She dashed towards him, her hooves slipping slightly on the soaked deck of the ship. She shot out her wings, stabilizing herself, if only barely. Scrambling up the stairs, simply leaping the last few, she made her way to the wheel, where the helmsman was still struggling in the torrential rain. “Anything I can do to help?”
The sailor grimaced, but shook he head. “Look, we just need to keep the ship from moving. Otherwise, we’ll like get torn apart. If that happens, anyone on the inside wou-” He slipped, his talons sliding on the deck of the ship. Vane’s eyes widened, and she reached to help him, only to have a massive force, whether wind or something else, sweep the griffon of the side of the ship.
Vane stood there for a second, her jaw hanging open. For a second, she thought she could see a spectral figure standing where the griffon had stood but a moment before, but it was gone when she blinked. She shook herself out of her shock, grabbing the wheel of the ship, and prayed to the Primordials that she wouldn’t kill everyone on the ship.
She grasped the wheel, doing her best to hold it in its same position. The storm raged around her, with the ship’s crew dashing about on the massive ship, giving Vane the impression of an anthill. Finch and Gale had disappeared from view, likely below the deck of the ship. The air smelled of wet feathers- a smell that Vane knew all too well from her time back in Equestria. Griffons worked on dousing flames, activating various runes, and keeping the ship in the air as the storm raged around them.
Vane held onto the wheel of the ship for dear life, refusing to let it budge. Meanwhile, the raging storm threatened to suck the air from her lungs, and the rain made it hard for her to see beyond five feet, clouding her eyes with water and dragging her mane down in front of her eyes.
The storm, at least to Vane, seemed to last an eternity. It threatened to pull her away from the wheel, or wreck the wheel itself, throwing rain, wind and lightning at her. By the time half an hour had past, she felt as if the storm itself was standing behind her, relentlessly lashing a watery whip against her back, so sodden was she.
And the storm raged on. Vane held onto the wheel through it all, her front legs growing increasingly tired. Eventually, the storm began to lighten, and Vane collapsed, exhausted, against the still tightly held wheel of the ship. She let out a long sigh, ready to fall asleep on deck and let her wings and fur dry out, when a voice stopped her. “Hm. Didn’t expect you to last that long.”
Vane turned to face the speaker behind her, a pure white griffon. “Well, you could have helped, you asshole, if you’re able to watch me so easily.”
The griffon, who seemed more and more indistinct to Vane’s blurry vision, cocked her head slightly. “Why would I have done that?”
Vane was certain that her mouth dropped open, although she was so numb that she couldn’t even feel it. “To stop of us all from drowning, you idiot.”
The griffon chuckled softly, walking down the stairs and out of Vane’s vision. “Sure. See you round.”
Vane groaned to herself, still incredibly numb and either unable or unwilling to move the various parts of her body. Some other members of the crew, noticing the sopping wet Vane, rushed to her, helping her to her feet and taking the wheel from her.
Vane was helped, although carried may have been more accurate, to the stairs of the ship, past the rest of the crew and the now stabilized ship. Most of the crew, like Vane, was drenched in some form or another, although most of them cast appreciative looks to Vane as she was aided past them.
Down below, the situation was far different. While up above the atmosphere had been one of relief, but down below the air wa rife with fear. Gale’s cabin had been sealed off, and the crew muttered in hushed tones to one another, clearly concerned about their captain’s state. Vane heard murmurs from some members, wondering why it had lasted this long, while others were concerned as to whether the storm had had any influence on their captain’s condition. Vane, if she hadn’t been so numb, would have likely scoffed at those comments.
The sopping wet Vane was deposited in front of an irritated Finch, who had just stepped out of Gale’s cabin. He looked down at Vane, his grimace deepening. “Can you walk?” Vane groaned and tried to stand up, only to fall back down. “That’s what I figured.” Finch turned to a pair of griffons who were standing nearby. “Get her into the cabin.”
A shocked gasp went up from the crew. Finch gave them a warning glare, and they carried the still soaked Vane into the cabin. Inside, a curled up Gale sat upon her bed, while Finch took in Vane. Vane, after a handful of seconds of scrutiny from the griffon, spoke. “So, what’s going on?”
Finch rolled his eyes. “Gale asked for you.”
“What!?”
Finch winced, a pained expression on his face. “Please, don’t shout. She’s sensitive enough as is.” He waved a talon towards his captain, whose cloak covered the entirety of her body, except for her barely visible beak. “She says stuff in this state. Not all the time, but it happens. So far, she’s mentioned you and the return of an era.”
Vane sat there for a moment, trying to figure out if Finch was having a go at her. She stood up, letting her wet, gray mane hang in her face as she dripped water, and glared at Gale’s majordomo. “Look. I just endured a massive storm, was carried unceremoniously by your crew, and I think I won’t be dry for at least a week. This is not the time to be having a laugh at my expense.” She tried to blow some of the mane out of her face, but it was so saturated that it simply fell back into position to block her eyes.  
A slight sneer crossed Finch’s face. “I don’t joke about this kind of thing.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Finch glared at her, but he returned his attention to Gale, who was beginning to convulse once more. The captain let out a quiet moan, then her back arced in a vicious position. Finch muttered another curse, but he dashed towards an unrolled piece of parchment, fingering a quill nervously.
Gale began muttering, her words almost incomprehensible as she spoke. Vane was unable to hear large portions of it, but Finch wrote on his parchment like a madman, clearly worried about losing a single word uttered, his scribbling almost drowning out Gale. “Dymestl… eternal city…” Gale muttered, her voice feverish. “Grimlock…” Finch looked up mid-scribbling to glance at her, even if his quill kept moving. “Traitor…”
The words went on for some time, with most of them being lost on Vane’s somewhat waterlogged ears. Finch, however, seemed to catch the majority of it, scribbling down every word. Vane glanced at him as he wrote, frowning slightly. “How can you hear-”
Finch raised a talon, silencing her. He continued to write, but when Gale stopped in her mutterings, he turned to Vane, the spine-like feathers on his head bristling. “I need you to shut up when I’m working,” Finch snapped, shooting daggers at the pegasus. “It’s very, very hard to catch everything that she says, so I’d appreciate it if you shut your gab while I’m listening.” He sighed, running a talon through his feathers, flattening the brown spikes for a second, only to have them pop up later. “I’d have kicked you out by now had she not specifically said your name.”
Vane glanced at Gale. “What did she say, exactly?”
Finch sighed and looked at a spot far higher up on his parchment, running his eyes along his miniscule handwriting. “Eternity awaits,” he muttered to himself, drawing a raised eyebrow from Vane. “Immortals never die, do not trust the mask worn by birds…” Finch continued to murmur, drawing an irate sigh from Vane.
“I could have told you that without having a seizure.”
“Ah,” Finch said, grinning triumphantly continuing to scroll through his notes. “The Weather Vane points to the smoothest path.”
Vane’s eyebrow rose even higher. “Are you sure you don’t get these results by getting drunk?”
Finch sighed, leaning back in his chair. He pointed his quill at her in an accusing manner, gesturing at her as he spoke. “I’d like to point out that you’d still be sitting in a jail cell were it not for me. It was my spy that tipped me off to your existence.”
“How in Tartarus did you get half-decent spies?”
This time, Finch gave her a slight sneer. “I’m charismatic, for one. Two, you would not believe what a handful of coins and a well-drawn rune will do for a griffon down on his luck. Third, and this is the kicker,” Finch added, raising a single digit and tapping his beak, “I’m the second-in-command for the most powerful militant group on this side of the world. I’ve got plenty of deeds to my name.” He looked like he was about to continue, possibly to regale Vane with some of his exploits, but Gale’s resounding scream cut him off. “Shit,” Finch muttered, preparing his quill once again. “We’ve got a powerful one.”
Vane rushed to Gale, whose back was slammed against the wall, her eyes practically glowing bright red. The captain screamed once more, her back arching partially, only to stop mid-arch, seemingly stopped by nails pinning her back against the wall. Her scream continued, with a panicked Vane unable to do a single thing. Finch, however, had his quill ready to write, watching Gale with a mixture of fear and excitement on his face.
Gale’s scream, so high pitched at this point that there were shouts of fear coming from outside the cabin, began to transform into a panicked and erratic murmuring, her tone and pitch changing with every word. “The storm, do not go to the storm. We will be betrayed, killed the traitor. The kings… we will rule.” She stopped for a second, making Vane draw in a relieved breath. Then Gale’s scream resumed, her words mingling with it and making it impossible to tell when the scream ended and the words began. “I see it, the end of an age. Immortals, brought low. I see-” Her words were lost as her scream rose in volume, drowning out Finch’s swearing.
Vane panicked, looking from Finch, to the saber leaning against the wall, to Gale’s agonized form. Finch drew a thin, wicked looking blade from beneath a wing, and, before Vane could do anything, slashed Gale across the chest with it. Gale collapsed, her screams ceasing as blood stained her bed.
“What in the blazes?!” Vane screamed, looking from Gale’s motionless form to a grimacing Finch. “You just killed her!”
Finch snorted, sheathing his blade. “She’ll be fine. Watch.” He waved a talon at Gale’s form, which was twitching violently. “To put it bluntly: she heals fast. Unfortunately, she needs significant trauma to be removed from that state. A slashed open chest tends to cause trauma.”
Vane’s jaw, which was doing a fantastic job in stretching to the floor, merely stared at him. Finch snorted and helped a pale, somehow recovered, Gale to her feat. Her eyes were glazed over, and her talons looked like they had lost all blood, but she was alive, much to Vane’s astonishment. Gale’s stomach still showed signs of the wound- the flash looked barely healed, and she was certain it would scar. Gale let out a pained laugh, looking at nowhere in particular. It took Vane a moment to realize that, at least currently, she was unable to see. “Powerful?”
Finch nodded, his eyes cold. “Incredibly so. We need to-”
Gale shook her head, her eyes still not focusing on anything. “I’ll speak to the crew now.”
“Idiot,” Finch muttered under his breath. “I assume you’ll want me to get in touch with the six?”
Gale nodded and stumbled forward, almost falling to the floor before Finch caught her. Blood dripped from her chest, making Vane realize that her wound had reopened, if only slowly. Gale chuckled softly. “Aren’t I a wonderful phoenix?” She pushed Finch aside, managing to make her way out of her cabin, leaving Finch and Vane behind.
“Six?” Vane asked, her expression puzzled.
“The six Oracle commanders. Passerine, Grimlock, Raven, Gareth, Drake and Pandora. Surprised you’ve never heard of them.” Finch shook his head. “She’ll kill herself at this rate,” he added, more to himself than to Vane.
“I’ve seen wanted posters for a few of them,” Vane admitted, running her tongue along her lips and she looked upward. “Raven’s the one wanted for the deaths of two-hundred sixty, correct?”
“Two sixty-one, now,” Finch muttered darkly. “She might as well hang herself, given the recent news.”
Vane frowned, but said nothing, following Gale out the door, with Finch tagging along. Gale, meanwhile, was addressing Clipper’s crew, her eyes still somewhat glazed-over. No one in the crew seemed to notice the blood dripping from her chest, but Vane still noticed the steady dripping. “I have seen a real future,” Gale was saying, the crew muttering to one another as she proclaimed her revelation. “A kingdom, built by us, the Oracles. Where we reign like gods!”
A cheer went up from the crew. Vane glanced at Finch and whispered, “not exactly all that exciting, personally. Honestly…” she trailed off, the continual blood making her cease her musings.
Finch leaned back, his grimace lightening slightly. “Any news, at least from Gale’s visions, is good news. There’s a reason we’re called the Oracles, and it isn’t because of some fancy magic and a handful of useful party tricks. We’ve got the real thing here.”
“How does she do it, exactly?”
Finch sighed and shook his head. “Trade secret.”
Vane grimaced, but nodded all the same. “So, what do we now?”
“I meet with the Six- five, technically, given that Raven won’t be showing up. Four, if Grimlock’s in a bad mood. You get to work around the ship, learn some more of the ropes, and get assimilated. Gale… Gale will probably spend some time recovering from me slashing her chest open.” Finch walked away, his spiky feathers waving slightly, leaving a dumbstruck Vane to stand there.
The six leaders of Griffonstone sat in a disorganized circle, their expressions mixed. Shikra was fiddling with her dagger, not willing to meet the eyes of her fellows. Njord, an older, grey-feathered griffon, watched them with interest, his eyes worried. Iris stared disinterestedly at the wall, her icy eyes empty. Gabriel sat with his head in his talons, tears filling his feathers. Grace sat next to her mate, who sat, head down, his back to the rest of them.
It was Njord who spoke first. “This is a disaster,” he said, running a talon through his disheveled feathers. “Regardless of whether or not that was Boreas, that was undeniably a member of the Precursors. This could spell the end of Griffonstone. And we only just got it started!”
There was a murmur of agreement from the others. Following the party, the six of them had been forced to bring ‘order’ to the panicked partygoers, most of whom had likely gone to spread rumors when their panic had faded. They exchanged glances, all except Grover, who still had his back to the others.
“We’re screwed,” muttered Shikra, turning her dagger over in a talon. “A god shows up at a party, decrying us as heretics? The Oracles must be having a field day. Anyone game for sneaking out onto a ship and leaving this mess before we get lynched?”
Gabriel looked away from the floor, a pained look on his face. “We can’t just leave, not at right now, of all times. We’ve got a league of pirates, one of our gods, and far too many dissenters happy for Grover to be removed from power. Leaving would be a disaster, not just for us, but for Grover as well.”
“I’m right here,” Grover muttered under his breath, his gaze still downcast. “And if you want to leave, Shikra, you can leave now. If that was what I thought that was, I don’t blame you.” He picked up his sword, which sat next to him, and fingered it gently. “Personally, I’m surprised that I’m still alive.”
Shikra snorted. “Bah. You’re my employer. Can’t leave until I get paid for this month.”
A slight grin crossed Grover’s pain-stricken face and he nodded gratefully. “Appreciate it. Anyone else willing to stay till the next paycheck?” The rest of the room murmured their agreement. “Wonderful,” Grover said, looking at each of them in turn. “Anything else anyone wants to add before we get to business?”
Before anyone could respond, there was a knocking on the door. Njord frowned, but stood up and made his way to it. Before he could open it, however, it was kicked open, promptly hit the elderly Njord in the face, and made way for an incredibly angry Fairy Flight to enter.
“What the hay is going on in here?” The pegasus bristled with rage, a incredibly angry look on her face. “If you remember correctly, I believe you introduced me as a diplomat from Equestria. Why was I not invited to this?”
“Generals,” Shikra muttered under her breath, drawing an angry look from Gabriel, but Fairy Flight either took no notice or did not hear her, instead shoving her way past Njord towards where the other five sat.
“Alright,” Fairy Flight snapped at Grover, who had turned his gaze towards the irate admiral, “what’s going on? What in Tartarus was going on at that party? Why was a ‘god’ at your party, claiming that you’re a heretic? Why do I get the sneaking suspicious that-”
“Fairy,” Grover muttered, his voice quiet, “if you’ll take a seat, I’ll explain it all.”
Grace cast a nervous glance at her mate, but she said nothing. Iris, who had finally taken her eyes off of the wall, looked at Grover, an emotion almost like fear in her eyes. Fairy Flight, however, took no notice, taking a seat in the circle and glaring at the others. Grover looked at all of them, a worried expression on his face. “The figure at the party,” he said, his voice icy, “was certainly a Precursor.”
Fairy Flight raised a hoof, but Njord answered before Grover could. “It’s the title we give to the immortals in our beliefs,” the scholar murmured. “Depending upon the scholar you ask, every species has a variant, or a fraction thereof possess one. Primordials, in turn, are what we count Aeolus as one of.”
Fairy Flight cast him a puzzled look, but Grover continued before she could respond. “Fourteen years ago, before I came to be king, I was… bet upon, I guess you could call it, in a game played by the Precursors.” All three of the governors, as well as Fairy Flight, raised a front limb into the air. Grover snorted, but he carried on. “Suffice to say, it was not as pleasant experience. What I claim, that Boreas chose me to be her champion, is not a lie. Although, a better term might be pawn.”
Iris winced, Grace frowned, and a collective gasp went up from the other four. Gabriel was the first to speak. “Is that why you have the Idol of Boreas?”
“Essentially. Each champion was gifted by a symbol that identifies them. Mine was the Idol of Boreas, and the others were just as varied. I was one of the four to race towards the edge of the world, with unimaginable power as the reward at the end.
“Three others joined me in this race. A black-feathered madman who I never learned the name of, an unfortunate fellow who was sunk less than a month into the voyage, and a former Oracle named Stork. The-”
“Stork!” Gabriel exclaimed, fury filling his voice. “I thought Stork was just loopy! You claimed that he was merely a dangerous madman!”
“He was,” Grover snapped, running a talon through his feathers. He was standing up at this point, his eyes furious.“The race went on for over a year. Stork, after he lost, helped co-found the Oracles to dethrone me. Turns out he was a sore loser.”
“He killed at least thirty griffons over his career, claiming that they were heretics who had been deceived by you! Are you telling me he had a reason to call you that?”
“Their claims of me being a heretic have never been without bias. But I have never lied about my accomplishments or actions. Stork, no matter how much basis his claims have, was severely broken from that trip. He was insane, and he was a threat to Griffonstone.
“Not only that, but he was the champion for Zephyr. The wild west wind. Chaotic, deadly, and altogether uninterested in how many griffons died in her champion’s quest to win the day. Stork needed to die, lest he destroy our kingdom.”
There was a stunned silence from all those sitting in the room. Gabriel, Njord and Shikra appeared horrified, while Fairy Flight looked aghast. Iris’ expression was still terrified, and Grace looked worried. “And your claim to kingship?” It was Fairy Flight who spoke, her voice unabashed.
“Legitimate,” Grover muttered, his voice suddenly tired. He sat back down, Grace putting a talon on his shoulder as he continued. “I won the race, against all odds. I met with Aeolus the Stormlord, as all the legends claim. I got the sword from him, again, as the legends say. Every bit of the story I told is true, down to the names of the cities I visited. I raced past Dymestl, through the endless fall, and into the land beyond. I fought immortals, demons and dragons. Every bit of it is true. The only detail I omitted was the involvement of the other captains.
“Unfortunately, it seems that that little detail is coming back to bite me in the ass. Stork and the first champion may be dead, but that other madman is likely still alive, and if Notus showed up-”
“That was Notus?” It was hard to tell who screamed the loudest in that moment. Iris, whose pale face seemed almost transparent, Njord, whose eyes were wide as dinner plates, or Gabriel, who looked ready to pass out.
Grover sighed and continued. “If Notus wants to force everyone to the edge of the world, it likely means he’s found another champion. According to what I learned, the game only starts when every Precursor has a champion.”
“Game?” Fairy Flight’s voice was apprehensive.
Grover cast a sad look at her. “Have you ever played Wishbone?” She shook her head. “Suffice to say, the game is never played the same way twice. Sets are generally handmade by their owners, leading to each person’s set being different. Dice land slightly crooked, game boards possess more or less pieces than normal, decks are stacked, and so on. The thing is, you only play with your set, so the variety you’ve built in is matched up against how they’ve cheated, leading to you learning on the fly. Sailors love the game.”
“Sounds dumb,” Fairy Flight muttered.
Grover let off a slight chuckle, causing a smile to grace his tired features. “Be that as it may, there’s a certain enjoyability to learning how your friends prefer to cheat. That’s the game that the Precursors play. They’ve been fudging dice rolls, ‘finding’ pieces, redrawing cards, and so on since they were born of Aeolus. They want to win this game, even my ‘patron’ Boreas, and until someone wins, the East is going to be their playground.”
There was an uneasy silence. Looks were exchanged between them, none of them daring to speak for fear of finding out more terrible facts about what was going on. Iris, who was normally known for her stone-cold demeanor, looked practically on the brink of tears. The normally chilly tree felt twenty degrees colder, simply by the revelations that they had discovered. A few glances were spared for the door, like they expected someone to come bursting through at any second.
When the initial shock of the news had faded, all eyes turned to Grover. The king swallowed, the lump almost visible in his throat. After a few seconds of almost panicked silence, he finally spoke. “I suppose you’re wondering what we’re going to do about this?” They nodded, and he sighed. “Celestia warned me about this, you know. She said that things seemed to be returning. I just didn’t think it’d be this, you know?” He looked beaten, as if all the air had gone out of his sails. “Well, it’s very simple what we’re going to do. We’re going to go to the edge of the world. All of us.”
They all began shouting, getting up from their chairs as they interjected. Gabriel and Njord began shouting protest. “You can’t be serious. That’s suicide!”
“The edge of the world?” Shikra shouted, her voice filled with excitement. “I never thought-”
Meanwhile Fairy Flight voiced her outrage. “I’m not here to engage in some race. I’m here to find-”
“You almost died!” Grace screamed at her mate. “We’re not returning to that hellhole, not in a million years!”
Before the argument could advance long, however, Iris shattered it. Her scream was like an arctic gale, bitter and chilling. “Silence! All of you! Let Grover speak!” The runist stood on top of her chair, her expression an icy, hostile thing. A handful of runes had been carved on her chair, which glowed furiously, the energy contained within practically boiling off of them.
A rueful shuffling of feet followed. The governors sat down first, with a still-glaring Fairy Flight following. Grace still stood, but she quieted all the same. Grover glanced at them, his eyes sad, but he finally spoke. “Unless you want one of the Oracles ruling, and I guarantee that they will be pawns in this game, we will have to partake in this race.” He glanced at Grace. “I hope we still have our maps?”
“The rudimentary ones we made?” Grace asked, an incredulous tone in her voice. One of her eyebrows had gone up, but Grover nodded. “Yeah, I’ve still got them.”
“Wonderful.” Grover turned to Njord. “You’ll have to make duplicates for every captain we’ve got out there.”
“Won’t that give them chances for this grand power Notus referred to?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Grover said. “I don’t want the Oracles winning this race, not until hell freezes over. Get as many made as you physically can.” He turned to Gabriel. “Get every bit of information we have on rogue captains, Oracles, outlaws, anyone who might have an interest in this power, to every captain as well. I don’t want griffons dying because we’re underprepared.”
Gabriel nodded, but Shikra frowned. “What about me?”
“Look through our records. Check to see if there have been any odd ships turning up recently. Any mysterious circumstances that could give us clues as to the other three champions. If there are bizarre storms, heat waves, unexplained phenomenon, odds are we’ve got a Precursor on the loose.”
Shikra’s beak formed an ‘o’ of surprise. “Makes sense…”
Grover sighed and turned to Iris. “I want you to help me prepare my announcement for tomorrow. I assume you can do some decent sending runes to governors in other cities?”
“I can do anything with runes,” Iris sneered.
“Wonderful,” Grover said, standing up and making his way for the door. “Because we’re going to need to the impossible to win this race.”

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                         Last Call                         
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Last Call
Simurgh sat in the inn, treating himself to a drink. For the past day or so, he had been the hero that had gotten everyone talking. He had saved the life of Icarus’ niece, fought off one of the six Oracle captains, and had even promptly hired Kestrel to join his crew. In the words of Rook, ‘there is no way you’re not creating a stir.’ And, so far, the cartographer had been correct in that regard. He had received pats on the back, toasts in his name (although many of them did not know it or had gotten it completely wrong), and a few had even volunteered to join his crew. He had rejected them.
