All For A Sister

Chapters

Tasting The Revolution
The Quest Begins
Don't Shoot The Messenger
Pain For Freedom, Pain For Prisoners

Tasting The Revolution

Cough…cough, COUGH!

A tired corpse rested its knee onto the hard, rocky ground. The corpse belonged to a beaten and bruised stallion who had been on the run for days. He hadn’t done anything particularly wrong, he just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. Because of that unfortunate folly, he was now being chased after by all of Griffhala.

His wings were starting to feel limp, and his legs could barely hold him up any longer. No longer could he keep pushing his body passed its limits. Exhaling rapidly, the stallion tried to move, but only managed to trip and fall. His chin smacked the ground hard, clacking his teeth together.

“I’m sorry…sis.”
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It seemed like a normal Tuesday when it started, but then again, all Tuesdays seem normal when they start. The king of Griffhala, Griffax IX has just sat down for a nice breakfast. Indeed it was a king’s breakfast, filled with a vast variety of foods. From grapes to sausage and juice to bacon, the king had all the luxuries that could be provided. Of course, he was the king after all. Your average griffon family had to go hunting for breakfast, lunch and dinner. As it stood, the king was happily gorging himself on his delicious assortment on fine meats and fruits when an unexpected intruder burst through the door.

Well, through isn’t exactly the best word. More like, the intruder magically appeared on the king’s head. Halfway into a bite of bacon, the king’s mouth hung open in hungry astonishment. Feeling a disturbing weight atop his head, he simply raised his eyes to view his new hat. The guards, placed with such finesse around the room could do nothing more than the king. Everyone sat or stood staring at the stranger with mixed confusion.

“What the hell? What just happened?” Questioned the intruder.

Completely ignoring the fact that he was atop of the king’s cranium, the unknown trespasser bounced his eyes around the room. Looking down, his eyebrow raised in wonder. It was a simple decision to jump down, but that would be the only simple decision of that day.
The long legs of the invader bent perfectly as he planted his hooves into the newly tiled floor. His body moved with a grace and strength only attainable through years of intense practice. It was the practice of a runner, a being made and crafted for speed and endurance.

The click-clack of his hooves against the tile set the cogs of the guards back in motion. Immediately they rushed to encircle him. The guards all looked the same to this confused intruder. Each griffon was given a set of armor, identical in every way except perhaps size. Even the shimmer and shine from the sun onto the armor matched.

“I’m sorry, but can one of you kind griffons tell me where I am?” He asked ever so politely, with just a little hint of sarcasm.

“You are intruding on the Great King Griffax’ Palace. You are hereby under arrest with no chance for trial,” announced one of the guards. It could’ve been the leader, but they really did all look the same to him.

He started casually walking towards the enormous door at the end of the room. “Now, now boys. This is all just a huge misunderstanding. If you’ll just let me out of this door here, then -”

Oomf! He coughed as he crashed into the chest of one of the guard griffons.

“I’m not getting out, am I?”

An unamused guard shook his head. Each of the griffons, save the king himself, had a large spear in hand. A quality guard weapon, but still not top notch. The trapped intruder turned around, only to come face to face with the enclosing circle of griffons. His head turned slightly, this way and that, with his eyes not too far behind. He could feel the cold breath from the beak of the griffon behind him on his neck. Taking him longer than he had wished, he found himself staring at a stained glass window behind the rock of a throne for the griffon king.

“I hate to destroy a good piece of art,” he breathed to himself. He spoke again, this time aloud, “Ah well, the scars will heal.”

Immediately, his wings flared up behind him. Autumn orange feathers lilted to the floor with their rising. And like that he bolted forward, vaulting himself just over the tips of the guard’s spears. A huge grin on his face, the intruder collided with the stained glass barrier. The glass was no match for his speed and weight, and shattered upon impact. The colorful dust and shards rained down upon the unfinished breakfast. Behind it, a whirlwind of feathers blew about in the guards faces.

“I guess the window can be fixed too,” chuckled the now escapee, not even bothering to glance back.
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Back inside the palace, a hungry and now infuriated griffon king rallied his men. “I want every single personnel out there looking for him! I want him found and I want him here! Dead or alive.”

