The Griffon on the High Hillby Lil PenpusherChaptersA Troubled NightThe March on WeterTo GloryA Troubled NightIt was the night before he and his supporters would strike, the night before their march on the Griffon capital of Weter. They had set up their camp in the woods a few kilometers away. They couldn’t risk being spotted now. When the night came upon them, Erwin had ordered everyone to put out lamps and fires and go to sleep early. The following day would be a long one, and, possibly, their last one. They would need all the strength they could get. Highhill himself, however, was restless. He retreated into his tent and sat down at his desk for most of the night. He would study different maps of Weter and the government district. Map after map he would point arrows, draw circles, write notes. He had always been a great planner. Rarely did he improvise, though he was also rarely unprepared. One way or another, this habit demanded not only time but also patience. Patience he rarely had. That night, a sergeant entered his tent to check on him. “Sir,” the young Sergeant reported with a salute. Erwin refused to look over. “What? I’m busy!” he snapped, staring at his map. “Me and the others, we, uh... we’re a bit worried.” Erwin slowly turned his head towards him. His judging eye immediately fell upon the sergeant’s dirty uniform, which had multiple brown stains all over it. “Are you alright, Sir?” The aged Field Marshal gave out a deep sigh in response. “Tomorrow is our big day, soldier. My big day. Do you know what this whole operation is going to cost me if we don’t succeed? Do you?” he asked. “No, Sir,” the young Griffon replied. “Of course, you don’t. Nobody understands.” Highhill took a deep breath. “Do you still remember the days of the Empire, soldier?” The young griffon shook his head. “No, Sir. I’m afraid I wasn’t born back then.” “I served alongside Governor Teafether back then. Of course, he wasn’t quite Governor at that time, just yet. Our paths split, however, with him pursuing politics and me visiting further military training. As you can imagine, we both rose through the ranks fast, with me becoming General and eventually Field Marshal and him, well... Governor.” “So Teafether and you were friends, then?” Highhill slammed his fist on the desk. “Friends... never! I always knew he was corrupt and incompetent! And what happened? What did he do? He ruined this country!” The sergeant remained silent. “He ruined my country...” Erwin said quietly. “I still remember the day the empire fell. We all went outside to listen to the town crier as he spread the news. The Griffon Empire was no more! After all these years, after all the glory and power we possessed, it was our own people that were our worst enemy.” He nodded his head. “I see that fact clearly now. Teafether had been unprepared for any such thing as ‘independence’ from the empire, let alone the complete destruction of it. He is the reason for why so many Griffons starved! He is the reason why Griffons freeze in the cold winters up north! And worst of all, he let us become weak and fragile. He and his democratic principles caused the fracture that you see today. It is democracy, it is Teafether why we see violent clashes between radicals these days. It is he who is the reason for why our own people must beg for something as simple as bread today.” “I know, Sir. My father told me about Teafether’s policies before.” “Then I hope you know why we are here, and why we have to do what we have to do.” “Of course, Sir,” he replied with a gentle nod. “Very well. Now, if you don’t mind, I still have a lot of work to do for tomorrow. Dismissed, soldier.” “Sir!” the sergeant said, saluting his leader before dashing out of the tent. Once again, he sat at his desk, plotting. Questions shot through his mind, the creeping suspicion that he had forgotten something in his plan. And what would happen if the Council didn’t back down? And what if the citizens do not approve of his reign? He tried preparing himself for the worst, rather than the best case scenario. There were some things he could prepare himself for, though he was powerless against most. It was up for fate to decide. He would be the one to shape his country or he would not be at all, that much he knew. When it was two in the morning, Erwin finally dropped his pen and went to bed. As much as he wanted to stay awake and as paranoid as he was about possible errors in his plan, he knew that an exhausted, tired leader was as valuable as no leader at all. The Field Marshal’s slumber was troubled. Even in his dreams he couldn’t escape his anxiety. But even then, with doubt plaguing him, he slept. And he would wake up to command his troops and write history. He could only hope that fate would be merciful, and that the history books would remember him as the saviour of Griffonia, not a traitor. The March on Weter would soon begin. The March on WeterTen o’clock in the morning. Inside the ballroom of one of Griffonia’s most luxurious hotels, griffons dash through the room. Phones rang and messages were being read out loud through the chatter in the room. Nervousness dominated the room as all of those present waited for one, just one thing. A