Kestrel, following her one and only chance to join a crew, had dashed off to start preparing in a feverish panic. Even now, Simurgh could hear her scrambling about on the stairs above, searching through all of her belongings to figure out what might be necessary for a race to the end of the world.
Icarus was, as usual, serving drinks. He would occasionally cast a look at Simurgh, the emotion in it hard to identify, but would always return to serving drinks, stopping by to refill Simurgh whenever he raised his mug.
The taste of alcohol was strong in Simurgh’s mouth as he sat there, thoughts racing through his mind. Odds were, Icarus was going to kill him for his decision at some point. Whether that would be because he was putting Kestrel in danger or because he figured that Simurgh was up to something remained to be seen. Simurgh was not interested in acknowledging the third possibility for Icarus’ theoretical murder of him, and therefore did not dwell on it.
Another toast went up for him, which he halfheartedly joined. He did not have the energy to join in the words, but he raised his mug, alcohol sloshing about in it as his name, apparently the griffon hosting the cheer thought it was Mercer, went up around the patrons.
Simurgh allowed himself a sigh as he received a few more pats on the back. This was not what he had wanted the rest of the day to contain. The plan had been to kick Gareth’s ass, recruit Kestrel, and then get everything ready and take off before anyone had realized what had happened. Unfortunately for Simurgh, however, he had forgotten that it took at least a day for Aigle and Valravn to arrive at Griffonstone from Procella, so there was that plan down the drain.
He sighed and downed the remaining liquid in his mug. At this point, he was certain, a normal griffon would have been drunk past the point of no return. Seventeen refills and counting. But for him? He could stomach a few score more before he started to feel anything. He let Icarus refill his mug, not meeting his friend’s eyes as he looked downward, and then began another drink.
The smell of food began to waft around the inn, and Simurgh noted that Icarus had begun to prepare dinner for those that ordered it. He joined in the requests for a meal, his friend not bothering to give a response aside from adding some more vegetables to the pot. Simurgh’s mouth watered at the smell, but his mind was still overtaken by thoughts of the East, the Edge, and what lay beyond.
Gabriel would be a problem, should he go and tattle to Grover. That, at the moment, was the biggest fear that Simurgh felt. Grover knowing that he was in the city would ruin everything. He knew that it had been a mistake to see the king’s return, but damn it, he had wanted to. And he was a fickle creature, he knew that much. “Damn you, Simurgh,” he muttered under his breath, low enough so that no one in the inn could hear him. “Damn you for letting your curiosity get the better of you.”
When Icarus delivered his food, he ate in silence, and the inn as a whole quieted down, the smell of soup filling the air. Simurgh drank from his bowl with vigor, and it tasted heavenly in his mouth.
When the meal had finished, griffons began to make their ways to their rooms, leaving about a dozen or so in the main area of the inn. Simurgh noted that many of the ‘regulars’ had left early, likely due to a desire to leave the next day. The race was on, it seemed. And he had every intention of being the first to the end of the world.
He clenched his mutilated talon for a second, the stumps on it a stern reminder to him what happened if your resolve broke. He had lost that bet, years ago, for breaking under pressure. It would never happen again. Not on his watch. He saw Kestrel coming down the stairs, and the stumps seemed to feel as if they were being cut apart once more. It had been a clean cut, he knew that much, but it still burned as if all Tartarus had had a hand int it.
He watched as Kestrel went over to her uncle, her words lost to his ears, drowned out by his thoughts. But her meaning was clear, and he allowed himself a slight smile as he watched her. Thirty years ago, he had been much like her. Young, eager, enthusiastic.
He grinned slightly as Kestrel went back upstairs, Icarus having answered her question. Icarus walked over to Simurgh after she had left, a grimace on his face. “She was asking whether or not she expected for us to encounter any pirates. And whether or not we’d be allowed to leave our compass behind.”
Simurgh’s grin widened. Thirty-five years he had been in the business, but he had never changed his view on how to sail. Go where the wind and your heart took you. Seemed Kestrel was in the same vein. “What’d you tell her?” He took a swig from his mug, the alcohol tasting sweeter than it had before. Kestrel had been a good pick.
“That the pirates were practically guaranteed,” Icarus muttered under his breath. “And that the compass would not be ‘left behind’, but that you’d certainly toss it over the side somewhere in the middle of the voyage.”
“It was an accident,” Simurgh said, his words becoming a chuckle in the middle. “I had no actual intention of letting go of it.”
Icarus sighed and pulled a rag out from under the bar, wiping down the tables with a vigor that might have been due to Simurgh’s response. “I expect you to keep her safe,” he whispered, wiping away alcohol that had begun to stick the table.
Simurgh gave his friend a smile. “Do you trust me?”
Icarus gave his friend a look that might have been annoyed, but might have also been amused. “Is that rhetorical, or do you actually want a response to that?”
Simurgh chuckled, but he didn’t say anything for a second. As he sat there, a few more of those in the bar cleared off, heading upstairs to rooms. Around half a dozen sat in the bar, and the sun was beginning to set off in the west. Finally, Simurgh answered in a voice so quiet that Icarus would not have heard were he not standing right in front of the griffon. “I promise you this much: I swear to not repeat my past mistakes. Not the big ones, anyway.”
Icarus nodded and returned to his mopping of the table and floors, turning away from Simurgh and refocusing on his work. Simurgh allowed himself a slight smile. It seemed that, despite all the things they had gone through, Icarus was still with him, at least for now.
He made his way out of the bar, leaving a small pile of coins by his drink, and headed up the stairs towards the room that Icarus had lodged him in. He heard the thumping of Kestrel searching through her room, and he allowed himself another smile. He walked past it and opened the door to his room, the small room greeting him. He made his way towards the window, opening it with a creak.
He looked out over Griffonstone, the quiet city greeting him. He could make out the docks, where a handful of ships were still being worked on, and the silent form of the Tree, its branches rising high into the sky. He felt a wince of pain as he saw a few couples walking about the streets or chatting by the tree. “You paid for catering,” Icarus said, grinning.
“Bloody did not,” Simurgh muttered, grinning as he did so. He took the plate of food all the same. “Why’d you come up?”
Icarus shrugged. “I figured you might want someone to chat to.” He walked into Simurgh’s room and made his way to the window, Simurgh dropping down on his cot and digging into the food. “So, what was bothering you?” Icarus didn’t bother saying it towards Icarus, instead looking out the window that Simurgh had stared out of a minute ago.
Simurgh gave his friend a mild grimace. “You think this is actually a good idea?” He waved a talon at the room as a whole, his meaning clear. “All of… this?”
Icarus let out a slight sigh. “I’d be lying if I said that I think this is a good idea. If anything, I think this is a terrible idea.”
Simurgh nearly choked on his food. He coughed for a moment, but when he finally cleared his windpipe he grinned. “Figured you’d say that. How about a better question. You think it’s a bad idea because of the events going on now, or what happened last time?”
Icarus gave his friend a mild glare. “What kind of question is that?” He ran a talon through his feathers, a sigh escaping his mouth. It took Simurgh a moment to notice the gray in his friends feathers, a detail he had not noticed until this evening. Icarus’ grimace worsened. “If you think that I still regret our previous voyage? Yes, I still regret that.”
Simurgh gave his friend a sad nod, but he then shook his head. “I know you regret it. But do you still…” he swallowed. “Do you still blame me for what happened?” It came out as a whisper, but he swallowed and his words grew bolder. “How much do you still regret my actions?”
Icarus let out a long sigh. “Simurgh… that’s something I’ve tried not to contemplate for the past nineteen years. Now’s not the time to try and ask me about it.”
There was the sound of Simurgh setting down his plate, although he might have dropped it for the noise it made. “Icarus, you and your niece are rejoining the crew. I need to know how much you’re willing to follow me, and how much you blame me for that night. If I don’t know, then how ca-”
“It was nineteen years ago,” Icarus snapped, cutting Simurgh off. “What’s done is done, I do not have the time or energy to argue about a night that happened nineteen years ago. I lost friends that night, yes. And yes, I’d be lying if I said that I don’t entirely blame you for what happened. But I don’t care right now.
“Right now, my focus is my family. If that means jumping on a ship with you to the end of the world, then fine, I’m coming.” He let out a breath of air that sounded like it had been held in for far too long. “But don’t try and probe me for how I feel about that night. This is not the time to be asking me that.”
Simurgh raised his talons in an apologetic gesture. “Point taken.” He sighed and sat down on his bed, leaning back so that his head rested on the mat. “Icarus, I hope you know I never planned for that to happen.”
Simurgh couldn’t see him, but he could imagine Icarus’ sad look grow even sadder as he spoke. “I know. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you weren’t to blame. You were our captain, Simurgh, dammit. You don’t-”
“I get it,” Simurgh growled, rolling over on his cot. “But I swear to you now: Kestrel will not come to harm under my captainship. I will keep her safe, and I will do that, no matter what it takes. Is that enough for you?”
Icarus stepped away from the window, his talons and paws clicking against the wooden floor. Before he could leave, however, Simurgh’s words stopped him. “They’ll be here tomorrow.”
Icarus’ reply was a sigh. “You really mean it, then. Who’s actually coming?”
“Everyone but Osprey,” Simurgh said with a sigh. “She died a few years back.”
Icarus turned around and walked back towards Simurgh, his eyes wide. “Simurgh…”
Simurgh shrugged, removing his plate from the floor and handing it to Icarus. “We lost contact about twelve, fourteen years ago, shortly before this whole Oracle mess started. She hooked up with a captain, I don’t know what happened to her after that.”
He could hear Icarus nod. “I guess we’ll talk tomorrow.”
Simurgh allowed himself a large grin. “We’ll sail, tomorrow, Icarus. One last time. Together. It’ll be the greatest race of our lives.”
Icarus sighed from the doorway. “You do realize that’s not why I’m coming, right? Let it go.”
“We’ll finally be fulfilling Gemma’s memory.”
Icarus turned to go, not responding this time. He left Simurgh in the room, the window still open. The sound of wind and hooting owls filled the night, making Simurgh smile slightly. He might have gone too far with that comment. But he would be able to do what he had always desire to do. Complete Gemma’s desires. Perhaps that would be enough for Icarus. That, and Kestrel’s safety. You never knew.
He heard the sound of rain on floorboards, followed by a voice. “I can see why you want him on the crew.” The voice was soft, almost gentle, but it had an aura of power to it. “They’re on their way, as promised.”
“Figured as much,” Simurgh murmured, closing his eyes. He didn’t bother looking at the speaker, instead letting his voice just carry in the darkness. “You think this will all be worth it? The end of the world isn’t some wild hoax?”
The sound of raindrops was all he heard for a second, followed by the voice speaking once again. “Why would I lie about it?” There was the sound of water droplets on the cot as well, almost as if there was a miniature storm inside the room. “The Edge, the End, the Wall, call it what you will, exists, yes. That is where we’re headed. How we get there is up to you.”
Simurgh sighed. “I don’t know if I like this. If it didn’t work-”
“The past,” the voice growled, “is not a perfect indicator of the future. Remember that. We will win this time. No matter what it takes.” It sounded not unlike the figure was pacing, with the sound of pattering compounded like the walking of a thousand tiny legs. “I assume you are prepared to give as much as I am?”
Simurgh allowed himself a slight chuckle. “I was before, wasn’t I?” He rolled over on his bed, his eye still tightly shut. “Now let me get some shut eye, you lunatic. I’ll need to be rested before tomorrow.”
The voice came out as a laugh this time around. “Given that I alerted them early this morning, back when you retrieved that map, yes. I think we will need to be ready when tomorrow rolls around.”
There was the rush of wind, and Simurgh could hear the sound of the window slamming shut. He sighed and massaged his temple for a moment, thinking to himself. It was time for one last journey, of that he was certain. He was just glad that he had Icarus with him this time around.
It was early in the morning. Several ships had left already, bound for the east, and The Bounty was already on its final days of repair. Following her joining of its crew, Cetan had begun to finish repairs on the ship, something that many captains had already ordered, and which she, along with the other shipwrights, had been happy to oblige. It paid well and it wasn’t exactly the most painful job in the world, so they had finished repairs on half a dozen ships weeks or even months before they had been ready to be finished.
Cetan wiped her brow with a talon, her eyes surveying the new mast for The Bounty. It had taken her, along with a handful of others, several straight hours of work to finish. Runes now coated the mast, running up and down with an almost friendly glow to them. They were green for the most part, a decision that Cetan was grateful for. While blue ink was generally better for stronger runes, it tended to lead to tricky situations when dealing with repairing or replacing wood on them. Thankfully, given that The Bounty was utilizing primarily green runes, it hadn’t been much of a stretch to convince Peregrine of the decision.
Peregrine, at the moment, stood by her and her crew, watching intently. His green feathers were disheveled, and Cetan was certain she could spot bags under his eyes. All the same, there was a glint of pride in his eyes as he watched the griffons repair his ship. “You work fast,” he commented, his eyes watching as Cetan’s workers began to move the mast into the air, pulling on the ropes from above and below with a grimace.
Cetan grimaced as the mast began to creak, rising into the air as over a hundred griffons began to lift. “I managed to get a few favors from various griffons. For today, they’re helping me get the mast in place.”
Peregrine nodded as the mast began to creak into place, his grin growing as he watched. “So, you think you’ll be ready to sail soon?”
Cetan glanced at him. “If you give me a day or two, certainly.” She paused to shout some orders to those moving the massive mast, the creaking making both her and Peregrine wince. When the creaking had stopped and the mast seemed stable once more, she returned to speaking with Peregrine. “We’ve got a handful of ships left to look at. Aside from those, however, there’s nothing else on my slate. They’re all minor jobs, such as fixing a floorboard or just doing a routine check up.”
Peregrine nodded slightly, watching the mast with interest. “So, how’d your sister take it? Hope she wasn’t too upset?”
Cetan looked away from the mast for a second, giving him a grin. “You kidding? She got hired less than an hour later by some random fellow. Couldn’t be happier, last I saw her. Seems she’s joining in this wild race, same as everyone else.” She paused to shout some orders to the lifters once more, forcing the griffons to spin round to the other side of the mast to stabilize it. Her next words came out slightly slower, as a frown began to grace her features. "Can't say I agree with her captain, but it's not like I can exactly force her."
The dance continued for some time, Cetan making adjustments as those lifting the mast carried it. Peregrine did not watch, however, instead glancing at the tree, where Cetan knew her father was, with a look of mild confusion on his face. The mast eventually creaked into place in The Bounty, the runes on its rim glowing brightly as it fit snugly into the whole. Almost immediately, the griffons in the vicinity, at least those not paid by the hour, dashed off, their work finished.
Cetan grinned and turned back to Peregrine, but frowned when she saw his face. “What’s wrong?”
Peregrine looked as if he was struggling to recall some detail that eluded him. His eyes were looking upward, and the side of his mouth was drawn into a somewhat tight frown. “You sister got hired? By whom?”
Cetan shrugged as she brushed herself off with her wings. “No idea. Some oily fellow named Simurgh. An old friend of my uncle’s, apparently, and my father, although that seems to have changed from the looks of things. All I know is that he saved her life yesterday and that my father punched him shortly afterwards.”
Peregrine’s look of confusion was identical to how she felt. "I thought that your father claimed that Kestrel wasn’t going to join any crews?”
Cetan gave him an odd look before shaking her head. "Never heard of that. Look, the ship’s fixed. Going to give it a once over to make sure that it’s okay?”
“Once over?” Peregrine chuckled, his previous thoughts clearly forgotten. “I’ll be giving her a triple over, if need be.” He gave her a pat on the back as he passed. “Not that I don’t trust your judgement-- I just prefer to see her with my own eyes.” Cetan nodded and Peregrine walked off to the the ship. Cetan allowed herself a grin as she saw him take in a long breath of air as he stepped aboard.
Cetan, meanwhile, was stopped by Simurgh, who walked by her with a whistle. She frowned as he passed, and before he could vanish, she stopped him. “Simurgh.”
Simurgh turned to glance at her, raising an eyebrow. “Hm?” Cetan noticed that he seemed surprisingly cheerful, even more so than his usual nonchalant attitude. He gave her a wide grin. “How can I help you today, o’ master shipbuilder?” He allowed himself a bow as she looked him over.
“Where were you before you came back here?” The question had been bugging Cetan for hours, but she figured now as good as ever to get an answer from the griffon.
Simurgh seemed to feign ignorance for a second. “Moi?” His ignorance didn’t last long, however, switching to a wild grin within seconds. “You mean before I got back to Griffonstone?” Cetan nodded, and he continued. “For starters, I drifted a lot. Visited towns all over the place. You ever been to the Peacocks?”
Cetan raised a talon to forestall him. “Look, you going to give me the nineteen year version or the short and simple version?”
Simurgh let out a sigh. “As I said, I drifted. A whole damn lot. I visited anywhere I could. I almost ran in into Grover once, actually, during my travels. You see a lot when you get around.”
Cetan raised an eyebrow and she began walking, motioning for Simurgh to follow. He did so, grinning from ear to ear. Her sister was clearly in good hands. Cetan led the slender griffon into the main compound of the docks, taking a seat behind her desk.
She sighed, brushing wooden shavings off of her desk. She needed to find a better place to set her notes. She motioned for Simurgh to pull up a chair, which he refused to do, choosing instead to seat himself on a pile of timbers that sat in the corner. He grinned, taking in the variety of woods and materials that were housed in the building. “You work here?”
“Worked,” Cetan muttered. “Peregrine hired me.”
Simurgh, for what it was worth, clapped his talons together. “Congratulations. Seems that Icarus’ relatives do tend to stick to the same profession decisions.” He looked around the building for a moment, surveying the forty foot roof from which many a dismantled ship hung. “You could trap a dragon in here,” he commented, grinning slightly. “You ever see one live before?”
Cetan snorted, leaning back in her chair with a grimace. “No, nor do I ever plan to.” She pressed a talon against her temple. “Like I said before, what’d you do before you got here?”
“I thought I already answer-”
Cetan raised an eyebrow. “Where’d you meet Grover?”
Simurgh allowed himself a chuckle, and to Cetan it seemed as if he was mocking her. “I never said I met him. I was, however, in Maelstrom when he met Iris, and boy was that a story worth hearing.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Oh, the things I could tell you about that king.”
“I’m not asking about you for what you know about Grover,” Cetan snapped, her irritation getting the better of her. “I’m asking what you were doing before you decided to recruit my sister. I still don’t know what it is you want her on your crew for.”
Simurgh leaned back on the pile of timbers, his back resting against the wall. He waved a talon in a wide arc, as if he were a salesman giving a pitch. “Look, your sister has the enthusiasm I look for in my crew members. Is that not enough for you?”
“Is it nepotism or something?”
Simurgh snorted at her suggestion. “First off,” he said, a grin still on his somewhat shadowed face, “I’m not related to her in any way. Second, that’s more likely to be on Icarus’ end. Third, no, it’s not nepotism if I have a legitimate reason for hiring her.”
“Which is?” Cetan leaned forward in her chair, her eyes watching him like a hawk.
“Damn,” Simurgh muttered under his breath. “And I thought that Oracles didn’t let up.” He gave her a grin, although it seemed significantly less excited this time around. “Look, I’m not out to harm your sister. I already had this chat with your uncle less than twenty-four hours ago. Is that enough for you?”
Cetan threw back her head and laughed. “You’re insane. My father certainly doesn’t trust you, and if your word isn’t enough for him, why should it be enough for me?”
Simurgh grinned, and for the first time, Cetan noticed an almost macabre glint in his eyes. “Because your father’s a paranoid git? Seems to be his approach to everything: made a mistake once? Whelp, let’s villainize him.”
“What are you talking about?” Cetan narrowed her eyes, a sudden wariness in her voice that surprised even her.
Simurgh stepped down from the pile of timbers, actually picking one up one of the smaller pieces as he stood. He fingered it gingerly for a second, then, with a sudden swiftness and strength that should not have been feasible with a mutilated talon, he crushed the end of the timber. It shattered, the plank splintering at a set of horrific angles.
“Did not mean for that,” Simurgh muttered, tapping the almost flattened edge of the wood with one of his few remaining digits. “I’ll need to watch myself around that stuff.” He sighed and dropped it. “Look, your father hates me. That enough for you?”
Cetan’s voice came out somewhat weak. “That was… Everfree wood,” she whispered.
Simurgh glanced at it, raising an eyebrow. “It expensive or something? Look, I’ll pay you back. Didn’t mean to break it. I’ll certainly be more careful when I’m back on my ship.”
Cetan glanced from the cracked wood to the captain. “Have you been listening? That was Everfree Wood. Stuffs hard as iron…”
“Must have been faulty,” Simurgh commented. From somewhere under his feathers, he removed a small coin pouch. He reached into it and tossed about a dozen coins onto the table. “That enough?”
Cetan glanced once more from the wood to Simurgh. “For that? Probably a little more, but-”
There was a thud as the entirety of the coin purse landed in front of her. “Just keep it,” Simurgh muttered. “Look, Cetan, I’m sorry we got off to the wrong paw. If it makes you feel any better, your uncle will be watching Kestrel for the entire voyage. Anything asinine that you think I could do? He kept me in check for about fifteen years. I think we’ll be fine.”
“You in it for the glory?” Cetan muttered, doing her best to avoid touching, or looking at, the coin purse. "The race, I mean."
Simurgh shrugged. “I can’t say the thought has never crossed my mind. But, honestly?” He let out a slight sigh, looking back towards the door before continuing. “It’s mostly for a chance to fulfill a promise.”
Cetan swallowed. “What promise, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Simurgh chuckled, but it was sadder than his usual attitude, making Cetan’s stomach broil with worry. “A long time ago,” he began, making his way back towards the pile of timbers. He stepped over the broken piece of Everfree with a grimace, but he sat on the pile once more. “There was a griffon named Gemma. Beautiful, smart, a wonder with words, everything you could ask for in a griffon.”
Cetan frowned. “Did she sail with you, because Icarus never me-”
“I’m getting to that part,” Simurgh murmured. “There were four of us who originally got the sailing in our team started, thirty-five years ago. Me, your uncle, your father, and her. Your mother was somewhere in there as well, but it was truly the four of us who got everything started for real.
“Suffice to say, we were thick as thieves. On some occasions, we were the thieves.” He grinned. “I’d be lying if I said that I never truly had feelings for Gemma, but it was your uncle who had the true love for her, as some might say.”
“No one says that.” Cetan’s voice was hoarse. She was uncertain whether or not she wanted to ask her questions, or wait till the end. But they were there, pounding through her head, and she was certain that she wouldn’t like all of the answers.
Simurgh shrugged. “Fair enough.” From his position on the timbers, he almost reminded Cetan of a drunkard, telling his story for another drink on the house. His talons were moving through the air, making wild gestures, while his paws sat crossed and planted on the wood. “I always assumed the pair of them would ‘get it on’, as they say. Eventually, Gemma did actually end up…” Simurgh swallowed, as if this part was particularly painful for him. “Anyway, there was a storm.” His words were coming out faster now, much faster. “It started, and I was certain there was no way back to any city without sinking us. She died.”