Little did the escapee know that he had been the perfect distraction for one certain, Maxido Grillana. Maxido had been planning a revolution in the griffon kingdom for years. Too long had his people been subject to an uncaring and wasteful tyrant. He planned to right this wrong by eliminating the king himself and taking the throne.

Still, even the great Maxido did not anticipate this event. The perfect compilation of confusion and chaos needed to both assassinate his target and rally even the most royalty-faithful griffons behind him. The treacherous griffon laughed to himself as he watched the intruder fly through the most undeniable testament to the griffon king’s reign. The stained glass portrait of his ancestors.

Maxido licked his beak with heavily weighted anticipation. With his freshly sharpened claws, he sent the signal to his men, the guards, in the room. Removing themselves from the situation of the intruder, the indefinable mass of griffons surrounded their leader.

The king, surprised as he was hungry, yelled at his men, “What are you buffoons doing? Get that intruder!”

Breaking the tightly knit circle of feathers and fur, Maxido strolled himself pompously in front of Griffax. He flicked his left claw out, letting the refreshed sunlight glint of its points. One by one, he curled each talon into his palm, clenching it tightly into a fist. As he did, his beak twisted into an angry scowl.

“Too long have we been subject to your inane wants and decrees.”

The king tried interrupting his speech, but failed miserably so, “Maxido! What is the meaning of this?”

“Quiet you imp!” Maxido screeched back. “If you don’t want to hear my list of grievances, then I guess I’ll just get on with the exchange of power. You see, it works like this. Maxido Grillana, that’s me by the way, will use his left claw to slit the throat of King Griffax IX, that’s you. After that, I, Maxido, take over Griffhala as its new ruler. Did you get all that? I know your tiny chicken brain doesn’t comprehend much,” he grinned slyly, hints of both rage and victory toned beneath it.

“You’ll never get away with this,” Griffax said, trying to cheat his way out.

Whhhiiiiit!

The king gripped at his neck furiously. His eyes bulged out from his head, beak gasping for air. Crimson rivers flooded between his claws, dripping lazily on the clean tiled floor. The king’s wings flexed and exploded from his sides, sporadically whipping about the air. His legs became unstable, oxygen no longer traveling to his muscles. Wobbling this way and that way, he tripped over himself and collapsed onto the layer of broken glass on the floor. His claws fought valiantly to stay upon his throat, but eventually succumbed to the loss of energy. Wings, mad as they were, fell silent. The crimson river now flowed from several faucets, all culminating in a lake on the floor.

As the last few gasping and chocking sounds died out with the king, Maxido raised his left claw to his beak. A long and savage tongue reached out feverishly to lick the talons. One by one, the sharp blades on his claws dragged across his tongue. Being so close to his revolution, yet never being able to touch it himself killed him inside, burned him with anxiety. The smells and sounds tempted him like a mistress of the night. Ever waiting, ever there, but still beyond his grasp. The taste was divine to Maxido, the taste was liberating.

“Um, Maxido. What do we do now?” questioned a guard.

“We finish painting this picture,” the crazed griffon said, matter-of-factly.

The griffon crew looked at each other with confused eyes. Shrugs and blinks all around. Finally, one of them spoke up for the group.

“What exactly does that mean?”

Maxido sighed. Of course his army was full of idiots. Could no one understand his genius?

“An intruder broke into the palace. He murdered the king, and now we must find him and capture him. Obviously this plot of his deserves a full frontal assault. Sadly, with the king’s untimely death, his second in command will have to take over.”

The griffon guards all nodded their heads, understanding and smiling. It really was a brilliant plan albeit wasn’t totally planned in itself, it still worked out well. Maxido instructed the guards to tell the story of the intruder to every single citizen in Griffhala. They would all find out sooner or later and that foolish boy would be found and dead. An acceptable loss in his conquest for power and redemption.

“Besides,” he said to himself, sitting proudly on the throne, “everyone will be up at arms when they hear a pony killed their king.”
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The rough mountainous winds rushed past the fleeing stallion as he maneuvered his way around canyons and valleys. The most he had discerned from his situation was that he was in Griffhala and now running from the king’s griffons. That was a fantastic thought, out from one kettle and into the next.

