The Gobble Warsby Glen GorewoodChaptersDay one: Gobble Alert, PreperationsDay 2 - Gobble Alert, It BeginsDay 3 - The Turkey Trap - Time in verse November 3rd, MorningDay 4: The Turkey Trap Taffy TimeDay 5 - Turkey Trap TortureDay one: Gobble Alert, PreperationsDeep in the Thankful Forest, border of the Griffon Kingdom Tombel Turkeyton rolled over in his nest, a father of fifty chicks he was still fairly young at a mere fifteen years. His feathers were an unusual slate blue, and his eyes sharp and brilliant. His great beak, for his wife told him it was so, had told many a tale over the past decade. No spring chicken was he, yet not an elder, the semi youthful turkey stretched his wings and got up to begin the day. Just yesterday his youngest brood had participated in a pony tradition called Nightmare Night. A funny name that holiday had, after all it was mostly dressing up and getting free goodies. That was as far from a Nightmare as could be, after all it was the month of November that was really a nightmare for Turkeys who lived in the Thankful Forest. But it wasn’t that month yet, after all yesterday was only October 31st. Tombel froze mid stretch, sleepy his mind racing. October 31st was the last day of the month, which was also Nightmare Night. And after October came... “Oh dear Celestia and the great Tom please no.” Tombel groaned as he walked over to the calendar on his study wall. He often fell asleep here while designing new things, for Tombel had a nasty habit of losing track of time. So there on his wall, in perfectly set printed type, was the name of that dreaded month. The true month of Nightmares, when Turkeys faced off against the greatest terror they knew. The month of November. The Griffin Feast Hunt. Or as Turkeys knew it, The Yearly Gobble Massacre. It started traditionally on November 2nd and ran till the 25th. When one of the captured turkeys would be returned while the rest were plucked, killed, basted, baked, and eaten. Tombel had lost many chicks to this most cursed of holidays, as well as close family and friends. The mere thought of what was to begin the very next day set his gizzard a boil. He hated this holiday with a passion, with all the pointless bloodshed against defenseless turkeys. “Curse this month, if only there were a way to defend ourselves we Turkeys would not be so mercilessly slaughtered. By the divine Tom, if only there was a way.” Tombel falls to his haunches, sobbing against the wall. “I don’t want to lose anymore family and friends to this horrendous month. If only we could fight back somehow.” A sound like popcorn popping in a pan come from behind the turkey, and as he turns his crying eyes towards it he cannot help but. Sitting in his nest is a great turkey, though it’s head was oddly shaped like a dragon’s with two off colored eyes and mis matched horns. It smiles at him and said, “Tombel, I have heard your prayers and come to your aid. As of this year, no longer shall you, my favored Turkeys, be defenseless against the slaughter to come. For I shall teach you, the way of the Gobble.” Tombel is speechless, and merely walks over and bows at the great gluttonous Tom’s talons. “Teach me, teach all of us oh great one”, the turkey says in a reverent tone. The great Tom, who in no way resembles the fashionable and handsome Discord, grins. “As you wish my young pupil. Now let us begin. Do tell me, what do you know of the many uses of forks?” Tombel glances up in awe, “No, I do not know the uses of forks beyond the basics oh great Tom.” The great Tom nods sagely, waving his right wing he causes a great crossbow with a fork set within like an arrow to appear. Gesturing at it he bellows, “ Forks are for more than eating. See here, the Great Bow of Forkipulation, also known as the GBF. With it you shall gain great power and knowledge, and be able to protect your fellows from the terrors that start tommorow.” Tombel reaches for the great GBF, holding it with the reverence one would show a holy object. Staring in awe and adoration at that great and massive Tom who now sits in his nest that for some reason resembles cotton candy, he speaks. “Oh wise and powerful Tom, what else can you teach me and my fellows?” The great and massive bird, who looks nothing like Discord in a turkey costume I assure you, grins in glee. “Oh my wonderful child, gather all your kin and friends within the great hollow tomorrow and I shall speak to you and share my wisdom. With my help, this year the month of November shall no longer be one of sorrow, but great chaos and rebellion. Your kind shall fight back against your oppressors, and give the Griffins many a fork to the rear!” Tombel is so taken with this being that he merely says, “I shall do as you say oh great Tom.” He then dashed out the door to inform everyturkey he knows, the GBF in wing. For tommorow they shall dine in chaos. Meanwhile the Turkey Tom God that is Not Discord snaps his wings and causes a parade of sentient ice cream shrubberies to appear and dance about. Grinning, he goes over the many many ways his turkey filled plan could go chaotically wrong. Griffin Kingdom “Oh happy day, yes oh yay, for tomorrow is turkey hunt day. My daddy said I could come too, oh yippee happy google doo!” A young griffon chick skips around the Griffsburg square, filled with glee and quite frankly being highly embarrassing. So embarrassing indeed that his own parents are pretending he isn’t their chick. Gilda just stares at him, shocked by such an awkward and silly display. She shudders as the chick does a little spin and poses like he is pointing a weapon at something before continuing with the skipping about. Turning to her mother she asks, “Mom, was I ever that embarrassing and dorky when I was about to go on my first Turkey Hunt?” Gilda’s mother, Glenna merely smirks. “Oh no dear, you were much worse. I believe you actually chortled and did a slide maneuver as well. It was very pony like actually.” Gilda groans, “Mom, you are embarrassing me right before the Turkey Hunt Teams are chosen.” Glenna smiles, “I know I am dear, that’s my job as your mother.” Gilda merely hides her head in a High Flyer Monthly magazine due to sheer embarrassment. She only hopes this ridiculous stunt by her mother won’t end with her in a loser team tomorrow. Author's Note So it begins. The Gobble Wars, an experimental writing story based on Turkeys fighting back against Griffons with thier lives on the line. It would have been a tale of drama, woe, adventure, and great sacrifice. But Not Discord the Great Tom got involved so that idea is completely out the window. Updated daily till November 25th. Enjoy. Glen Gorewood Day 2 - Gobble Alert, It BeginsDeep in the Thankful Forest, The Great Hollow, first day of The Griffin Feast Hunt Tombel stares in complete awe at the great and ancient grounds that are currently filled to the brim with his feathery flock of friends and kin. Hundreds of turkeys, nay thousands, have gathered to hear the words of the Great Tom. The words that might save them all from certain doom at the claws of the Griffons. All whom are present know acutely of the loss incurred each year in this month, and are willing to do anything to stop the carnage. Tombel Turkeyton holds the sacred GBF close to his fluffy feathered chest, the mystical bow from which justice shall be served is now a symbol of hope to all turkey kind. The night before he had spent listening to the words of wisdom the Great Tom wished to give unto him and his fellows. Tombel had learned of the powers of taffy, the greatness of traps, the all consuming methods behind gorilla warfare, and of course how to properly maximize the potential of forks and other cutlery to defend oneself. It had all led up to this, the morning of the greatest speech of his life. A speech that would be backed by the great and almighty Tom, who was currently settled in a nest of marshmallow fluff and sorting forks by not color. That wise and most vast of Turkey deities had promised to say some grand words once Tombel finished his speech. And so now the time had finally come. Tombel waddles up to the megaphone, his mere motions quieting all comments in the crowd. Clearing his throat, the great gobbling turkey Tombel begins to speak the word of Tom, the only hope for his people. “My fellow Turkeys.” He begins, his great beak gleaming in the rock candy lights. “Behind me sits our savior, the Great Tom, who has come down from the divine skies to give us the gift of hope and forks. May he be forever vast and gluttonous.” The crowd crows back, “The most vast is he.” Tombel grins, continuing his speech with a near religious fervor. Raising the GBF high he speaks. “The Great Tom has given me this most sacred of artifacts, and key to our survival, the Great Bow of Forkipulation; a sign of his favoring us with his divine gizzard.” The crowd responds, “The largest of gizzards has he.” Tombel smiles, his heart so overtaken with his task he is unaware of the Great Tom making bunny ears upon his head. “We, the Turkeys of the Thankful Forest, have for too long been beset yearly by the horrendous Griffon horde. They take from us our chicks, our wives, our husbands, our brothers, and our family and friends. Too many have fallen to their villainous talons and blades. Only to be basted and devoured except for one remaining survivor. How many of you have lost a loved one to this yearly Massacre my fellow turkeys?” Every single feathered turkey in the crowd raised a wing. As did Carl, the one turkey who had no feathers and claimed to have been abducted by aliens last year. Tombel nods, shouting into the megaphone he continues his grand speech. “Well the Great Tom has spoken to me, and told me that this year we shall no longer be hunted like mere animals. Nay, this year we shall fight back against the evil that invades our forest each year. With the powers and gifts of the Great Tom, we shall stand our ground against those horrible monsters. This year, it will not be a massacre. For this year will be the year that brings forth the first Gobble War, may the forks protect you my friends. For tommorow we fight for our lives. Who will stand with me and the Great Tom!” Every single turkey in attendance screamed, “Yeaaaah!” With Carl mumbling something about giving those aliens what was coming to them. The crowd went wild, with whoops and gobbles and cheers of joy. The Great Tom then approached the megaphone, and all became quiet in awe of the most vast and enormous of all turkey kind. The Great Tom, who is really truly Not Discord, cleared his throat before commencing with his words of wisdom. “My most favored of fowl, my Turkeys, I