He sat there for a second longer, the abrupt ending to his story sort of hanging in the air like fog. Simurgh looked pained, as if even giving that version of the tale brought great suffering upon him. Cetan frowned. “Is that… all?”
Simurgh nodded, his expression pained. “That’s all of it.”
“How’d she die, exactly?”
Simurgh glared at her. “I'd rather not get into the details, if that's all the same to you.” He ran a talon through his feathers, brushing them back in an almost windswept style. “Look, Cetan, I feel like we got off to the wrong-ish paw. Look, I worked with your father for fifteen years. That incident,” Cetan could hear a world of bitterness in his words as he continued, “is the reason we decided to split in the first place. You father resents that fact. Your uncle, at the very least seems a little forgiving.”
Cetan raised an eyebrow, pausing look at her ledger slightly. “So, Icarus is the one who you seem to have hurt, yet it’s my father that hates you?”
Simurgh nodded. “That is correct. Embarrassing, and definitely odd, but true all the same.” Cetan noticed that he cast a nervous look back to the shattered piece of wood on the ground. Simurgh allowed himself a slight sigh. “I have no interest in getting your sister harmed. I’ve made mistakes like that in the past, so I have zero desire to repeat those mistakes of mine. That enough for you?”
Cetan shook her head, drawing a rueful grin from the griffon. “Makes sense,” Simurgh chuckled. He stepped towards the door of the building, rolling his eyes slightly. “My ship should be here later today, if you have any desire to stop me from getting this thing started.”
Cetan shook her head another time. “That’s not up to me, as unfortunate as it is. I’ve got no chance of persuading her otherwise.” She gave him a mild smirk. “My father, on the other hand? He could-”
Simurgh raised an eyebrow, a smirk of his own growing on his face. “Stop me? I’ve never let him do it before? I doubt he’ll be able to do it this time.”
Cetan gave a sigh in reply. “Keep her safer than you did Gemma, whoever she was.”
“I already tol-” Simurgh’s reply was fierce, filled with frustration. He removed his talon from the door, turning back to face her with a sudden grimace on his face. He clenched his mutilated talon, and for a moment Cetan flinched. Simurgh let out a sigh, his tone becoming a bit calmer. “I’ve already told you who she was and how she died.”
“And that’s clearly not enough,” Cetan growled, her words harder than she expected. “I have a million questions for you, but you’re not going to answer a single damn one, are you?”
“Stormlord, girl,” Simurgh snapped, letting out a sigh as he continued. “I already gave you the whole reason why none of your bloody relatives trust me. Isn’t that an ‘answer’? Or do you need a three hundred page biography of who Gemma was?” His glare was stormy, a sudden shift from his sad tone earlier. “I already swore to your uncle that I’d keep Kestrel safe, what more do yo-”
“She’s my damn sister!” Cetan snapped, leaning so far forward that she was prepared to leap at the griffon. “I want to her be safe! What don’t you get about that?”
Simurgh opened his mouth to reply, but the swinging of the door stopped him from continuing, not least because he received the door right into his face. Icarus, his eyes wide, came into the building, apparently oblivious to the fact that he had hit Simurgh in the face. Icarus gave Cetan a nervous look. “You seen Peregrine?”
Cetan raised an eyebrow. “I just fixed his ship ten minutes ago. Yes, I’ve seen him. Why?” She refused to acknowledge Simurgh, who sat to one side, massaging his beak, instead focusing all her attention on her uncle. She could feel her heart stopping for a second, dread creeping into her chest.
Icarus glanced at the door, apparently finally realizing that it had hit something, and then let off a tiny gasp when he saw the wincing Simurgh. “Simurgh, what are you…” He shook his head. “It’s not important. The Vagabond is on the horizon, and Gabriel came into my inn a minute ago yelling something about how Peregrine had just told him something about Kestrel. You know anything?”
Simurgh raised an eyebrow. “Well, I guess that’s our cue to leave. Icarus are your things packed?”
Cetan allowed herself a moment of doubt once more at Simurgh’s comments. He was worried, she could tell that much. “What did father want?” Her words came out more terrified than she had expected. Apparently Simurgh was good at planting fears in her head.
Icarus grimaced. “I have no idea,” he murmured, raising a talon to forestall Simurgh before he could interject. “He said something about Kestrel, but aside from that, when I said she wasn’t there, he dashed off. You got any ideas?”
“Peregrine mentioned that father mentioned…” Cetan trailed off, which apparently spurred Simurgh into action.
“Time to skedaddle,” he muttered, scooting his way around the door that was still stuck in his path. “Guess that means Aigle’s here, with the rest of the crew, no less.” He gave Icarus a grin, making Cetan want to strangle him, given their recent conversation. Simurgh patted Icarus on the back. “Let’s grab Kestrel and get on board the ship.”
Icarus didn’t move from his spot, making Simurgh grimace. “Simurgh,” Icarus began, his voice surprisingly cool. “What might Gabriel meant by wanting to find Kestrel? Something that Peregrine told him?”
“Why do you think that I know a damn thing?” Simurgh snapped.
Cetan made her way around her desk towards her uncle. “You think that Kestrel might be at the docks?” She said before her uncle could speak. “She’s there every other day, why not now?” She grimaced and nodded at Simurgh. “Especially given him and his ship.”
“My ship as well,” Icarus murmured, holding the door open for Cetan. She shoved Simurgh aside as she exited, and Icarus seemed no more cheerful towards the oily griffon. Simurgh raised an eyebrow as they passed, but neither of them spared him a glance. “You think she’s waiting for the ship?” Icarus continued, grimacing as he followed his niece. The two of them quickened their pace as they talked, forcing Simurgh to jog to keep up.
“How would she know the ship?” Cetan snapped, shooting daggers at Simurgh as she dashed. “It’s just another ship to her, isn’t it?”
Icarus grimaced and shook his head. “You don’t ‘miss’ The Vagabond. We were a pair of idiots back in the day. Your father, Simurgh and I painted her with a set of sails that had a massive eye on it. Really, really stupid of us.”
Cetan, her voice coming out in pants, raised an eyebrow. “Why would you all do that?”
“Peacocks.” Simurgh’s words came out unasked and unbidden, but they gave him a grateful nod all the same. “They’re an empire off in the east. Nasty lot. Their emperors and empresses, however, have been known for their eyelike patterns on their feathers. We thought it was the coolest damn thing.”
“You ever get those changed?” Icarus’ words came out as they rounded a corner towards the docks, where they could make out the last few ships that had yet to leave the city. Only three or four remained, the majority of them even going through the final preparations before setting sail. In the distance, however, they saw the answer to Icarus’ question.
A sleek, almost cheery looking ship could be made out less than three hundred feet from where they stood. The sails were, as Icarus had described, triangular pieces of cloth, which had a massive, blue eye drawn on them. The eye itself was crooked, like the one who had drawn it had done so while drunk.
About a score of griffons could be seen milling about the deck of the ship, and Cetan noticed that her uncle’s worry, while still present, seemed to have lightened as an almost surprised grin spread across his face. “That’s all of them,” he whispered, almost absendmindedly. “You weren’t lying.”
Simurgh allowed himself a satisfied nod. Cetan muttered a curse. “Where’s Kestrel, you idiots?” She felt her words becoming more panicked by the second, as the thoughts of why her father sought Kestrel began spinning through her head. “If dad wants Kestrel, who knows what he’s worried about?” She swallowed. “If the Oracles are ba-”
“Calm down,” Simurgh said, allowing himself a slight chuckle as he nodded to a nearby roof. Kestrel sat up there, back legs dangling into the air as she watched the ship. “Seems that zero Oracles have returned to the city so far. You fears, at least now, have been unfounded.”
Cetan allowed herself a panicked laugh, relief evident in her voice. “So why did dad…”
Simurgh shrugged. “Gabriel does what Gabriel wants. There’s a reason he wasn’t first mate.”
Icarus snorted, but when he spoke there was just as much relief in his voice as there was in Cetan’s. “Shush. He helps run the war with the Oracles for a reason.”
Simurgh gave him a grin. “I’ll be honest, the Oracles have been fairly obvious in keeping away from anything Gabriel’s got his hands on. I may give him flack, but you’ve got me there.”
The pair turned their attention back to Kestrel. It was Cetan, however, who spoke first. “Kestrel, dad’s looking for you!”
Kestrel looked down at her sister, raising an eyebrow. “Why does he want me?”
Cetan was about to speak, but she frowned as she noticed the small necklace hanging around her sister’s neck. “I don’t know,” Cetan said, her voice more nervous than she had intended, “but could you come down?”
Kestrel shrugged and leapt from the roof to where Icarus and Simurgh stood, her feathers becoming disheveled as she landed. “That the ship?” She said to the two of them, a wide grin spreading across her face. She nodded towards what the other three now identified as The Vagabond. Icarus nodded and Kestrel’s grin widened. “We taking off, then?”
Simurgh opened his mouth, but Icarus cut him off. “I want to speak with your dad first, see why he wanted you.”
Simurgh winced slightly, something that Cetan noted but made no comment on. Her opinion of the griffon was rapidly dropping as the day went on. Simurgh ran a talon through his feathers, a grimace growing on his face. “Anyone got any ideas as to where Gabriel is? Or does it really matter at this point?”
None of the four made any comment, instead focusing on the approaching ship. Cetan could make out a grinning, silver feathered griffon at the helm. From the way she held her eyes, Cetan assumed that the griffon could likely be Simurgh’s sister.
“Aigle hasn’t changed a bit,” Icarus muttered under his breath, apparently looking at the same griffon as Cetan. He glanced at Simurgh. “You have the fountain of youth or something stowed away in that ship?”
Simurgh grinned and waggled his talons in what was likely meant to be a spooky manner. “Not currently, to my knowledge. Right now, we’ve mostly got a handful of coins and the odd trinket. Nothing that spectacular, at least not now.”
“If you had come to me with that quest,” Icarus chuckled, raising a grey-feathered wing, I would have joined up long ago.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Simurgh chuckled. He paused to glance at Kestrel. “You got your things? I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”
Kestrel’s mouth formed and ‘o’, and she dashed off. Cetan swore under her breath, dashing off after her sister. As she followed a speeding Kestrel, she could hear the chuckling voice of Simurgh and his "What?" as they left the older two behind.
The two of them made their way to their uncle’s inn, Kestrel taking the lead as a panting Cetan followed. They arrived after a few minutes of sprinting, Cetan having to stop at the doorway and begin panting.
Kestrel sped her way into the inn, leaving Cetan to pant at the doorway. Rook approached her, a mild grin on his face. “So, Kestrel’s taking off, from what I can gather?” The cartographer tipped his hat to her slightly, and it was evident that he was trying not to laugh. “Seems like she’s left you behind.”
Cetan rolled her eyes as she took in massive gulps of air. “Tell me about it. Turns out you can get hired four years younger without any experience, so long as you get attacked by an Oracle.” She mentally allowed herself an image of Simurgh getting kicked off a cliff for his meddling, but it soon faded as Rook spoke.
“So, you taking off with Peregrine?”
“Day or two,” Cetan muttered, rolling her eyes. “Still got to handle another ship or two.”
Rook nodded, an absent look on his face. “Quite the time to be hired, isn’t it?”
“Once again,” Cetan sighed, “you can tell me all about it. Quite a mess, all things considered.” She gestured at Rook with a talon. “You going to be involved in the race?”
Rook snorted. “Me? You want me to have a chance at the greatest power the world’s ever seen? No thank you. Now’s a good time to take an extended vacation, honestly. This is the least hospitable time to go and try exploring.” He let out a sigh. “No, I think me and the crew are going to go visit a place we’ve wanted to see for a while. Maybe visit the princess in Equestria.”
“Stormlord help us all,” Cetan muttered under her breath. Louder, she said, “At least you’ve got a clear idea of where you and your crew are headed. Me, I don’t know where anyone’s headed.”
“‘Tis a problem with sailing,” Rook chuckled. He pushed his hat a little bit further up his head, away from his eyes. “If I’m to be honest, half the time I don’t know where I’m headed.”
“Everyone knows that,” Cetan murmured. There was a thudding of paws and talons on wood as Kestrel came charging back down the stairs, a bag slung over her shoulder. It was about the size of her head, and it clanked and rattled as it shook. “You got everything?”
Kestrel let out a sigh. “Sadly, no. I don’t know what I’ll need, so I tried to bring as much as possible for the job, but I ran out of room somewhere near the fourth book.” She paused to give Rook a grin. “Rook, good day.”
“Same to you,” Rook chuckled. “Mind if I walk you two to wherever your ship is?”
Cetan nodded. “Would appreciate that.”
The three of them made their way back to the docks, Kestrel taking the lead while Cetan and Rook chatted. It was mostly small talk, with the two of them discussing various ship designs and runic functions, but it was an enjoyable conversation nonetheless.
When they arrived at the dock, however, all thoughts of ship models and runes faded from their minds. Gabriel stood at the edge of the harbor, near the now docked Vagabond, by which he was locked in some kind of argument with Simurgh and Icarus.
“Simurgh, damn you,” Gabriel was shouting, his voice carrying through the harbor. “What the hell are you thinking? She’s my daughter!”
Simurgh let out a snort, but whatever his response was did not carry nearly as well as their father’s, and it was lost to Cetan’s ears as her father continued to shout. “Listen to me,” Gabriel snarled, stepping up close to Simurgh and grabbing him by the feathers on his neck. “I don’t care what you’ve been doing for the past twenty years. I don’t give a damn about how you’ve changed. You’re a risk-taker, and that will never change.”
Simurgh did something, Cetan was unable to determine what, exactly, but Gabriel winced and let go of the oily griffon’s neck. Simurgh’s reply was quiet, but at this point they were close enough to the argument, to make out a fair bit of it. “Doesn’t matter what you think,” Simurgh was saying, his voice bitter. “You’re too busy dealing with the damn Oracles to focus on-”
Gabriel attempted to punch Simurgh, making Kestrel let out a panicked gasp. To Cetan’s shock, and that of Kestrel, who looked ready to scream, Simurgh’s talon went up, catching Gabriel’s punch with a speed that did not seem possible. “Simurgh,” Gabriel hissed, and Cetan was certain that he was ready to kill, given the anger she saw in his eyes, “you will not finish that sentence. Don’t you dare. If you want to keep your tongue, I would advise you to hold it.”
Icarus stepped forward, separating the two combatants. “Enough,” he whispered, his eyes sad. “We don’t have time for this.” He gestured to where Cetan, Rook and Kestrel stood. “She’s ready to leave.”
Gabriel muttered a curse under his breath, and Cetan could feel her heart beating in her chest. “Icarus, I told you to keep her out of this mess. I thought we agree-”
“An Oracle wants her dead,” Icarus muttered, nodding to Kestrel. “I don’t know why, but dammit, Gabriel, if they came into Griffonstone looking for her, they’ll come anywhere.”
“And I’m-”
“Sailing with Grover,” Icarus hissed. He waved at Kestrel, who looked ready to cry. “Simurgh will keep her safe, and I promise you that I’ll die before I let harm come to Kestrel. But you cannot think that bringing Kestrel onto Grover’s ship is a good idea.”
“She’d be here with Shikra.”
Simurgh threw back his head and laughed, and Cetan noticed Rook slinking conspiratorially into an alley elsewhere, clearly unwilling to get involved in this argument. “You must be joking. You think she can keep Kestrel safe from Gareth?” Cetan didn't see it, but she could feel Kestrel pressing close to her. She thought she could feel the beating of her sister's heart as the argument went on before them.
“Theoretically,” Gabriel muttered.
“What about Gale?”
“Gale wouldn’t-”
There was the sound of Gabriel’s back hitting the pavement with a thud. Simurgh had punched him so hard that he had been knocked off his feet. “You see that?” Simurgh hissed. “I can overpower you. Have you ever talked to a member of the Oracle Six, face to face? No. You haven’t. But I have. And I promise you, they’ll be coming for Kestrel, one way or another. You want her alive, I’m your best bet.”
Kestrel ran up to them, her face pale. “Stop!” Her voice shook, but there was a fierce determination in her eyes.
Icarus glanced at Kestrel, a worried look on his face. “Kestrel…”
“What’s going on?” Kestrel whispered. “Why are you fighting? I was just going to get my stuff-”
Gabriel pushed himself off the ground, glaring at Simurgh. “This bastard seems to have forgotten that I forbade you from joining a ship.” He glared at Kestrel as well. “And you forgot it as well, it seems.”
Kestrel shrugged, but there was a hint of fear in the action. “He offered to take me on. And he knows why the Oracles are after me. I saw him defeat Gareth, dad. You think that anyone in Griffonstone can say the same?”
Gabriel’s eyes were wide as he looked to Simurgh. He mouthed something to Simurgh, but Cetan was unable to figure out what the words were, but whatever it was it made Simurgh shrug. Gabriel then looked at Kestrel. “Is this even about the Oracles at this point?”
Kestrel’s face fell, terror beginning to flare up in her eyes as she gave him a pleading look. “This is my chance to join a crew. Please.”
Gabriel glanced from his daughter, the incredulous look on his face growing, to the mild grin on Simurgh’s face. He made his way to Simurgh, his eyes cold. “If you get her killed, I’ll have you hunted down for eternity.”
Simurgh patted Gabriel on the back. “It won’t happen. But if need be, I’m willing to bet you wouldn’t have to search for that long.”
Gabriel let out a long sigh, glancing from the terrified look on his daughter’s face, both of their faces, to Simurgh, whose expression was still a mischievous grin. Gabriel massaged the spot on his chest where Simurgh had punched him. “What have you done?” Gabriel murmured, his words coming out slow and catching in his throat.
Simurgh raised an eyebrow. “You still think I’m going to answer that?” He allowed himself a bitter shake of his head. “Never.” He turned to Cetan and Kestrel, the latter of whom he gave a grin and a bow. “Ready to go?”
Cetan swallowed, looking at Kestrel. Simurgh was terrifying, she'd since realized, and her fears had only increased. Kestrel, however, seemed eager as ever. “Yeah,” she said, pausing to walk over to her dad. “I’ll come back safe,” she said, patting Gabriel on the back. “Besides, Uncle Icarus’ll be with me. He’ll keep me safe. He’s never let me down before.”
Gabriel allowed himself a sigh. “It’s not Icarus who I don’t trust.”
Icarus stepped forward to his niece, giving a grim nod to Gabriel. “I’ll make sure to-”
A shout came from The Vagabond, a cheery, high-pitched voice that made those standing on the dock jump. “Simurgh, can you hurry it up?”
“Aigle,” Gabriel muttered, a slight smile tugging at his mouth. “Of course.”
Kestrel turned to go, a nervous look on her face. “So, I can go?” Gabriel nodded, and Kestrel dashed off, Simurgh and Icarus following close behind.
Cetan and her father stood at the docks, watching as Kestrel was shepherded onto the ship by the older two griffons. Cetan swallowed, not wanting to look at her dad as she spoke. “Is he really that powerful?”
Gabriel’s mouth pulled itself into a sour knot. “I don’t know,” he growled, running a talon through his feathers. “I don’t know who he is at this point.” He sighed. “But if Icarus is there to keep him in check, Kestrel should be safe. From Oracles, almost certainly. Simurgh is less certain, but if all goes well, Icarus will be his conscience, as always.”
“And you’re okay with all of this?” Cetan whispered, watching as her sister waved to them from the edge of the ship as it pulled away.
Gabriel turned to her, his eyes blazing. “No. But it’s better than the alternative.”
“Which is?”
“Simurgh going down other routes,” Gabriel grunted, pausing to wave to Kestrel, who was beginning to vanish with the ship. “He wants her and Icarus on his crew. Which means that he needs them for something.”
“And what other routes would he have taken?”
“There’s a reason we split,” Gabriel whispered, his voice suddenly hoarse. “He’ll do what it takes to survive. He’s a fool. A clever, cunning, deadly fool, but that doesn’t change it. He’s the oldest of of our crew, and likely going to be the longest lived.”
“So…” Cetan frowned, thinking. “He’s what, fifty-five?”
“You really think I’m that old?”
“No, but Icarus is fifty, so…”
“Point taken,” Gabriel smiled, although there was a significant sadness to his eyes as he saw Kestrel and The Vagabond vanish into a speck as it began to speed away. “Simurgh isn’t younger than sixty, honestly. He just showed up in Griffonstone, thirty-five years ago, and gathered us up into a crew. The ringleader of our little gang, as it were.”
“He can’t be that old,” Cetan whispered. “He’s far too-”
“Spry?” Gabriel allowed himself a bitter chuckle. “Able to knock me onto my ass? Should be weak and frail, after all. But Simurgh’s… enigmatic. Turns out he ages really well.” He let out a sigh. “I just wish I knew that he was here before he got to your sister.”
Cetan glanced at him, her frown worsening. “She was pretty eager to join, even with you being punched to the ground...”
“The Siren Call of Simurgh,” Gabriel growled. “If he ever writes a memoir, that’ll be the title.” He began walking away from the docks, and Cetan followed. As they walked, Gabriel continued to explain. “He’s a troublemater and a bit of a pretentious arse, but back when we got started, he was the one with all the mad ideas. Problem was, he was pretty good at coming out with his ideas at the right time. We just fought a dragon and survived? Let’s go visit the place where it came from. We just encountered a deity? Let’s go try and find where it lives.” His words turned bitter as he continued. “We just defeated an incredibly powerful Oracle? Let’s go jump on a ship and let them chase after it.”
Cetan let out a sigh. “You never should have given her that necklace.”
Gabriel spun around, his eyes widening. “Necklace?”
Cetan frowned. “The one in the shape of a water droplet? Gareth was after that, from the looks of things. Probably cause of that this whole mess got started.”
Cetan, unlike her sister, had learned far too many words from her time at the docks. But the one her father said in that moment was both exotic enough and vulgar enough to break through her tolerance for curses. Gabriel continued to swear for another minute or so, breaking off into a mad dash. “Should have figured it out far sooner,” he muttered, leaving Cetan to stand there, awkwardly, as her dad vanished around a corner.
Author's Note
Big thanks to Aeluna (https://www.fimfiction.net/user/Aeluna) and ShadowblazeCR (https://www.fimfiction.net/user/ShadowblazeCR) for their feedback in getting this chapter ready to release. Apologies for the delay on this chapter. NaNoWriMo distracted me from getting through final edits, and then Shadow came around offering to help out with the story, and I certainly wasn't one to skip out on a chance for even more feedback.
It's unusual to have a chapter dedicated to a single character- the closest I've got in all of my drafts is one involving a variety of characters with Passerine thrown into the mix, and a few chapters here and there dedicated to the Oracles as a whole, but this one was entirely revolving around Simurgh. Hope it was a good read to have some time just focused on him doing things and ~~imitating Newt Scamander~~ give roundabout responses.

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                        My Immortal                        
//-------------------------------------------------------//
My Immortal
Surprise was preparing to leave Griffonstone. Grover was ready to take his Victory Lap.
The king sat in the hold of Surprise, his sword held in his talons, pointed towards the wooden floor. One might assume him to be praying, or as a knight about to take an oath. The cabin, a rather bare room, surrounded him. In one corner sat a table, and on it sat the Idol of Boreas. The gemstone in it twinkled in the dimly lit room, and he would occasionally cast a bitter look towards it. Surprise had set out early that morning, sailing towards the Edge once again.
