The Downfall of the Griffons
For ages and eons atop a mountain far away, the Griffons have dwelt to this very day.
Upon a great leafless tree where icy winds are blown, perches the greatest of all aeries: Griffonstone .
Its inhabitants were proud and noble of heart, with a treasure to keep them from drifting apart.
A winged golden chalice its beauty unrivaled, the Idol of Boreas the relic was titled.
Generations of griffons lauded its glory, but beings most foul had also heard its story.
Arimaspi it was called, a giant cyclopean terror; its boundless greed proved to be its greatest error.
It stole the idol and felled many a Griffon; even King Gateaux it struck down with derision.
But one thing it missed while fleeing across the great Abyss; with no wings, its journey would end quite amiss.
Never again were the Griffons troubled by Arimaspi; but with the loss of the idol, their future had become quite ghastly.
With no communal treasure to foster their unity, the noble Griffons turned to greed with impunity.
The Travels of Gilda of Griffonstone
Decades had passed as Griffon culture languished, though with every Griffon affected, none seemed anguished.
Inward they turned, rarely leaving their aerie; their greed and paranoia had turned them too wary.
It was too soon that the great griffon city fell to disrepair; its majesty decayed; its people succumbed to despair
It was in this time that a hero arose; a griffon who would, the bad times depose.
Gilda she was named, a griffon of no import; For her entire life she had been sold short.
But she was brave enough to venture out from her depressing home; To the skies of Equestria she traveled, so her flying skills she could hone.
Not but a fledgling cub, her talons barely inch long, she joined the airborne pegasi and made her wings grow strong.
Over, under and around the clouds she soared, with ponies at her wings, a small amount of pride was restored.
Beyond even her understanding a friendship was soon born; kinship with no strings attached, to a griffon, deserved scorn.
A brash cyan speedster with a rainbow mane ; Dash she was called, and with Gilda she did train.
Year after year they met at the city made of cloud; the griffon and the pony, neither of which could be cowed.
Those idyllic times could not quite last forever; every pony grows up and finds her true endeavor.
Dash found a place below the clouds to call home; full of new friends with which she would always roam.
Gilda could not handle sharing her one and only friend; her time among the ponies came to a disastrous end.
She threatened and yelled; she maligned and connived; Gilda soon became a griffon despised.
Words of anger were yelled, bonds of sorority torn asunder; Dash had chosen her new friends, and Gilda called it a blunder.
Gilda and the Heralds of Friendship
Flying from Equestria with a heart turned to stone; She returned to the aerie and found herself alone.
"Why," she wondered, "must I live with these losers. None care for me, they are naught but greedy users."
She made a pact with herself to abandon her kith, but she had not the means to build a new life with.
While other Griffons scrimped and horded their gold; Gilda stashed nothing from her time out of the fold.
Months and years passed and Gilda would frequently groan, "Why won't these dweebs just buy a dumb scone?"
Her baked good sales kept her from an emaciated end; in her grandfather's hovel did she shield from the wind.
Every day she set out to earn her subsistence; With no place in the wide world, she doubted her existence.
It was on a day like any other that she saw an apparition; at Dash and one of her new toadies she directed her suspicion.
Dash and Pinkie Pie, her smile ever present; "Why" thought Gilda, "did these dorks make such an ascent?"
Her ex-friend claimed she sought the lost idol of her people; Gilda laughed, knowing her exfriend to be too feeble.
Many tried and failed to recover the lost antique; most survived only by the skin of their beak.
She waved off Dash and simply wanted to be away; but Pinkie Pie insisted on pestering her that day.
She followed Gilda through the streets, hounding her every step; the griffon was driven to anger by the pink pony's endless pep.
Pinkie Pie refused to believe that all was lost; she saw hope for the griffons, if they could only see its cost.
Pinkie baked with Gilda, improving her horrid scones; baking power helped, as did a lack of twigs and stones.
The scones became a distraction to a passing acquaintance; her subsequent crash landing caused by the lovely sweet fragrance.
Gilda's reaction was not directed in a mean spirited fashion; rather she saw a griffon in pain and acted with compassion.
"Greta!" she yelled as she darted to her side, momentarily losing track of her strict griffonic pride.
The fallen griffon shook off Gilda's proffered claw and stalked away to rest inside a hut of straw.