The stallion had just been thrown out of his element while waging war in his own country. Discord, the embodiment of chaos and pandemonium, was attempting a coup. The princesses were nowhere to be seen, and he along with the other subjects of Equestria, thought them to be dead. The Elements of Harmony, praised as they were for defeating Nightmare Moon, were equally missing. He and several others from the town had tried fighting back against the crazed spells of the dragonequis.

He had been fending off some giant rampaging rabbits when a huge swirling portal opened up and sucked him in. He had seen some of the others fall prey to the same trap, but he had no way of knowing where the portals would show up. All he had known was that he had to save the town. If nothing else, the stallion had to protect his little sister. She meant the world to him; she was the world to him.

They had been the best of friends when they grew up. He had helped raise her, heck, he raised her more than their parents did. They lived in a nice Cloudsdale home. It was huge, well furnished, resided in a nice neighborhood.
Growing up, he himself had excelled at flying. Anything with speed attracted him. It was almost like he had a magnet inside him that would draw him into every race or competition that existed. His parents loved him for it too. So young and showing so much potential, they thought he might even have a shot at the Wonderbolts.

Ten years later, they had his little sister. They had high hopes for her, thinking she would be just like her wonderful older brother. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. She had a hard time flying throughout her entire foal hood.

“Wow,” admitted the stallion.

He slowed his wings down to a light flap as he thought himself over. His mind was going off on tangents again and these particular thoughts were starting to bring him down, literally. Gently he stepped foot onto the soft dirt of the canyon below. Thoughts heavy, he walked over to one of the looming rock walls, each step sinking further into the ground beneath him. Reaching the edge after years of walking, the stallion sat down and fell to his side.

She was still a foal, his sister. It hadn’t been that long, no it hadn’t been long at all. That portal messed with his mind. He was just fighting against Discord’s magic, and now he was here. He had to get home. What if she was in danger? He had to…

“How do I get home?” He asked the empty sky.
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“The hell is this?” Spat a slightly intoxicated and heavily angered griffon.

She had just been handed a piece of paper from the bartender. It was brand new, freshly made in fact. The crunching of the paper reverberated around the empty bar as she crumpled it up and then opened it again. She read it aloud, her words halfway following her eyes.

“Stallion kills king in bloody one-pony-invasion attempt. Stallion is now on the loose, wanted dead or alive.”

She blinked twice before turning back to the bartender, “I sposd t’ care cause why?”

The bartender shook his head and went back to mixing drinks, “Read the last sentence ya drunk bum.”

“Bowntry is 50,000 gold bits.” The griffon’s glazed over eyes blinked again and again, not understanding the magnitude of what she had just read.

Two more blinks and then, “50,000 gold bits! I gotta, I gotta get me some in on this!”

Crumpling the paper up ever so neatly, the griffon stuffed the page into her feathery mane. Hastily, she took it upon herself to both stand up from and fall down on the barstool. Her beak clacked on the wooden stool before allowing her body to slump beneath the table itself.

The bartender wasn’t surprised, nor was he amused. With a well placed sigh, he rolled his dark red eyes and picked the poor drunken griffon up. He didn’t even bother using his wings to carry her to the back where we placed her sleeping body onto a cot. It wasn’t new for him, after all, this particular griffon bounty hunter got drunk nearly every time she stopped in.

Safely stored on the cot, the griffon slept soundly, snoring so loud the glasses shook. The bartender walked out of the room, still only on two legs, and turned off the light. The bar door shut behind him, but he knew the echoing thud would not be enough to wake her up. Returning to his place behind the table, the bartender finished mixing his drink.

“Ah Gilda, ya never disappoint. Hopefully this new change with get your mind offa that Rainbow Dash girl.”

The Quest Begins

The walls of the uninhabited canyon stretched upwards for miles. Jagged rocks jutted from the sides here and there. The sporadic nature of the rock walls made it impossible to pick any one point out. Even after staring at one side of the canyon for quite some time, the stallion still couldn’t remember any of the finer details. There was a rock there that looked like a rock. And another that was more of a boulder. Perhaps one of the slabs to his right appeared more stone like, but it was all the same to him.