He sat on a bed, his eyes occasionally drifting off to look at things that weren’t there, specters of the last time that this had occurred. He could almost feel the burning talons of Notus around his throat. Of course, Notus would have aimed for there- he knew about Grover’s previous encounters with the gods. Beat them to the end of the world. The words echoed in his head, resounding with perfect clarity as if Notus was there, was breathing down Grover’s neck.
His sword shook in his talons, like a divining rod above water, doing its best to spin as he held it. He set the sword down, removed himself from his bed, and walked to the Idol of Boreas, touching it with a terrified expression on his face. He tapped the gemstone with a single digit, and he was confident he tasted blood in his mouth- a bitter, almost acrid, taste that made him gag and wish to vomit.
For a brief moment, the gemstone glowed with a light of its own, and then it was gone. Grover shuddered, as if the Stormlord himself had run his thunder-lined fingers down his spine. He felt the door behind him swing upon, slamming into the wall as the draft, cold as an icy storm, blew into the cabin.
He turned from the Idol, knowing what would greet him. “They’re going to die,” he whispered, glaring at the goddess on his bed. Boreas’ form was crystalline, much like stained glass. Feathers of white, pale blue, indigo, and sea blue comprised her feathers, sparkling in the dim light. Her eyes were nonexistent, merely raw sockets in her head, empty and uncaring. Flecks of ice could be seen lining the edges of those sockets, glinting and nearly blinding him from the thousand reflected facets.
Boreas’ frosty mouth curled in an almost bitter smile. Her tail sat limply on the bed, the fur of icicles and snow smoothed to perfection. “They’d die without it, as well,” Boreas whispered, and her voice was beautiful. It tinkled like wind chimes, melodious and varying. But there was a coldness to her words, an almost empty acceptance. “Would you have rather Zephyr killed them, then and there?”
Grover grimaced but shook his head.
“Exactly,” continued Boreas. “Be glad that Notus came, eager to prove himself the greatest. At least now there’s a chance we keep power in our favor. At least now, we’re playing the game as opposed to not being invited at all.
“I thought you were…”
“Omnipotent?” The freezing laugh sent shivers down Grover’s spine, threatening to immobilize his spine. “No. I have a limited sphere of influence, and there is little I can do when fighting Notus, and him when fighting me. Had it been any other member of the pantheon, I would have likely been able to intervene.”
“Actually,” Grover muttered, retrieving his sword, “I had thought that you lot were smarter than this. You're all supposed to be the gods of griffonkind, and here you are using us as pawns in some stupid game.” He lowered his sword so that it was pointing at Boreas’ throat. “I’m in a awful mood, so you had best provide an explanation for this.”
Boreas frowned and pushed the sword away from her throat, turning her void eyes so that they seemed to be gazing straight into Grover’s soul. “Do not threaten me. You would be dead by now, were it not for…” Boreas trailed off, a bitter expression crossing her face. She shook her head for a moment, sending shards of ice cascading from her head. When she had reoriented herself, bringing the shower of snow and sleet to a halt, she glared at Grover. “Is this why you called me? To aggravate me about my past mistakes?”
“Other reasons,” Grover murmured, leaning against the table that held the Idol. “I need your help.”
“And I am sworn to give it,” Boreas growled, her tinkling voice becoming foreboding, like the rush of air during a storm. “I have stood by you through the past fifteen years, far longer than any others.”
“To be fair,” Grover said, “the other champions died long before they could have been chosen for fifteen years.”
Boreas gave an acknowledging nod. “What do you ask of me? I assume you have a valid reason. One that couldn’t have been done by… proxy.”
“Gale,” Grover said. “How is she still alive?”
Boreas let off a tinkling laugh. “You expect me to give answers that even I do not have. Gale is an enigma, even to me.”
“Couldn’t you…” Grover waved a talon in the air. “Fly to her ship and spy on her?”
Boreas gave a vicious grimace. “As it turns out, it is possible to ward the location of your ship from immortals. Like I said: I am neither omnipotent nor omnipresent, ergo there are things I cannot find. I may see much, but Gale’s ship tends to stay out of my view.” There was a slight pause from the immortal. “There is an alternative to that, however.”
“Wonderful,” Grover muttered under his breath. “And that is?”
“There are going to be four champions,” Boreas said, her voice almost terrified. “You are one. It is unlikely that Eurus’ is still alive. He will have chosen another. If Stork was Zephyr’s in the past, it is possible that she turned to another Oracle following his death.”
Grover fingered the hilt of his sword, thinking. “So it’s probable that one of the Oracles is the champion of Zephyr. And you think it’s Gale?”
“It’s always possible,” Boreas murmured. “The worst case scenario, however, is that our friend Gale is Zephyr.”
Grover muttered a curse under his breath. “I hope you’re joking.”
“I never joke,” Boreas said, her voice even colder than normal. “We’ve pulled the trick off in the past. Swap immortal for mortal. Gale’s identity might be the answer to her immortality.”
Grover swore. “Damn. So either she’s working for Zephyr, or she is Zephyr. Neither one is good for us.” He swallowed as Boreas rearranged herself on his bed, not unlike a predator in the way she watched him think. He cast her a dark look. “Don’t even try it.”
“I had no intention of doing anything of the sort,” Boreas growled. She made a motion with her talon, and a crystal wine glass appeared in her talon, a pale blue liquid floating in it. There was a sudden, vicious snap of cold in the air, making Grover wince as flecks of the freezing liquid struck him. “I will, however, toast to your upcoming victory in the race.” She motioned once more, and a similar glass appeared in Grover’s talon.
Grover shook his head and tossed the glass to the floor with a crash. The glass melted to water almost as soon as it left his claw, pouring through the floorboards and vanishing. “We don’t have time for this. The Oracles must be salivating about this. How can you be so calm?”
Boreas gave him an almost feral grin. For a moment, Grover thought he saw a twinkling from within those empty sockets, but it soon passed. “I’ve been playing this game for millennia. We can handle the Oracles and their little ‘prophet’ Gale. We beat the other three before, what’s to stop us this time around?”
“Eurus’ champion almost killed us at one point,” Grover murmured, fingering his neck where there was a thin, wicked scar, mostly concealed by his feathers. “Notus’ died, yes, but we don’t even know how he died. Stork stayed alive for almost five years following that race. We sailing into unknown territory, aren’t we?”
“Perhaps,” Boreas murmured. “I won’t deny that things have shifted significantly since last time.”
Grover groaned and swung his sword in a wide arc, as if motioning at a vast horizon. Boreas watched the blade for a second before returning her attention to the king, those raw sockets almost glittering. “Any leads on the other immortals? Seen Zephyr or Eurus around as of late?”
“Sadly,” Boreas growled, a wave of ice blowing in with her words, “Notus’ arrival has hampered my abilities as of late. His essence clings to this-” she waved a talon at the ship and towards where the city lay- “and prevents me from finding anything of worth. It’s like a bitter aftertaste. He is my opposite, and it seems that his meddling has interfered with anything I have tried.”
“Damn. You sure that-”
“I have scoured the city twice already,” Boreas growled. “Once this morning, and once after the party. I’ve found nothing.”
Grover made a defeated wave of his talon and sat down on a chair, a long sigh escaping his mouth.
“Anything else? Would you like the official rulebook for the game?” Boreas asked icily, those void eyes watching him intently. “Or may I return to my regular… business.” There was a certain vehemence to the words of the god, filled with cold and bitterness.
Grover shook his head, almost sadly. “I’m afraid that I do have more to ask you,” he began as Boreas rolled her head backwards with an ugly crack. The icy joints of the immortals neck had threatened to break for a second, but the damage had been repaired within seconds. Grover winced before he continued. “I need to ask you something. Do you know the name of Eurus’ champion? Either of them, old or new?”
Boreas let out a tinkling laugh, filled with bitterness. “You seem to have forgotten that I am persona non grata amongst my siblings. Following my… interactions with particular mortals, they decided that the best thing they could do is keep me away from the Edge. I’ve already tried. Once every three months for the past twelve years. There’s a reason I always come back. One of them has always blocked me from getting there. Most recently, it was Notus. If I were not immortal, he’d likely have killed me. As it stands, he knocked me out of the sky, wings turned to steam. Took me a good hour to regenerate.”
“I thought you were-”
“Equals?” Boreas’ mouth curved into a vicious grimace. “A few decades ago, certainly. Turns out, however, that getting attached to mortals leads to you becoming more like them. I’m surprised that Notus hasn’t figured that out about those princesses at this point.”
“You never mentioned that,” Grover growled, raising an eyebrow as he cast a grimace at her. He made a strangling motion with his talons. “I thought that we had an-”
Boreas brought herself off of the bed, raising an icy eyebrow. She stalked towards the king, her pose suddenly dark. “Agreement? Yes. I am your patron, not your servant. I give the orders.”
“Doubtful,” Grover began, allowing himself a snort. “I will remind you, we have a mutually beneficial relationship. You tell me-”
The air pressure in the cabin dropped, and Grover felt his ears pop in pain as Boreas brought her head an inch away from the ear of the king. When Boreas spoke, he felt as if his ear was freezing off as it went numb. But it still burned. “I am your GOD, Grover,” Boreas whispered, bringing a talon to the nape of his neck. She tapped the scar on the back of his neck, making Grover want to scream in pain. “You live today because I want you to. Do not mistake that for a moment. I offered you your chance. You rejected immortality, the world as a wedding gift, and the opportunity to sit at the throne of the Stormlord. Had I been any other immortal, you would have sat in my palace, a statue or trophy till the end of time.
“But… you still live. And I want you to know that that is because of who you are and who I was. Do not provoke me.”
Grover let out a gasp of pain as Boreas continued to tap the scar on his neck. Despite the near-freezing air around him, the scar burned. It felt as if someone was pressing a branding iron against his neck, burning so hard that it was practically numb. He looked at Boreas through clouded eyes, simultaneously shut from agony and clouded with tears, nd he noticed that the glint of amusement that usually filled Boreas’ eyes was gone. “I thought that we worked-”
“Together?” Boreas’ mouth twisted into a sneer, and for a moment, Grover thought he spied glittering crystal fangs. “That was the case. And it still is. But I cannot let you off without grinding the severity of this situation into that skull of yours. Even if it requires me sending shards of ice through it. We will go to the end of the world. You will cement your station. If you do not, you will pray that I that freeze you and put you on display. The others will do far worse.” She pulled away from him, her cold breath still sending shivers down his spine. “We will get to the edge of the world, the land of shattered skies and endless oceans. You will stand before Aeolus’ throne once more, and you will decry the other four.”
Grover let out a long breath when Boreas retook her place on the bed. “Why decry them,” he whispered, standing up from his chair and making his way towards his sword.
Boreas’ smile was made all the more eerie by those empty sockets, the voids seeming to suck at Grover’s soul. “Because that’s the only way for us to kill them. Permanently. And put this infernal race to an end once and for all.” She stood up from the bed, walking past the king and towards the door. She stopped in the doorway, a dark grin on her face as she looked at the king one last time. “So, what do you say, Grover? Feel up for killing three immortals?”
Before the king could respond, her form fell away, breaking apart like the winter in a spring thaw. Wings shattered, feathers becoming icicles and then puddles when they struck the floor. Fur became piles of snow, dampening Grover's cot. All that remained was a flickering mass of white, which sped from the room in a gust of white, leaving Grover in the cabin of his ship. Alone.
“There’s a limit to the amount of asinine behavior that I can stomach,” Finch growled. The Six, once more a hexadecimal based organization, given that Vane had been promoted, sat in their meeting room once more, rueful grimaces on their faces. Passerine’s expression was a leer, and there was a certain smugness to Vane’s, but the rest were caught in the middle of either snarls or groans.
Finch sat at the head of the table once more, his talons folded as he looked at the Six. Gale, or so he claimed, was unable to meet with the rest of them today, due to the result of her most recent prophecies. That worked out perfectly fine for the rest of the Oracles. They had no desire for Gale to reprimand them, especially given the circumstances.
“Alright,” Finch continued, his eyes blazing as he continued, “let us continue to refresh everyone’s memory.” He waved a talon at Gareth, whose face had sustained a relatively nasty bruise from his encounter with Simurgh, which was matched by the cut that Finch had given him with the tiny blade attached to his tail. “Gareth here, one of the greatest fighters to ever grace the the griffons, was defeated by a griffon with black feathers.”
Gareth’s eyes were just as stormy as Finch’s, if not more so, as he glared at Gale’s majordomo. He leaned forward in his chair, wiping the tiny trickle of blood away from his eye as spoke. “Finch, if you have not been listening, that griffon was Simurgh.” He pointed towards the door to his ship, his next words coming out as something close to a shot. “Sim-Urgh. I think that even an idiot like you can grasp what I’m saying.”
“Simurgh?” Finch’s voice was arrogant. The metallic spike on his tail flicked back and forth as if itching to strike Gareth once more. “You mean that little piece of shit that Grimlock-”
There was the sound of a sword being drawn as Gareth’s, his eyes blazing, pulled his sword from his chair with a glint of light. He pointed it at Finch. “I do not have time for this,” he snapped. “If you had been listening, you would have by now realize that-”
“I’m confused.” It was the pegasus, Vane, who spoke. Gareth and Finch turned from each other to glance at her, grimaces still etched on their faces. “We lost the necklace. Okay. Gareth got beaten in a fight. Okay. What’s so important about all that to warrant… this?” She waved a wing at the mess surrounding her.
There was a snarl as Gareth rammed his sword in the table, the wood shattering and splintering as the sword went downwards. Gareth, his expression something close to what a deposed king would have, pointed at Finch. “This ignorant fool seems to think that I was unable to win a battle with an ordinary griffon because clearly, I am unqualified for this position.” His yellow eyes glinted in the dim light, sending shivers down several of those in the room as he swiveled his feline gaze around the chamber. “Nevermind the fact that I was in a duel with Simurgh, one of the deadliest griffons of our day and age.”
Grimlock, who sat with his talons folded in thought, raised an eyebrow. He held out his metal clad talon with a frown, the joints in it clinking slightly as he gestured. “Simurgh was in Griffonstone? My, my, isn’t that a surprise?” He tapped the side of his beak with a metallic clank, his eyes surveying the room with a glint of interest. “I assume he beat you quickly, Gareth?”
Gareth gave Grimlock a grudging nod. “Correct. It was over in a minute. I found the girl who had the necklace, attacked her, then promptly got my ass kicked by the ever-lovely Simurgh.”
Vane raised a tentative hoof. The rest of the Oracles all cast a look at her, Vane wincing slightly as she did so. “Why do you all care so much about a damn necklace?”
Finch gave a glare at the pegasus. “Vane, that ‘damn necklace’ is one of the most valuable artifacts we currently have in our possession. Or we had, up until the point that Raven and Gareth seemed to have lost it.”
Gareth gave Finch a dark look, allowing himself to slump back into his chair and removing his sword from the table as he did so. The runes on it glowed faintly as he did so, removing the blade from the wood far more quickly than any common metal should have. He leveled his sword so that it was pointed at Finch. “I did not ‘lose it.’ I was defeated by a griffon. A particularly skilled griffon.” He allowed himself a sneer. “One that this snide asshole seems to think makes me unqualified to help lead the Oracles.”
Finch allowed himself a sigh as he leaned back in his chair, massaging his temple. He gave Vane a long look before continuing. “This is why I was apprehensive about Gale’s suggestion of you.” He looked at his talons for a moment, rubbing his digits together as one would with a coin. “Long story short, we need that necklace for communication purposes. Among other things. This chamber is connected to the other Oracle ships via runes, but these little trinkets,” he said, reaching up to his ear and tugging on a slight earring that hung there, “are how we send out alerts.”
Vane glanced at him, understanding dawning on her face. “You mean?”
“That Raven is currently off the grid?” The voice of Passerine sent shivers down the spines of those in the room, even making Finch and Vane jump. None had seen the behemoth enter, and his snakelike form had made him hard to see in the dim light. His eyes glittered malevolently as he continued. “That is correct.” He slid himself into his throne-like seat, taking a pose like a king watching his subjects. He rested his massive head on an equally massive talon, looking at the rest of them with interest. “Don’t let me keep you,” he murmured, an almost feral grin spreading on his eerily dark face. “Continue.”
Finch allowed himself a bitter sigh as he continued. “Suffice to say, without that necklace, we have no way to access The Specter or anything she keeps aboard her. Which, for our purposes is a major problem.” He clenched one talon into a ball and wrapped the other around it, making motions as if to crush the curled talon. “The Specter houses… sensitive information. If anyone captures it, while we lack access to it, we lose almost a decade worth of treasure, secret gatherings, and more. There’s a reason Raven keep the belowdecks so heavily guarded, and it isn’t just because of the slave trade.”
Vane allowed herself a nervous swallow. “Question. I’m the newest member of the Six, correct?”
“As much as I regret it, yes,” Passerine growled, leaning forward slightly and making Vane jump backwards. “Our first pegasus Oracle, and the first one who’s a total buffoon to boot.” He clapped his talons together, actually making the room rumble. “We’re breaking new ground.”
Vane grimaced. “Where are we, exactly?”
“Nowhere, actually,” Finch chuckled. “For all intents and purposes, we’re off the grid.”
“Then how are we-”
“Transport runes,” Grimlock cut her off, setting his talons on the table. The gauntleted talon tapped one digit up and down, making an eerie clanking. “Finch wired this whole place connect to a variety of locations. You ever heard of Seven League Horseshoes? I understand your people use the same technique as transport runes.”
“Yeah, but ours connect to-”
“Real locations, yes,” Grimlock murmured, sighing. “But the fundamental principle is the same. You connect one place to another through some fashion, whether thought or runes. That allows the user to move from that location to another, creating a miniature bridge through the world, as it were.
“The only difference is that these runes can connect you to imaginary places. Or, at the very least, areas not on a map anywhere. It’s somewhere in the world, but it’s so remote and bizarre that nobody is going to walk in on us in a million years.”
Drake let out a sigh, blowing feathers away from his face. A few of them seemed to be frosting over, but none of the Oracles made any comment as he spun his long staff in his talons. “Not that discussing runes isn’t fascinating, but don’t we have a job to do? Things to burn, ships to destroy, all that fun stuff?”
Finch shook his head. “Not right now, no. For now, we need to focus on getting our hands on the necklace. If ‘Simurgh’ is as powerful as you claim, handing him that necklace is the worst possible course of action you could have taken. So, either you were beaten by a pigeon, or you handed over a powerful artifact to a dangerous griffon.” He gave Gareth a vicious grimace. “Neither option is doing well for your standing.”
Gareth snorted, spinning his sword in a swift arc that sliced a fleck of wood from the table. “You want to replace me? Go ahead and try.”
Finch raised an eyebrow. “You really want to go for that?” He grinned spitefully. “Limbs up, everyone.” The talons went up. Only Finch and Drake raised their talons, with Grimlock, Passerine, Pandora and Vane doing nothing. Finch let out a sigh. “That wasn’t official.”
“Dammit, Finch,” Gareth muttered, throwing his sword into the air. It spun in a lazy arc, slicing into the table with a vicious hiss. The table even let off a tiny bit of smoke. “I don’t have time for this. We’ve got a war on our hands, and a deity even showed up in Griffonstone the other day-”
“What!?” Finch roared, eyes widening. The griffon was so busy screaming at Gareth that he did not notice Grimlock’s wince. “What are you talking about?”
Gareth let out a sigh and removed his other sword from where it sat behind him. He threw it no unlike one would a discarded piece of trash, the weapon flying through the air and nicking Finch along the edge of his brown feathers. “Notus has shown up in Griffonstone. Surprised your spies didn’t tell you sooner.”
“I don’t have a lot of spies in Griffonstone,” Finch hissed. He ran a talon along where the sword had nicked him before continuing. “And you almost killed me! Watch what you’re doing, you f-”
Gareth allowed himself a chuckle. “No. This is almost killing you.” He revealed a tattoo, almost like a rune, carved onto his talon. He raised the talon into the air, the tattoo glowing brightly. The thrown sword dislodged itself from the wall and flew directly towards Finch, speeding past him and leaving him with a bloody gash on the side of his neck. “So shut up.”
Finch looked atthe cut on his neck to the blood coating Gareth’s sword, with appeared almost like wine in the dimly lit room. “I’ll have you hung for treason, you arrogant-”
Gareth took his talon and wiped the blood from the sword, his catlike eyes dancing as he looked at Finch. “Try me.”
Finch swallowed and said nothing, instead nodding to Pandora. The yellow griffon hurried towards Finch, carving a set of runes into the ground around him. They glowed brightly for a moment, and then the cut, miraculously, closed, leaving only the stained feathers around where it had been. “Thank you, Pandora,” Finch murmured, not looking at her or Gareth. He let out a sigh. “I'll speak with Gale regarding this news. Anyway, Gale has given some recent orders with regards to how we’ll be handling the most current set of prophecies.”
There was a rolling of eyes from more than one of the Oracles, but they were wise enough to do it as Finch fetched a stack of papers from beneath his chair. He began flipping through them, a grimace etched on his face. “She believes that her most recent set of visions had to do with the pathway to uniting the world. Peacocks, the Reaches, the various islands lurking around.”
Passerine snorted once more. “It won’t work. As it stands, we need to focus on removing Grover first and foremost.”
“Be that as it may,” Finch growled, flipping through the pages, “she is your captain, and you owe her a duty to hear her orders out. And to follow them.”
Gareth looked from Finch to the blood staining his talon. “Surprisingly red,” he muttered, shaking droplets of it onto the floor. “Alright. What’s Gale want?”
Finch winced as a few flecks of his own blood flew through the air and struck him, but he made no comment. “Gale believes that, for now, we need to focus on digging into old notes. Search for any leads that might lead us to victory. She thinks that, as it stands, the race is starting once more, and we need to get moving. Find ways to the east, break into old texts, search for any clues in order to win the race.”
Finch waved a talon at Grimlock. “Grimlock, you’re going to visit the Roc Point library and search for the writings of a Captain Sparrow.” He gave the hippogriff a spiteful grin. “I figure you’ll appreciate this.”
“Library burned down,” Grimlock muttered, his eyes not meeting Finch’s. “It’s unlikely that the asshole here,” he waved at Drake, “didn’t destroy them all in his mad rampage.”
“I took out two years worth of crimes,” Drake snapped. “How was I not going to take an opportunity like that? I switched how I was going to accomplish my goal, sure, but I got done what I wanted to get done: stop Grover from finding those records. Definitely worth it.”
Grimlock chuckled slightly. “There you go, Finch. The reason why I’ll be unable to find anything of Sparrow’s in the Roc Point library.” He paused and gave Finch a mild sneer. “Lucky for you. However, I searched the library earlier this week. I managed to find Sparrow’s diary.”
“And you didn’t bother telling me, instead of leading me on, because…”
Grimlock’s sneer got slightly stronger. “I was curious about how much you actually knew. After all, who knows what you'll miss if your spies don't spot me visiting a library.”
Finch let out a sigh. “We’ll discuss this later. For now, just see if you can find any of his other notes or anything lying about. I believe you’re an aficionado on the subject.”
Grimlock nodded, grimacing as his talon clanked. “I’ll see what I can do. Apologies for the earlier comments.” He paused, glanced towards the doorway to his ship, then returned his attention to Finch. “What about Raven, though?”