So as Pinkie saw that the seeds of friendship still thrived, at the Abysmal Abyss Dash had just arrived.
The pegasus soon learned that wings were of no use, not against the winds the Abyss could produce.
She rappelled down the cliff despite the danger she apprised; all to seek the idol which she assumed was supremely prized.
When a snapped rope left her stranded on a ledge, she could only hope and pray she didn't fall off the edge.
Pinkie sought Dash to tell of her suspicion; the Griffons could be saved without her dangerous expedition!
Seeing her friend clinging perilously to the cliff face below, she would need help to save Dash with a well planned rope tow.
Back to Gilda she ran, and begged for her aide, but Gilda had claimed that their friendship was unmade.
Pinkie reminded her that such bonds are not easily broken; Gilda remembered the past and her feelings unspoken.
She followed the pony to the edge of the Abyss; for to fail her only friend would make her remiss.
Over the edge she climbed with Pinkie bracing, against time and gravity the griffon was racing.
The ledge under Dash crumbled and collapsed, Gilda and Pinkie's rescue window had lapsed.
The tethered pink pony leapt over the cliff towards her friend, with only her faith in Gilda standing between her and a grisly end.
Gilda held firm, her talons raking across the stone; her wings flapped against the wind while against an outcrop she was thrown.
Hugging the jutting rock she looked for some purchase; but what she saw before her left her stunned and wordless.
The skull of Arimaspi picked clean and bleached white; and just out of her reach the idol so bright.
She reached one claw over and tried to snag the treasure; but fate would deny her such a griffonly pleasure.
"I'm slipping!" shouted Dash from below; Gilda looked down and back at the idol's glow.
Her claws gripped the rope and heaved with all her might, and the ponies raised out of the Abyss' inky night.
The Idol of Boreas wobbled and fell out of sight; but so focused was Gilda, that she cared not in the slight.
As they crested the ledge and were back on firm ground; Dash and Gilda watched as the idol fell down.
"The Idol!" cried Dash, lamenting the treasure's demise; she turned back to look into Gilda's yellow eyes.
The griffon smiled and spoke up loud and bold, "You're more important to me than some dumb chunk of gold."
The trio embraced and climbed from the canyon; the ponies now knew they had found an old companion.
Back in town they hugged and said their goodbyes; the ponies convinced that new friendships would arise.
Gilda, emboldened by her old and new friends, vowed to go amongst her people and try and make amends.
The Forging of Bonds
The restoration of Griffenstone was no simple task; True friendships weren't something for which Gilda could simply ask.
Though the ponies had promised that she could succeed, even the great Gilda felt her confidence recede.
"It all started with scones," she mused to herself, she returned to her home and emptied her shelf.
Hours of baking and fending off Grandpa Gruff, had left Gilda weary and in quite a huff.
She loaded her oven with plenty of dough, and took to the streets to find friendships to grow.
"Come have a scone!" she called out to all; yet no griffon stopped to answer her call.
"They're free to any and all!" Gilda proclaimed; but the lack of any attention left her ashamed.
Each day she returned, her scones there for the taking; each night she returned with nothing to show for her baking.
It was weeks until a Griffon even approached her lone stand; 'twas Greta who had tasted the scones firsthand.
"I don't get it Gilda," Greta said in disbelief, "If there was a town for suckers, you'd be their Chief."
"Better a town of friendly rubes," said Gilda in frustration, "than scrimp and horde in this pitiful excuse for a nation."
"What's the catch Gilda," said Greta while grabbing a scone, "I'm not taking this if it's some kind of predatory loan."
Gilda smiled at the griffon and raised her claws in the air, "I just want everyone to see that I care."
Greta squinted and took a taste of the freshly baked treat; her eyes widened in surprise as she continued to eat.
"Wow Gilda," she exclaimed, "they're better than before!" She licked her talons and helped herself to some more.
"I've had practice," said Gilda deadpanned, "and I've tasted more scones than I could ever stand."
The two met every day thereafter, initially for food, but later for laughter.
It wasn't long until Greta was bringing her own goods: Knitted scarves, paw warmers, and jackets with hoods.
Some Griffons left coins, others offered barter, but for most, the word 'free,' was a confusing nonstarter.
"Maybe we just aren't cut out for this job," said Greta as she peered at the grumpy winged mob.
"Maybe we have to think like a pony," said Gilda to her newly found griffon crony.