message. Just outside the hotel, a young, poor-looking griffon landed. The four soldiers that stood in front of the hotel entrance let him pass and showed him the way to the ballroom. There was a sudden, utter silence as the door to the room was opened. The young griffon stepped into the room, slowly and nervously. He watched as all the elderly ones turned towards him, ending phone calls and dropping their pens. It was him they had been waiting for. He was the messenger. “The eagle has landed,” he said. The silence continued for a few seconds before laughter, cheering and even applause broke loose. Those were the code words for the successful occupation of the government district. Their troops, mostly consisting of untrained volunteers, had actually succeeded. Many of those present in the room were military officials, most of whom were generals or officers. Plenty of them had already begun to think that their operation, their march on Weter, had failed. At last, however, their doubts were dismissed. The cheerful atmosphere subsided quickly, however. More and more eyes fell upon Highhill as he sat at a desk, his claws folded behind his head. “Sir. Are you alright?” an officer asked him. Erwin simply waved a claw at him to dismiss his doubts. The aged Field Marshall looked down on three different maps, his eyes jumping between them, back and forth. “This can’t be,” he thought to himself. “I must be missing something, something important. But what, what is it? What could I have missed?” He continued scanning his maps, not knowing what he was even looking for. He didn’t notice that the others in the room were whispering and becoming worried for him, especially when they found him starting to talk to himself. “Sir, we-” “No! No! Something is wrong! Something must be wrong!” Erwin yelled, throwing his maps off the desk. The crowd watched him as he breathed heavily. “It was too easy!” he yelled again. “It has to be a trap! An ambush, maybe!” “Sir, you should calm down,” a general said. “Calm down? Calm down? The enemy is tricking us! Deceiving us!” Highhill countered. “Our troops report to have met very little resistance, Sir. It is likely that we have achieved complete surprise. It’s more than unlikely to think that they have a counter-attack planned.” Highhill remained silent. He took a deep breath, in and out, before rising from his seat. “I must apologise for my behaviour,” Erwin said politely. “My growing age is taking its toll on me. I’m sorry.” Officers and Generals alike turned and began whispering with each other. Highhill could do nothing but let them, at the time. “Excuse me, Sir,” one of them said, stepping forward and effectively silencing the rest of the crowd. “I believe we are still not done, I’m afraid.” “And why is that? Did I miss something, after all?” He could feel his pulse rising once again at just the sheer thought of failure. “The Ultimatum, Sir. We have captured most of the delegates and nobles of the Parliament and have them at our mercy. There are still some of them out there, however. We need to—” “ —Secure our power, yes,” Highhill interrupted, stroking his beak. “Right. Let us not waste time then. You, prepare me a car and an escort. Departure in five minutes,” he said to one of the generals. “You, tell the troops of my arrival. I would like them to know that I shall join them soon,” he said to another. “And the rest of you, get back to work! I want to be informed on anything and everything!” From one moment to the other, the room returned to its previous, chaotic state. Phone calls were made, radio messages sent and messages written. Erwin wasted no time in abandoning his desk and heading for the door. His mind had already muted all the noise in the room by the time he arrived at the door. One last time, he looked back into the room with a smirk. Perhaps everything was going according to plan, after all. To Glory10:20 AM. A large crowd of soldiers has assembled in the courtyard of the government district. Rows and rows of soldiers, young and old, militia and veterans alike stood at attention as they heard the roaring of cars. He was there, he had come, at long last. Sitting in the back of an open top car, Highhill proudly waved at his brave soldiers. A loud chorus of cheers broke loose as the Field Marshal’s car passed by on its way to the steps of the Parliament. It was a moment of triumph, for Highhill and his troops, both. Erwin’s car and his two escorting vehicles stopped in front of the house of Parliament. Erwin stepped outside and once again waved at the crowd. “We’re pleased to welcome you, Sir.” Erwin turned around to face his good friend, General Astreus Forestfeather. Astreus and Erwin had first met in military academy and become good friends ever since. When the situation in Nova Griffonia changed for the worse, both were quick to accuse Teafether. They had noticed few riots and violence in their hometowns, but quickly found out the reality of the crisis when they first visited Weter five years ago. Violent, brutal clashes between left and right extremists made some streets a killing zone. Shootouts happened on a daily basis and the local law enforcement had to call for military assistance to try