Finch shrugged. “If she comes running back to us, or tries to contact any of us, we’ll know and try and make her see reason. Right now, however, she seems unwilling to meet with any of us. Too ashamed to show her face, I would wager.”
“Arrogant bitch,” came Drake’s chuckle. “Serves her right. About time she got her comeuppance. You don’t let pleasure come before work in this business.”
“No point in arguing,” Gareth murmured, wiping the last of the blood from his sword. “We get down to business.”
Finch gave Gareth a grimace. “Which brings me to my next point. As much as I hate to admit it, Gareth, Gale wants you dealing with any and all ships that we deem worthy of searching. If you run into The Bounty, frisk it. The Raven, frisk it. And so on.” He let out a sigh before continuing. “No killing, though. Gale wants us avoiding death, at least for right now. As far as anyone in Griffonstone knows, we’re likely still involved in our everyday Oracle business. No knowledge of the ‘race’ starting once again or whatever bullshit it’s called.”
“I can do that,” Gareth said. He sheathed his swords, the runes glowing faintly as they vanished. “That all?” Finch nodded, drawing an expression that vaguely resembled a grin from the Oracle. “Excellent.”
Finch turned to Drake. “You, my pyromaniac friend, are going to do what you do best. Stir up trouble.”
Drake’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s the most open you’ve ever been to me burning stuff. What’s the catch?”
A stack of papers landed in front of Drake. The Oracle began leafing through them as Finch elaborated. “Gale wants these locations searched and the contents removed. Then you can go and burn stuff and grab whatever else it is you wanted. Long story short, just make sure that it looks like a mess got made. Destruction, chaos, anything to distract from what got removed.”
“A variety of artifacts?” Drake murmured, raising his right eyebrow still further. “You do realize these locations will set my bounty through the roof.”
“You don’t exactly care.”
“True,” Drake acknowledged with a chuckle. “So, just get these, and I’m allowed to take whatever else I want, no questions asked?” Finch nodded, drawing a whoop of excitement from the pirate. “I’m game.”
Finch let out a mild groan as he turned to Passerine. “Do what you normally do.”
“Wise decision.”
“I know,” Finch muttered darkly, his eyes turning to Vane. “You’ll stick around with Gale and me, learning the ropes and whatnot. Once we get the necklace back, we’ll hand you a ship and crew. Until that point, however, we can’t send you off somewhere without means of contacting us.”
“Can’t you just make a new trinket?” Vane asked, her one eyebrow rising. Despite having only one eye, Finch flinched harder than he would have for two. “Given what I understand, you’ve lost Oracles in the past. What’s the stop you from making a new one?”
There was a muted pause as the other members of the Oracles exchanged a look. The captains said nothing, leaving Finch to answer. “Suffice to say, the magic is finicky. Until the necklace gets destroyed, I don’t want to hook up another ship to this room for fear of destroying something in a runic accident.”
Vane let out a sigh. “Fine.”
Finch nodded gratefully. “I appreciate your understanding.” He turned to Pandora. “You’ll be doing what Gale told you to do, so I don’t have to tell you again, correct?”
Pandora nodded. “I’m almost there already.”
“Wonderful,” Finch said, grinning. He reassembled his stack of papers, flipping through it one last time. “Oh, to address the prophecies. Gale expects a few things to come up.” He cast them all a mildly insane grin. “Any of you having dreams of a vast ocean? An endless sea upon which you sail?”
The Oracles looked at each other, raising eyebrows and exchanging frowns. None of them spoke but merely shook their heads. A few of them had mildly concerned looks on their faces, but none chimed into the conversation.
Finch did not let the response deter him. “How about images of lightning? Tattoos in the shapes of weather formations?” He grimaced. “The latter is not a vision, but something actual griffon possesses. Any of you see anything like that on your voyages?”
“It’s shocking, I know,” Passerine growled, “but it’s nigh-impossible for me to frisk anyone after I’ve killed them. You ever considered that?”
Pandora nodded slightly, frowning. “I’ve seen no griffons like that. Why? Gale see something wrong?”
“She wouldn’t tell me specifics,” Finch muttered. “But she seems to think that an individual like that is going to do their best to tear the Oracles apart.”
Grimlock allowed himself a chuckle. “If we see anyone with storm-shaped tattoos, I’ll make sure to throw that fellow off the side. Until then, however, I think it’s safe to assume that we’re not going to stumble upon anything particularly useful in this situation.”
“Agreed,” Gareth chimed in.
Finch let out a sigh. “Fine. Let me know if you do find anything.”
Grimlock snorted. “I assume you’ve got something to work on. Why not let us get back to our business and go worry about mad prophecies somewhere else.”
Casting a dark look at Grimlock as he did so, Finch stalked out of the room, Vane following close behind. Drake left soon after, leaving the other four in the empty room. The four of them exchanged looks, grimaces or nervous looks on their faces.
It was Passerine’s deep voice that spoke first. “Grimlock, I assume you’ve got a reason for having us stay? Or did you keep me away from my projects just to spite me from last time?”
“We need to do something,” Grimlock murmured, his eyes hard.
Passerine raised an eyebrow. “Please enlighten me, oh mighty philosopher and blacksmith. You having mad visions now as well? About how we ought to all go sailing in the footsteps of your ancestor or some damn nonsense like that?”
Grimlock nodded towards the door where Finch had just vanished. “You know exactly what I want to talk about.”
Passerine snorted, his eyes glinting malevolently. “No means no, you idiot.” He gave a feral grin to Grimlock. “I’m not allying myself with a martyr’s cause. You can talk all you want about how Gale’s visions are becoming more insane, or how Finch is going to lead us to ruin, we all agree with you on that.” He waved a talon at the door where Finch had disappeared. “But we’ve all seen what the two of them can do. We are not staging a coup against Finch and Gale. There’s a deity on their side, we’ve all seen it.”
Pandora frowned, her eyes wide. “Our side, at least for the time being.” She allowed herself a grimace. “That has no chance of staying that way if we go down this path.”
Passerine snorted. “Exactly. We cannot try and stop them.”
Grimlock let out a sigh, steepling his talons so that they resembled an upside-down V. “I’ve been here longer than any of you. All of you will remember what I said to you when I brought you into the fold, I assume?”
Passerine snorted. “How can I forget? ‘A greater good,’ ‘the greatest reward of your life,’ ‘the chance to form a new order,’ I could quote you all day. And I won’t lie, I appreciate the majority of your ideals.” He clenched his talon into a fist, then slammed it next to Gareth, his eyes hardening. “But you’re insane if you think that we can take on the forces of a nigh-immortal griffon, a deity, and whatever-the-hell Finch is.”
“Plain griffon,” Gareth murmured. “He’s an ordinary moral griffon. Would have keeled over if he was anything greater than that.” He gestured to where his swords sat. “Mortality runes, unsurprisingly, tend to hurt when you’ve got something powerful on your side.”
“So he’s vanilla, like the majority of us. Doesn’t change a damn thing. The point remains,” Passerine continued, miming strangling something with a talon as he did so, “that I will not align myself with any kind of rebellion under these odds.” He sighed as he saw Pandora open her mouth. “He raised you, you little ingrate. Of course you’ll back him up.” He waved a talon at Gareth. “Back me up.”
Gareth glanced at Passerine, his eyes colder than normal. “You lack conviction,” the griffon murmured, fingering the blade of his sword. “We’re Oracles for a reason. Act like it. Gale’s a pretender.”
“Have the lot of you gone mad?” Passerine snarled, getting up from his chair and turning towards the door. “Try and pull a stunt like this on me again, and I’ll let Finch know of your meeting time. You’re lucky I was willing to hear you out this time and not have all of you tried.” He muttered a curse under his breath. “And here I was, hoping you had something new to offer.”
“Wouldn’t have worked,” Gareth murmured. “Grimlock’s a senior Oracle. We’d have been pardoned.”
“Passerine,” Grimlock murmured, a mild grin on his face as Passerine began to throw insults at Gareth. “Don’t leave just yet.”
Passerine sneered, turning his head back around to face Grimlock. “What, you little hippogriff? What makes you think that anything you can say will stop me from leaving now?” He ran his tongue along his beak. “Absolutely nothing.”
The clinking of Grimlock’s metallic talon was eerie as it waved towards the doorway to his ship. “I wouldn't be so quick. I did call you here for a reason. Just wait a second.”
The door swung open with a bang, the wood almost threatening to buckle as it struck the dark wall. Something bright white streaked into the room, leaving scorch marks on the floor that faded almost instantaneously. All of the Oracles reflexively pulled back, the sudden heat threatening to burn them. The air seemed to shimmer, dancing like the mast of a ship in a sudden wind. The trail spun its way to the center of the table, drawing a gasp from Passerine. A flaming griffon, eyes glowing bright blue, materialized in the center of the chamber, his form floating above the table at which the Oracles met.
The golden crown gleamed upon the deity’s head as he looked at Passerine. Notus cocked his head slightly, a mirthless grin spreading across his face. “How about a deity on your own team? Would that be enough for you to change your mind?"
Passerine's mouth formed an 'o.' "Alright. So, what's the first step?"
Notus' grin widened. "Killing Grover."
Author's Note
Apologies for the lack of updates as of late. My current editor vanished for a while, and I was waiting to see if he got back to me. Didn't really happen. Oh, and I'm lazy. That was part of the problem as well. But the ever-cool B_25 (https://www.fimfiction.net/user/B_25) stepped in to help, so you should go check him out.

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                          Arrival                          
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Arrival
The Bounty came into Griffonstone early in the morning, when the sun had barely risen, like the triumphant return of a long-awaited hero. The Bounty was a large skyship, over a hundred meters long, with three masts. All were more deserving of the term splinters. Several of its railings were broken, and there was something that resembled a burn mark near its front. The lightweight wood that comprised its deck was also damaged, but not to the extent of the rest of the flying ship. Despite all this, both the ship’s crew and those gathered at the city’s edge were ecstatic.
The crew of The Bounty, at least those not managing the ship, stood at the bow of the ship, waving to the griffons gathered on the edge of the harbor, letting out shouts and cheers as they approached. The griffons on the harbor waved wings and talons at those approaching, massive grins plastered on their faces.
Peregrine stood at the wheel of The Bounty, a grim expression on his face. A dark-green feathered griffon, the darkness from the sails made them appear almost black. Next to him stood a female griffon, her expression much like his, but marginally more cheerful. A few members of the crew approached the pair of them, giving them a slight nudge or two, but the rest of them stayed away from the captain and first mate, Aquila, most of them realizing that neither of them actually wanted to be back in the city. For varying reasons.
By the time The Bounty had pulled itself up to the harbor, there was nothing short of a mob of griffons cheering them on. That was one more thing that Peregrine disliked about the city: word traveled too fast. But he could understand his crew’s excitement, even if he didn’t concur with it. “Oi!” he shouted before any of them threw themselves off the edge of the ship to get back to their homes. “Unload first.”
His crew gave him expressions ranging from embarrassment to grudging acknowledgement. The crew nodded and began to unload the massive ship, several of them carrying out the massive gangplank, which they set down in the gap as they began dragging heavy cargo across.
Peregrine sighed as he walked onto the gangplank, the cool air of Griffonstone filling his lungs and brushing his green feathers back. Unfortunately, he was only back because half of his ship was broken. He stepped onto the rocky ground of Griffonstone and pushed past the crowd of griffons who filled the area. They parted to let him past, and he made his way through, only to find himself standing in front a smaller griffon who had an incredibly large hat on his head. The hat itself was tilted at a steep angle, but due to his height, its highest point barely came up to Peregrine’s neck. His black feathers were untidy, making Peregrine think of pirates. Too soon to think about that, he thought, doing his best to refocus on the griffon in front of him.
Peregrine gave the griffon a long look, his dark eyes taking in the ludicrousy of what stood in front of him. “Rook, what’s up with the hat?”
The griffon grinned, removed the hat from his head, and handed it to Peregrine. “It’s a souvenir. Those Crystal Ponies know some fascinating things about hat making.” Peregrine flipped it over and tapped the inside. It was surprisingly tough. After he had finished examining it, Rook retrieved it and put it back onto his head. “I thought it looked cool, so I went and bought it. What do you think?” He posed for Peregrine, who tried to avoid gagging.
Peregrine opened his mouth to silence his friend. “Rook…”
The griffon grinned again. “Come on, you’ve got to tell me what happened.” He put his arm around Peregrine, then pointed to the ship’s mast. “It’s at least partially broken, so there’s some story behind that.”
Peregrine noticed a pair of griffons having trouble unloading a large chest, and took this as his cue to leave the area. “Rook, I’ve got to go help my crew, but I’ll fill you in on what happened later.” He flew off, leaving Rook to stand in the now receding crowd. Rook shrugged, clearly used to it, and headed off to find someone else to speak with.
Peregrine grabbed the chest as it began to slip from the talons of a crew member. It jangled as his caught it, making a few of the remaining griffons grin. “Watch it…” The griffon who had almost dropped it gave a sheepish laugh and readjusted her grip on the chest. The three of them made their way through Griffonstone to a large building with several warning signs on it. Several of his other crew members grinned at him as he entered, having already dropped off their various treasures.
Peregrine swung the door open and entered the room. Along with the other griffons, he sat down the chest along with their other bags and chests, which sat in a massive heap in one corner. The griffons who had carried it with him gave him a slight smile and dashed out of the warehouse.
Peregrine sighed once more and headed out of the warehouse, closing the door behind him as he did so. He returned to his ship, where The Bounty had yet to be fully docked. He waved a talon to the members of his crew who were attempting to dock the ship, signaling for a stop. They shot him an inquisitive pair of glances, but disembarked.
His first mate, Aquila, walked towards him, pale eyes narrowed. She greeted him at the gangplank to the ship. “You drop it off?” Peregrine nodded and she gave him an appreciative one in return. “Where you headed now?”
“Shipbuilders.”
Aquila gave a slight wave of a wing towards the damaged mast. “Of course. I’m going to speak with Gabriel. See if he needs me to keep my eyes open for anything.”
Peregrine cast his gaze to the sky, thinking. “I assume you’re going to get caught up on something?” Aquila gave a slight shrug. He sighed and gestured over his shoulder with a talon. “Go for it.”
Aquila gave him a grateful nod and headed off, while Peregrine began making off to the shipbuilders. Shouts could be heard coming from an area to the east of the docks, and multiple griffons could be seen carrying heavy logs around. The smell of wood filled the air, a scent that most captains had gotten used to over the years.
Shavings covered many portions of the area, littering the ground and making Peregrine tread around them. Many of the griffons stood in clumps, murmuring amongst themselves and pointing to the various ships that they worked on. The runes on many of these ships were clearly visible, glowing any color from red to green, based upon their form or function. Many of them were smudged, forcing griffons to stand a fair distance behind them.
Peregrine watched the griffons work, an expression of slight respect on his face. While he didn’t envy their work, he did appreciate that they did it. He headed straight towards a large building that was set a short distance from where the majority of the work was taking place. It was about forty feet tall, with a massive compound inside. He slipped inside, the noise quieting as he did so. He took a deep breath. Quiet once more.
A bored voice welcomed him. “Hello. This is the Shipbuilders. How may I help you?” A young griffon, Peregrine guessed she was in the range of nineteen or twenty, sat behind a large desk, flipping a golden bit over and over again. A large ledger sat on the desk, its pages open to the first blank page. A red quill sat next the book, most likely the griffon’s.
“My ship’s damaged. I need to schedule repairs.”
“And why can’t you do this yourself?” The griffon behind the desk didn’t look up, choosing instead to continue flipping her coin. Her messy feathers only enhanced the impression that she would like to be anywhere but here. “I assume a griffon of your…” she gave him a once over, “stature has someone on his staff who can carve runes, manage wood and the like?”
Peregrine bit back a sharp retort. “Nobody on my crew is a shipbuilder, runist or carpenter. That was never our job. We’re diplomats, collectors, and the like. So, can I have your attention for a few minutes?”
“Not pirates?” One of her eyebrows raised ever so slightly, despite her not even bothering to look at him again. “Or, as you say, privateers?”
This time, a small curse escaped from Peregrine. “Something similar, but far more legal... And more involved in hunting pirates. But that shouldn’t bother you. Would you please come look at my ship?” He gave her a frigid look.
The griffon sighed, set her coin back on her desk, and turned back to face him. “Alright, lead me to it.” She picked up a notebook from beside the folder and stood up. She turned her head to the back of the building and shouted, “Boss, checking out a job.”
A shout came back, which Peregrine could have sworn had the phrase ‘no cheese this time’ in it, but he couldn’t be certain. He led her to the docks, where The Bounty sat in all of its damaged splendor. The griffon whistled when she saw what had happened to the mast. “What happened to you?”
Peregrine cast his eyes downwards. If he had possessed teeth, he would have certainly ground them. “It’s a long story. Suffice to say, something big smashed our masts.”
“No kidding,” she muttered. “Mind if I take a closer look?” Peregrine nodded his assent, and she flew up. She tapped the spot where the largest mast was bent into a position that would have been considered a safety hazard. The wood itself had been splintered, barely being held in place by the ropes and the remaining, undamaged wood. The biggest crack came from the very middle, where a mixture of what looked like scorch marks, claw marks, and teeth marks could be seen.
Blue runes glowed faintly on the mast, making her do her best to avoid touching them. Runes drew their power from various objects, and then expelled or contained it, depending upon the use. The ones on the mast included the functions of preventing several varieties of damage, allowing the ship to compound the force of the wind, or even to prevent other runes from disrupting them. They were powerhouses, and she was certain that smudging any of them any further would result in her getting blown sky high. And she wasn’t certain she’d like that idea.
After giving the masts a thorough examination, she flew back down to where Peregrine was standing and tapping his talons. “Your mast is broken beyond repair,” she said, voice utterly lacking sympathy. “You’ve got serious problems. Shattered wood, smudged runes, burnt sections, all of it needs to be fixed as soon as possible.”
He rolled his eyes. “And why wouldn’t it be?” She said nothing, her cold eyes giving him the impression that he didn’t want to keep her waiting. “Alright. How long would it take for them to be replaced?”
The griffon ran a series of numbers through her head. “Depends. Two weeks at the earliest. And that’s a liberal estimate. But I’ll need the details on your ship. Wood, cloth, and the like. Have it delivered to the shipbuilders and I’ll see what I can do.” She nodded towards the glowing marks on the ships. “It also depends on which runes you’re using, the general compatibility of the wood and the writing, all of that. Get me a list of the specifics.”
Peregrine frowned. “How will I stay in contact with you?”
“Just ask for Cetan,” she said whilst scribbling something into her notebook and snapping it shut. “Anyway, I’ll expect the notes sometime in the next few days?” Peregrine nodded. “Alright. I look forward to working with you, Peregrine.” She tore a page out of her notebook and handed it to him. “Keep track of this. Otherwise you’ll end up with someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing.”
Peregrine gave the sheet a long look. “And you do?”
Cetan’s expression reminded him of Gabriel’s serious demeanor and busy attitude. Cetan nodded her head in the general direction of the shipbuilders. “Figure out for yourself why I’m not the muscle.” She sighed forlornly, her gaze drifting towards the great sky that Peregrine had just come in from . “I’ll be here once you get me those plans. I always am.”
Icarus usually didn’t bother greeting griffons when they walked into the bar. For the most part, they all knew him, so greeting them wasn’t worthwhile. They just ordered their drinks, he served them, and he watched their conversations or joined in if he liked it. It was rather fun. There was also the added bonus that he got to hear gossip, and spread it. Not that he did gossip. He just spread said information. There was a very important difference. And that was who was doing the storytelling.
So when a griffon came into his bar with news of pirates, Icarus gave him a drink on the house. “We got waylaid on the way back by some pirates,” the griffon was saying, “it was a fairly large pirate ship, my guess is two-thirds the size of The Bounty. They tried to take our cargo, but we drove them off. I managed to take down two pirates on my own…” He continued speaking for while, but at this point Icarus had already given up on getting anything remotely accurate out of him.
The inn itself was large establishment, with two dozen tables sitting in the various areas in it. Makeshift lamps, Icarus’ own make, hung from the ceiling at strategic intervals, providing just enough light for griffons to make their way around, but not enough for illegal interactions to be caught without effort. Alcohol and food could be smelled all over the inn, due to Icarus’ years running the building.
One of the younger griffons in the establishment, Caladrius, raised a talon. He was tall for a griffon, but his short tail often made him look even smaller. His feathers were bright blue, with stripes down them. “Did you manage to recognize any of them?” He passed his empty mug to Icarus as the visitor thought, and was slid a drink in response, which he downed in a matter of seconds. Never would it be said that a griffon couldn’t consume alcohol.
The other griffon took a moment to think about it. “Let’s see… not any that I knew.” A chuckle went up from the listeners in the bar. Any griffon who said that he didn’t know any pirates was a liar. It was part of the package that came from being a griffon, although if rumors were to believed, that fact might change. “I did notice that it was a member of the Oracle Union… There was…” He trailed off, unable to place a talon on what he was thinking.
There was a nervous murmur from the patrons at the bar. “Oracle, you say?” Caladrius asked, referring to the organization of pirates who had taken up residence some place near farthest reaches of the griffon lands, tearing apart any unprepared ship that came too close to their self-proclaimed territory. He sighed and slid his mug across the counter to Icarus. “Quick refill. I’m going to need it.”
Up until a decade ago, the cities that the griffon populous had inhabited were fractured and divided, controlled by various warlords, merchant houses or even zealots. When Grover had united the lot of them, the Oracle Union had originated shortly afterwards, declaring themselves to not take orders from a false king. As such, there was tension when news of them drifted in. Rumors of them varied, although most agreed that there were six of them who lead the charge.
Peregrine’s sailor nodded. “It was The Specter.” A slight smirk crossed his face, like he had been waiting to share this little tidbit.
There was a moment of quiet from all sitting in the inn, which spread to all those sitting there like a plague. The patrons cast nervous glances around, as if mentioning the dreaded ship’s name would be enough to summon it. Nobody spoke for several seconds, simply waiting to make sure that the nigh-invisible ship and its mad captain weren’t waiting outside the door or above the inn.
It was Caladrius who broke the silence. “You’re joking.” There was an element of fear in his comment, as if he didn’t believe himself. “You’re telling me that Peregrine spent time trying to hunt down one of the leaders of the Oracles?”
“It’s what happened. Believe it if you want. We hunted down The Specter, fought with her crew, and managed to steal a large amount of their treasure. Although we were unable to get that far into its hold. We never saw what sits under cabins.” He couldn’t help but grin before he said anything else. “But we left her damaged. Raven isn’t going to be terrorizing any more ships for a while.”
“Sure,” Caladrius said, a slight sneer entering his voice. “And the four get along.” He took a long sip, his dark eyes watching the sailor coldly. “Who did you really run into? Maybe the Acheron?”
Icarus snickered, drawing an irate look from Caladrius. “If you think that he didn’t actually go after The Specter, why in tartarus did you think that Peregrine would go after the Acheron?”
“Because Grimlock, unlike that lunatic that The Specter’s crew calls a captain, is known for following the rules of runes, sailing and shipbuilding.” Caladrius gave the griffon a wolfish grin. “Alright, suppose I accept your story about running into The Specter. Is that what broke the ship?”