"Parties, with cakes, and many a guest, that's what Pinkie Pie would suggest."
So with freshly baked treats and straw party hats, the two griffons tried to gather the half-eagle, half-cats.
With no stores for parties, and no halls for a celebration, the duo resorted to improvisation.
Around Griffonstone the two friends would fly and shout; all day and into the night, their party they did tout.
They scurried around the aerie and scavenged what they could, clay cups, stone bowls, and stout tables of wood.
Griffonstone awoke and in disgust did utter, "who has robbed us of our precious clutter!"
They marched through the streets and flew towards the main square, whereupon they espied the grinning pair.
A cacophony of screeches filled the plaza with noise, as Gilda and Greta began to lose their poise.
Stools were reclaimed, tables upended; before it could start, their party was suspended.
Grumbling about their borrowed junk; the mob dispersed and quickly shrunk.
Greta and Gilda stood together in shock; at the retreating crowd they could only gawk.
"They're hopeless," said Gilda, her mood dark and bleak. She glowered and kicked a pile of scones from the peak.
Greta bent over and grabbed her scarves from the ground; "Maybe we should change our approach," she said with a frown.
"Pranks," exclaimed Gilda, "Why didn't I think of it sooner! If we can't win them with kindness, we'll sway them with humor!"
With a impish grin and mischief in her heart, Gilda helped Greta load both of their carts.
With prank shops absent from the aerie's promenade, Gilda had to dig deep into the jester's tricks of the trade.
Buckets over doors filled with water and ice; sugar replaced with mouth burning spice.
Phony cloth mice overstuffed with pink paint, ready to stain those who fall for the feint.
The coup de grace she spent all night baking; scones laced with sneeze dust to keep any griffon shaking.
For weeks the duo toiled, preparing each lark and gag, a plan would be needed if each griffon was to be snagged
On a night both dark and shrouded in fog, Gilda and Greta stealthily began their slog.
Not a doorway was left unbucketed, not a market stall untrapped; each prank led to another and to the two griffons so rapt.
The sun rose over the Hyperborean range, with no griffon aware of anything strange.
Gilda listened intently to each distant screech and squawk; certain that a giggling crowd to the plaza would soon flock.
Her keen senses picked up the approaching throng; she whispered to Greta, "It won't be long!"
Paint spattered beaks preceded each wet angry face; no griffon approached with any level of grace.
Their eyes were red with spice, their feathers were ruffled; but none of their cries of anger were muffled.
"It's those troublemakers again!" shouted a gruff burly griffon; immediately Gilda and Greta felt their backs stiffen.
The crowd approached the pair, united in frustration; so much so they did not notice their collective condemnation.
When each griffon felt their words stolen from out of their beak; it was only a matter of time before they began to shriek.
"Stop copying me," was cried, "get lost you twerp," were just some of the harsh words that soon they would chirp.
A scuffle ensued, sending feathers to the breeze, leaving Gilda and Greta in a state of unease.
No griffon noticed them slinking away; so intent they were on their pointless melee.
"No more!" said Greta in extreme fatigue, "the ponies are just in a different league."
"How are we to know how to bring the Aerie together? We can't even keep them from going at it claw and feather."
Gilda placed her arm around the griffon and hugged her tight, "I hate to say it, but maybe you're right."
The two sat in silence, unwilling to stir; eventually Gilda looked to her shoulder when she felt a purr.
On it Greta dozed, her snores barely under control; their late night of pranking had taken its toll.
Some say the answer came to Gilda in a dream; an idea for one last friendship making scheme.
Those griffons are wrong, twas' Greta's soft voice, that woke Gilda and gave her cause for rejoice.
Some say Greta had more songbird than eagle, for her singing was both sublime and regal.
"Oh gods no," said Gilda, as if something were wrong, "It cannot be as simple as singing a song."
Greta raised an eyebrow and looked at Gilda askance, "you have a problem with my singing perchance."
Gilda told her of the ponies penchant for song and dance, and convinced her friend to take one final chance
There was no long planning, no elegant plot; only as much time for a simple song to be taught.
Twas a traditional griffon marching hymn: one of the few not overly dark and grim.
A throwback to days of prestige and acclaim, during the heyday of great King Grover's reign.
A clarion call to all griffons of all the aeries, it had echoed from the high mountains to the farthest of prairies.