and combat such groups. Yet even then, they noticed, the military was not unharmed by the situation. Many soldiers were starving and began plundering shops and homes for food, holding anyone at gunpoint who tried resisting them. It was chaos. Chaos which never should have happened. But it did happen, and Arseus and Erwin both made it their mission to correct and undo what Teafether had caused. And now, they were so very close to achieving their goal. “Please, Astreus, don’t call me Sir,” Erwin replied with a chuckle. The two friends briefly patted each other on the back. “As you wish, Erwin. Come, we still have much to do.” Astreus, quite visibly younger than the about 70 year old Erwin, lead him into the house of Parliament. When entering the Hall of the High Council, Erwin froze momentarily as he spotted twelve griffons kneeling on the floor, blindfolded with their claws tied together. He knew who they were, those poor souls. They were part of the High Council, originally serving under Governor Teafether as a part of his government. With his death, however, they refused to hold new elections, and instead insisted on forming a temporary government, lead by those which Teafether had favoured. While the Council attempted to mediate and negotiate with many other parties to gain their support, it ultimately failed to do so. And now, at last, Erwin had twelve of the fifteen delegates at his mercy. Oh, how much he hated them and their government. This cursed attempt at ‘democracy’. Griffons don’t require democracy, he thought. Griffons need a leader. An absolute and strong leader! He stepped forward. A guard hit one of their captives with the butt of their gun. A small, brief smile formed on Erwin’s face as he looked down to the helpless delegates. “Time to put these poor souls where they belong,” he mumbled to himself, turning back towards Astreus. “Is everything ready?” “Of course.” With nothing more but the snap of a claw, two soldiers entered the room. One brought with him a telephone, the other a small piece of paper, on which a text was written. “We have established a connection to the remaining delegates, already. They’re not far from here.” Highhill nodded silently as he took the paper from the soldier. It was a short ultimatum which Astreus had put together before his arrival. Some of the ink was still wet, he noticed. His friend watched him as he skimmed over the text. “Right,” he said, grabbing the telephone receiver, “let’s go.” There was a brief silence. Astreus gulped quietly, afraid that the line might have been cut or that the delegates were not willing to talk. Then, however, Erwin spoke up, at last. “This is Field Marshall Erwin Highhil.” There was a brief silence. “Yes, that one. I am calling you from the House of Parliament, the Hall of the High Council, to be precise.” Another moment of silence, longer this time. “I’m afraid you’re not quite in the position to be giving any orders right now. I have twelve of you in here with me, and I would love if we could end all this without unnecessary bloodshed.” Another moment of silence. “Excuse me for a moment.” Highhill lowered the receiver and grabbed the revolver of the soldier that was holding the telephone. Two seconds later a loud bang echoed through the room, and one of the delegates dropped to the ground. “So, what were you saying?” Erwin said with a vicious smile on his face, still holding the revolver in his other claw. “What my terms are?” he asked the speaker on the phone. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I want. I know your messengers have told you that quite clearly already.” “Look, there’s two ways to solve this problem. You either surrender and save these innocent nobles here, or you make it difficult and... well, I’m sure you can imagine what that means.” Erwin laughed briefly. “How about I make you a different proposal. You have three minutes to call me back and if you do not call back in time or refuse to accept my terms, your ‘friends’ will die.” Once again, he laughed at whatever the speaker said to him. “You shouldn’t waste your time, I’d say. Three minutes!” Erwin said before ending the call. “So?” Astreus asked with a shrug. “Three minutes,” Highhill replied. “Three minutes.” Fifteen minutes later. Soldiers and civilians alike grouped up near any available radio to hear the incoming transmission. It was Erwin speaking. “Today, a new era has begun for our nation! I speak to you here today to tell you that the old system and its corrupt, incompetent ways have been destroyed and abolished. I have taken the necessary steps to save our nation from the plague that was democracy, and I shall continue to take such steps in the future. Under my leadership, you can be assured that our home, our Nova Griffonia, will be its own master. We shall be a strong, sovereign nation. Our nation has suffered strongly under the rulership of Teafether and his vassals, but that ends now! I can now finally assure you, democracy is dead! No more will it corrupt and hurt our nation. No more will it hinder us from true greatness, greatness which Griffon kind is destined for! So I say to you all, brave and loyal citizens: Stand up! Look forward and see the bright future that awaits us! To glory, I say! To glory!”