shall give to you the gift of taffy and traps, and freedom. You shall go forth on this day, and use those powers to crush the griffins. Make their wings unmovable, make their limbs mired, and most importantly.” The great god takes a deep breathe before shouting so loud it turns some shrubs into bunnies with great jaws that go scampering off who knows where. “YOU SHALL FORK THEM IN THE REAR!” The crowd of gobblers goes wild, shouting things like, “Fork them”, “Stick a fork in them,” and “Pasta la vista griffins.” Indeed the puns were so riotous that they caused even the trees themselves to cringe. It is a feast of freakish fork puns to say the least. The Great Tom, his work done, returned to the sacred nest of Marshallow fluff and began to drink chocolate milk. As he did so, Tombel marched into the crowd, his eyes shining with megaphone in hand. Placing it upon his beak he shouts one final word. “Turkeys, let us arm ourselves. For today we prepare for battle, and tommorow we fight for forks!” The cheers begin anew, and the turkeys armed themselves for war. The Gobble Wars had begun. A fact of which the Griffins were still unaware. For now at least. Border of the Griffin Kingdom and Thankful Forest, the Griffin Feast Hunt Camp Gilda groaned into her claw, her mother’s antics had indeed forced her to be on a loser team this year. With her trusty great sword strapped to her back, she is the picture of an ideal hunting Griffin. Sadly, she is stuck with the biggest team of losers in the entire kingdom. No amount of awesome flying will ever let her live this down. Her team is made up of her and the three most freakishly messed up Griffins in the entire kingdom. Standing beside her on her right is Grom, a very bulky and quite dim Griffin who can barely fly and is armed with a battle axe. His feathers are solid black, with a bright green patterned feathers upon his face and neck. How on earth he ever bagged his first turkey is a mystery to all. To her left is Gorna, a very lanky female Griffin with curly feathers with a peach and cream mottled pattern. That in and of itself would not be a problem, after all lanky and lean Griffins are great with bows. No the problem was that Gorna was unequivocally girly to the extreme. Her talons were manicured, she wore makeup, and even her hunting bow was bedazzled. Worst of all, her arrows had unicorns printed on them, bright pink unicorns. Yet the last team member was the worst. Father GracGruder was a middle aged Griffin with a solid white feathered head and purple feathers on his body that were set in a pattern with the white and black ones that resembled a priests robes. He had sworn an oath of non violence, and wore an actual ancient clergy outfit. According to him, and only him, Father GracGruder had once survived a zombie attack in a foreign land. He also had no weapon, only a saddlebag with a book in it. He was only in the hunt because he had missed the previous five years worth, and had never bagged a turkey. Gilda groaned in metaphorical agony, this was going to be a very long November. Thankfully the actual hunt didn’t start till the next day, so at the very least she would have some time to figure something out concerning this team of losers she was stuck with. “Oh my gosh, this is absolutely awful, the worst possible thing that could ever happen to me.” Gorna bemoaned in her trademark valley Griffin accent. Gilda grumbled back, “I know, this is the worst thing that could have possibly happened to me.” Gorna puts a claw to her face and gasps, “Oh my gosh, this is the worst thing isn’t it? I can’t imagine trying to hunt like this, it’s just so totally awful.” “I know.” Gilda responds in a very unamused voice. Curious she can’t help but ask, “You are talking about the hunt right?” Gorna stares, the look of utter confusion in her eyes a giveaway that she and Gilda are not on the same page. “Well no you see..”. The rather vain and pretty Griffin begins. “What is it, out with it already!” Gilda shrieks, her annoyance at this ridiculous horrible situation getting the best of her. Gorna holds out her right claw with her perfectly manicured and pink nail polish coated pointer talon up for Gilda to see. “I cracked a talon.” She cries in utter diva despair, posed in such a way that she looks very much like a certain drama prone unicorn. Gilda face claws, wondering what she did wrong to be stuck with this bunch of Griffin train wreck losers as her hunt team. “This is going to be a long Hunt,” she says once more as Gorna continues to fuss over her talon as if the world has ended. Little does Gilda and her rag tag team of misfit Griffins know that it will indeed be a very long November. However not for the reasons she thinks, for in just a single day the Griffins quarry has made plans that will change the Griffin Feast Hunt forever. Meanwhile in Canterlot Princess Celestia looks up from her tea, a feeling like something chaos ridden is about to occur striking her like a rather large shrubbery in the horn. Turning to her sister Luna she asks, “Lulu have you seen Discord lately? I just felt a disturbance in the magical field.” Luna stops nibbling on a crumpet, after thinking for a moment she responds nonchalantly. “Last that We heard from Fluttershy was that he was off on a vacation somewhere to the West Tia.” Celestia pauses, curious as to what exactly a god of chaos would do on vacation. Her mind goes over the many possibilities, but finally she is satisfied with the knowledge that Discord is reformed and would never do anything to harm any living creatures in Equestria. Luna pokes her sister. “Equis to Tia, what art though thinking about?” Celestia shakes her head, her ethereal mane flowing to and fro. Responding in a light hearted tone she answers her sister. “Oh it’s nothing Luna, I’m probably just overthinking things. More tea?” Luna nods and holds out her teacup in her magic. “Yes please sister, it is quite wonderful tea.” And so Celestia pours her sister some tea as they enjoy the late afternoon together before she must set the sun. Both are oblivious to what is occurring one kingdom over, and will continue to be so until a letter arrives in about twenty five days time. But that is then, and this is now, for now begins the true start of the Gobble Wars. Equis will never be the same. Author's Note So it begins. Tommorow, the first battle of the Gobble Wars shall occur. The force of fork puns shall cause much pain upon the world. Are you ready for this? Glen Gorewood Day 3 - The Turkey Trap - Time in verse November 3rd, MorningThankful Forest outskirts, Turkeys The air is tense as Butterbumber puts the final touches on the first line of taffy defense for the Turkeys. Part of the advance Taffy Tango division, also known as Taffy Tooters, he is in charge of making sure the taffy and tableware traps are ready for the incoming horde of Griffins. Wiping the sweat from his brow, the bright golden yellow Turkey glances at his work. Stretched across the forest edge is a series of tripwires and pressure pads. Each one connected to a taffy tooter shooter or forkenalation catapault, with a few tied to giant spoons of doom that are rigged to swing like oversized logs upon the unsuspecting foe. Further back is a series of pitfalls ending in marshmallow fluff and forks, a few falling loggenforks, and more utensil themed ridiculousness than Celestia could use to eat all the cake in the world. Thrice. Then there is the Shiny Thing. According to the Great Tom no Griffin can resist The Shiny Thing, but that remains to be seen. Unique to his quadrant is the ButterballBarricade, a great series of three to four oversized utensils set to a motion detector system. When a Griffin walks over the Barricade, it triggers it to come up from beneath the ground and punish them. The Great Tom mentioned he thought of them after visiting a place calked “Earth”, and a region called “Germaney”, apparently they are quite common there in places called “Raised parking”. The Great Tom’s wisdom is mighty and terrible indeed, at least as far as Butterbumber is concerned. Satisfied with his work, Butterbumber waddles through the maze of myriad surprises and gifts for the Griffin hunters. Surprisingly fast for a twenty five pound turkey, he is well aware that others in Taffy Tango are likely awaiting his contact and confirmation that all is ready in his quadrant. Finally he reaches his outpost, a seemingly innocent tree stump. Pulling the spork shaped branch causes the stump to turn with a *boop beep splat* sound effect, revealing a cavernous bigger on the inside relay control station. Waddling his roundish rumpus into the stump room, Butterbumber pulls an identical spork inside to cause the station to return to looking like a relatively ordinary stump with a wooden spork in it. Settling himself upon a work nest, and bowing his head to the GBF poster on the wall, the golden feathered turkey presses a button next to a microphone and speaks. “This is Butterball calling all Taffy Toots, come in Taffy Toots do you copy, fork.” A crackling on the radio precedes a rather snooty feminine voice responding. “This is Sour Spoon reporting in from the forest edge quadrant butternuts, Taffy Tango is a go over here, fork.” Butterbumber holds down the mic button again. “Copy that Sour Spoon, all is basted and battered over here in quadrant forkinator, Taffy Tango is a go here too, fork.” A series of voices echo over the oddly literal ham radio system, made of actual ham, all verifying their status. “This is Fluffybuns over in quadrant cakepocalypse, we are well frosted and sweet to eat, Taffy Tango is a go here too, fork.” “Tirameetu reporting in from spooniton quadrant, we are all chilled and sauced, Taffy Tango is a go here, fork.” “BakedBeets smashing the sound waves from quadrant Boomshakalaka, we are steady and drum ready, Taffy Tango is live out in here, fork.” “This is Knifealife from quadrant Saucy, we are a go and ready to fork some griffins with Taffy Tango, fork.” “MashedPotato reporting from quadrant slippery slope, we are all pretty much ready already with Taffy Tango, let’s go. Fork.” “Forkman calling in from quadrant cheesenuggets, all is ready to Tango with Taffy here Butterball. Fork.” “This is Allspice reporting live and sexy on a marshmallow horse from quadrant spicylife, Taffy Tango is a go here and I’m on a horse. Fork.” “Rogerroger reporting from quadrant Forkyfork we are sharp and ready for Taffy Tango. Fork.” “This is ThatTurkey coming to you from quadrant bahnananah, we are ready to rumble with Taffy Tango. Yeah fork!” “Totally all like great, this is MajorDanger reporting in from the bestest