His mind was made up. He would go home, as quickly as possible. However, the where he was, and the how to get there were unknowns that he did not have access to. The stallion lifted his head from the cold dirt beneath. His eyes looked down the path he had flown in from. He bit his lip in thought and nodded his head. His eyes closed and opened slowly once, as if to see if anything was really happening. After all, you only had to spend five minutes in Discord’s world to throw off your sense of reality. Sadly, his situation was all too real.

Damp breaths escaped his lips. Using his muscular legs, he pushed himself off of the ground and into the air with little effort. Still in thought, he twisted his neck in the other direction, looking towards the unexplored lands ahead. More rock, more canyon, more mountain. It was all the same to him.

He let his wings control themselves, flapping at a steady beat as he watched the earth around him. Wings were such an interesting feature on a pegasus. They were the most outstanding, often being the focal point on any pegasus body. Indicative of mood and other, deeper emotions, pegasi wings were thought to have a mind of their own. Often they would involuntarily flare up or droop down. Sometimes they would slowly vibrate at the pegasus’ side, twittering about in anticipation.

The stallion had learned over his years of flight training to control his wings to an extent. At least he was able to realize when they were acting on their own. He didn’t mind though. It was common with pegasi to think of their wings as friends. Someone they could communicate with while alone. It was a great coping mechanism for situations such as the one he was in now.

Finally making up his mind, he seized control of his body once more. A devilish smile bleeding across his lips, the newly determined stallion rushed onwards. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew he would get somewhere eventually. Somehow he’d make it home, even if he had to travel the entire world over.
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Fuzzy lights and static colors flooded into the eyes of one particularly hung over griffon. The cot she laid upon was old and rickety, and didn’t at all help with her sense of sight or balance. Unaware and half asleep, the griffon tumbled onto the floor. The loud thud on the wooden floor alerted the bartender to his occupant’s awakening.

His claw was wet from the condensation around his workplace, and it took him a few tries to successfully open the door. Once inside he was greeted with the fine image of an upside-down griffon on his floor. The bartender pressed the palm of his claw into his face and shook his head.

“What am I goin’ t’ do with you, lassie?” He groaned.

Gilda grasped at her ears, resulting in her falling all the way over onto her back. The sound of her body whacking against the floor was enough to make her cover her ears in pain. Her eyes squinted and shut repeatedly, failing miserably at adjusting to the light.

“Not so loud,” she whispered.

The bartender griffon raised a speculative eyebrow at his guest, “Get up ya cry baby!”

Gilda grimaced, but her ears were already as covered as they were going to get. The bartender would have none of it though, and walked over to her. Inhaling until his chest was bulging outwards, the bartender let loose a deafening scream.

“GET UP!”

The far from rejuvenated griffon jumped from her floor position into the air. Her limbs flailed about like cooked noodles in a hurricane until she finally hit the floor again.

“Jeez Kon, lay off. I’m not feeling well today,” Gilda complained.

“Shu’up Gilda. You’ve got yourself a nice job ‘ere. Don’ screw this one up, understand?” Kon ordered, handing over the same paper from the previous night.

The still stunned eagle-lion took the paper with intrigue. Her half shut eyes skimmed over it quickly, catching far more than they the last time.

Gilda did what she could to manage a sarcastic smirk, “A pony killed the king? You gotta be kidding me Kon. A lame pony couldn’t kill the king.”

“Well that’s what happened, so get on it.”

Kon stood firm on his mission, pointing Gilda to the door out. Gilda shot him a few looks of ‘oh really’ and ‘you’re joking’, but to no avail. With unfortunate resignation, Gilda shoved the paper in his feathers and headed for the door.

“Yer pick me up is under the counter on the left,” offered the bartender.

“Thanks Kondore, I promise not to come back without the bounty. I am the best after all,” Gilda bragged, waiting till she was out of sight to hold her head again.

Her headache wasn’t going to go away until she had her normal drink. It was an odd concoction, bubbly with an unexpected purple coloring. Gilda often asked her friend what was in it, but he would always refuse to tell, reminding her it was a family secret. She didn’t mind. Kondore was always there to fix it up for her whenever she needed it.