A Troubled NightIt was the night before he and his supporters would strike, the night before their march on the Griffon capital of Weter. They had set up their camp in the woods a few kilometers away. They couldn’t risk being spotted now. When the night came upon them, Erwin had ordered everyone to put out lamps and fires and go to sleep early. The following day would be a long one, and, possibly, their last one. They would need all the strength they could get. Highhill himself, however, was restless. He retreated into his tent and sat down at his desk for most of the night. He would study different maps of Weter and the government district. Map after map he would point arrows, draw circles, write notes. He had always been a great planner. Rarely did he improvise, though he was also rarely unprepared. One way or another, this habit demanded not only time but also patience. Patience he rarely had. That night, a sergeant entered his tent to check on him. “Sir,” the young Sergeant reported with a salute. Erwin refused to look over. “What? I’m busy!” he snapped, staring at his map. “Me and the others, we, uh... we’re a bit worried.” Erwin slowly turned his head towards him. His judging eye immediately fell upon the sergeant’s dirty uniform, which had multiple brown stains all over it. “Are you alright, Sir?” The aged Field Marshal gave out a deep sigh in response. “Tomorrow is our big day, soldier. My big day. Do you know what this whole operation is going to cost me if we don’t succeed? Do you?” he asked. “No, Sir,” the young Griffon replied. “Of course, you don’t. Nobody understands.” Highhill took a deep breath. “Do you still remember the days of the Empire, soldier?” The young griffon shook his head. “No, Sir. I’m afraid I wasn’t born back then.” “I served alongside Governor Teafether back then. Of course, he wasn’t quite Governor at that time, just yet. Our paths split, however, with him pursuing politics and me visiting further military training. As you can imagine, we both rose through the ranks fast, with me becoming General and eventually Field Marshal and him, well... Governor.” “So Teafether and you were friends, then?” Highhill slammed his fist on the desk. “Friends... never! I always knew he was corrupt and incompetent! And what happened? What did he do? He ruined this country!” The sergeant remained silent. “He ruined my country...” Erwin said quietly. “I still remember the day the empire fell. We all went outside to listen to the town crier as he spread the news. The Griffon Empire was no more! After all these years, after all the glory and power we possessed, it was our own people that were our worst enemy.” He nodded his head. “I see that fact clearly now. Teafether had been unprepared for any such thing as ‘independence’ from the empire, let alone the complete destruction of it. He is the reason for why so many Griffons starved! He is the reason why Griffons freeze in the cold winters up north! And worst of all, he let us become weak and fragile. He and his democratic principles caused the fracture that you see today. It is democracy, it is Teafether why we see violent clashes between radicals these days. It is he who is the reason for why our own people must beg for something as simple as bread today.” “I know, Sir. My father told me about Teafether’s policies before.” “Then I hope you know why we are here, and why we have to do what we have to do.” “Of course, Sir,” he replied with a gentle nod. “Very well. Now, if you don’t mind, I still have a lot of work to do for tomorrow. Dismissed, soldier.” “Sir!” the sergeant said, saluting his leader before dashing out of the tent. Once again, he sat at his desk, plotting. Questions shot through his mind, the creeping suspicion that he had forgotten something in his plan. And what would happen if the Council didn’t back down? And what if the citizens do not approve of his reign? He tried preparing himself for the worst, rather than the best case scenario. There were some things he could prepare himself for, though he was powerless against most. It was up for fate to decide. He would be the one to shape his country or he would not be at all, that much he knew. When it was two in the morning, Erwin finally dropped his pen and went to bed. As much as he wanted to stay awake and as paranoid as he was about possible errors in his plan, he knew that an exhausted, tired leader was as valuable as no leader at all. The Field Marshal’s slumber was troubled. Even in his dreams he couldn’t escape his anxiety. But even then, with doubt plaguing him, he slept. And he would wake up to command his troops and write history. He could only hope that fate would be merciful, and that the history books would remember him as the saviour of Griffonia, not a traitor. The March on Weter would soon begin.