“No. It was serpent, nearly a hundred feet long. It came out of nowhere-” The other griffons grinned at one, not unlike children sharing a joke. A griffon sailor could never resist spinning a story. They leaned back and prepared to listen. “It had eyes of fire, and it broke the mast down the middle. It was a terrifying beast, with the talons of an eagle.” He continued to spin his yarn for some time. After he had finished, Icarus passed him another drink.
“That’s great and all, but let’s be honest. What really broke the mast?” Icarus asked, an expression of mild curiosity gracing his features. “Or are you suggesting that a dragon took an interest in you?”
“I swear, that’s what happened. One really did come to us.”
Icarus gave a knowing nod. “Sure it did.”
The griffon glanced at the others seated at the bar, looking for anyone who would agree with him. After nobody did so, he sighed and reached into the small bag at his side, tossing a few coins onto the counter. “Can I get a room?”
A few of his less mature friends snickered slightly, but Icarus nodded and made his way into his backroom, which sat immediately behind the bar. He returned less than a minute later, tossing a small key to the griffon. The griffon nodded gratefully and made his way up his stairs to his room.
Icarus grinned as the griffon left, returning his attention to his patrons. He passed out bills to those sitting around the bar. “Pay those before you leave or return to your rooms.” Caladrius glanced at his and gave an audible groan. He tossed a few coins from the bag at his side onto the table and then walked upstairs to his room. Icarus gave Caladrius a wink as he left, then turned to the griffons sitting at the tables. “I haven’t forgotten about you!”
One band of griffons, who had all gathered around a table in one corner, let out nervous yelps, like children who had just had been caught cutting class. A few minutes later, a rather heavy bag of coins landed on Icarus bar as the griffons snuck their way up to their rooms.
Icarus collected his payment as the griffons dispersed. He glanced at the setting sun, cleaning up the messes made by his patrons. It was a fair bit of work, but he found it enjoyable. Certainly better than spending your life chasing after long lost treasure. While he was in the middle of walking a pile of wooden bowls to his sink, the door swung open to let a griffon in. Icarus waved a friendly talon at her. “Cetan, how’d it go today?”
Cetan grinned as she dumped a bag onto the counter, from which a few coins spilled out. “I earned a little. I’m a step closer to leaving.” She pushed a few of the fallen coins towards him. “Can I have a drink?”
Icarus passed her a cup, but snorted, pushing the coins back towards her. “Blood relatives don’t pay.” He paused to think about it. “Unless you eat a lot. In which case I’ll charge you.”
She gave a grunt of thanks and took a long drink, gathering her coins back up into her bag with her free talon. “Did Kestrel come back yet?”
“She’s still out. Why do you ask?”
Cetan gave a long sigh. “She’s probably still hanging out by the docks. I’m going to strangle her when she gets back.”
Icarus chuckled, but was smart enough not to let her hear. “You get dinner on the way here, or…” She waved a talon disparagingly.
“I got enough to eat at the Shipbuilders. Just make sure Kestrel gets a bite when she gets back.” Icarus nodded. “Let me know when she stops by. I need to talk with her.”
Icarus glanced at the few remaining griffons in the tavern. “Just make sure you don’t strangle your sister till after everyone leaves. I don’t want my niece killing anyone in front of an audience. Terrible for business.” Cetan nodded her assent and headed up the stairs. Icarus sighed and tapped a talon against the counter. It was going to be a long wait for Kestrel, he knew that much.
Kestrel was, in fact, at the docks. She was four years younger than Cetan, but almost as large. Her feathers were similar to her sister’s: white and in a mess. Her striped back half was like that as well, several portions or it sticking up like it had been frozen. Several ships were currently in the docks, being unloaded by their crews. Kestrel stood to one side, watching them with interest.
One ship in particular interested her: The Bounty. Despite having arrived in the mid-morning, it was still being unloaded long after the sun had set. The sheer size of it astounded her. The masts, the crew, the cargo, all of it was on a grand scale.
Several of the crew members she already knew, having spent each day it had come in watching it. One such griffon was Aquila, who was currently managing the unloading of the ship. Her red feathers were matted against her skin from a mixture of sweat and water, while her white fur was stuck out in spikes. As she passed, a large sack swung over one shoulder, she gave Kestrel an odd look. “Run off. We don’t want you to get hurt.”
Kestrel shrugged. “I’ll be fine. I was fine the time you came back with the baby dragon in a cage.” Aquila’s eyes widened and she cast a furtive glance around the area.
One of the crew members gave Aquila a pat on the back with one of his wings as he passed. “Don’t bother with Kestrel. She won’t cause any trouble.” Aquila shot him a dark glance and he laughed. “Kestrel, do you promise to stay out of Aquila’s way?” She nodded eagerly. The griffon grinned. “See?”
Aquila opened her mouth to argue, but she closed it and carried her sack off in a huff. The sailor winked at Kestrel and headed back onto the ship to unload more cargo. Kestrel was about to try and stop him when a voice stopped her. “Quite a ship,” the voice commented.
Kestrel turned to see a tall, lanky griffon standing behind her. His feathers were black, similar to those of Rook, and his long tail flicked sporadically, almost as if it had a mind of its own. She nodded. “Oh, yes.” Her voice squeaked slightly. She couldn’t help it. “And you are?” Her voice stuttered as she spoke.
He grinned. “Calm down. I’m just here to watch the ships.”
“Oh.” The pair of them stood in a silence for a few minutes as they watched The Bounty be unloaded. Aquila gave the occasional yell at a clumsy crew member, the odd griffon would drop something, but for the most part it was uneventful.
The black griffon waved a talon at Aquila. “Who’s she?”
Kestrel glanced at him, a bemused grin on her face. “You don’t know who Aquila is? She’s one of the most powerful griffons around, aside from the chiefs and a few others.”
The griffon frowned. “Is she the captain?”
Kestrel shook her head. “No. She’s a fighting master, though. And first mate. She’s got permission to take justice into her own hands, where pirates are concerned.”
The black griffon frowned, but nodded, watching the ship quietly. After a few minutes, the he spoke. “Apologies, I haven’t even introduced myself.” He bowed slightly, and then straightened his back. “I’m Simurgh.”
Kestrel frowned ever so slightly at the name. It tugged at the edge of her memory, but it was out of reach. “I think I’ve heard of you…”
“I’ve been mentioned here or there,” Simurgh said calmly. “I just came to visit a few old friends.”
“Oh.” Kestrel returned to the watching the ships. After a moment, she returned her attention to Simurgh. “You need a place to stay, by any chance? My uncle runs a tavern here.”
Simurgh gave her a look of mild surprise. “Really? Hm, that might fit the bill.” Kestrel began to to make her way off, to show him the way out, but he stopped her. “Not now- I’ve got some things to take care of first, but I’ll come take a look tomorrow. Will you still be here?”
Kestrel shrugged. “Unless a ship hires me, probably.” She returned her gaze to The Bounty, her expression dreamy.
Simurgh nodded, a slight grin on his face. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow. Then you can introduce me to your uncle.”
Kestrel turned to look at him, perhaps to ask him how he’d find her, but he was gone. She spotted his tail disappearing behind a wall, but she didn’t pursue him. After a few more minutes of watching The Bounty being unloaded, she made her way through the darkness, back to the inn, fully prepared for another tirade from her sister.
She swung open the door to the inn as quietly as she could, trying to avoid alerting anyone to her presence. Her uncle wasn’t there, much to her relief, and she crept her way through the inn towards the stairs, wincing when she stepped on a loose floorboard.
She stood there for a moment, waiting to see if anyone would come, and when nobody did, she let out a sigh and continued up the stairs, this time doing her best to fly slightly above the stairs themselves.
When she reached the second floor, she alighted on the planks, walking gingerly to avoid waking any of the inhabitants. As it turned out, griffons tended to be ticked off when someone walked in long after the sun had set and woke them all up.
On nights like this, she almost felt like a thief inside her uncle’s inn. But there was always a price to pay for staying away to see the ships- one of them being Cetan’s irritation. But it was a fair price to pay, in her opinion. Captains like Peregrine were amazing to watch, both for their skill at sailing and their sheer greatness. At least, that’s what Kestrel believed. Anyone who said that the captains were anything other than brilliant were loonies.
Kestrel grinned slightly to herself as she swung the door to her room open. It was a relatively small thing, at least in comparison to some of the other rooms, but it was cozy. On one wall hung a bookshelf, along with a variety of books which varied from the rules imposed by the city officials to pirates, dead or alive. One of the perks of her room, a window, was included with the package. Before Cetan had realized that you could sneak a griffon through it, she had used it to see the ships. Nowadays, she just went off in the morning and came back in the evening.
A small hammock hung in the room, the result of many weeks of pleading and a fair amount of hard work on her end. She flopped into it, staring at the ceiling in silence, the night’s events running through her read. As exciting as The Bounty’s return might be, the existence of that black griffon confused her more. Unfortunately, sleep was overcoming her, and she didn’t have the brainpower or time to pursue that train of thought any further, and she fell asleep after less than ten minutes.

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                       Job Openings                        
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Job Openings
Grimlock walked through the streets of Roc Point, his expression mirthless. Today was not supposed to be the day a visit like this was scheduled, but given the recent news regarding immortals running amok, he had been forced to reexamine his time table.
Accompanying the irate hippogriff were a pair of griffons. One was the grimacing Ajax, whose golden feathers were mostly obscured by a grey cloak, and an irritated female who on came up to Grimlock’s shoulder. She carried a pair of daggers under her wings, and it was likely that several more were hidden in the fold of her cloak. Her black talons tapped the pavement as she walked, and, to Grimlock’s irritation, a bag of clinking coins joined that sound. Aside from the sound of coins, there was also the sound of clopping hooves and the clicking of metal on the ground, neither of which Grimlock was happy about giving off.
The streets of Roc Point were crowded that day, given that it was a market day. Griffons packed the wide streets, arguing about prices, the value of a certain piece of information, and so forth, leaving the three pirates practically undetected. Despite that, Grimlock couldn’t help but worry that they would be given away by Ajax’s grumbling.
“I can't believe that I’m stuck babysitting,” Grimlock’s first mate muttered for perhaps the seventeenth time, drawing irate glances from both Grimlock and the smaller griffon. “You could have picked anyone to take along on this mission, and who do you pick?”
“I pick my idiotic first mate,” Grimlock said, a slight smile crossing his normally stony face. “I know, terrible decision on my part.” He nodded his head in the direction of the Acheron, which sat some ways away, about a mile from the city- the crew had decided to avoid trying to pull into the harbor for fear of alerting a nosy official, especially given their somewhat decent track record when it came to lethal encounters. “I could have taken anyone from that ship, and I picked you? Definitely regretting it.”
Ajax gave his captain a painful grimace. “That’s not what I meant and-”
“Shuddup,” the smaller griffon snapped, blowing some blue feathers out of her face. “We don’t have time for you to be asine.” She was promptly smacked by Grimlock on the back of her head. “What was that for?”
“Focus,” Grimlock said. “We’re here for a reason. If this is what it’s like, next time I’ll just dump you two on an island while I do important work.” He waved slightly to a griffon who had just done the same to him. Grimlock gestured to the griffon once he was no longer looking at them. “There’s your answer, Ajax. Nobody pays attention to a father and his two kids.”
Ajax looked offended, almost running straight into a pair of giggling children, who were making their way through the streets, a small bag of coins held in the talon of one. They gasped when Ajax stumbled and knocked the coins from their hands, although whether or not it was intentional was anyone’s guess.
Ajax let out a muffled groan, but he bent to help the children retrieve their coins. “My apologies,” he muttered, scooping them up in a talon. He handed them back to them, helping them back to their feet. The children thanked and ran off, giggling once again, waving to Ajax as they vanished around a corner. Several of the nearby shopkeepers, distracted for a moment from peddling their wares, gave approving nods to Ajax, who couldn’t help but wince as eyes turned to him.
Eventually, the gazes left Ajax, who glared at his two colleagues, the smaller of whom was grinning slightly. “They’re kids,” he muttered under his breath.
“To be fair, so are you,” the smaller griffon said, pushing a low-hanging set of feathers out of her face. “You’re what, twenty?”
“Shut up, Mag,” Grimlock muttered, resuming his walking as he did so.”And he’s twenty-two.” The three of them continued making their way through the streets, taking more care this time to avoid bumping into anyone.
The city of Roc Point, which had still not recovered from the fire that burned down its library, and a decent section of the city, was still thriving. Merchants crammed the streets, peddling wares that ranged from exotic weaponry to ‘the crown of the Stormlord.’ Most of them were makeshift, composed of the same green wood that grew at the base of the city, A few of them creaked or waved in the slighty breeze, but most of them were stable.
The smell of sea salt wafted through the air, displaying one of the key oddities about Roc Point. Unlike most cities in the griffon empire, which tended to favor a more cliffside or at least rocky locale, it was located on an island in the middle of the sea, making it somewhat difficult to exactly pinpoint from high in the sky.
Smackdab in the center of the city sat the burned stump of Roc Point’s library, once a massive tree, now it was reduced to a far less impressive sight. However, it was the location of Grimlock’s objective that day. It had taken far too much coaxing to get Finch to acquire the building plans for the lower levels, but after several long meetings, a pretty nasty concussion, and the phrase ‘I practically raised Gale’, Finch had coughed them up.
As they continued to walk for a little while longer, Ajax piped up again. “Um, how in Tartarus do I look like your son?”
“You don’t,” Grimlock conceded, giving a slight nod to the grinning Mag before continuing, “but if Mag looks related to me, and you’re just wearing a cloak, it’s fairly easy for them to assume that she got my end of the gene pool, instead of you.”
“Now this is asinine,” Ajax muttered under his breath. “Can we just focus on getting what we came for?”
Mag fell into step next to Ajax, nudging him in the side with a wing. “C’mon, what’s a little banter between friends?”
“You’re not my friend.”
“True, but Grimlock trusts me, so you should do the same. After all, why would he keep me on his crew if he didn’t trust me?”
“I thought it was because he's your only living relative.” Grimlock whipped around, shooting daggers at Ajax, who blanched. “Never mind,” he muttered under his breath. “So, captain, why do I have to stay with your daughter?”
“I trust her to keep an eye open. I trust you to keep the pair of you alive.”
Mag grimaced. “I can keep myself alive.”
It was Ajax’s turn to grin. “You’re ninety percent bone. There’s no way you’re going to survive if the authorities show up.” He glanced at his captain, a puzzled look spreading across his face. “Say, couldn’t I just keep watch?”
“I don’t trust Mag if she’s at the ship without either of us.”
“So I am being your babysitter.”
Mag snorted under her breath, and Grimlock shot the both of them dark glares. “I am this close,” he growled, raising a gauntleted talon, which glowed faintly from the rune emblazoned on it, “to dumping you two on an island somewhere.”
Mag leaned close to Ajax and whispered something into his ear, drawing a raised eyebrow from the first mate. Grimlock groaned inwardly, but he kept on walking, his hooves clopping against the ground. The street they were on turned suddenly, and Grimlock pivoted on his hooves, turning left into the back alley behind the market. Mag and Ajax took a moment to realize that he had turned, but they dashed to keep up with him.
They walked through the alley, with small houses to their left and the walls of the recently started construction of the ‘new’ Roc Point Library, even if it was being built in the exact same spot, with most of the same infrastructure and books. They stopped to admire a set of wanted posters, which hung on one wall. At the forefront of the posters, their portraits done far larger than on the others, were Gale and Raven, the latter of whose sneer was positively devilish when combined with her missing feathers.
Mag frowned as she looked at the posters, her gaze drifting towards the poster of her father. “You’re at the bottom. Seriously, what are we doing? We’re not even worth a twenty-five thousand bit bounty- we’re stuck at twenty-two thousand.”
Ajax gave her a condescending look. “Bounties are based on the crimes one has committed. Acheron and the crew are only responsible for thirteen deaths,” he nodded to the posters, each of which also had a list of crimes that the griffon was wanted for. Below Grimlock’s morose portrait sat a list of his crimes, which were mostly comprised of theft of valuables and artifacts. “Murder is the crime with the most severe punishment, the other captains have caused more deaths, ergo we’re lowest on the list.” He waved a talon toward Drake’s portrait. The rainbow-colored griffon was grinning at them from his picture, a charred staff held in one talon. Below his picture were listed his bounty, numbering four hundred and ninety thousand, followed by three score deaths that he was responsible for. “Although Drake’s edging his way to the top. Turns out arson is also pretty handy for getting your bounty up.”
“It’s not a competition,” Grimlock said quietly, his pale blue eyes surveying the sneers and grins of his colleagues. Gale’s always concealed face gave way to a cruel sneer, while Passerine and Gareth seemed to be looking directly out of the poster. Grimlock’s picture, by comparison, looked haughty and aloof, looking away from the reader. “Although they did get some damn good artists for Raven and Passerine.”
Grimlock turned away from the powers, continuing down the street towards the entrance of the under-construction library. Mag and Ajax continued to admire the wanted posters for some time, only dashing after Grimlock when he turned around another corner.
Eventually, the walls gave way to massive gate, which glowed faintly from runes. Behind them sat the charred remains of Roc Point’s ever-famous library, with only the second, first and lower floors remaining. It was a sight to behold, especially with ropes, stones and scaffolding adorning the shreds of the tree, tended to by the workers. Today there were barely more than a dozen workers at the site, due to market day, but according to his sources, up to thirty could be working on a specific day. Grimlock waved for Ajax and Mag to go ahead, both of whom cast him nervous glances.
“We, uh, just go in?” Mag asked nervously, her eyes not leaving the glowing blue runes on the gate. “There’s no lightning runes to kill us or anything?”
“It’s a public building. People work here on a daily basis. And Finch doesn’t hate us enough to lie about that.”
Mag grunted. “Fair point.” She stepped forward, swinging the gate open with a creak. The runes glowed faintly as she did so, but nothing adverse happened. She went first, once again blowing her dark blue feathers out of her eyes. Grimlock followed, with Ajax bringing up the rear, who kept shooting glances behind them as they did so.
They made their way to the wooden doors of the building, which still held telltale signs of the time that Drake had decided that fire was excellent for redecorating. The tops of the doors were black, growing more brown as one went down. Above the door frame, which was also black, were the singed remains of the previous floor, which were cut short. The fragments of the new floor were connected to the burned second floor, and a few workers waved to them as they swung the burned doors open.
Inside, they were greeted by the shelves that held centuries of griffon lore and history. While Drake had succeeded in burning down at least fifty percent of the library’s documents, the swift thinking of the authorities in Roc Point had managed to save a fair portion of them. There was also the added benefit of a large portion of the library sitting underground, meaning that Drake's fire had not burned down the bottom floors.
A librarian waved to them as they entered. “Morning, sir. You here with your family?” Beneath his robe, Ajax grimaced, but Grimlock nodded. “Anything I can do for you?”
“Maps,” Grimlock said. “Captain Sparrow’s voyages. Know where they sit?”
“Fourth floor down, in the catacombs. But you need a captain or cartographer license for to access them, sir. Do you have one?”
Mag rolled her eyes, her talon reaching for the daggers she had concealed. Ajax cast a cold look at her, but he made no move. Grimlock shook his head. “Fraid not, sir. Are there any available maps for us to look at? Such as Admiral Geralt’s?”
“Third floor down has the majority of them.” The librarian leaned forward in his deck, grinning slightly. “You’re lucky- they were barely saved when Drake burned this place down those years ago.”
“That madman Drake,” Grimlock chuckled. He thanked the librarian and headed towards the stairs, his posse following. Deeper into the Roc Point Library, the wood gave way to stone. Centuries ago, the library was a burial chamber for griffon warlords. They had since converted into a library, and some tombs had even been moved to store the various documents that had been saved from the fire.
Torches hung from the walls, their light enhanced by glowing runes, most of which were, amusingly enough, for fire prevention. Aside from protective runes, there were ones for muffling sound, hardening the stony ground to prevent chipping, and to provide extra light.
The three of them made their way down to the fourth floor, passing the floors for mythology, classical literature, and history, a smile growing on Mag’s face when what they were doing dawned on her. “Breaking and entering?”
Grimlock gave his daughter a slight smile as he nodded towards the entrance to the catacombs. A heavy steel gate sat there, this time glowing with runes that they knew were hostile. The lock was sophisticated, with the faintest of runes glowing inside the lock, as well as on the outside. Behind the gate, they could make shelves, crammed to the brim with rolled up documents. The occasional coffin could also be seen inside, scattered amongst the shelves.
Ajax raised an eyebrow. “What about the librarian upstairs?”
“We’re at least forty feet down. He won’t hear us.” Grimlock nodded to the runes on the walls. “Plus, they put up runes to muffle sound. I promise you, however, that that’ll be the first thing they change when word gets out.”
“And fire their current librarian,” Ajax muttered under his breath.
“Perhaps,” Grimlock murmured. “I hope not, however. Few could hope to match up against us, and I pray that he stays in his position, regardless of my actions.”
“And the lock?” Ajax asked, nodding towards it. “How do we get that open without causing a ruckus?”
Mag grinned at the younger of the two griffons. “He’s got a trick or two up his sleeve- ones that you don’t know about.”
Ajax raised an eyebrow, drawing a slight chuckle from Grimlock. He raised his gauntleted talon, on which the faint rune still glowed. “We’ve all got our tricks. Being a blacksmith for five years, followed by this job, tends to give you an idea or or two.” He set his talon against the lock, muttered something, and the rune on it glowed brightly. There was a muffled crack, and the lock swung open, its mechanism shattered.
“What the hell?” Ajax muttered, casting a nervous look up the stairs.
“Force rune,” Grimlock explained. “It’s fueled by my own energy. I feel weak for a little bit, but it lets me create enough force to shatter bone, or in this case, metal. Or both, should the need arise.”
Ajax whistled appreciatively. “Those hours locked in your cabin? Took you that long to perfect it?”
“Research, actually,” Grimlock chuckled, swinging the door open with a quiet creak. “This was fairly easy. Two hours making the gauntlet, another one making sure the rune was appropriately carved. The rest was me making sure the theorems were sound, and that I wouldn’t just kill myself creating that type of force. It’s still largely a prototype.”
“Oh.”
Grimlock stepped into the catacombs, nodding towards the stairs above. “Make sure I’m undisturbed while I search. Make sure that Mag doesn’t get killed. The usual arrangement.” Ajax nodded, dragging Mag along with him, and Grimlock began his search.
Inside, Grimlock was immediately awed by the sheer scope of it. Grimlock, despite being the most traveled of the Oracle commanders, had never been given the chance to visit the library. Either Gale, or Raven, or Drake, or personal matters, one of the four had always called him away from any pleasure time he might have had near Roc Point. In fact, he was only working in the city due to a plan that had taken far too long for Finch and Gale to approve.
Books filled the shelves, with maps stacked on top of those. Grimlock was able to spot the names of many of his heroes on those shelves, from Gamora to Heron, Ulysses to Macaw, all of them individuals who had striven to expand the size of griffon knowledge. “Drake’s a bloody idiot,” Grimlock muttered, running a talon along the names listed. “If I find him burning anything else like this, I’ll shove his own fire down his throat. I wonder how fire resistant he is on the inside.”