As it was, Kondore had always been there for her. She only had two good friends in her lifetime, and one of them never wanted to see her again. It was sad and she knew it, but she couldn’t get Rainbow Dash off of her mind. The last few months had been filled with fruitless attempts at destroying her memory. Eventually it all culminated in her drinking her problems away. Luckily for her, her other friend ran a bar.

Gilda hated to admit it, but she really was sad over losing Rainbow Dash. Kondore could see it, but he was…different. Anyone else who commented was likely to get socked in the face, twice. Showing signs of weakness in Griffhala would get a griffon killed quick. You make sure that you’re the toughest one in the room, and if you’re not, you at least make it look that way.

Gilda downed her special mix in one shot. Licking her lips, she could feel the rush of energy flow through her brain. Bright golden eyes unwrapped themselves to the pulsing of the drink. The condescending grin, trademarked by the griffon herself, flushed her face. Revitalized and rejuvenated, Gilda promptly strolled outside of the now darkened bar.

Although the sun shone ten times brighter than the lights in the bar, Gilda stepped outside perfectly adjusted. The drink restored her even past her normal functioning ability, and set her at her prime. The troubled griffon loved the rush, the feel, and even just the idea of operating at full power.

“Let’s do this,” she told herself.

Before another step could be made, Gilda was blown onto her back by a gust of wind. Dust and feathers scattered about as she stood back up. Shaking her head, Gilda looked for the source of the gust. Already out in the distance was an orange blur. It zigged and zagged around the rocks on the ground, flipping about as it sped through the air.

How dare that dweeb of a…thing, just push her like that. If it was a race it wanted, it would get a race. Pushing her job aside for the moment, she took off towards the blur. It had a good thirty or forty yards on her already, but that wasn’t an issue. Gilda was one of the fastest fliers she knew, save a few professionals. Even more so now that she was at her best. Her elegant eagle wings enjoyed large and building strides as they pushed her body forward.

Gilda’s beak turned up in anticipation, “You’re mine, loser.”
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Maxido loved the feeling of sitting on the throne. Physically it was rather uncomfortable. Made entirely of stone, the elderly chair wasn’t the pinnacle of places to sit. Still, it made his cold and calculating heart bubble with joy. The warm blood pulsed from his still beating heart to the rest of his body indefinitely.

He had so much more than the king did now. He had his throne. He had his crown. He had his people, his country, and his power. But what’s more, he had vitality and indeed, blood. These were things the late king Griffax no longer owned. This made Maxido happy.

All of his guards were out and about, knocking on doors, placing wanted posters around the many towns of Griffhala. He knew it would take the guards a long time to accomplish their task, given the size of the country. Griffhala was roughly five billion square miles of mountainous terrain. Scattered across the vast expanse were towns and cities, filled with griffons and some other acceptable species. Griffons weren’t best known for their kindness or hospitality, and their rough demeanor and tough military outlook didn’t exactly scream ‘Come live here!’ As such, the main immigrants to the badlands were wanted criminals or ostracized members of other countries.

Maxido himself never minded the negative culture of his people and the others living here. After all, even for the native griffon kind you had to fight to live. Mountains weren’t the greatest source of food for a population as large as the griffons. Although spread out, their food was still scarce. Many griffons would fly over the nearby ocean, known mainly as the Ocean of Dreams. It existed as bounty of fresh food, coming in the form of gigantic fish. The journey was great, but so was the reward, which is why most griffons would work in one of the big fishing companies.

As he contemplated his next political move, Maxido twirled one of the king’s glasses in his claw. The king, or rather, the previous king had all the food he could ever dream of. He imported it from the surrounding countries, such as Equestria and Koerstad. Large and small businesses throughout Griffhala enjoyed similar privileges, importing other goods for selling, but the prices were always far too high for the average consumer. Tariffs and taxes were among the first things that he planned to cut. In fact, Maxido even considered importing all of these goods for them.

The clapping sound of wood against stone broke his concentration, “Lord Maxido, Lord Maxido!”

He gave the boy a stern look, “You mean King Maxido, right?”

“Yes, my king.” The messenger boy gulped.