The March on WeterTen o’clock in the morning. Inside the ballroom of one of Griffonia’s most luxurious hotels, griffons dash through the room. Phones rang and messages were being read out loud through the chatter in the room. Nervousness dominated the room as all of those present waited for one, just one thing. A message. Just outside the hotel, a young, poor-looking griffon landed. The four soldiers that stood in front of the hotel entrance let him pass and showed him the way to the ballroom. There was a sudden, utter silence as the door to the room was opened. The young griffon stepped into the room, slowly and nervously. He watched as all the elderly ones turned towards him, ending phone calls and dropping their pens. It was him they had been waiting for. He was the messenger. “The eagle has landed,” he said. The silence continued for a few seconds before laughter, cheering and even applause broke loose. Those were the code words for the successful occupation of the government district. Their troops, mostly consisting of untrained volunteers, had actually succeeded. Many of those present in the room were military officials, most of whom were generals or officers. Plenty of them had already begun to think that their operation, their march on Weter, had failed. At last, however, their doubts were dismissed. The cheerful atmosphere subsided quickly, however. More and more eyes fell upon Highhill as he sat at a desk, his claws folded behind his head. “Sir. Are you alright?” an officer asked him. Erwin simply waved a claw at him to dismiss his doubts. The aged Field Marshall looked down on three different maps, his eyes jumping between them, back and forth. “This can’t be,” he thought to himself. “I must be missing something, something important. But what, what is it? What could I have missed?” He continued scanning his maps, not knowing what he was even looking for. He didn’t notice that the others in the room were whispering and becoming worried for him, especially when they found him starting to talk to himself. “Sir, we-” “No! No! Something is wrong! Something must be wrong!” Erwin yelled, throwing his maps off the desk. The crowd watched him as he breathed heavily. “It was too easy!” he yelled again. “It has to be a trap! An ambush, maybe!” “Sir, you should calm down,” a general said. “Calm down? Calm down? The enemy is tricking us! Deceiving us!” Highhill countered. “Our troops report to have met very little resistance, Sir. It is likely that we have achieved complete surprise. It’s more than unlikely to think that they have a counter-attack planned.” Highhill remained silent. He took a deep breath, in and out, before rising from his seat. “I must apologise for my behaviour,” Erwin said politely. “My growing age is taking its toll on me. I’m sorry.” Officers and Generals alike turned and began whispering with each other. Highhill could do nothing but let them, at the time. “Excuse me, Sir,” one of them said, stepping forward and effectively silencing the rest of the crowd. “I believe we are still not done, I’m afraid.” “And why is that? Did I miss something, after all?” He could feel his pulse rising once again at just the sheer thought of failure. “The Ultimatum, Sir. We have captured most of the delegates and nobles of the Parliament and have them at our mercy. There are still some of them out there, however. We need to—” “ —Secure our power, yes,” Highhill interrupted, stroking his beak. “Right. Let us not waste time then. You, prepare me a car and an escort. Departure in five minutes,” he said to one of the generals. “You, tell the troops of my arrival. I would like them to know that I shall join them soon,” he said to another. “And the rest of you, get back to work! I want to be informed on anything and everything!” From one moment to the other, the room returned to its previous, chaotic state. Phone calls were made, radio messages sent and messages written. Erwin wasted no time in abandoning his desk and heading for the door. His mind had already muted all the noise in the room by the time he arrived at the door. One last time, he looked back into the room with a smirk. Perhaps everything was going according to plan, after all.
To Glory10:20 AM. A large crowd of soldiers has assembled in the courtyard of the government district. Rows and rows of soldiers, young and old, militia and veterans alike stood at attention as they heard the roaring of cars. He was there, he had come, at long last. Sitting in the back of an open top car, Highhill proudly waved at his brave soldiers. A loud chorus of cheers broke loose as the Field Marshal’s car passed by on its way to the steps of the Parliament. It was a moment of triumph, for Highhill and his troops, both. Erwin’s car and his two escorting vehicles stopped in front of the house of Parliament. Erwin stepped outside and once again waved at the crowd. “We’re pleased to welcome you, Sir.” Erwin turned around to face his good friend, General Astreus Forestfeather. Astreus and Erwin had first met in military academy and become good friends ever since. When the situation in Nova Griffonia changed for the worse, both were quick to accuse Teafether. They had noticed few riots and violence in their hometowns, but quickly found out the reality of the crisis when they first visited Weter five years ago. Violent, brutal clashes between left and right extremists made some streets a killing zone. Shootouts happened on a daily basis and the local law enforcement had to call for military assistance to try and combat such groups. Yet even then, they