quadrant. The girls over in trendnsmash are like totes good for Taffy Tango. Totally fork.” “This is Carl, hey guys you won’t believe what I found in my quadrant. There are these giant gorillas living in a massive science bubble dome. And and you know how we were told about gorilla warfare right? Well we got to talking and it turns out they hate griffins and aliens, and I hate griffins and aliens, and we shared probe stories. Yeah the aliens got them too, they did some crazy modification things and you will not believe what happ..” And a communal shout echoes over the ham radio from every control relay station in the forest outskirts. “SHUT UP CARL! FORK!” The radio goes to static before the thankfully last highly annoying member of Taffy Tango reports in again. “Well you see it turns out that it’s called Independenceday quadrant because..” Butterbumber internally screams as his feathers fluff outwards like the pointy prongs of a fork, then externally screams into the ham radio mic. “CARL! Just report whether or not you are ready to Taffy Tango or not and please..for the sake of the Great Tom..just shut the fork up. Fork.” Static ripples over the ham radio channel for a good minute before that damned crazy turkey reports in again. “Sorry Butterball. All is a go to Taffy Tango in Independenceday quadrant, let’s go give those griffins what the aliens gave me! Fork.” Butterbumber groans, his golden feather trimmed blue eyes twitching. Without the mic on he grumbles. “Damn crazy Carl. What is that nutty turkey going to give the Griffins? Crazy? Better get this over with before he turns on the mic again.” And as if on cue, Carl speaks again. “Speaking of those Gorillas did you know they have a band and they are..” Faster than a speeding finger fork the golden turkey smashes the mic button down and shouts. “And that’s good to go Taffy Tooters. Please put your ham mics on emergency alert only mode and prepare for Gobble War phase one. I repeat we are ready to Taffy Tango, Butterball out. Fork.” With that Butterbumber promptly turns the ham mic to emergency mode and stares at his rock candy screen that shows images of his quadrant in 8 bit format. Heaving a deep sigh of relief and frustration he grumbles. “Why did I have to get stuck with Carl? This is going to be a long war. May the forks be with us.” Visible on the screen through forkivision he sees a group of vision approaching the forest outskirts. Grinning, Butterbumber flexes his finger feathers, ready to fork a griffin where no turkey has forked before. Author's Note Carl: You guys need to understand the Gorillas hate the Griffins because the aliens took their bananas and power suits, and made them somewhat like ponies by abducting them and doing crazy experiments and probing them like they did to me. Seriously that band is.. SHUT UP CARL! I hereby apologize for Carl making it into my authors note. This chapter shows the trap the turkeys have laid for the Griffins, tommorow you will see what terrible taffy trauma this will bring. Have an idea for a fork pun? Or a food pun? Or cutlery pun? Post in the comments below, it might end up in the story. Glen Gorewood Day 4: The Turkey Trap Taffy TimeDay 4: The Turkey Trap Taffy Time Griffins, just outside the Thankful Forest Outskirts The Thankful Forest looms before the participants of The Griffin Feast Hunt, each team of hunters eager to bag a delicious delectable oh so tasty turkey. Some of the teams are made up of families, others friends, and a few are made up of former veterans of the border patrol. A few teams are made up of random strangers chosen to match each other’s skill sets perfectly like a well oiled machine. Gilda’s team is none of these. As she suspected she was indeed dumped in a group of losers on purpose. Apparently word of her doing a pony slide got around fast, and she is being punished for her shameful actions. Mostly because she kept it a secret on the Hunt application, dishonest and shameful behavior like that is only utilized by losers. As a result she was placed in the team known as Bad Secrets, with all the other liars. Now Gilda and her teammates Grom, Gorna, and Father GracGruder stand at attention as do all the other Hunt teams. Standing before them at the forests edge is the Hunt Marshall, the greatest griffin hunter of the modern era. Who has bestest more beasts, and of course turkeys, than any other griffin. He even has a uniform and medals to prove it. Goober Gob Gobber Gorefist, or Triple G Gorefist as many know him is his name. A great and powerful griffin with a deep umber and tan pattern on his feathers and coat. A marking on his back and forehead resemble a clenched griffin claw fist, and he wears a shiny silver horned helmet that complements his metal fist on his right front claw. Yes GGG Gorefist is a sight to behold, a paragon of griffin fitness and power, the greatest of all modern hunters. He has a voice that commands attention and respect that barks out of his scarred beak at the Hunt Participants in a military manner. “Alright you grimy griffin grunts, at ease. Today you represent your nation and will bring back a feathered fowl or not return at all! I expect to see each and every one of you pathetic pieces of griffin flesh with at least one turkey in claw by the Hunt’s end. If you ever want to measure up to me, forget it, you can’t. The Griffins who don’t bag a turkey will be made to clean every latrine in the Griffin Kingdom with a toothbrush! Now go and hunt some turkeys.” The crowd of Griffins shuffles about uneasily, many only seeing the legend via a large screen, and GGG Gorefist narrows his yellow eyes. “What are you waiting for? Move it! The Hunt has begun!” The crowd surges forward, each team flying into a separate section of the ancient forest that they have been told to start the Hunt from. Gilda’s group has been given the worst location, the swamp bordering far-west outskirts of the Thankful Forest. Under normal circumstances this would be the absolute worst and most dangerous location to hunt Turkeys. But it just so happens that these are not normal circumstances, and as Gilda and her team trudge into the forest the rest of the Griffins very quickly learn why things are very far from normal. Eastern outskirts, Butterball’s quadrant The young chipper griffin from before skips happily through the forest, his father and two older brothers not far behind. “I’m going to get a turkey, I’m going to get a turkey, yippee!” The little chick cheers as he pounces at an unsuspecting piece of feather fern. “Not if you keep being so loud you’re not Gibsy.” Says one of the chick’s older siblings, ruffling his tan and dark brown feathers as he tries to tip toe over a branch without making a sound. On his back is a large metal star bladed object. The other older griffin sibling, wielding a bamboo staff, his grey and tan feathers set in patterns like a barred owl replies with a mischievous grin on his beak. “Well at least he’s trying Gamma. Which is a far cry from you and your vain attempts at stealth in a forest.” Gamma glares at his brother. “I’m trying to practice my ninja skills Glork, that way I can sneak up on the turkeys and avoid any traps they may have set.” Glork groans in disbelief, “Not this again. When will you stop this madness Gamma. For the last time the turkeys are not out to get us, they are too stupid for that.” He sticks out his tongue at his brother for emphasis, causing the younger griffin to growl. Before the two can start arguing, the father Gappa steps in. His ridiculous armor and powerful muscles the only weapon he needs. “Now now Gamma, Glork, be nice. This is Gibsy’s first turkey hunt and you wouldn’t want to ruin the experience for him.” The older tan and slate blue griffin with white ear tights narrows his eyes before adding. “Right?” In a voice that demands no argument on the matter. Gamma and Glork nod silently in agreement with the statement. “Speaking of which, where is Gibsy.” The younger of the two older siblings Gamma asks, glancing about for his youngest brother that was right by the feather fern seconds ago. “Probably off chasing flies or something.” Glork replies. Their father looks over to where his youngest had been seconds before, slightly apprehensive. The growing fear in his mind is silenced though when a young and happy voice shouts. “Daddy, brothers, I got a turkey!” “What!?” Shout a shocked Gamma and Glork in unison as a pair of bushes rustle to show their little brother’s rear as he drags something huge out of the woods. Gappa smiles, pride filling his heart that had seconds before been worried that the worst has happened. “Well then my son, why not show us all your first turkey.” He says in a voice oozing with pride and joy. “Ohhfkay”Gibsy replies as he gives one more tug on his turkey and adorably flips over, his prize flying over his head and landing right in the space between his family and himself. The pinkish, oddly turkey shaped blob of something plops to the ground unharmed. Gibsy rolls over a few times before hopping to his claws and bouncing over in glee, while his father and brothers stare in a sort of dumb shock at the “turkey” he has brought. “What do you think? I got a turkey, I got a turkey.” The chick cheers as he bounces about in triumph. *tick tick tick tock tic tic tic* goes the pink turkey blob. Gamma turns his head and reaches out his neck to get a closer look at the pink blob. “Glork, Dad, I don’t think it’s a turkey.” Glork and Gappa sigh in sheer disbelief and shame. Gibsy merely stops bouncing and pouts, eyes turning into adorable pools of tear filled emotion. “Not...a..Turkey..” he squeaks out, his lip quavering. *tic tic tic* Gamma shakes his head, “No Gibsy it’s not a turkey and..Wait is it ticking?” Glork snorts, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be silly turkeys don’t tic.” *tic tic tictictictictic* Gappa nods in agreement with his oldest son. “Glork is right, turkeys don’t tick. Bombs do.” *ticticticticticticTIC* As a short wind blows through the trees overhead, rustling the golden leaves of the Thankful Forest; the Griffin family has a horrible realization a little too late. Gibsy is the first to notice the pink blob is expanding outwards. Followed by Gamma, whose beak is promptly smooshed by the sticky mass. Gappa and Glork notice last, all of them are far too close to do anything about it. Their eyes grow wide, their beaks open to make a sound, but only one manages to do so. “Oh frack it’s a...” Is all Glork gets out before the pink mass of turkey shaped Taffy tenses, and explodes with a *BloopBoom*. A great wave of bright pink sugary sticky salty sweet treat