Greta hemmed and hawed when it came time to start, but the desire to aide her friend had nested in her heart.
They marched through the branches of Griffonstone's tree, each loudly singing like a sailor at sea.
The sun was just setting, the griffons starting to roost, when the wailing and caterwauling of the duo was loosed.
They exited their homes and made for the streets; determined to force the singers to cease.
They followed the noise but were one step behind; with night setting in they were all nearly blind.
Torches were lit by a few grumpy souls, others joined them on their firelight stroll.
Around the great tree were the singers pursued, good cheer and camaraderie they would always exude.
Hours it took them to navigate the whole city; all the while belting out the same ancient ditty.
When they finally reached the great tree's highest summit; they gazed at the ruined castle but their spirits did not plummet.
For they at least had each other; they were alone no more; they walked together into the palace of yore.
They approached a dais of silver and stone, where Greta placed a scarf, and Gilda a scone.
A small token they offered to their ancestors' fall; two griffins united, still standing tall.
The two friends had turned to continue their parade, but found the castle entrance had become a griffon blockade.
Confused faces examined the ruins, past the two griffins they were to accost. It was as if they were seeing for the first time what they had collectively lost.
Gilda saw in their eyes the same desire she pursued; a place where they didn't have to horde and seclude.
"We could have this again," she said with firmness. "Griffonstone could be rise again in earnest."
"How?" asked a grizzled merchant, his cracked beak still chewing a coin, "without the idol, how can we hope to conjoin?"
Greta stepped forward and snatched at the bit. "To each other we must recommit."
The knitter and singer tossed the coin on the altar, "We place our trust in one another, and try not to falter."
The old griffon tentatively approached the dais and held his claw raised high; the shining bit solidly fixed upon by each eye.
"How exactly will this benefit me?" he asked, his countenance uncertain. His greed hung above him like a cumbersome burden.
Gilda smiled at the slowly building rapport; "We've fallen so far alone; together we can do so much more."
The elder pursed his beak and slipped his mind into the past, where stories of happiness and glory were amassed.
Tales of the days of the Kings before unity was lost; His mind began tallying his greed's true cost.
He picked up the coin, causing the duo to lose heart; but the old griffon slammed it back down, giving everyone a start.
"I'll swear here a pact, before the throne of our Kings, I'll swear to all the Griffons, if unity it brings."
"I tire of the bickering; the snide glances; the outright malice. I will not take part in it, I swear in this palace."
He stepped past the altar and with Gilda he did stand; A figurative line he had drawn upon the sand.
One by one, Griffons reached for their purses to withdraw; Upon the idol's alter they placed coins, and pledged to the new law,
That first and foremost, no griffon stood alone; they would never allow their greed to become overgrown.
That wherever they went, and whatever they tried, they would always have a Griffon at their side.
"That's so sappy," said a young griffon, her tongue stuck out of her beak in distaste. "I though Gilda was a razor clawed hero!" The fledgling scrambled to her hind paws and danced in a circle, imitating some sort of griffon fighting style she saw on the viewscreen entertainment programs the young ones were so interested in these days.
The alicorn chuckled and slowly closed the ancient illuminated tome. "Oh most of them are," she said. "Gilda and the Changeling Empress was always my favorite, though I do have a soft spot for Gilda and the Canterlot Caper." She slipped the book back into the climate controlled carrying case she had brought it in. "But I promise you, The Ballad of Gilda predates them all. Now if you're interested in any more-" A shrill bell cut her off, causing the alicorn to wince. The gaggle of young ponies, griffons, and other assorted creatures hopped up in excitement and began putting on their panniers, back packs, and other assorted book bags.
"Alright everyone, we'll go to lunch now, but what do we say to our librarian?"
"Thank you Ms Twilight!" the all yelled together.
Twilight smiled and waived at the unicorn teacher as she herded her class out of the school library. She picked up the case with her magic and carried it back into the archival stacks. She passed familiar tomes read countless times, heading back to a section of her library that held her most treasured tomes. She took hold of the case and slid it into its empty place, letting her hoof rest on it for a moment longer than necessary. With a wistful smile she returned to her desk in the library proper and daydreamed of times long past.
Author's Note
Another prompt from the EQ Daily Writer's Training Ground.
I know my rhyming sucks, but I always loved the concepts of medieval ballads.
