Every alley felt damp, muddy, and cold. At least, from what Aloysius had felt. At this point, the little griffon knew each and every cramped space between the huts and thatch houses of Griffonstone.
Griffonstone was only full of poverty-stricken homes. The mountainous terrain didn’t help, in that most the houses were drafty too; winters were agonizing. Nothing escaped from that demon which wanted nothing more than to create a void of impoverished griffons.
No griffon, no matter the job, age, or state of living could say they were content. The pitiful amount of bits held in one’s talons never satisfied anyone. Either griffons didn’t have enough of the precious gold coins that made the world go round, or they didn’t have any at all.
Aloysius didn’t know the feeling though. Of course, he knew the feeling of greed - any griffon growing up in the streets didn’t just know what greed was. It was all around them. Examples of its omniscience were everywhere. Houses with broken down doors, fledglings that were left beaten up and scarred, and certainly the rabid, unsharing nature all the homeless had with food. Griffons weren’t griffons unless selfishness consumed their heart.
But Aloysius didn’t even have the energy for longing. He could only focus on staying alive.
Find a place to sleep, maybe eat something - anything - and hope I don’t die... These were the only thoughts that weren’t a waste of time.
He shifted in place slightly, his small wings rustling his feathers. Aloysius’s feathers had the same color as the mud around him. He blinked, seeing a puddle of grimy water filled with filthy dirt near his soon-to-be nest for the night.
Getting up with a quick stretch of his legs and a flex of his dust-colored talons, he padded over to the puddle. Aloysius lapped up some of the water.
He gagged, but kept the precious liquid in his beak, swallowing it - gut-churning as it was. Aloysius sighed, his claw sliding up to his scarf.
The feeling of the black cloth comforted him - even if it was covered in dust and pebbles. The fabric wasn’t particularly valuable. but it was all Aloysius truly had. He was too young to do any jobs for other griffons, nor could he even steal anything for himself.
Besides, he didn’t have the heart to steal.
Feathers ruffling, he groomed them down, pausing at his own face. He looked down in the puddle, seeing his reflection.
Aloysius thought he looked like a piece of crap. At least he wasn’t wrong about the color. While his body was as brown as the mud he stood on, his chest and face were more of a light-colored dust.
Two red eyes flicked back down at him, bearing into his thoughts. If I’m lucky, no one will attack a fledgling with nothing. His hope was hopeless - the only possession he had was his scarf, and nothing else.
He patted down the tuft of feathers on his head, curving them to the side slightly in the front, a few stray feathers sticking out front. Leaving the back feathers to stay as the messy nest it was, he swung his tail in front of him, inspecting it for any rocks stuck in the tuft of feathers.
Finding nothing, he left his tail back to its own world. The long strand of messy feathers flicked about at the tip, then in the middle. It always did this; it seemed to have a mind of its own.
He winced, feeling a sudden prick of pain in his left hind paw. He sat down, his hind legs splayed in front of him. His paws - as dusty as the rest of him - had enough sharp pebbles lodged in them to build a wall around the tiny brown bird.
Groaning tiredly, Aloysius set on using the sharp tips of his talons to dig them out. As he used his claws to carefully remove them, he examined the light brown talons moving about.
He drew in a sharp breath when he pricked himself by accident with his sharp talon-tip. They had to have a razor quality to them; dull talons meant a quick death in a fight. Without his talons, Aloysius would have been a dead griffon a long time ago.
Not just in a fight, but also in being able to hastily take what little crumbs of food were left on the ground. If he was lucky, his claws would also be able to catch the occasional prey.
He groaned, his stomach growling painfully. The agony in his belly needed food, but a stray mouse or lucky bit of game was unlikely.
Flopping onto his side with a light thump onto the ground, he curled up into a tight ball, claws gripping his scarf against his neck.
Griffonstone truly was the hell before hell. The only comforting thought from this was that this wasn’t eternal at least. The city of griffons may of been a great kingdom, but once King Grover had lost the Idol of Boreas, it had all gone downhill. From a rich, comfortable kingdom of stories, to a meager, barren, purgatory. It didn’t matter if the city had been built up on a great mountain. It didn’t matter that the soil was so infertile that even the trees had given up growing leaves in the summer.
With a nation that was greedier than dragons, the city stood no chance of becoming the once powerful capitol it had been. Even the trees know there’s no point in growing here… the only fate is death here…
The dingy, shabby huts that Aloysius laid between were a testament to the rest of the homes. Nothing but countless huts and thatch-roofed houses; it was no small wonder why the griffons couldn’t rebuild what they had once been.