almost comically flows outwards from the turkey blob shape and coats every griffin present in a thick cover of taffy. Specifically chocolate strawberry flavored taffy. Four pairs of eyes blink out from under the great blanket of pink, one of those eyes belong to a very small griffin chick who seems to be chewing on the stuff happily. The second largest mound of Taffy groans and cries, his tears causing them sticky stuff to actually adhere to his feathers more. The other two just turn to stare at each other, as the third largest seems to be grinning in triumph for some reason. Well at least until they hear the screams. Author's Note The Turkey Taffy Time bomb, useful for parties, pranks, and stopping Griffins trying to murder your family and friends. Glen Gorewood Day 5 - Turkey Trap TortureDay 5 - Turkey Trap Torture Amidst the trees of the Thankful Forest Golra and Goliath stalk through the overgrown vines and foliage of the forest where the turkeys dwell. To their left their team mates Gina and Gary mirror their movements. Perfectly synchronized hunting strategies honed over the entire year for this very day, are about to backfire gloriously. It is Gary who accidentally springs the tripwire, that triggers the mechanism, that lets loose the cannon, that causes the forks to fly. The pronged projectiles are not immediately noticed by the Griffins for their eyes are focused on a lone turkey wearing a sundress fluttering it’s eyelashes at them fearlessly. The precocious fowl is pretty in pink floral as she ruffles her tail feathers and waves in a coy manner. The four ferocious predatory creatures just tilt their heads in unison in utter confusion, as the teasing turkey winks at them. “Yoo-hoo, boys and girl, are you distracted by little old me?” The turkey giggles before quickly ducking into the underbrush with the speed of a road runner. Such a distraction means that the poor fair Griffins of Team FairPlay had no chance whatsoever when the forks hit their marks. The marks being right in the well toned griffin butts. Within seconds they become somewhat similar in appearance to pincushions, with pronged fork needles embedded in those prized posteriors. “Oh frackfeathers!” Shrieks Golra, collapsing in agony as the forks pierce his honey colored hindquarters. “Aaaaahh Maria!” Goliath howls like a banshee, falling to his side and clutching his rear left leg that harbors an old knee injury from when he was an adventurer. “My perfect bum! It burns!” Gina screams as she bounces around, her butt turning red as the ghost chili tipped fork prongs irritate her ridiculously red rear. “Not the jewels!” Gary groans as he clutches his gonads, a rather small desert fork having lodged itself straight through both like a punk piercing. Falling to his side he sheds tears for his lost treasure, a victim of the power of pronged silverware. The underbrush before the pain paralyzed four shifts, as a certain turkey head pops up. It’s mascara still perfect and feathered wings applying lipstick while giggling at the horrible fate that has befallen poor team FairPlay. Putting the lipstick away, she waves once more before leaping in the air. Clicking her heels together she goes “meep meep” before taking off in a streak of blue and paler blue into the woods beyond. Further to the west an unfortunate team known as Sonicboom has met a far worse fate. Their leader Goblet had decided a straightforward approach was the best option, so she led her teammates Gman, Gorgo, and Gillie into the most ridiculously obvious of all the traps the turkeys had set up. Now she and her team are stuck to the side of a giant swaying fork, taffy and feathered and colored in all the hues of the rainbow. “Not a word. Not one single word.” Goblet seethes as she watches the same turkey that had led them into this trap do that obnoxious Mexicolt dance number again. “Aye Marecarena!” The well mustached turkey sings before beginning the song and dance fore the fiftieth time. Shaking his tail feathers he goes, “one maca two maca..” This prompts a desperate Gman to scream in tortured pain, “Oh sweet Celestia make it stop! This is torture!” Gorgo facetalons causing his taffy and rainbow feathered right claw to stick to his face. Gillie on the other hand merely rolls her eyes, and grumbles in a quite irritated tone. “I think that’s the plan Gman...” “Aye Marecarena! Bum bum bum bum..” The Turkey continues the song for the fifty first round, adding a bit more booty shaking. The traumatized screams of Gman shall echo through the woods for hours and hours, a testament to the power of torture by marecarena. To the west though, the worst of torments is being given unto Team Starforce; Indeed one could it say is one of the most terrible things possible. Trapped in a fork lined pit, wings glued by taffy to their bodies, the poor Griffins can only listen in terror as two turkeys argue over the most obnoxious of topics. Gala, Gobo, Goda, and Gouda try to shut out the shrill voices of the glasses wearing turkey twins above. But no matter how much taffy they stuff in their ears, or how loud they screech, or how tight they huddle into shivering fetal positions; they can’t make it stop. “I’m telling you that the equations behind the incident are inherently flawed, it’s obvious Lan shot first.” Says Trobo The Turkey, sniffling a bit as he sneers at his twin brother Trollo. “And I’m telling you that it’s impossible for that to have happened. It’s obvious that Hreela shot first, you are wrong brother.” Trobo shrieks in a whiny voice, “I am not! After all I was right concerning the potential threat level of the Featherprise versus the Fowldelous. Feathergate is obviously the superior series.” Trollo growls in a gurgling manner, “Feather Trek was the original, Feathergate SP1 is a comedic copy nothing more.” Trobo waddles up to his brother, seething in fury. “This means war brother, I cannot let you insult Feathergate and get away with it.” Trollo grins eagerly, “Very well brother, same rules and same game as last time?” Trobo nods, his gangly little turkey wattle jiggling along. “Fifty six straight games of theoretical physics and top geek trivia, in stereo.” Trollo fist wings his brother, “It’s on! May the better glorgnock win!” Within the pit the Griffins stare at each other in tears, a mere look between them shares a communal thought. They are simply not sure their sanity will survive this day. Gouda puts a taloned limb around Goda and says in a whimpering voice, “Man, if we don’t make it out of here sane I just want you to know..I love you man!” Goda grabs Gouda and hugs him, sobbing in agony due to the sounds of super geek turkeys beginning their competition above in stereo surround sound making said competition very easy to hear. “I love you too man, and I want you to know something too.” Gouda breaks the hug and asks, “What is it man?” Goda dramatically poses before crying out, “I slept with your sister last week!” Gouda’s expression turns to one of terror, “Oh no man, I’m so sorry for you.” Goda clutches his knees, rocking back and forth in the fetal position as he continues to talk. “Did you know about the..the..tentacles?” Gouda sits by Goda, also in a fetal position as the trauma of his sister’s secret sets in. “Yeah, mom says it was due to the green brothers experimenting on her when she was pregnant with my sis. I don’t know though, I mean my little bro is green and he doesn’t have..those.” Goda shudders, and the two Griffins with similar names just suffer in silence as their sanity slips away. On the other side of the pit Gobo is curled up and mumbling about his happy place and magical crocodiles and fluff balls. Gala on the other hand has molded bits of taffy into a nautical outfit and is wielding a fork like a sword. “Avast me swabbies,there be a ship off the port bow. Ready the canons, batton down the hatches, prepare the whisk..” The rather mad pirate griffin is knocked out cold by a rather heavy fork shaped rock from above. “Shut up! We are trying to out geek each other up here!” Trobo shrieks, having been the one who wielded the mighty pronged vestige of forkfoolery upon the rather kooky pirate wanna be griffin. Trollo nods in assent, “Some prisoners we got stuck with. They can’t even go crazy the right way. Now what is the next topic brother?” Trobo chortles, “Best Feather Trek Captain.” From within the pit Gouda and Goda let out a combined and agonized, “NOOO!” as the torture continues. Gilda’s Hunt Area In the rather unsettling and oddly not horrible section of the Thankful Forest, Gilda and her team continue along unaware of the horrible things going on in the main woods. Somehow avoiding traps and pitfalls, the local relay station has no choice but to call home base. The Shrine of Tom, Thankful Forest The Great Tom who is quite simply really Not Discord in a turkey suit picks up the ham radio and listens to the operator explain the situation. “I see, able to avoid traps. Seemingly blessed by an unknown force. Wait, she has what shade of pink on her talons! Alright, yes my faithful fellow I shall use my powers to aid you. Just, stay in the relay station and don’t leave till I tell you to.” Putting the radio down, The Great Tom taps his feather fingers together, his off color eyes glancing about at random plans on the walls of the shrine. “Cotton candy clouds, done it. Chocolate rain, nope. Magical mocha mudslide, nah. Oh, what is this!” Waving a somewhat unusual eagle claw he levitates a piece of paper off the wall, reading the backup plan titled Z as his face takes on a quite devilish grin. Complete with curling eyebrows. “Oh yes, I have not done this one yet. Celly is going to kill me when she finds out.” Pausing for a moment as if to reconsider this plan of action, the Great Tom merely shrugs. “Eh, she is going to kill me for this anyway. Bring on the Zombies!” With that the Great Tom who is seriously Not Discord snaps his fingers, triggering a wave of chaos magic to ripple across the Thankful Forest and towards the location where Gilda and team Bad Secrets are searching for the Turkeys that are watching them from safely within relay stumps. The ground beneath them begins to shake, as Gilda grumbles, “ Ugh, right now I’d go for anything to make this hunt less lame!” Watching from afar on his rock candy screen, The Great Tom, lord of chaos grins. “Be careful what you wish for Gilda.” He says before breaking out into a fit of gleeful giggles. Author's Note Zombies, it’s always zombies. Remember to comment and make suggestions for the story if you want to. The idea might be added in an upcoming chapter. Apologies for the late update, my father went box crazy again. Talk about torture. Update from the future: I’ll be making it thanksgiving in June. Glen Gorewood