Grimlock continued walking, the beating of his hooves and of his heart the only sounds he could hear. Occasionally, he would pass a tombstone or coffin inscribed with a name he would recognize, and he would pause, his heart racing as he realized that he was inches away from the remains of some of the greatest griffons to have ever lived.
Eventually, however, Grimlock realized that he was simply delaying his objective. He slapped himself with a talon, mentally chastising himself for his foolishness. You’re hear for Sparrow’s damn maps, Grimlock. Focus.
He continued to search, finally arriving at his target. Squirreled away at the back of the catacombs, pressed under a pile of other maps, sat Captain Sparrow’s maps and captain’s log. Grimlock’s heart skipped a beat as he removed them from the shelf, carefully setting them on the floor. He picked up the journal, flipping through it to find the date he knew he was looking for.
23, 2, 32nd Year of Notus' Rule.
The tunnels are terrifying. They’re seemingly endless. All that we can hear inside them are the skittering of claws and the hissing of those hideous beasts. My crew and I, we’ve already lost three crew members to them. Jay was dragged away by one on the first night, and we could see it crawling along the ceiling as it devoured him. Lark, meanwhile, panicked. We heard her get eaten on the sixth night, several tunnels away from us. Lastly, Grouse made the mistake of trying to approach one.
Our supplies are running low. We need to reach an exit before we all starve, or become food for those monstrous creatures. They’re immortal, or so the stories claim. I see no reason to refute it. I saw their queen on the way in. Massive, she was. The sound it made, when her tongue ran along her mouth…
Regardless, I hope that my mad ramblings help someone, somewhere, even if I don’t make it out. Be a damn shame if I don’t. I had hoped to propose to Magpie when I got home. Guess that might be out of the picture, now.
The writing continued on the next page, but Grimlock didn’t need to keep reading. A sad grin spread across his face. “You make it home,” Grimlock murmured, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest as he spoke. “I’ve traced your family tree. You get the girl.”
He swallowed nervously, unrolling one of the maps. His heart skipped half a dozen beats when he saw what was within. A quick purview of the other eight revealed all of what he was looking for. He grinned, rolling them back up and stuffing them under his cloak as he did so. Then, he returned to the entrance to the catacombs, where Mag and Ajax waited.
Ajax, who sat at the stairs, looked up from the book he was reading when Grimlock approached. “Find it?”
Grimlock nodded, but he frowned as he took in what Ajax was doing. “You’re reading?”
Ajax shrugged. “What else was I supposed to do? Mag’s busy ‘shopping’, as she put it, and nobody has come down the stairs, so I figured I might as well see what they had to offer.” He showed the faded cover of the book to his captain. “It’s Gregory. Really good work.”
“Get up,” Grimlock muttered. “Mag, we’re leaving.” His daughter came out from behind a shelf, a thick book carried under a wing. He sighed and massaged his temple with his non-gauntleted talon. “I’ll go up first. You two follow.”
The pair exchanged looks, but they nodded and followed him up the stairs. Little had changed since they had entered. The library was still on duty, reading a book as he sat there. When Grimlock came up the stairs, he called a greeting. “Sir, did you find what you were looking for?”
Grimlock nodded and made his way to the exit, silently hoping that the library did not notice the scrolls under his cloak. Unfortunately, that was not to be. Mag, who was not really paying attention, came up the stairs as Grimlock made his way away from them, stepping on her father’s cloak as she did so.
Grimlock cloak slipped from his shoulders, revealing his equine back half. The library reeled backward, clearly trying to say something, but he merely spluttered for a second. Finally, he managed
Grimlock let out a snarl, leaping forward towards the librarian. Before he had finished sputtering, Grimlock’s hoof had collided with his chest, sending him flying into the wall behind him. He felt one of the librarian’s ribs crack, but the librarian collapsed before Grimlock was forced to take more extreme measures. Some books and scrolls fell to the floor, landing around the librarian’s prone form.
Ajax, who was just coming up the stairs, shot a dark look at the paling Mag, who was petrified. “Idiot,” Ajax muttered, retrieving Grimlock’s cloak from the floor and handing it to its owner. “They wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn-”
Grimlock felt a warm sensation on his left talon, and he couldn’t help but say a thousand curses in his head. “Ajax,” Grimlock said, his voice deathly quiet, “shut up. We’ve got what we came for. He’s not dead. Let’s just leave.” He wrapped his cloak around himself once more, positioning it so that it covered the documents he had stolen once more. He gestured for the two of them to follow once more, which they did.
The three of them made their way out of Roc Point mostly undisturbed. The market was still going strong, making much of their actions unnoticed in the crowd. Eventually, they reached the edge of the city, where a single cutter sat, bobbing slightly in the water. Inside sat two members of Acheron’s crew, who were playing a game of wishbone they waited. They waved as Grimlock approached. “So, cap,” one of them said as he rolled his dice, drawing an irate look from his fellow crew member, “you find it?”
Grimlock was about to answer, when some kind of commotion could be seen coming from the direction of the library. A few griffons could be seen flying around the library, gesturing and pointing in various directions. The other crew member grimaced and began stuffing their game into a wooden box, gesturing for them to get in as they did so. “We don’t need an answer.”
Mag and Ajax entered first, Grimlock watching the city as they did so. Once every else was settled he stepped into the boat, his hooves rocked the it slightly, making an already jittery Ajax grasp the side with his talons. A griffon or two from the city were making panicked gestures in the direction of the cutter, which was then set into motion by Mag. It picked up a wind within seconds, and then began suddenly rising into the air, the runes on its side glowing as it did so. A grimacing Ajax held onto the side of the rapidly rising boat, his expression clearly seasick.
Grimlock watched Roc Point fade into a speck as they sailed for Acheron. Far below, griffons could be seen pushing their way through the market, likely guards in search of Grimlock. Once they were sufficient distance away, Grimlock reached into his cloak and removed Sparrow’s journal. He turned it to a random page and began reading.
Fifteen minutes later, when he was about four pages further into the journal, they arrived at Acheron. The crew awaited them at the bow of the ship, with a few of them also playing games of wishbone. The other four in the cutter got out first, securing the ship and gathering up their possessions as they unloaded.
Grimlock, meanwhile, was marking his page in Sparrow’s journal when his ring felt unnaturally hot, making the captain wince slightly. He muttered a curse under his breath, stepping out onto Acheron, wrapping his cloak around him as he did so.
“So,” one of his crew members asked, a grin crossing his face, “I take it everything went well?”
Grimlock nodded, pushing his way through the mass that was his crew. A few of them voiced their concern, but he gave them no response. As he turned towards the stairs below the ship, Mag caught up with him, an eyebrow rising. “Um, is it Finch?” She clutched the book she had stolen from the library close to her chest, a hint of nervousness in her eyes.
Grimlock nodded slightly, stepping below into the belly of the ship. Behind him, he could hear Ajax shouting orders to the crew, preparing for their next journey. Mag followed her father, almost tripping with the heavy book in her forelimbs.
As she followed, Grimlock couldn’t help but grimace. “Mag… I need you to stay out of this.”
Mag swallowed, but shook her head. “I want to see it happen.”
Grimlock glanced at his daughter, and he couldn’t help but clench his metallic talon. “Finch will kill me if I provide you with this kind of information. It’s sensitive to him, Gale, and the Six, and it falls to our discretion to determine what the other Oracles deserve to know.”
“Then use your discretion to determine that I deserve to know!” Mag snapped. “When you’re gone, I’d need to know what’s been going on if I’m to become captain!”
They had already come to his cabin, but Grimlock did not enter. He stood there, setting his metallic gauntlet on his door. “Mag,” he muttered under his breath, “I’ve got to get to this meeting. Finch is already in a bad mood, and I don’t have time to argue this with you. We’ll speak when I finish.”
Mag glared at him, but she nodded. “Fine,” she said, her tone infinitely grudgingly. “But I want you to pass on a message.”
“Anything,” Grimlock muttered.
“Tell Pandora to go screw herself.”
Grimlock sighed and opened his cabin door. “And that,” he muttered, “is why Finch doesn’t want you listening in on these meetings.”
Mag took off, heading back towards the deck of the ship. Grimlock stepped into his cabin, closing the door behind him. He glanced at the door once again, a slight sigh escaping his lips. He pressed his ring against it, making the runes on the ring and on the door’s rim glow brightly. He opened the door once more, and instead of the hallways of Acheron, he was greeted by a circular chamber, with runes glowing on all sides.
A table sat in the center of this chamber, with chairs set around it. A glowing door, each matching an identical one in each Oracle ship, sat behind the chairs. And inside those chairs sat his compatriots. Grimlock swallowed as he stepped into the chamber- he never liked the sinking sensation accompanied with gateway runes, and today was no exception.
Finch said, or so he claimed, that the technique was one that he had pilfered from a species of exotic shapeshifters that lived in the Reaches, but Grimlock had never truly believed Gale’s majordomo on that front. Grimlock, all in all, put little stock in Finch’s claims.
The image of Passerine was the first to greet him. The captain’s snakelike form was easy for Grimlock to make out in the finely lit room, given that he was probably nine or ten feet long. Passerine had always been a giant amongst griffons. Smooth gray feathers, pressed down flat against his skin, only increased the captain’s likeness to an enormous serpent, and his tail coiled round the chair in which he sat, threatening to crush it with the pressure applied by the thick chords. A bottle of wine sat next to him, minuscule when compared to his boulder-like talon. Several empty bottles rolled beneath his chair, although to the captain, it was likely nothing more than a warm up.
Much like his body, it was Passerine’s voice that was the first sound to greet him. “Ah,” came the deep, almost melodious voice, “it seems that Grimlock finally decided to grace us with his presence. Dost the noble captain deem us fit to be worked with?”
“Shut up,” came the reply, echoing across the chamber. Her talons folded together, her bright yellow feathers, the back ones tied together in a pseudo-ponytail, sat a much younger, much smaller griffon. From Grimlock’s view, she sat to his right, her wicked-looking scimitar hanging at her side. Most would have placed in between the ages of eighteen and twenty-one, which was an accurate assumption. She had a spotted yellow back half, reminiscent of the massive cats that Grimlock had once seen brought from Equestria. “He’s here. That’s all that matters.”
“As if,” Passerine said, his tongue running across his beak. “I’ve sat on my ass, with little to nothing to amuse me, for the past twenty minutes. I need an explanation for his tardiness, Pandora, even if you don’t.”
“He’s got a life,” Pandora snapped, glaring at the behemoth sitting across from her. “He’s got a daughter, as well as crew that appreciates him for who is, not just what he does. Unlike certain griffons, he takes advantage of the benefits given to him.”
Grimlock winced at Pandora’s words, but, thankfully, none of the other Oracles were focused on him. Drake, Gareth, and Finch were too busy watching Passerine and Pandora, with Finch clearly enjoying the confrontation. Grimlock, meanwhile, fiddled with his gauntleted talon, refusing to look up.
A cackle escaped Passerine’s massive beak. “Eager to defend ‘daddy’ today, aren’t we?” Unfortunately for Pandora, the arrangement of her feathers made it quite easy to see the red tint on her skin. Passerine leaned forward in his chair, his dark eyes glittering. “Want to keep going? Or shall we get to business?’
Pandora, had the meeting not been taking place in neutral ground, would have likely attacked Passerine then and there. As it were, she merely decided to provide her own verbal retort. “At least I know I had a family that loved me.”
Passerine snorted and picked up his bottle of wine, his enormous talons actually crushing it as he tried to pour it into his mouth. He swore, shaking shards of glass from his talons. “Grimlock, you never answered. Why did you leave me with this bitch?” He sighed and turned his attention to removing the shards of glass. "Nevermind. Finch, get on to business.
Finch glanced at Passerine, whose size made Finch look like nothing more than a speck from where he sat, but he simply sighed and fiddled with the stack of papers that sat in front of him. “Oracles, I’ve got good news, excellent news, and catastrophic news. We’ve got a new set of prophecies, we’ve got our chance to dethrone Grover-” A cheerful murmur went up from the room, all rivalries forgotten, but then Finch continued. “And Raven’s necklace is currently in the hands of someone in Griffonstone.”
“Well,” came the terse reply from the griffon to Grimlock’s left. His feathers were practically bleached in terms of color, and his fur was a similar shade, making him ghostlike. “We’re doomed.” His right talon reached absentmindedly for the swords hanging on his chair, both of them attached to a leather strap. “Should I just cut us down now?”
“No need, Gareth,” Finch answered, his voice mirthless. “She’s made her bed, and we have to fix the covers for her.” The white griffon raised an eyebrow, but he moved his forelimb away from his swords. Finch continued. “As far as we know, the necklace is currently in Griffonstone, in the possession of someone we have yet to identify. We’ll need it back.”
Drake spoke for the first time since Grimlock had arrived. His parrot-like feathers glittered in the light, only enhancing the macabre grin on his face. He clutched the tall, rune-engraved staff that never left his side, making the runes glow a sickly green. “And Raven?”
Finch glanced at the captain, sneering slightly. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Meanwhile, we do have an Oracle vacancy available, by order of Gale.”
That got the attention of the other five. Passerine swore, shaking minuscule droplets of blood from his talons as he shattered another bottle. Pandora’s and Grimlock’s faces paled, their eyes wide. Gareth actually placed his talons on his swords, a grimace on his face. Drake whistled slightly, blowing flame from his mouth.
Finch nodded. “Exactly. Raven’s out, at least until she gets her necklace back. Meanwhile, we’ve got to nominate a new Oracle.” He sighed and pulled a single sheet of paper from the stack. “You all know the drill.”
“I nominate Magpie,” Pandora said without hesitation. Grimlock cast her a glance, as did a skeptical Drake, but they made no comment. “Grimlock’s raised her well. She’s lived on a ship her whole life, she’s got excellent understanding of our work, and I think she’d be a magnificent addition to the Oracles.”
Finch raised an eyebrow, but made a note on the sheet of paper. “Nomination recorded. Anyone else?”
A snicker went up from Passerine. “What? You think any of us have got bloody anyone we want in on this?”
Finch glanced at the behemoth sitting next to him. “No, actually, but there’s protocol. It’s how almost all of us ended up here, and I’d be stupid to discard the tradition.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Any other nominations?”
Drake shrugged, leaning back and his chair and snorting smoke from his nose. Gareth frowned, casting a look at Grimlock as he did so, but he said nothing. Grimlock shook his head. Finch grimaced, looking at his paper before he continued. “Very well. The current nominees, then, are Magpie, daughter of Grimlock, and Vane, the pegasus.”
“Storming what!?” Passerine snarled, his tail wrapping itself around Finch’s chest before the smaller griffon had time to respond. “Who in Tartarus are you dragging into this?” Finch squeaked as the mammoth sized griffon applied pressure to his chest, Passerine’s tail tightening with every second.
“Drop him,” Gareth muttered to Passerine. “We don’t have time to kill him and work out this situation.”
Passerine grunted, but he dropped Finch, letting the griffon drop to the floor and start wheezing. “Dammit,” Finch gasped, doing his best to pull himself upright. “I’m in charge here, you idiots. I’ll have you drawn and quartered if you do that again.”
The other Oracles in the room, unseen by the still coughing Finch, exchanged a slight smile. The five of them had divided opinions on a majority of things, but they all agreed that Finch was on their list of ten least favorite griffons, and none of them put much stock into Finch’s commands.
Grimlock, when Finch had finally clambered into his chair- and scooted it a safe distance from Passerine- spoke. “Who is this ‘Vane’? An old acquaintance of yours?”
“Gale’s pick, actually,” Finch growled. He sighed and waved towards the door that led to Clipper, which swung open to reveal a pegasus. “Her recent batch of prophecies specifically mentioned her?”
Grimlock watched the pegasus as she entered, a pensive look on his face. His drummed the metal digits of his gauntlet on the table, taking in her disheveled form. The first thing he noticed was her unkempt gray mane, which hung down her neck like moss. Soon after, he noticed the eyepatch and emerald green coat. Grimlock allowed himself a slight smile, pondering why she was the one who Gale had nominated.
Passerine, meanwhile, was significantly less impressed by the pegasus. “Alright, Finch, who’s the brat? Some bitch you picked up in a jail cell somewhere?”
“That’s how Gale found me, yes.” The pegasus’ voice was a surprise to Grimlock, for he had expected one significantly more hoarse. Vane looked up, apparently taking in Passerine’s size for the first time. “That’s one big-ass griffon.”
Passerine’s dark eyes glittered, making Pandora and Drake actually scoot their chairs backwards. “Alright, Finch, game’s up. I’m not letting her be nominated- I could snap her like a twig if I wanted to.”
Vane glared at Passerine, a sneer creeping into her voice as she spoke. “I doubt it. You’re, what? Strong? Muscly? Anyone with a decent amount of speed could dodge a brute like you.” She looked him over contemptuously, gesturing towards his size with a wing. “If all it takes is physical prowess to get onto this group, I’d be perfectly qualified by that alone.
Passerine didn’t bother giving a verbal response. Instead, he swung round, far faster than anything of his size should have been able to, and slammed Vane to the floor, pinning her with a talon the size of a boulder. Her right forelimb twisted sickeningly, very clearly dislocated from the force of his attack. There was a hideous cracking sound, likely from Vane’s ribs, as the behemoth applied pressure. “Finch,” Passerine growled, his now-standing form towering seven or eight feet above Vane’s prone form. “She’ll die within an hour of nomination. You expect me to believe that she’s to be one our new nominations? Her and Magpie?”
Finch glared at Passerine. “Yes. Now let her up.”
Passerine gave a disgusted snort and removed his talon from the hyperventilating Vane. “Pathetic,” he spat, his eyes stormy. “Grimlock’s daughter and Gale’s newest catch. Is that what our new officers are?” He returned to his seat and gestured with a talon. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”
Vane sat there, moaning in pain as Passerine gave her a disgusted look. “Pandora?”
The captain hurried over to Vane and drew her saber, carving runes in a circle around Vane in a rapid set of motions. They glowed briefly for a moment, and within seconds Vane was standing, her forelimbs back in their natural positions. Vane gave Pandora a terrified, if somewhat grateful, nod as Pandora returned to her seat.
Finch glowered at the giant, but he returned to business. “Gale’s most recent vision claims that Vane is the gateway to whatever lies in the East.” Vane grimaced, but said nothing, an action unnoticed by Finch. “Not only that, but she’s taken naturally to her role on Clipper. Because of this, Gale thinks it wise to nominate her.” He looked expectantly at the other Oracles, who exchanged looks.
“Has your lover gone mad?” Gareth spat, a surprisingly vehement reaction from the Oracle. “You expect us to nominate some half-assed pegasus who turned up out of nowhere? Gale’s prophecies can be far-fetched, but this is stretching things.”
Finch grimaced. “Fair enough. Pandora? Your reasons for nominating Mag?”
“I’ve already said them,” growled Pandora, “but I’ll say them again. Grimlock, one of the finest Oracle captains ever, raised her. She’s lived on a ship her whole life. She’s had some of the finest griffons in the Oracles’ teaching her. As of now, I can’t think of a better qualified griffon to take the position.”
“You overestimate Mag,” Grimlock whispered, but it went unnoticed by the others.
Finch sighed. “Very well. As is the norm, we’ll vote in order of seniority. Newest members first. Pandora?”
“Mag,” came the reply instantly, the yellow-feathered griffon not hesitating in standing behind her pick.
“Vane,” Drake said, licking his lips slightly. “Mag’s a terrible idea. A fourteen year old leading the Oracles? Count me out.”
Finch swallowed. “Passerine?”
“Bah,” the mountain spat, drumming his talons on the table so hard that they left marks, “you’re asking me to choose between two individuals I already hate. Mag. She's a survivor. The pegasus will break within a week, I guarantee it to you, Finch.”
Gareth scratched his chin, pondering his options. Aside from Grimlock, he had been the longest serving Oracle, clocking in at nine years. “The pegasus. Mag’s eager, but she’s far safer with Grimlock.”
All eyes turned to Grimlock, even those of the pegasus, Vane. Grimlock sighed, casting a sad look to Pandora. “The pegasus.”
Finch let out a sigh, leaning back in his seat as he did so. “Wonderful! Vane, welcome aboard.” Grimlock noted, absentmindedly, that Vane did not exactly appear to be happy with that result. Finch continued, clearly oblivious. “All we need now is the necklace.”
“I’ll get it,” Gareth muttered. He stood up, retrieved his swords from his chair, and walked towards the door behind him.
Finch glared at the captain. “We’ve still got the prophecies to-”
“No,” Gareth snapped, making a rude gesture at Finch as he activated his rune-carved doorway. “We don’t. I’ve got Raven’s mess to sort out. Grimlock’s got other business to attend to. You’ve got your new protege to deal with. Pandora’s got to be at Maelstrom, and Passerine’s got to continue his research. Go aggravate someone else. I’ll be back with that necklace.”
"You don't understand," Finch snapped. "It's in an inn called Gemma's Rest, run by none other than Icarus-"
Gareth swung round, a savage grin spreading across his face. "Well then, who's wearing the necklace?"
"According to my spies," Finch murmured, "we think it's one of his nieces..."
Gareth's grin grew even more feral. "Wonderful. I'll look forward to this, then." With that, he stepped out of the glowing doorway into the interior of his own ship, swinging the door closed and leaving the other five to stand in neutral ground. Grimlock sighed and got up, and the rest of the captains followed suit.
The news of the what the god had been doing in Griffonstone took less than a day to spread out through the city. Icarus had barely opened the tavern for the day when Rook came in, ordered a meal, and began to spread the news of the Precursor, now acknowledged to be Notus. Those who hadn’t been at the celebration were shocked to hear the news, while those who had been there were both nervous and excited to hear the news of the maps that Grover would be distributing.
Kestrel, true to her word, had taken up working at the inn. She dashed amongst the griffons at the inn, removing dishes, delivering orders, collecting tips (of which there were many), and earning plenty of grins from the patrons, many of whom had been coming here since she could walk.
“So, how’d you find out?” Caladrius asked. He had risen early, and was drinking his usual round. Icarus didn’t bother to even ask if anyone wanted refills. He just filled whatever mugs were pushed near him and listened to the news. Meanwhile, Kestrel carried trays of food to the griffons who had ordered something. She listened intently to every word that was spoken, her eyes gleaming with delight.
“I ‘bumped’ into Grover this morning, and he just told me,” Rook’s voice was filled with enthusiasm, as he couldn’t hold back the news. “Turns out that any captain worth their salt is wanted to join in this race to compete. And, according to some version that you can hear, winner of the race will be looking at the greatest haul ever imagined. Wealth, fame, power, everything else the world has to offer, it essentially will belong to whoever makes it the end of the world. Grover came back with a sword, a wife, kingship, and a whole lot of legends. The rest of us, apparently, are looking at similar rewards, if not greater.”
“What could it be?”
Nobody said anything, fully expecting Rook to answer. He grinned, leaned back, and smiled. “Grover essentially said ‘whatever you want’.” An excited murmuring broke out from the griffons. Regardless of what else was happening, you could get a griffon excited with words like that.