Even if the griffons did rebuild, wind storms would put an end to their efforts quickly. Aloysius had only gone through one stormy vortex of sand, dust, and pebbles, and it had left him hiding in a trash bin for days on end.
He shuddered at the thought of the barren, rocky ground tolerating another storm like that. Aloysius doubted he would even have the courage to face the outside again if another occurred.
The afternoon was windless however - much to Aloysius’s anxious worrying - so the alleyway would at least suit him for the night’s rest.
Aloysius had no other nest to return to, no home, nor a chance of getting one. It was a fact the fledgling had accepted, and one he still cried over. He didn’t understand how one could cry over the truth. He told himself it all the time, but even though his mind accepted it, his heart didn’t.
A home meant he had something, maybe even someone. Aloysius longed for another griffon. Not one to steal from, or lay pent up rage into with the sting of his talons.
He wanted companionship.
He felt bitter, hot tears sting his eyes. Lifting up his scarf, he trembled into it, his fragile body convulsing with the tremors of the pain in his chest. Even my heart hurts…
An unseen force suddenly took him by his black, fabric haven. He squacked in surprise, choking for a moment. Wide-eyed with panic, he saw the sight of terror.
Carrion! Nonononono- The bigger griffon’s growl was menacing enough to cut off his innermost thoughts to run. Carrion griffons preyed on the weakest, the homeless fledglings, knowing they could get extort bits or food out from them. It’s where the name came from - they were nourished by the abandoned and soon-dead children on the streets.
This carrion was obviously older than him. The monstrosity stood a shoulder taller than him, the mess of feathers on him standing on end. Combined with the fact that his talons were thicker and sharper than Aloysius’s, the appearance sent the fledgling's heart into chaos. Panic dominated his mind and body.
“Ya don’ need this, do ya?” The carrion smiled - even if his beaky grin didn’t reach his eyes in doing so. Extending a talon, he held it up to Aloysius’s neck, glaring as he leaned his face towards him.
Aloysius shivered, feeling his feathers brush up against the claw that held him against his will. He squeaked out, “Ah don’ know what ya mean,” - his voice sounded like a shrill, shaking as much as his wings were.
“Ya know what I mean,” The carrion’s grip tightened on his scarf as he put another extended talon on Aloysius’s neck.
Tears pooled up in his eyes again, threatening to spill out. It’s all I have. The simple black cloth was more than just clothing to him. It was all he had. Memories of having it since he could remember made the salty drops stream down his face.
The black scarf was Aloysius’s only fact of life. It was his, and that was all.
The carrion leaned his face closer to him, snarling. “Let go of it, and I’ll let ya live.” All five of his talons pushed against his neck, nearly digging into and breaking the skin.
Aloysius shuddered, his breathing random and erratic. He couldn’t let him have it. Nothing would be worth it if he didn't have the comfort of it around his neck. Giving out a growl - which became a high-pitched squeal when he sniffed - he kicked out of his grip and stood across from him, his four legs in the best stance he could think of.
The carrion didn’t hesitate. He snarled, and pounced, landing on top of Aloysius. He slashed his claws into the tinier bird’s cheek, sending stars shooting along his vision.
Again and again he did so, until Aloysius was bleeding around his beak. He trembled feebly, putting up no fight.
The carrion - thinking he had beat the child enough - took the scarf, and turned to walk away.
Groaning, he saw through the slit of his eyes the sight of his precious scarf going away from him. His only comfort, perhaps his only friend - gone. Aloysius started shaking again, but not from the fear that had gripped his heart. Anger. Pure, unfiltered, fury bubbled within his heart. With a yowl promising bloody murder, Aloysius ran after the scarf-taker.
The carrion yelped in surprise when Aloysius lunged at him. Aloysius slammed his head down into the ground, panting. He flinched at the sound the impact made, feeling bile rise in his throat. He didn’t know whether it was the skull or rocks that had cracked.
The carrion shifted slightly, trying to keep the scarf.
Aloysius yelled - his voice filled with ire - at seeing the thief trying to keep it. “That’s mine! Mine!” He raked his talons down the carrion’s side. “Mine!” Aloysius walked over to the scarf-stealers face, slamming his closed talons into him.
Yelling incomprehensible nothings, he kept slashing his talons into the carrion, and punching his fist into the disgusting thief. At the end of his own rampage, he was left panting.
