Griffonstone

“Prosperity, an experience only short lived.”

Prologue

The weather was damp as the sky lay white with clouds over the massive oak and pine trees that remained stiff and aligned like sentries throughout the forest. Brown leaves lay scatter about with rotted wood among few fallen branches. A pair of three walked among this forest of rusty orange and murky brown leaves; autumn was coming just from around the corner. They had hawk eyes with sharp vision to spot prey from afar. Their beaks were yellow, tipped like a hook facing downward, whilst their feathery mane surrounded their neck like gruffs of fur connected to their lion like bodies exclude their front half where their talons remained. They were gryphons, native to Equestria and even noble creatures to the High Plains and Mountains.

These three weren't nobles, they were scouts set out with a duty to search these parts of the wild marshes, closest to the bogs, for any strange occurrences or unwanted visitors. One was young, new to his job as his feathers were dirty brown, with a beige coat that had some spots of dirt and untrimmed knots among his clumps of fur. His eyes were a piercing black as they scanned the area nervously, with small trembles that made him look more craven than he acted.

His brothers were much older than him, one of them with a white a bald white feathery head that came down with a gray streak among his mane. His coat was black, with a sharpen axe strapped by his own harness and a few beets tied to him. One eye remained gray as the other was an ashy blue as he squinted time from time to see where he was going.

The last looked more noble than them, but that was due to his coaxed full white body with a leather coat covering the rest of his form to not make him stick out among the rest. Highborn green eyes shimmer only faintly with each passing light from the sun that struggle to shine beyond those clouds above. Strapped to this scout who worn a smug grin and was shorter than the half blind axecrow, was a leather scabbard sewn with brown stripping of wool. Sheathed inside was a longsword that bore a steel pommel circle to have the engraving of a talon in the center and blue straps wrapped around the handle for a comfortable grip.

The three pushed on, behind them were great hills and mountains merged together. The rocky edges and even a few slits stretched out high and wide so the rest of the world below could see those towering breasts shadow over them in case the sun went around the giants. They were called the Titan’s Palms, as ancient as the equine race, with riches of gold, silver, and gems all alike, even mint which helped the currency in the gryphon society remain fluctuated for a long time. Though few lowborns beg to differ.

The young gryphon among the two looked back and gulped. They were out at a bad time, where the forest did not take liking to visitors. Especially when the wild wood was cursed.

“Don't piss yourself, Jareed. Don't want Gillian here to shave you now.” The supposed Highborn said, a snarky grin appeared on his beak whilst his predatory eyes fell upon the young bird with disdain.

“It's not right to be here.” Jareed responded, though he wish he hadn't.

“Then go back, we don't need you with your tail between your legs like some Diamond bitch. And while you head back, we'll be sure to visit your head and pay you respect for such a cowardly brother you were.” The white gryphon responded causing the crow beside him to scoff and move on ahead.

“You know nothing of these woods, Gothar. Nothing. They've a curse to them.”

Gothar laughed at Jareed’s response. “The Hangsman Woods, haunted because the Old-Old Mad King hung his son under one of these trees. The Sky God and Tree God cursed him forever and whoever came into these woods. Hey, if we're lucky on our search, we might find his old keep and piss on his grave.”

Gillion ahead admittedly chuckle to that. Though he said not one word along the way. Even on the start of their departure from their commander back at the Gate.

Jareed cursed under his breath. Gulped each time they passed by a five trees in one path. They shouldn't be here, he firmly believed. The ground was still wet from the last storm, the scent of muddy waters and formed swamps even blinded their sense of smell, and they were walking in blind, far away from home. Gothar was right, if he turned back and head to the Gate, they will take it as treason, abandoning their realm, and being a craven. He would lose his head as the only redeeming punishment for his family to take honor in.

What honor could you take after the dead, Jareed thought as he kept up with the others. Scouts were scouts, the King before had his army made strong and ready to die to protect the Gryphon borders from outside intruders. Livestock was gregarious, crops could be harvested, and the seasons of summer and winter proved both pleasant and cold, with neither side trumping the other.

Gothar coughed a bit without covering his mouth as he looked ahead and thought of a mean idea. “Jareed, here's something you could do. Scout ahead, see if anything needs to he looked carefully at. Once that is done, we could make camp.”

Jareed wanted to turn back, but the way Gothar looked at him, the young gryphon was like a cowardly pigeon with his puffy chest and cheeks. He wasn't a fighter, he didn't even have a weapon. He went ahead, passing Gillian that towered over him.

He kept a distance from the two behind him, ensuring that he wouldn't go too far and they wouldn't lose him. But as he listened to his own hesitant breathing and the crunching noise of leaves beneath his talons and paws on the bottom half, he felt like the three of them were being watched. It was not only till he stumbled upon a camp that had looked long abandon from before.