Caladrius took a sip from his mug, then set it down forcefully, splashing ale onto the counter. Kestrel winced, rushing over with a rag to mop it up. “Why would Grover have kept this from us till this point? That there’s an angry god that wants him dead, and that there’s going to be some really nasty griffons, in addition to the Oracles, on the loose? What else is he hiding?”
Several griffons gave him a sour look. Icarus was the first one to speak. “Maybe this is the last of the secrets. I mean, it’s not exactly different from what we already knew. Gods have always been involved, one way or another.”
Caladrius snorted. “A god shows up. Grover comes out with some more hidden crap about what went on years ago. Yes. I think that there’s more that we don’t know.”
Rook gave him an acknowledging nod. “Point taken.” He returned to relaying what he had heard. “Regardless, I expect every ship will be leaving the harbor over the next few days, or weeks. No captain in their right mind is going to pass up this opportunity.” He ate his meal for a few minutes, leaving the rest of the griffons to mutter in the ensuing quiet.
Unheard by most of the inn, there was the sound of a door opening. Icarus, one of the few who had heard, gave everyone a nervous look, and then turned to Kestrel, who came over to him, a pile of platter precariously balanced on her wings. “Can you hold down the fort?” He asked quietly. She nodded. “Alright. I need to take care of something.”
Icarus headed to the kitchen, then swung into his room. Unsurprisingly, he found Simurgh standing the room, the door to the back still slightly ajar. The oily griffon was looking through one of Icarus’ books, an amused look on his face. Despite Icarus making little noise, Simurgh still looked up when Icarus entered. He grinned, snapping the book he was reading shut. “So, what’s up?” Icarus gave him a flat look. “Come on, it’s not like I would have cared if you had gone through my stuff on The Vagabond.”
Icarus sighed. “Times change. Right now, I just don’t want you getting yourself in over your head. You’ve gotten into trouble with schemes like this in the past. I don’t want you doing anything stupid again. Especially if my library is what causes you to do it.”
Simurgh grinned and gave the book to Icarus. “Relax. Every griffon in the city is talking about it. It’s not like I’m doing anything out of place. I’m just smart enough to realize that the answer is sitting under their noses.” He pulled another book of the shelf and opened it to a specific page. He held it out for Icarus to see. Icarus took it, a grimace spreading across his features. “Is this really the type of thing an ‘innkeeper’ should be owning?”
Icarus took in a plate containing a beautifully painted illustration of a flaming griffon, seated upon a throne. It matched the figure that had appeared at the previous night’s party to a T, even down to the coal-like eyes burning its head. “So, you did come here looking for clues.” Icarus shook his head disparagingly. “You’re operating on a different level of information on all this, aren’t you? You’ve, what, been getting information from the Oracles? How long have you know about what’s going on?”
“Far too long.” Simurgh smiled slyly. “And no, I’m not on the Oracle payroll. And, frankly, that’s a bit stupid of you to assume. But I will tell you this, nineteen years away give you lots of time to explore various avenues.” He waggled his digits at Icarus. “Especially magical avenues.”
“You are definitely going to end up dead at the edge of the world. Seriously, have the results of relic hunting taught you nothing?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. It’s a hobby now.” He rolled his shoulders, a grin crossing his face. “How far is Gabriel’s from here?”
Icarus closed the book and slapped Simurgh across the face with it. “You’re an idiot. You realize that, right? He’s my brother-in-law! I’m not going to help you break into his house.”
Simurgh, still grinning, proceeded to massage his jaw. “Just drop it. I’m not a child for you to watch out for.” He nodded towards the entrance to Icarus’ room and the bar outside. “Come on, Icarus. Tell me that this doesn’t interest you in the slightest. A chance to do what we all dreamed of doing? Travel to the end of the world, be named champions of the gods, rule the world? Destroy the Oracles? Leave all this,” he gestured at the inn, “behind? Come on. One more adventure, and I’ll leave your life for good, if you want. You’ll never see hide nor hair of me till the end of time.”
He looked expectantly at his friend, a wild grin on his face. Icarus merely stood there, a somewhat bemused look on his face. Simurgh sighed and pressed onward. “Gemma would have wanted it. I promise you she would have wanted you to do this. And you’ll what, serve drinks in a backend inn till the end of time?”
The moment Simurgh said those words, some indication dawned on his face that he had gone too far. Icarus glared at him, tossing his book to the ground. The innkeeper looked ready to punch Simurgh, an almost feral snarl etched on his face. “Times have changed, like I said. I’ve got a life here now. I can’t go running around, chasing after fever dreams and getting people killed. If you keep running along in the footsteps of a flaming deity, then good for you. But don’t expect me to bail out your burned corpse!” He waved at the inn outside. “Me, I’m staying here to care for my nieces. They need me, far more than your deluded fantasies need me! And unlike you, I can trust them not to get those that i love killed!”
There was a moment of silence between them, with Icarus glaring at his friend, while Simurgh merely stood there, his expression stony. Finally, Simurgh winced. “Fine. I’ll leave.” Simurgh strode away from his friend, slipping out through the slightly ajar door, leaving a stormy Icarus in his room, alone.
Icarus stood there in silence for some time, thoughts racing through his head. He swallowed, for a moment doubting if he should have said that. After almost a minute standing there, stunned, he sighed and came back out to the bar. Almost immediately, the smell of smoke filled the air. Icarus gasped, rushing over to his stew pot, which had almost burned while he was arguing with Simurgh. An agitated Kestrel dashed up to him. “Cetan took off for the Shipbuilders, Simurgh just came out in a huff, Caladrius left without giving a tip, and you almost burned the stew. Are you sure you want me working here now? Couldn’t you just give me my two weeks notice or something?”
Icarus grinned and ruffled the feathers on her head, making her grimace. “Oh, come on. Your sister would strangle me if I let you run off to the docks again, and it looks like you got things under control.” He waved a talon at the inn. Most of the griffons had begun clearing out, paying for their meals or drinks, while a few, such as Rook, stayed around to chat.
Kestrel sighed and began gathering up dishes, accidentally sloshing some leftover stew onto her apron as she did so. She muttered a word that Icarus did not know where she learned, but nodded. “Sure, I guess. But I still want to join a ship, no matter what father says.”
Icarus frowned. “Is this really the best time? Given the stakes, I don’t think they’ll want anyone without a bit of sailing-.”
Rook chuckled and tossed a coin to Kestrel, who had just refilled his drink. “Nah, you're a bit outdated. Given recent circumstances, I imagine anyone would be happy for another crew member.”
Icarus paused in the middle of wiping the counter down for the hundredth time and glanced at Rook. “You think of any crews that might have a spot?”
Rook shrugged. “Depends on who runs it and whether or not they had a spot open. Most ships don’t have opening right now, what with all the dangers with sailing at the moment, but that might change, given recent circumstances. For all we know, ships could have more open slots than normal.
“I know The Bounty had a slot open, although Peregrine probably got that filled immediately. He needed a carpenter or something like, though, so that’s probably a bad idea. The bastard has a habit of leaving as soon as possible.” He chuckled and took another swig. “Goliath mentioned that he had lost a crewmember in a storm recently, but I doubt either of you would like The Prometheus.”
“What’s wrong with The Prometheus?” Kestrel asked.
“Don’t tell Gawain that any of us said this,” a nearby griffon chimed in, nodding towards Rook with a ‘blame him’ look on his face, “but everyone pretty much agrees that they’re a bunch of pirates who give griffons a bad name. Vocal minorities and all that. They’re the closest thing to bona fide Oracles here right now.”
Icarus flinched. “Watch it,” he muttered, “I don’t want trash talk in my inn. Knowing rumors, one griffon mention a thief pony and then everybody is shooting alicorns on sight.”
Rook shrugged. “To be fair, they tend to make good shooting targets, even if you only see one every thousand years.” Icarus gave him a flat glance. “Alright, point taken,” Rook muttered, chuckling softly. He tossed a few coins to Icarus. “Keep the change,” he said as he stood up and stretched. “I’m heading to see how my crew is doing. Have a good one.” He left the building, leaving only a few in the inn.
Icarus sighed as he watched Rook go. “Anyone else leaving soon?”
There was the creaking of the door a second later, however, distracting of all thoughts of unpaid tabs. Cetan entered the inn, doing her best to avoid being noticed. However, it didn’t take long for a griffon to notice and a cheer to go up from the patrons. “Hey!” One griffon cheered. “It’s everyone's favorite shipwright!”
Cetan gave them a slight smile, albeit an embarrassed one, and made her way to her uncle and sister. “I see you’re taking to this well,” she said, chuckling as she watched Kestrel scurry about the bar. “Icarus paying you well?”
“I want my two weeks notice,” Kestrel muttered under her breath. “The sooner I get fired, sooner I can get on a ship.”
Cetan winced. “About that…”
Icarus raised an eyebrow, but before he could say anything, he was pulled away by orders for food, leaving Kestrel to hear the news. “Well?” Kestrel asked, bouncing on her paws. “You get hired by someone?”
“Peregrine, actually.”
Icarus dropped the dishes he was carrying, causing them to shatter on the floor. A cheer went up from those still in the bar, and immediately half a dozen new drinks were ordered to celebrate the newest sailor.
Before long the inn smelled of newly opened beer as the patrons toasted Cetan, who, despite her embarrassment, joined in the drinks all the same. Kestrel joined in as well, although Icarus made sure to give her something that wouldn’t knock her out.
“How’d it happen?” One of the patrons asked as a second toast was started.
Cetan frowned slightly, thinking. “Oddly enough, he mentioned coming across I paper I had written. I’d assume that was my thesis, but I don’t know how he got his hands on that.”
Kestrel let out a squeak, but it went unnoticed by the others. She leaned back in her chair, happy to toast to her sister’s accomplishment. When the drinks began to go around for a second time, she made her way upstairs, certain that she would have fainted from any more alcohol. Making it to her room, she creaked the window open and crept onto the roof.
Kestrel sat outside her uncle’s inn, thinking as she rocked back and forth on the second story roof. Her wings were extended behind her, helping her balance as she moved. The necklace that she wore, and still felt guilt over stealing, hung around her neck. A little while ago, she had felt a slight pain where it hung, but it had faded, making her certain that she had imagined it.
Below her scurried the inhabitants of Griffonstone. Most of them carried various objects with them as they worked, while others merely carried messages to other captains. Today, of all days, was the best day to ship watch, given the recent news. She saw Peregrine, chatting with Aquila by the docks, and Rook, his hat the only thing making him stick up in the crowds at the docks.
Several ships, she had noticed, had already left for the East, their captains clearly eager to get the adventure started. She sighed, spotting her father working amongst the captains. She fingered the necklace, briefly considering if she should return it. Then, his words from yesterday came hurtling back to her head, and she clutched it all the tighter.
She sighed and leaned back on the roof, using her wings to prop her up. “Stupid Oracles,” she muttered under her breath. “I could be sailing now, if it weren’t for you.”
She sat in silence for some time longer, the distant hubbub of griffons aiding in her relaxing. At one point she thought she could see Simurgh, flying through the air, but she was fairly certain that was her imagination.
By the time the sun was almost in the center of the sky, Icarus came up to where she rested, a plate of food with him. He slid it to her across the roof. “Cetan on The Bounty, huh?” He raised an eyebrow, watching his niece for a sign of reacting.
Kestrel chuckled and took the offered food, biting into it with her beak with enormous relish. “I think that’s my fault. I was going to visit dad, and I had Cetan’s thesis on hand. Bumped into Peregrine on the way.”
“Huh,” Icarus murmured, doing his best to slide back through the window. “Let me know if you see anything interesting.”
Kestrel nodded. After she had finished her meal, she sighed and jumped from the roof, her wings helping her land with a somewhat-graceful spin. She winced as she hit the ground, her necklace having flipped and hitting her on the beak.
As she did her best to get up, she noticed a stranger walking up to the inn. She recognized most visitors to her uncle’s inn, mostly due to feather patterns or mannerisms, yet this griffon was unlike any she had ever spotted in the city.
He had a black cloaked wrapped around himself, which bulged oddly at the wings. His eyes were pale yellow slits, making her uneasy as he glanced at her. He approached, his face clouded in shadow. “This Gemma’s Rest?” His voice was oddly quiet, sending shivers down Kestrel spine.
“Well, yes, but everyone just calls it Icarus’ inn,” Kestrel said, pointing towards the door. “You want to see Icarus? I can take you to him, if you’re looking for him.”
The stranger frowned, and for a moment he looked at Kestrel as if seeing her for the first time. “I’m not looking for Icarus. I’m looking for his nieces.”
Kestrel took a nervous step backwards. “Um, why?”
The stranger, in response to Kestrel’s step back, took a step forward, a talon moving towards her necklace. “I take it you would be the younger of the two?” There was a macabre grin on his face as he stepped forward. “That necklace, it seems, belongs to a colleague of mine. I need you to-”
Kestrel didn’t need any more prompting than that. She dashed away, doing her best to avoid looking at the stranger. Her necklace swung back and forth as she ran, breathing hard as panicked thoughts ran through her head. It was safe, she figured, to assume that this stranger was definitely not on the same side as her uncle.
However, before she could dash far, the stranger had caught up with her. He snorted. “My legs are a good six inches longer than yours,” he growled, placing a paw on her tail and pulling her to a dead stop. “I’m not that easy to outrun.”
The pair of them stood behind Icarus’ inn, where they could still hear the cheers coming from inside the inn. The stranger, she noticed, was grimacing. “Necklace,” he snapped, his eyes hard as he took her in. He held out a talon, and Kestrel could make out the white feathers adorning his body for the first time.
Kestrel swallowed. “It’s my father’s, not-”
The stranger sighed and threw back his hood, revealing a face adorned with snow-white feathers. Several scars adorned his head, and his catlike eyes glowered at her. “You took it from him, that much is clear. So hand it over. I don’t have time to deal with this kind of idiocy. It belongs to Vane, and you’d be stupid to hold it out from me.”
“I thought it belonged to Raven, not-” Kestrel’s words caught in her throat, unable to continue as the identity of her attacker began to dawn on her.
There was the sound of metal on metal as the figure drew a sword from beneath his cloak. It was ever-so-slightly curved, and Kestrel could make out runes glowing along the length of the blade, which seemed to be flickering slightly in the summer heat. Still pinning Kestrel with a paw, he lowered the blade so that it was level with her neck. “Necklace. Now. Or I’ll cut it off of you.”
Kestrel’s next words caught in her throat. “You’re… you’re… those swords…”
“Gareth, yes. I know,” Gareth growled. He flicked his wrist slightly, leaving a slight mark on Kestrel’s neck. “Make up you damn mind, child.”
“I thought you were-”
“Idiot,” Gareth muttered. Kestrel felt a searing pain as his sword flashed by her neck, aimed at the necklace. There was a clink as the necklace, its cord severed, fell to the ground. Gareth sneered, picking the necklace off the ground. He proceeded to tie it around the hilt of his sword. “Was that really that-”
Kestrel let out a scream as she felt blood trickling down the side of her neck. Shouts began to ring out from inside the inn as the commotion was heard by Icarus and his patrons. It wasn’t a deep cut, not by a long shot, but it still burned as if it had cut to the bone.
“Dammit,” Gareth growled. “I don’t have time for this.”
He turned to go, but before he could walk away, a voice stopped him. “Let the girl go.” Simurgh, unseen by either of them, had somehow made his way to the pair of them. There was a light scroll held under one of his wings, and he appeared unarmed.
“Simurgh?” Gareth spat. “You have the audacity to challenge me now, of all times, you bastard?” The Oracle captain sighed, gesturing with a sword for Simurgh to approach. He raised an eyebrow and gestured to the bleeding Kestrel, who looked ready to pass out. “What does she matter to you?”
“And give her back the necklace,” Simurgh continued, striding towards the Oracle with a cocky grin on his face. He tossed his scroll to the ground and raised his mutilated talon, making a shooing gesture to Gareth. “You picked a really bad time to-”
Gareth snorted and swung his blade at Simurgh. Simurgh sidestepped, his form moving like water. Gareth allowed himself a slight grin as he rebalanced his sword arm. “You still know how to fight, I see.”
“Necklace,” Simurgh growled, pointing towards Gareth’s sword. “It’s not yours.”
Gareth sighed and swung his sword upward, nicking Simurgh under his left eye. Simurgh, blood trickling slightly from the cut, lunged forward at Gareth, whose catlike eyes widened, displaying the slits clearly.
Simurgh’s mutilated talon collided with Gareth’s chest. The Oracle almost dropped his sword as he let out a gasp. Simurgh, moving like a snake, swung his back legs at Gareth’s paws, aiming to knock the Oracle off balance. Gareth snorted and used his wings to rise into the air, and Simurgh pursued, shooting into the air like a rocket.
At this point, Icarus, Cetan and quite a few other griffons had gathered, and they had managed to pull a still gasping Kestrel away from the battle. Caladrius knelt next to Kestrel, using a rather large rag to block any more blood from flowing out.
Simurgh continued to do his best to battle Gareth, who in turn was doing his best to speed away from the city. Gareth snarled as Simurgh’s whiplike tail fastened itself around his wings, Simurgh speed downwards, back towards the inn and dragging Gareth with him. Gareth’s feathers were flapping wildly as they spiraled towards the ground, his wings moving in panicked motions.
“Damn you, Simurgh,” Gareth snarled as he and Simurgh collided with the roof of the inn, breaking several of the boards. Gareth let out a gasp, his eyes wide as Simurgh managed to stand up. “This was not what-”
“Necklace.” Simurgh stood over the Oracle, his eyes hard. “I don’t have time to deal with your idiocy.”
Gareth opened his mouth to argue, but Simurgh’s clenched talon collided with his head. Winded, Gareth let out a cough and nodded towards his sword, which had landed a short distance from him on the boards of the roof. “Take it,” he spat, gesturing to the necklace that sat tied to it.
Simurgh did so and threw Gareth’s sword to him. It clattered next to the captain, who took it while giving an ugly look to Simurgh “Get out of Griffonstone,” Simurgh continued, nodding towards the East. “Otherwise, I’ll kill you here and now.”
“You are going to die,” Gareth growled. "Have you learned nothing from the past twelve years?" Simurgh gave him that same cold look. Gareth let out a snarl and leapt off the roof, speeding away, taking his swords with him.
Simurgh watched the captain go. When Gareth had vanished from view, the panicked silence that had seemed to grip those standing by Kestrel broke. Almost immediately, panicked shouts and murmuring broke out amongst the inn’s patrons, while Cetan watched her sister as Caladrius tended to her. Simurgh let out a soft chuckle as he spotted Gabriel standing next to Icarus. Simurgh glanced at the pair, stored the necklace under a wing, waved, and the pair rose into the air and landed where Simurgh stood on the cracked roof.
Simurgh turned around to look at the two of them, and there was a moment of uneasy silence as they looked at each other. Simurgh gave Gabriel a slight grin, but was greeted with the governor's glare. “You’ve got a nice daughter,” Simurgh muttered under his breath.
Gabriel strode across the cracked and chipped roof, which Icarus was examining, to where Simurgh stood. “Simurgh… it’s been far too long.”
Simurgh grinned. “Well, at least we’re able to f-” Gabriel then punched Simurgh in the chest. Simurgh doubled over, letting out ragged gasps. “What the hell!” Simurgh spat, his words coming out hoarse. “I just saved your daughter’s life! Since when does that warrant this kind of reaction?” He pointed towards the cut Gareth had given him. “I even took a sword blow for her. Why do you assholes always seem to punch me when I do something useful?"
“Let’s see,” Gabriel snarled, his voice quiet. Down below, the spectators were exchanging nervous glances, but none of them had any interest in stepping between the Gabriel and the unknown griffon. “You show up in the city, nineteen years after you tear apart our lives. You saved my daughter, wonderful. And I am grateful for that. I forgive you for all wrongs you've done against me. But it’s not me that you owe apology to.”
Simurgh grimaced, brushing himself off as he glared at Gabriel. “Oh all the stupid-”
“I could have you hauled off in irons,” Gabriel spat, “or imprisoned for the next ten years. You’d deserve it. Should I?”
“Leave it,” Icarus said, speaking for the first time since he had flown onto the roof. His voice was pained as he looked between his two friends. “Gabriel, let him go.”
Gabriel’s jaw dropped open. “After everything he’s done to you?” He waved a talon wildly at Simurgh. "How do you think he des-"
“Kestrel’s alive thanks to him,” Icarus murmured, nodding towards where his niece sat, still tended to by the other griffons. “We owe him thanks for that much, at the very least.”
Gabriel gave Simurgh a long glare. “Fine. But if Icarus orders it, I’ll have you hung for all you’ve done.” The general strode off, leaving Icarus and Simurgh standing on the roof, a group of panicked griffons down below.
Simurgh glanced at Icarus. "Well? Willing to rejoin the crew now?" He grinned. "If anything, it'll irritate Gabriel."
Icarus gave his friend the look one would give a madman. "What is wrong with you? I'm not taking Kestrel anywhere near the Oracles, especially after today."
Simurgh shrugged, doing his best not to look hurt. “Fair enough. Want to get back to them?” Icarus nodded and they jumped from the roof and landed next to those down below. Simurgh retrieved his scroll, which he had dropped when he had begun his conflict with Gareth. A few of the griffon cast him nervous looks, but he made a placating gesture. "I just saved the day, folks. Oracle gone because of me."
Looks were exchanged. Simurgh sighed. "I'll be taking questions, if you like." Quite a few griffons rushed forward. "Tomorrow. I need to take care of few things first. I swear on the Stormlord that I'll still be here tomorrow." The griffons let out a collective sigh and dispersed, with a few still standing around after the majority had left. Simurgh then turned towards where Kestrel was.
Kestrel gave Simurgh an appreciate grin as he approached. He noticed that her face was pale, but it did little to curb her enthusiasm. “Thanks,” she began, her voice chipper as ever, “how’d you do it?” She made a shooing gesture at Caladrius, who had been attempting to wrap a bandage around her cut. “Shame he got the-”
Simurgh tossed the necklace to Kestrel, who looked from it to him, her expression utterly bewildered. “How?”
“I beat him up,” came the nonchalant reply. Simurgh glanced at the gathered griffons, a pensive look on his face. It would cause a stir, that much was certain. But it would have the desire affect. He wrestled with the decision for some time, but finally, he gave Kestrel a wild look, a grin beginning to form on his face. “Seems you’ve got the Oracles down your neck. Want to come to the end of the world in my crew?”
Author's Note
I wanted to name this chapter 'Bad Guys Yell At Each Other' or 'Definitely Not Local', but I figured that it wasn't exactly a good description of the other two scenes. On that note, this was not planned to run as long as it did. The original draft had the Oracle scene run five thousand words, as opposed to the seven that it did (plus Gareth's attack on Kestrel). Original drafts only had Grimlock's theft at Roc Point as far as villain scenes, but that was mostly because I was originally planning to set it before Gale's prophecies in the previous chapters. After some brainstorming, I swapped the order of those two scenes and ended up with this order.
Not something I have any plans of heavily covering, but Passerine's size is actually due to acromegaly. I spent a fair bit of time picking my father's brain on the topic, thanks to his medical career, but it wasn't exactly the most helpful for my question (to put it bluntly: he never took fantasy anatomy). Regardless, mostly a fun little tidbit about the reasoning for Passerine's design, as well as an in-universe reason for those of you curious about his size.