Day one: Gobble Alert, PreperationsDeep in the Thankful Forest, border of the Griffon Kingdom Tombel Turkeyton rolled over in his nest, a father of fifty chicks he was still fairly young at a mere fifteen years. His feathers were an unusual slate blue, and his eyes sharp and brilliant. His great beak, for his wife told him it was so, had told many a tale over the past decade. No spring chicken was he, yet not an elder, the semi youthful turkey stretched his wings and got up to begin the day. Just yesterday his youngest brood had participated in a pony tradition called Nightmare Night. A funny name that holiday had, after all it was mostly dressing up and getting free goodies. That was as far from a Nightmare as could be, after all it was the month of November that was really a nightmare for Turkeys who lived in the Thankful Forest. But it wasn’t that month yet, after all yesterday was only October 31st. Tombel froze mid stretch, sleepy his mind racing. October 31st was the last day of the month, which was also Nightmare Night. And after October came... “Oh dear Celestia and the great Tom please no.” Tombel groaned as he walked over to the calendar on his study wall. He often fell asleep here while designing new things, for Tombel had a nasty habit of losing track of time. So there on his wall, in perfectly set printed type, was the name of that dreaded month. The true month of Nightmares, when Turkeys faced off against the greatest terror they knew. The month of November. The Griffin Feast Hunt. Or as Turkeys knew it, The Yearly Gobble Massacre. It started traditionally on November 2nd and ran till the 25th. When one of the captured turkeys would be returned while the rest were plucked, killed, basted, baked, and eaten. Tombel had lost many chicks to this most cursed of holidays, as well as close family and friends. The mere thought of what was to begin the very next day set his gizzard a boil. He hated this holiday with a passion, with all the pointless bloodshed against defenseless turkeys. “Curse this month, if only there were a way to defend ourselves we Turkeys would not be so mercilessly slaughtered. By the divine Tom, if only there was a way.” Tombel falls to his haunches, sobbing against the wall. “I don’t want to lose anymore family and friends to this horrendous month. If only we could fight back somehow.” A sound like popcorn popping in a pan come from behind the turkey, and as he turns his crying eyes towards it he cannot help but. Sitting in his nest is a great turkey, though it’s head was oddly shaped like a dragon’s with two off colored eyes and mis matched horns. It smiles at him and said, “Tombel, I have heard your prayers and come to your aid. As of this year, no longer shall you, my favored Turkeys, be defenseless against the slaughter to come. For I shall teach you, the way of the Gobble.” Tombel is speechless, and merely walks over and bows at the great gluttonous Tom’s talons. “Teach me, teach all of us oh great one”, the turkey says in a reverent tone. The great Tom, who in no way resembles the fashionable and handsome Discord, grins. “As you wish my young pupil. Now let us begin. Do tell me, what do you know of the many uses of forks?” Tombel glances up in awe, “No, I do not know the uses of forks beyond the basics oh great Tom.” The great Tom nods sagely, waving his right wing he causes a great crossbow with a fork set within like an arrow to appear. Gesturing at it he bellows, “ Forks are for more than eating. See here, the Great Bow of Forkipulation, also known as the GBF. With it you shall gain great power and knowledge, and be able to protect your fellows from the terrors that start tommorow.” Tombel reaches for the great GBF, holding it with the reverence one would show a holy object. Staring in awe and adoration at that great and massive Tom who now sits in his nest that for some reason resembles cotton candy, he speaks. “Oh wise and powerful Tom, what else can you teach me and my fellows?” The great and massive bird, who looks nothing like Discord in a turkey costume I assure you, grins in glee. “Oh my wonderful child, gather all your kin and friends within the great hollow tomorrow and I shall speak to you and share my wisdom. With my help, this year the month of November shall no longer be one of sorrow, but great chaos and rebellion. Your kind shall fight back against your oppressors, and give the Griffins many a fork to the rear!” Tombel is so taken with this being that he merely says, “I shall do as you say oh great Tom.” He then dashed out the door to inform everyturkey he knows, the GBF in wing. For tommorow they shall dine in chaos. Meanwhile the Turkey Tom God that is Not Discord snaps his wings and causes a parade of sentient ice cream shrubberies to appear and dance about. Grinning, he goes over the many many ways his turkey filled plan could go chaotically wrong. Griffin Kingdom “Oh happy day, yes oh yay, for tomorrow is turkey hunt day. My daddy said I could come too, oh yippee happy google doo!” A young griffon chick skips around the Griffsburg square, filled with glee and quite frankly being highly embarrassing. So embarrassing indeed that his own parents are pretending he isn’t their chick. Gilda just stares at him, shocked by such an awkward and silly display. She shudders as the chick does a little spin and poses like he is pointing a weapon at something before continuing with the skipping about. Turning to her mother she asks, “Mom, was I ever that embarrassing and dorky when I was about to go on my first Turkey Hunt?” Gilda’s mother, Glenna merely smirks. “Oh no dear, you were much worse. I believe you actually chortled and did a slide maneuver as well. It was very pony like actually.” Gilda groans, “Mom, you are embarrassing me right before the Turkey Hunt Teams are chosen.” Glenna smiles, “I know I am dear, that’s my job as your mother.” Gilda merely hides her head in a High Flyer Monthly magazine due to sheer embarrassment. She only hopes this ridiculous stunt by her mother won’t end with her in a loser team tomorrow. Author's Note So it begins. The Gobble Wars, an experimental writing story based on Turkeys fighting back against Griffons with thier lives on the line. It would have been a tale of drama, woe, adventure, and great sacrifice. But Not Discord the Great Tom got involved so that idea is completely out the window. Updated daily till November 25th. Enjoy. Glen Gorewood
Day 2 - Gobble Alert, It BeginsDeep in the Thankful Forest, The Great Hollow, first day of The Griffin Feast Hunt Tombel stares in complete awe at the great and ancient grounds that are currently filled to the brim with his feathery flock of friends and kin. Hundreds of turkeys, nay thousands, have gathered to hear the words of the Great Tom. The words that might save them all from certain doom at the claws of the Griffons. All whom are present know acutely of the loss incurred each year in this month, and are willing to do anything to stop the carnage. Tombel Turkeyton holds the sacred GBF close to his fluffy feathered chest, the mystical bow from which justice shall be served is now a symbol of hope to all turkey kind. The night before he had spent listening to the words of wisdom the Great Tom wished to give unto him and his fellows. Tombel had learned of the powers of taffy, the greatness of traps, the all consuming methods behind gorilla warfare, and of course how to properly maximize the potential of forks and other cutlery to defend oneself. It had all led up to this, the morning of the greatest speech of his life. A speech that would be backed by the great and almighty Tom, who was currently settled in a nest of marshmallow fluff and sorting forks by not color. That wise and most vast of Turkey deities had promised to say some grand words once Tombel finished his speech. And so now the time had finally come. Tombel waddles up to the megaphone, his mere motions quieting all comments in the crowd. Clearing his throat, the great gobbling turkey Tombel begins to speak the word of Tom, the only hope for his people. “My fellow Turkeys.” He begins, his great beak gleaming in the rock candy lights. “Behind me sits our savior, the Great Tom, who has come down from the divine skies to give us the gift of hope and forks. May he be forever vast and gluttonous.” The crowd crows back, “The most vast is he.” Tombel grins, continuing his speech with a near religious fervor. Raising the GBF high he speaks. “The Great Tom has given me this most sacred of artifacts, and key to our survival, the Great Bow of Forkipulation; a sign of his favoring us with his divine gizzard.” The crowd responds, “The largest of gizzards has he.” Tombel smiles, his heart so overtaken with his task he is unaware of the Great Tom making bunny ears upon his head. “We, the Turkeys of the Thankful Forest, have for too long been beset yearly by the horrendous Griffon horde. They take from us our chicks, our wives, our husbands, our brothers, and our family and friends. Too many have fallen to their villainous talons and blades. Only to be basted and devoured except for one remaining survivor. How many of you have lost a loved one to this yearly Massacre my fellow turkeys?” Every single feathered turkey in the crowd raised a wing. As did Carl, the one turkey who had no feathers and claimed to have been abducted by aliens last year. Tombel nods, shouting into the megaphone he continues his grand speech. “Well the Great Tom has spoken to me, and told me that this year we shall no longer be hunted like mere animals. Nay, this year we shall fight back against the evil that invades our forest each year. With the powers and gifts of the Great Tom, we shall stand our ground against those horrible monsters. This year, it will not be a massacre. For this year will be the year that brings forth the first Gobble War, may the forks protect you my friends. For tommorow we fight for our lives. Who will stand with me and the Great Tom!” Every single turkey in attendance screamed, “Yeaaaah!” With Carl mumbling something about giving those aliens what was coming to them. The crowd went wild, with whoops and gobbles and cheers of joy. The Great Tom then approached the megaphone, and all became quiet in awe of the most vast and enormous of all turkey kind. The Great Tom, who is really truly Not Discord, cleared his throat before commencing with his words of wisdom. “My most favored of fowl, my Turkeys, I shall give to you the gift of taffy and traps, and freedom. You shall go forth on this day, and use those