Aloysius spat on him, taking the scarf back and draping it over his neck. He sighed with bliss; the feeling of the fabric was worth it.
The carrion ran, his feathers bristling out of terror, as he limped away and groaned in the torment of his wounds.
Aloysius kept it together long enough before he broke down, cowering on the ground, scarf and claws over his eyes as his raking sobs muffled into his black strip of sanctuary.
He stared at his talons, afraid of what they could do now. Caked in blood and bruised from the impact of the carrion’s cheek, he looked away,
as more hot tears pooling down his eyes.
Only a true griffon did that to another griffon. Greed was one thing - to even breathe for air, he had to take it from others - but this. This vicious, merciless, animalistic mauling….
He stopped crying, staring at his open palm. The talons had flecks of dried blood on them.
They were the only way he could stay alive.
His talons had to fight others to live. Aloysius had to fight to simply exist.
Griffons were as greedy as dragons, he’d be more greedy than the gigantic beasts. Griffons were rude and insulting, Aloysius would be ruthless with his words, tearing down any eagle who thought they were anything at all. Griffons were as vicious as the predators they were made up of - eagle and lion.
Aloysius would be as bloodthirsty as a beast.
But the pain in his chest couldn’t allow it. His own conscience - how the forsaken thing was still alive was a mystery - wouldn’t let his talons kill.
He took in a shuddering breath, curling up in a tight ball, tail swiping around him on instinct.
Aloysius could want everything in the world. The little griffon could release as much spite and ire upon others as much as he wanted.
But he couldn’t take a life.
“I’m a griffon…” He spoke to the world his new fact.
But I’m not one of them… He promised in his mind, owing it to himself.
Author's Note
Please note that timeline-wise, this story takes places long before Season 1. A good estimate to match up to the show would at least be when the Mane Six were just cute little fillies.
Other than that, enjoy!
Once it was day, Aloysius left his makeshift nest he had used for the night. Just like it was common knowledge that homeless fledglings had to find shelter for a night, so too was the fact to never use the same spot. That asked for being beaten down, and having the spot stolen.
Aloysius sighed. All he wanted to do was clean himself of the dust and pebbles that still caked his feathers and fur. The best path to take was through the less obvious alleys of the shacks of the slums. As Aloysius weaved around the narrow niches of ineptly built houses, his mind kept going back to recent events.
I hit him so many times... Aloysius shuddered as he recalled the rough fight. It was enough for him to put a claw onto his precious scarf, that priceless possession, that powerful incentive to fight as if it were his own life. However, the moment of reflection over the value his only attire had was painfully cut off by a wince from his beak.
With a glance at the source - his claw's knuckles - Aloysius saw the tears that marred his dusty claw. After a quick glance around, he held up his claw to look at what bothered him. Tiny, bloody cuts had gathered around his fist. Clearly, they had been unnoticed (fighting like a vicious animal certainly tired him out), when he had gone to sleep.
The sight didn't startle Aloysius much. After witnessing enough fights, and finally participating in one, he wasn't sure how to feel about the way blood dried on someone. Yet his claw had captured his attention as easily as the prospect of a meal had. The simple, minute detail that he also had come out of the fight with a wound, despite the mere volume of it, confused him so much, that it made Aloysius take a brief moment to ponder.
Lost something.Then, he felt his feathers ruffle. His feathers stood on end. His wings shifted, as if they weren't comfortable. But there was nothing wrong! Not even a tiny thorn in his paw's pads. With a disgruntled grunt, Aloysius forced himself back into a quick pace; he knew where he wanted to go.
Even if it was difficult to go away from the blood - the blood of himself, and the carrion.
The Fountain. There wasn't much to think about the Fountain, except for the obvious. The Fountain had water. The Fountain had shade. The Fountain even had rules!
Rules were thought the same way as laws were, to Griffonstone - laws were ignored. However, the plain, dull, gray stone structure that managed to spurt water from its smooth, bowl top, and fill with murky liquid in the circular, rocky bottom, somehow managed to have rules. The Fountain had order, in the anarchic city.
Aloysisu knew the rules, just like every homeless fledging did. Never bathe in it. The last time he saw one poor bird attempt such a futile action, they had been beaten until they didn't move. As he passed a few griffons prowling about the area, another unspoken law came to mind. Don't bloody the water. The Fountain was safe, and it only asked of two, tiny tasks that even a fledgling could carry out.