A kettle pot was on the dirt, old on the bonfire was submerged in stagnant water, and the satchels and tents were torn apart, few even crushed. By the time Gillian and Gothar got there, they looked confused. The crow tilted his head and scanned the area, whereas Jareed slowly snaked back, frightened and confused.

“The fuck is this? Did everyone think it was wise to leave their shit in the forest?” Gothar walked ahead, Gillian had done so too, walking over the small ledge beyond a soft dirt patched hill. “Look at this, a fucking massacre.”

Jareed gulped, unsure what horrors was before the two scouts. Even Gothar looked disturbed. When Jareed had enough courage to push himself forward, he looked over the hill, standing beside Gillian, and froze.

Stiff bodies, long dead with mangled faces and caved in chests, few without heads too, was laid out in a full circle with the head of a unicorn in the center whose eyes were gouged out with nasty dark snakes slithering in and out the sockets. Few bodies were seen hanging, ponies, diamond dogs, and even gryphons in leather armors; their bodies seem to not only be drained out of blood, but their throats were slit clean from ear to ear. This was an omen place, Jareed thought, and they stumbled upon an accursed site that scream for him to run back home.

“Get a closer look, craven!” Gothar smacked Jareed’s back, sending him down the hill, causing his feathers to be stained with more dirt, dead leaves, and a few specks of mud. Jareed groaned, pushing himself up. But when he did get up, his eyes widened and suddenly found himself pressing his back against the muddle erosion of the hill.

More corpses littered the floors, with half their limbs torn off. Their bodies seem to still hold onto their belongings. A bear couldn’t have done this, one against fifthteen meant trouble for even it, bandits would have made off with whatever they can keep, and the Diamond Dogs around here hung their victims, not maimed them, especially if it were one of their own.

“What’s down there, Jareed!” Gothar shouted.

“The dead.” He breathed out. But his voice was too low to be heard.

“Speak up you twat!” Gothar sounded annoy, but Jareed could care less what the highborn thought. These bodies were torn apart by something.

“The dead!”

“The dead? Fool...of course they’re dead, but what else down there. Any fuck with a different banner or somethi-” Gothar went silent, Jareed didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like him to go silent in mid-sentence. Gothar would finish whatever he had to say and add an insult in the middle of it.

“Gothar?” He called, but no response came. “Gillian?”

Think about the stables, think about the hay, think about the hot oven, just think you craven. But these thoughts did not subside the terror growing in Jareed’s heart. He slowly peeked out from the sides, keeping his head up. There he saw Gothar looking down at him, neck against the ledge with his cold eyes.

“Gothar?” He spoke out his name too soon, before the head of the highborn fell into his paws. Jareed nearly screamed, his body froze, covered in his iron brother’s blood. It was missing from its body, half of the neck looked torn off with a few bloody feathers.

Thump! Thump! Thump! The floor shook and Jareed did not dare scream still. He could feel himself bouncing from these sudden vibrations. He clutched onto Gothar’s head, that still expression seeing right through his craven soul. When Jareed turned around, he could see the killer before his eyes. Hooves for feet, large meaty legs of fur, a pouch of orange hair on his crotch, a maimed chest full of scars and cuts with a bulk of orange fur, and the immense size that reached half high to the tree. What was left of Gothar’s body dangled by the leg in its mighty fat hands, and in the other was Gillian, dead perhaps from the immense force of being crushed. Jareed stayed still, looking at the giant. He wished he were these trees, they weren’t scorn for being so tall and silent. They feared nothing, they lived for a century with little to no fear of death.

The giant turned, it’s one eye blinked. It was a red toad-like eye with a yellow iris for a widget shaped pupil. It saw him, it knew he was there, it watched him piss himself staining his legs and rusty brown leaves beneath him. He dropped Gothar’s head, his body frozed up as if falling back against that muddy dirt wall.

It dropped Gothar’s body and soon step upon it causing a large splat to be heard. Gillian was squeezed harder and harder before he was dropped next. The giant and craven were quiet, eye to eye.

Jareed didn’t realized it until now that he was quick on his feet, climbing the dirt hill. He he ran, he fell onto the floor, and when he picked himself up, he continued running as fast as he could daring not to look back. The giant didn’t chase him, but the haunting memories of the dead would.

He was a craven, cravens always ran from their duty. But he had to tell them what he saw, he had to make them believe him.

The Cyclops have returned.

Author's Note

The story is still under a working progress. Chapters will be put in orders fans of GRRM (George R.R. Martin) might understand. An example will briefly be explained when the next chapter is up in how I'm going to organize this fanfic. But I hope you like it, a good start takes time of course! The story is also a brief history of King Grover, before his son came into reign. A possibility of looking at many scenarios that might have went on and the show and comics have not explained.

Criticism is beloved, opinions are accepted, and be sure to point out any errors you might have found that I could fix up.