powers to crush the griffins. Make their wings unmovable, make their limbs mired, and most importantly.” The great god takes a deep breathe before shouting so loud it turns some shrubs into bunnies with great jaws that go scampering off who knows where. “YOU SHALL FORK THEM IN THE REAR!” The crowd of gobblers goes wild, shouting things like, “Fork them”, “Stick a fork in them,” and “Pasta la vista griffins.” Indeed the puns were so riotous that they caused even the trees themselves to cringe. It is a feast of freakish fork puns to say the least. The Great Tom, his work done, returned to the sacred nest of Marshallow fluff and began to drink chocolate milk. As he did so, Tombel marched into the crowd, his eyes shining with megaphone in hand. Placing it upon his beak he shouts one final word. “Turkeys, let us arm ourselves. For today we prepare for battle, and tommorow we fight for forks!” The cheers begin anew, and the turkeys armed themselves for war. The Gobble Wars had begun. A fact of which the Griffins were still unaware. For now at least. Border of the Griffin Kingdom and Thankful Forest, the Griffin Feast Hunt Camp Gilda groaned into her claw, her mother’s antics had indeed forced her to be on a loser team this year. With her trusty great sword strapped to her back, she is the picture of an ideal hunting Griffin. Sadly, she is stuck with the biggest team of losers in the entire kingdom. No amount of awesome flying will ever let her live this down. Her team is made up of her and the three most freakishly messed up Griffins in the entire kingdom. Standing beside her on her right is Grom, a very bulky and quite dim Griffin who can barely fly and is armed with a battle axe. His feathers are solid black, with a bright green patterned feathers upon his face and neck. How on earth he ever bagged his first turkey is a mystery to all. To her left is Gorna, a very lanky female Griffin with curly feathers with a peach and cream mottled pattern. That in and of itself would not be a problem, after all lanky and lean Griffins are great with bows. No the problem was that Gorna was unequivocally girly to the extreme. Her talons were manicured, she wore makeup, and even her hunting bow was bedazzled. Worst of all, her arrows had unicorns printed on them, bright pink unicorns. Yet the last team member was the worst. Father GracGruder was a middle aged Griffin with a solid white feathered head and purple feathers on his body that were set in a pattern with the white and black ones that resembled a priests robes. He had sworn an oath of non violence, and wore an actual ancient clergy outfit. According to him, and only him, Father GracGruder had once survived a zombie attack in a foreign land. He also had no weapon, only a saddlebag with a book in it. He was only in the hunt because he had missed the previous five years worth, and had never bagged a turkey. Gilda groaned in metaphorical agony, this was going to be a very long November. Thankfully the actual hunt didn’t start till the next day, so at the very least she would have some time to figure something out concerning this team of losers she was stuck with. “Oh my gosh, this is absolutely awful, the worst possible thing that could ever happen to me.” Gorna bemoaned in her trademark valley Griffin accent. Gilda grumbled back, “I know, this is the worst thing that could have possibly happened to me.” Gorna puts a claw to her face and gasps, “Oh my gosh, this is the worst thing isn’t it? I can’t imagine trying to hunt like this, it’s just so totally awful.” “I know.” Gilda responds in a very unamused voice. Curious she can’t help but ask, “You are talking about the hunt right?” Gorna stares, the look of utter confusion in her eyes a giveaway that she and Gilda are not on the same page. “Well no you see..”. The rather vain and pretty Griffin begins. “What is it, out with it already!” Gilda shrieks, her annoyance at this ridiculous horrible situation getting the best of her. Gorna holds out her right claw with her perfectly manicured and pink nail polish coated pointer talon up for Gilda to see. “I cracked a talon.” She cries in utter diva despair, posed in such a way that she looks very much like a certain drama prone unicorn. Gilda face claws, wondering what she did wrong to be stuck with this bunch of Griffin train wreck losers as her hunt team. “This is going to be a long Hunt,” she says once more as Gorna continues to fuss over her talon as if the world has ended. Little does Gilda and her rag tag team of misfit Griffins know that it will indeed be a very long November. However not for the reasons she thinks, for in just a single day the Griffins quarry has made plans that will change the Griffin Feast Hunt forever. Meanwhile in Canterlot Princess Celestia looks up from her tea, a feeling like something chaos ridden is about to occur striking her like a rather large shrubbery in the horn. Turning to her sister Luna she asks, “Lulu have you seen Discord lately? I just felt a disturbance in the magical field.” Luna stops nibbling on a crumpet, after thinking for a moment she responds nonchalantly. “Last that We heard from Fluttershy was that he was off on a vacation somewhere to the West Tia.” Celestia pauses, curious as to what exactly a god of chaos would do on vacation. Her mind goes over the many possibilities, but finally she is satisfied with the knowledge that Discord is reformed and would never do anything to harm any living creatures in Equestria. Luna pokes her sister. “Equis to Tia, what art though thinking about?” Celestia shakes her head, her ethereal mane flowing to and fro. Responding in a light hearted tone she answers her sister. “Oh it’s nothing Luna, I’m probably just overthinking things. More tea?” Luna nods and holds out her teacup in her magic. “Yes please sister, it is quite wonderful tea.” And so Celestia pours her sister some tea as they enjoy the late afternoon together before she must set the sun. Both are oblivious to what is occurring one kingdom over, and will continue to be so until a letter arrives in about twenty five days time. But that is then, and this is now, for now begins the true start of the Gobble Wars. Equis will never be the same. Author's Note So it begins. Tommorow, the first battle of the Gobble Wars shall occur. The force of fork puns shall cause much pain upon the world. Are you ready for this? Glen Gorewood
Day 3 - The Turkey Trap - Time in verse November 3rd, MorningThankful Forest outskirts, Turkeys The air is tense as Butterbumber puts the final touches on the first line of taffy defense for the Turkeys. Part of the advance Taffy Tango division, also known as Taffy Tooters, he is in charge of making sure the taffy and tableware traps are ready for the incoming horde of Griffins. Wiping the sweat from his brow, the bright golden yellow Turkey glances at his work. Stretched across the forest edge is a series of tripwires and pressure pads. Each one connected to a taffy tooter shooter or forkenalation catapault, with a few tied to giant spoons of doom that are rigged to swing like oversized logs upon the unsuspecting foe. Further back is a series of pitfalls ending in marshmallow fluff and forks, a few falling loggenforks, and more utensil themed ridiculousness than Celestia could use to eat all the cake in the world. Thrice. Then there is the Shiny Thing. According to the Great Tom no Griffin can resist The Shiny Thing, but that remains to be seen. Unique to his quadrant is the ButterballBarricade, a great series of three to four oversized utensils set to a motion detector system. When a Griffin walks over the Barricade, it triggers it to come up from beneath the ground and punish them. The Great Tom mentioned he thought of them after visiting a place calked “Earth”, and a region called “Germaney”, apparently they are quite common there in places called “Raised parking”. The Great Tom’s wisdom is mighty and terrible indeed, at least as far as Butterbumber is concerned. Satisfied with his work, Butterbumber waddles through the maze of myriad surprises and gifts for the Griffin hunters. Surprisingly fast for a twenty five pound turkey, he is well aware that others in Taffy Tango are likely awaiting his contact and confirmation that all is ready in his quadrant. Finally he reaches his outpost, a seemingly innocent tree stump. Pulling the spork shaped branch causes the stump to turn with a *boop beep splat* sound effect, revealing a cavernous bigger on the inside relay control station. Waddling his roundish rumpus into the stump room, Butterbumber pulls an identical spork inside to cause the station to return to looking like a relatively ordinary stump with a wooden spork in it. Settling himself upon a work nest, and bowing his head to the GBF poster on the wall, the golden feathered turkey presses a button next to a microphone and speaks. “This is Butterball calling all Taffy Toots, come in Taffy Toots do you copy, fork.” A crackling on the radio precedes a rather snooty feminine voice responding. “This is Sour Spoon reporting in from the forest edge quadrant butternuts, Taffy Tango is a go over here, fork.” Butterbumber holds down the mic button again. “Copy that Sour Spoon, all is basted and battered over here in quadrant forkinator, Taffy Tango is a go here too, fork.” A series of voices echo over the oddly literal ham radio system, made of actual ham, all verifying their status. “This is Fluffybuns over in quadrant cakepocalypse, we are well frosted and sweet to eat, Taffy Tango is a go here too, fork.” “Tirameetu reporting in from spooniton quadrant, we are all chilled and sauced, Taffy Tango is a go here, fork.” “BakedBeets smashing the sound waves from quadrant Boomshakalaka, we are steady and drum ready, Taffy Tango is live out in here, fork.” “This is Knifealife from quadrant Saucy, we are a go and ready to fork some griffins with Taffy Tango, fork.” “MashedPotato reporting from quadrant slippery slope, we are all pretty much ready already with Taffy Tango, let’s go. Fork.” “Forkman calling in from quadrant cheesenuggets, all is ready to Tango with Taffy here Butterball. Fork.” “This is Allspice reporting live and sexy on a marshmallow horse from quadrant spicylife, Taffy Tango is a go here and I’m on a horse. Fork.” “Rogerroger reporting from quadrant Forkyfork we are sharp and ready for Taffy Tango. Fork.” “This is ThatTurkey coming to you from quadrant bahnananah, we are ready to rumble with Taffy Tango. Yeah fork!” “Totally all like great, this is MajorDanger reporting in from the bestest quadrant. The girls over in trendnsmash are like totes good for Taffy Tango. Totally fork.” “This is Carl, hey