noticed, the military was not unharmed by the situation. Many soldiers were starving and began plundering shops and homes for food, holding anyone at gunpoint who tried resisting them. It was chaos. Chaos which never should have happened. But it did happen, and Arseus and Erwin both made it their mission to correct and undo what Teafether had caused. And now, they were so very close to achieving their goal. “Please, Astreus, don’t call me Sir,” Erwin replied with a chuckle. The two friends briefly patted each other on the back. “As you wish, Erwin. Come, we still have much to do.” Astreus, quite visibly younger than the about 70 year old Erwin, lead him into the house of Parliament. When entering the Hall of the High Council, Erwin froze momentarily as he spotted twelve griffons kneeling on the floor, blindfolded with their claws tied together. He knew who they were, those poor souls. They were part of the High Council, originally serving under Governor Teafether as a part of his government. With his death, however, they refused to hold new elections, and instead insisted on forming a temporary government, lead by those which Teafether had favoured. While the Council attempted to mediate and negotiate with many other parties to gain their support, it ultimately failed to do so. And now, at last, Erwin had twelve of the fifteen delegates at his mercy. Oh, how much he hated them and their government. This cursed attempt at ‘democracy’. Griffons don’t require democracy, he thought. Griffons need a leader. An absolute and strong leader! He stepped forward. A guard hit one of their captives with the butt of their gun. A small, brief smile formed on Erwin’s face as he looked down to the helpless delegates. “Time to put these poor souls where they belong,” he mumbled to himself, turning back towards Astreus. “Is everything ready?” “Of course.” With nothing more but the snap of a claw, two soldiers entered the room. One brought with him a telephone, the other a small piece of paper, on which a text was written. “We have established a connection to the remaining delegates, already. They’re not far from here.” Highhill nodded silently as he took the paper from the soldier. It was a short ultimatum which Astreus had put together before his arrival. Some of the ink was still wet, he noticed. His friend watched him as he skimmed over the text. “Right,” he said, grabbing the telephone receiver, “let’s go.” There was a brief silence. Astreus gulped quietly, afraid that the line might have been cut or that the delegates were not willing to talk. Then, however, Erwin spoke up, at last. “This is Field Marshall Erwin Highhil.” There was a brief silence. “Yes, that one. I am calling you from the House of Parliament, the Hall of the High Council, to be precise.” Another moment of silence, longer this time. “I’m afraid you’re not quite in the position to be giving any orders right now. I have twelve of you in here with me, and I would love if we could end all this without unnecessary bloodshed.” Another moment of silence. “Excuse me for a moment.” Highhill lowered the receiver and grabbed the revolver of the soldier that was holding the telephone. Two seconds later a loud bang echoed through the room, and one of the delegates dropped to the ground. “So, what were you saying?” Erwin said with a vicious smile on his face, still holding the revolver in his other claw. “What my terms are?” he asked the speaker on the phone. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I want. I know your messengers have told you that quite clearly already.” “Look, there’s two ways to solve this problem. You either surrender and save these innocent nobles here, or you make it difficult and... well, I’m sure you can imagine what that means.” Erwin laughed briefly. “How about I make you a different proposal. You have three minutes to call me back and if you do not call back in time or refuse to accept my terms, your ‘friends’ will die.” Once again, he laughed at whatever the speaker said to him. “You shouldn’t waste your time, I’d say. Three minutes!” Erwin said before ending the call. “So?” Astreus asked with a shrug. “Three minutes,” Highhill replied. “Three minutes.” Fifteen minutes later. Soldiers and civilians alike grouped up near any available radio to hear the incoming transmission. It was Erwin speaking. “Today, a new era has begun for our nation! I speak to you here today to tell you that the old system and its corrupt, incompetent ways have been destroyed and abolished. I have taken the necessary steps to save our nation from the plague that was democracy, and I shall continue to take such steps in the future. Under my leadership, you can be assured that our home, our Nova Griffonia, will be its own master. We shall be a strong, sovereign nation. Our nation has suffered strongly under the rulership of Teafether and his vassals, but that ends now! I can now finally assure you, democracy is dead! No more will it corrupt and hurt our nation. No more will it hinder us from true greatness, greatness which Griffon kind is destined for! So I say to you all, brave and loyal citizens: Stand up! Look forward and see the bright future that awaits us! To glory, I say! To glory!”