Around three or four griffons were near the Fountain, all with a common goal they would never work together for. Drinking more than a few muddy puddles on the ground. With a small pounce, Aloysius quietly leaped onto the edge of the stony wall of the Fountain.
A reflection was what presented itself to the thirsty child. Just like his torn knuckle, it made Aloysius stop in place, and stare. Two, gleaming, red eyes greeted him. Eyes that saw how it looked to beat down a carrion. To hurt one for the sin of even remotely thinking that his scarf would be taken away. Aloysius felt his tail flick sharply as he growled, despite the hitch it had. A few of the fledglings around glanced at the angry Aloysius with wary eyes, but left him be. Luckily, the growl warded off the uncomfortable feelings that someone else knew what he did - even if only he knew that only he knew - and now, the blurry image of a muddy, dusty griffon was for his viewing pleasure.
Aloysius dipped his claws into the murky water, cringing at how it felt. Despite it being less slimy than mud, there still felt like something else was in the water; it was a battle to even touch the liquid. With a sharp inhale of breathe, Aloysius quickly cupped his claws under his beak, and drank it down. Once it was all gone, he retched. This shit will kill me before someone else does...
It took a couple of repeated drinks - all of which he swore would kill him inside-out - until Aloysius felt satisfied. Or fed up. Either feeling suited him. Unable to help himself, he glanced at his knuckles. Still, the terrible sight of his torn knuckles greeted him. There was a solution to this. Aloysius didn't want reminders of the carrion; the nuisance of cut knuckles had transcended beyond his patience.
Aloysius, just the previous day, had been willing to use - and abuse - force to protect his scarf. Surely, simply cleaning off a cut would be just as worth it. After all, it was his pain he could fix. The carrion's pain meant nothing to him. Aloysius plunged his claw into the fountain, and rubbed his other claw's talons along his knuckles - the Fountain law had been broken.
The sigh of relief Aloysius would had uttered was cut off by a loud shrill from a fledgling nearby. They were in the same condition as Aloysius: hungry, skinny, young, and at the mercy of the world and other griffons. The fledgling almost looked like the Fountain, even. Their feathers were a dull, boring grey, and the loin half of them was just as boring - black. However, their talons and beak proved to be a bit more thought-provoking, considering they had a very dark mix of blue and brown to them.
With a loud hiss, the Fountain-colored griffon yelled, "Stop it right now! What do ya think ya doing'!" Their feathers stood on end at the thought that one of the precious rules were being broken. The other two fledglings watched, wondering if this was a time to fight yet; water was precious to them.
Aloysius was already emboldened with two, terrible, rebellious acts. He growled loudly, and yelled back, "Ah do whatevah the hell Ah want!" He flung his claws out of the Fountain, splattering water over the Fountain griffon. His mind wandered to the first time he had denied a griffon - that had ended with pain for him - so he extended his talons, and yelled again. "Ah don't get told by griffons like you!"
The Fountain griffon opened their beak to yell back at him, but Aloysius stopped the entire argument with his fist. He smashed it against the top of their head. The pure shock stopped the other two griffons in their place; no rule-breaker ever had such courage, even if that courage was certain death.
Aloysius grabbed the Fountain griffon by their neck, and tossed them into the unforgiving ground. The poor fledgling wanted to run, and let Aloysius break the rules at this point, but sadly, Aloysius had other plans. Plans that stemmed from the rage of being ordered around.
He hopped down, grabbed the back of their head, and slammed it into the wall of the Fountain. "AH DO WHAT I FUCKING WANT!" He emphasized the point by ramming their beak into the wall. Aloysius breathed heavily, feeling his chest - which had every feather on end - heave as he glared at the other griffons. He yelled, "HEAR ME? AH WILL WASH MY DAMN CLAWS IF I WANT, SHITBAGS!" He swung his claw upwards, letting it slam across the Fountain griffon's beak. The other two hissed, and ran at the threat of danger.
He glared around, then looked at the fledgling. They were crying heavily, and clutching their beak tightly. The wall had a bloody print from the blood Aloysius had drawn, and a few tiny pieces of their beak had chipped off from the assault.
The assault he had caused. The blood Aloysius had drawn. The attack he had started.
More blood... Aloysius turned and ran before any other griffons could threaten him for breaking the Fountain rules. Tears were held back as he fled. Aloysius didn't care that he broke the Fountain rules. He broke the Fountain griffon instead.