guys you won’t believe what I found in my quadrant. There are these giant gorillas living in a massive science bubble dome. And and you know how we were told about gorilla warfare right? Well we got to talking and it turns out they hate griffins and aliens, and I hate griffins and aliens, and we shared probe stories. Yeah the aliens got them too, they did some crazy modification things and you will not believe what happ..” And a communal shout echoes over the ham radio from every control relay station in the forest outskirts. “SHUT UP CARL! FORK!” The radio goes to static before the thankfully last highly annoying member of Taffy Tango reports in again. “Well you see it turns out that it’s called Independenceday quadrant because..” Butterbumber internally screams as his feathers fluff outwards like the pointy prongs of a fork, then externally screams into the ham radio mic. “CARL! Just report whether or not you are ready to Taffy Tango or not and please..for the sake of the Great Tom..just shut the fork up. Fork.” Static ripples over the ham radio channel for a good minute before that damned crazy turkey reports in again. “Sorry Butterball. All is a go to Taffy Tango in Independenceday quadrant, let’s go give those griffins what the aliens gave me! Fork.” Butterbumber groans, his golden feather trimmed blue eyes twitching. Without the mic on he grumbles. “Damn crazy Carl. What is that nutty turkey going to give the Griffins? Crazy? Better get this over with before he turns on the mic again.” And as if on cue, Carl speaks again. “Speaking of those Gorillas did you know they have a band and they are..” Faster than a speeding finger fork the golden turkey smashes the mic button down and shouts. “And that’s good to go Taffy Tooters. Please put your ham mics on emergency alert only mode and prepare for Gobble War phase one. I repeat we are ready to Taffy Tango, Butterball out. Fork.” With that Butterbumber promptly turns the ham mic to emergency mode and stares at his rock candy screen that shows images of his quadrant in 8 bit format. Heaving a deep sigh of relief and frustration he grumbles. “Why did I have to get stuck with Carl? This is going to be a long war. May the forks be with us.” Visible on the screen through forkivision he sees a group of vision approaching the forest outskirts. Grinning, Butterbumber flexes his finger feathers, ready to fork a griffin where no turkey has forked before. Author's Note Carl: You guys need to understand the Gorillas hate the Griffins because the aliens took their bananas and power suits, and made them somewhat like ponies by abducting them and doing crazy experiments and probing them like they did to me. Seriously that band is.. SHUT UP CARL! I hereby apologize for Carl making it into my authors note. This chapter shows the trap the turkeys have laid for the Griffins, tommorow you will see what terrible taffy trauma this will bring. Have an idea for a fork pun? Or a food pun? Or cutlery pun? Post in the comments below, it might end up in the story. Glen Gorewood
Day 4: The Turkey Trap Taffy TimeDay 4: The Turkey Trap Taffy Time Griffins, just outside the Thankful Forest Outskirts The Thankful Forest looms before the participants of The Griffin Feast Hunt, each team of hunters eager to bag a delicious delectable oh so tasty turkey. Some of the teams are made up of families, others friends, and a few are made up of former veterans of the border patrol. A few teams are made up of random strangers chosen to match each other’s skill sets perfectly like a well oiled machine. Gilda’s team is none of these. As she suspected she was indeed dumped in a group of losers on purpose. Apparently word of her doing a pony slide got around fast, and she is being punished for her shameful actions. Mostly because she kept it a secret on the Hunt application, dishonest and shameful behavior like that is only utilized by losers. As a result she was placed in the team known as Bad Secrets, with all the other liars. Now Gilda and her teammates Grom, Gorna, and Father GracGruder stand at attention as do all the other Hunt teams. Standing before them at the forests edge is the Hunt Marshall, the greatest griffin hunter of the modern era. Who has bestest more beasts, and of course turkeys, than any other griffin. He even has a uniform and medals to prove it. Goober Gob Gobber Gorefist, or Triple G Gorefist as many know him is his name. A great and powerful griffin with a deep umber and tan pattern on his feathers and coat. A marking on his back and forehead resemble a clenched griffin claw fist, and he wears a shiny silver horned helmet that complements his metal fist on his right front claw. Yes GGG Gorefist is a sight to behold, a paragon of griffin fitness and power, the greatest of all modern hunters. He has a voice that commands attention and respect that barks out of his scarred beak at the Hunt Participants in a military manner. “Alright you grimy griffin grunts, at ease. Today you represent your nation and will bring back a feathered fowl or not return at all! I expect to see each and every one of you pathetic pieces of griffin flesh with at least one turkey in claw by the Hunt’s end. If you ever want to measure up to me, forget it, you can’t. The Griffins who don’t bag a turkey will be made to clean every latrine in the Griffin Kingdom with a toothbrush! Now go and hunt some turkeys.” The crowd of Griffins shuffles about uneasily, many only seeing the legend via a large screen, and GGG Gorefist narrows his yellow eyes. “What are you waiting for? Move it! The Hunt has begun!” The crowd surges forward, each team flying into a separate section of the ancient forest that they have been told to start the Hunt from. Gilda’s group has been given the worst location, the swamp bordering far-west outskirts of the Thankful Forest. Under normal circumstances this would be the absolute worst and most dangerous location to hunt Turkeys. But it just so happens that these are not normal circumstances, and as Gilda and her team trudge into the forest the rest of the Griffins very quickly learn why things are very far from normal. Eastern outskirts, Butterball’s quadrant The young chipper griffin from before skips happily through the forest, his father and two older brothers not far behind. “I’m going to get a turkey, I’m going to get a turkey, yippee!” The little chick cheers as he pounces at an unsuspecting piece of feather fern. “Not if you keep being so loud you’re not Gibsy.” Says one of the chick’s older siblings, ruffling his tan and dark brown feathers as he tries to tip toe over a branch without making a sound. On his back is a large metal star bladed object. The other older griffin sibling, wielding a bamboo staff, his grey and tan feathers set in patterns like a barred owl replies with a mischievous grin on his beak. “Well at least he’s trying Gamma. Which is a far cry from you and your vain attempts at stealth in a forest.” Gamma glares at his brother. “I’m trying to practice my ninja skills Glork, that way I can sneak up on the turkeys and avoid any traps they may have set.” Glork groans in disbelief, “Not this again. When will you stop this madness Gamma. For the last time the turkeys are not out to get us, they are too stupid for that.” He sticks out his tongue at his brother for emphasis, causing the younger griffin to growl. Before the two can start arguing, the father Gappa steps in. His ridiculous armor and powerful muscles the only weapon he needs. “Now now Gamma, Glork, be nice. This is Gibsy’s first turkey hunt and you wouldn’t want to ruin the experience for him.” The older tan and slate blue griffin with white ear tights narrows his eyes before adding. “Right?” In a voice that demands no argument on the matter. Gamma and Glork nod silently in agreement with the statement. “Speaking of which, where is Gibsy.” The younger of the two older siblings Gamma asks, glancing about for his youngest brother that was right by the feather fern seconds ago. “Probably off chasing flies or something.” Glork replies. Their father looks over to where his youngest had been seconds before, slightly apprehensive. The growing fear in his mind is silenced though when a young and happy voice shouts. “Daddy, brothers, I got a turkey!” “What!?” Shout a shocked Gamma and Glork in unison as a pair of bushes rustle to show their little brother’s rear as he drags something huge out of the woods. Gappa smiles, pride filling his heart that had seconds before been worried that the worst has happened. “Well then my son, why not show us all your first turkey.” He says in a voice oozing with pride and joy. “Ohhfkay”Gibsy replies as he gives one more tug on his turkey and adorably flips over, his prize flying over his head and landing right in the space between his family and himself. The pinkish, oddly turkey shaped blob of something plops to the ground unharmed. Gibsy rolls over a few times before hopping to his claws and bouncing over in glee, while his father and brothers stare in a sort of dumb shock at the “turkey” he has brought. “What do you think? I got a turkey, I got a turkey.” The chick cheers as he bounces about in triumph. *tick tick tick tock tic tic tic* goes the pink turkey blob. Gamma turns his head and reaches out his neck to get a closer look at the pink blob. “Glork, Dad, I don’t think it’s a turkey.” Glork and Gappa sigh in sheer disbelief and shame. Gibsy merely stops bouncing and pouts, eyes turning into adorable pools of tear filled emotion. “Not...a..Turkey..” he squeaks out, his lip quavering. *tic tic tic* Gamma shakes his head, “No Gibsy it’s not a turkey and..Wait is it ticking?” Glork snorts, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be silly turkeys don’t tic.” *tic tic tictictictictic* Gappa nods in agreement with his oldest son. “Glork is right, turkeys don’t tick. Bombs do.” *ticticticticticticTIC* As a short wind blows through the trees overhead, rustling the golden leaves of the Thankful Forest; the Griffin family has a horrible realization a little too late. Gibsy is the first to notice the pink blob is expanding outwards. Followed by Gamma, whose beak is promptly smooshed by the sticky mass. Gappa and Glork notice last, all of them are far too close to do anything about it. Their eyes grow wide, their beaks open to make a sound, but only one manages to do so. “Oh frack it’s a...” Is all Glork gets out before the pink mass of turkey shaped Taffy tenses, and explodes with a *BloopBoom*. A great wave of bright pink sugary sticky salty sweet treat almost comically flows outwards from the turkey blob shape and coats every griffin present in a thick cover of taffy. Specifically chocolate strawberry flavored taffy. Four pairs of eyes blink out from under the great blanket of pink, one of those eyes belong to a very small griffin chick who seems to be chewing on the stuff happily. The second largest mound of Taffy groans and cries, his tears causing them sticky stuff to actually adhere to his feathers more. The other two just turn to stare at each other, as the third largest seems to be grinning in triumph for some reason. Well at least until they hear the screams. Author's Note The Turkey Taffy Time bomb, useful for parties, pranks, and stopping Griffins trying to murder your family and friends. Glen Gorewood
Day 5 - Turkey Trap TortureDay 5 - Turkey Trap Torture Amidst the trees of the Thankful Forest Golra and Goliath stalk through the overgrown vines and foliage of the forest where the turkeys dwell. To their left their team mates Gina and Gary mirror their movements. Perfectly synchronized hunting strategies honed over the entire year for this very day, are about to backfire gloriously. It is Gary who accidentally springs the tripwire, that triggers the mechanism, that lets loose the cannon, that causes the forks to fly. The pronged projectiles are not immediately noticed by the Griffins for their eyes are focused on a lone turkey wearing a sundress fluttering it’s eyelashes at them fearlessly. The precocious fowl is pretty in pink floral as she ruffles her tail feathers and waves in a coy manner. The four ferocious predatory creatures just tilt their heads in unison in utter confusion, as the teasing turkey winks at them. “Yoo-hoo, boys and girl, are you distracted by little old me?” The turkey giggles before quickly ducking into the underbrush with the speed of a road runner. Such a distraction means that the poor fair Griffins of Team FairPlay had no chance whatsoever when the forks hit their marks. The marks being right in the well toned griffin butts. Within seconds they become somewhat similar in appearance to pincushions, with pronged fork needles embedded in those prized posteriors. “Oh frackfeathers!” Shrieks Golra, collapsing in agony as the forks pierce his honey colored hindquarters. “Aaaaahh Maria!” Goliath howls like a banshee, falling to his side and clutching his rear left leg that harbors an old knee injury from when he was an adventurer. “My perfect bum! It burns!” Gina screams as she bounces around, her butt turning red as the ghost chili tipped fork prongs irritate her ridiculously red rear. “Not the jewels!” Gary groans as he clutches his gonads, a rather small desert fork having lodged itself straight through both like a punk piercing. Falling to his side he sheds tears for his lost treasure, a victim of the power of pronged silverware. The underbrush before the pain paralyzed four shifts, as a certain turkey head pops up. It’s mascara still perfect and feathered wings applying lipstick while giggling at the horrible fate that has befallen poor team FairPlay. Putting the lipstick away, she waves once more before leaping in the air. Clicking her heels together she goes “meep meep” before taking off in a streak of blue and paler blue into the woods beyond. Further to the west an unfortunate team known as Sonicboom has met a far worse fate. Their leader Goblet had decided a straightforward approach was the best option, so she led her teammates Gman, Gorgo, and Gillie into the most ridiculously obvious of all the traps the turkeys had set up. Now she and her team are stuck to the side of a giant swaying fork, taffy and feathered and colored in all the hues of the rainbow. “Not a word. Not one single word.” Goblet seethes as she watches the same turkey that had led them into this trap do that obnoxious Mexicolt dance number again. “Aye Marecarena!” The well mustached turkey sings before beginning the song and dance fore the fiftieth time. Shaking his tail feathers he goes, “one maca two maca..” This prompts a desperate Gman to scream in tortured pain, “Oh sweet Celestia make it stop! This is torture!” Gorgo facetalons causing his taffy and rainbow feathered right claw to stick to his face. Gillie on the other hand merely rolls her eyes, and grumbles in a quite irritated tone. “I think that’s the plan Gman...” “Aye Marecarena! Bum bum bum bum..” The Turkey continues the song for the fifty first round, adding a bit more booty shaking. The traumatized screams of Gman shall echo through the woods for hours and hours, a testament to the power of torture by marecarena. To the west though, the worst of torments is being given unto Team Starforce; Indeed one could it say is one of the most terrible things possible. Trapped in a fork lined pit, wings glued by taffy to their bodies, the poor Griffins can only listen in terror as two turkeys argue over the most obnoxious of topics. Gala, Gobo, Goda, and Gouda try to shut out the shrill voices of the glasses wearing turkey twins above. But no matter how much taffy they stuff in their ears, or how loud they screech, or how tight they huddle into shivering fetal positions; they can’t make it stop. “I’m telling you that the equations behind the incident are inherently flawed, it’s obvious Lan shot first.” Says Trobo The Turkey, sniffling a bit as he sneers at his twin brother Trollo. “And I’m telling you that it’s impossible for that to have happened. It’s obvious that Hreela shot first, you are wrong brother.” Trobo shrieks in a whiny voice, “I am not! After all I was right concerning the potential threat level of the Featherprise versus the Fowldelous. Feathergate is obviously the superior series.” Trollo growls in a gurgling manner, “Feather Trek was the original, Feathergate SP1 is a comedic copy nothing more.” Trobo waddles up to his brother, seething in fury. “This means war brother, I cannot let you insult Feathergate and get away with it.” Trollo grins eagerly, “Very well brother, same rules and same game as last time?” Trobo nods, his gangly little turkey wattle jiggling along. “Fifty six straight games of theoretical physics and top geek trivia, in stereo.” Trollo fist wings his brother, “It’s on! May the better glorgnock win!” Within the pit the Griffins stare at each other in tears, a mere look between them shares a communal thought. They are simply not sure their sanity will survive this day. Gouda puts a taloned limb around Goda and says in a whimpering voice, “Man, if we don’t make it out of here sane I just want you to know..I love you man!” Goda grabs Gouda and hugs him, sobbing in agony due to the sounds of super geek turkeys beginning their competition above in stereo surround sound making said competition very easy to hear. “I love you too man, and I want you to know something too.” Gouda breaks the hug and asks, “What is it man?” Goda dramatically poses before crying out, “I slept with your sister last week!” Gouda’s expression turns to one of terror, “Oh no man, I’m so sorry for you.” Goda clutches his knees, rocking back and forth in the fetal position as he continues to talk. “Did you know about the..the..tentacles?” Gouda sits by Goda, also in a fetal position as the trauma of his sister’s secret sets in. “Yeah, mom says it was due to the green brothers experimenting on her when she was pregnant with my sis. I don’t know though, I mean my little bro is green and he doesn’t have..those.” Goda shudders, and the two Griffins with similar names just suffer in silence as their sanity slips away. On the other side of the pit Gobo is curled up and mumbling about his happy place and magical crocodiles and fluff balls. Gala on the other hand has molded bits of taffy into a nautical outfit and is wielding a fork like a sword. “Avast me swabbies,there be a ship off the port bow. Ready the canons, batton down the hatches, prepare the whisk..” The rather mad pirate griffin is knocked out cold by a rather heavy fork shaped rock from above. “Shut up! We are trying to out geek each other up here!” Trobo shrieks, having been the one who wielded the mighty pronged vestige of forkfoolery upon the rather kooky pirate wanna be griffin. Trollo nods in assent, “Some prisoners we got stuck with. They can’t even go crazy the right way. Now what is the next topic brother?” Trobo chortles, “Best Feather Trek Captain.” From within the pit Gouda and Goda let out a combined and agonized, “NOOO!” as the torture continues. Gilda’s Hunt Area In the rather unsettling and oddly not horrible section of the Thankful Forest, Gilda and her team continue along unaware of the horrible things going on in the main woods. Somehow avoiding traps and pitfalls, the local relay station has no choice but to call home base. The Shrine of Tom, Thankful Forest The Great Tom who is quite simply really Not Discord in a turkey suit picks up the ham radio and listens to the operator explain the situation. “I see, able to avoid traps. Seemingly blessed by an unknown force. Wait, she has what shade of pink on her talons! Alright, yes my faithful fellow I shall use my powers to aid you. Just, stay in the relay station and don’t leave till I tell you to.” Putting the radio down, The Great Tom taps his feather fingers together, his off color eyes glancing about at random plans on the walls of the shrine. “Cotton candy clouds, done it. Chocolate rain, nope. Magical mocha mudslide, nah. Oh, what is this!” Waving a somewhat unusual eagle claw he levitates a piece of paper off the wall, reading the backup plan titled Z as his face takes on a quite devilish grin. Complete with curling eyebrows. “Oh yes, I have not done this one yet. Celly is going to kill me when she finds out.” Pausing for a moment as if to reconsider this plan of action, the Great Tom merely shrugs. “Eh, she is going to kill me for this anyway. Bring on the Zombies!” With that the Great Tom who is seriously Not Discord snaps his fingers, triggering a wave of chaos magic to ripple across the Thankful Forest and towards the location where Gilda and team Bad Secrets are searching for the Turkeys that are watching them from safely within relay stumps. The ground beneath them begins to shake, as Gilda grumbles, “ Ugh, right now I’d go for anything to make this hunt less lame!” Watching from afar on his rock candy screen, The Great Tom, lord of chaos grins. “Be careful what you wish for Gilda.” He says before breaking out into a fit of gleeful giggles. Author's Note Zombies, it’s always zombies. Remember to comment and make suggestions for the story if you want to. The idea might be added in an upcoming chapter. Apologies for the late update, my father went box crazy again. Talk about torture. Update from the future: I’ll be making it thanksgiving in June. Glen Gorewood