“Good,” Maxido grinned, “What is it?”

“I came to inform you that we are nearly completed in our task of alarming the country.”

The king took a slight double take at the boy, “So soon?”

“Yes sir! The royal guards are going as fast as they can. Also, the villagers have spread the word themselves. All is going as you asked.”

The boy was extremely happy that he could deliver such good news to the king. Good news was always rewarded. The king on the other hand was not too happy. He was expecting the task to take much longer. It was true that a quick message could be relayed to outposts all over the country, but he never anticipated it to be this quick.

“I see,” nodded the king to himself.

“Excuse me sir?”

“Oh nothing. Has the hunt begun as well?”

The messenger boy bowed his head, his voice showing signs of fright, “I’m sorry sir. The guards are holding off on the search until everyone has been properly alerted.”

Maxido could sense the boy’s dread. It was the same dread any messenger had when they talked with the king. Although good news was rewarded, bad news was punished…often severely.

“Good,” Maxido laughed, confusing his lesser friend, “Tell all of the guards to hold off on finding that wretched stallion. I’m sure the griffons of our fine nation will happily assist us in catching him.”

“Absolutely sir. I’ll get the message out right away!”

The griffon boy hurried out the door with his message in claw. The king was pleased with him, or in the very least, wasn’t angry with him. In a land where power meant everything, that was key. Maxido, still lounging about in his solid stone throne, laughed to himself. Without fear of anyone important hearing him, he began talking to himself.

“All is going according to plan. The guards will be at ease, and the people will rally to find their beloved king’s killer. So sad that they’ll never catch the real killer. After all, he is the one sending them on the search! Hahahahaha!”

The mad king took a crunchy bite out of the red Equestrian apple in front of him. Juice dripped from his beak as he laughed aloud. All was going perfect for Maxido Grillana, and he was going to make sure it stayed that way. Unfortunately for the new king, there had been an unwilling soul listening to his ranting.

The messenger boy was going to return to the king to get a signed letter for proof of his message, but stopped when he heard his voice. The messenger, like many of the other royal staff, was not in on Maxido’s plot. When he heard the truth from Maxido’s own beak, the poor messenger had no choice but to turn and run.

Breath heavy, and wings working at their fullest, the messenger soared out of the castle. He had to be at his fastest if he was going to get his message out there. He had to warn the other griffons about their new leader. And he had to do it before they killed some poor, innocent fool.

As he flew ahead he constantly reassured himself, “Come on Alba, you can do this.”

Don't Shoot The Messenger

Blurs of color passed by the stallion’s head endlessly as he flew. Each flap of his powerful wings would erupt a cloud of dust around him that would open as he broke through it. It was a familiar rush of adrenaline and energy, which he welcomed with open hooves. It wasn’t a trait known to every pegasus, but more often than not, a pegasus would agree that flying is the best medicine. Whether it was taking a leisurely drift through the clouds or soaring in circles at breakneck speeds, flying was therapeutic to a pegasus. For this particular stallion, it was quite obvious what he enjoyed.

Still, as at home as he felt in the air, so many things were keeping him away. He was low flying, coming as close to the ground as he could get without cutting his wings on the ground. He was in unfamiliar territory, and even more so, it wasn’t even similar in ecology to his typical flying spots. The rocks and blended shades of brown did not fit well with his eyes, which were adjusted to a vibrant spectrum of color.

Years of training allowed him to keep up his pace, and to the common onlooker, he would appear in top form. But the area and circumstance weren’t the only things on his mind. He knew he had to be wary of the guards, especially because of his grand entrance at the palace. Nevertheless, there was something else, something even more pressing. It was almost as if he felt the pressure to fly faster.

Slowly he picked up height; only a few feet, but still enough to clear the lower lying rocks. Fear of crashing nearly out of mind, the stallion flipped onto his back, utilizing his air born tricks to keep himself afloat and still racing ahead. His senses hadn’t failed him; there was a reason to fly faster. Behind him, and not that far, was a griffon. And this griffon was angry.

Quickly returning to flying normally, the stallion’s eyes darkened with apprehension. He knew how fast griffons could fly, and no matter how confident he was in his own ability, if he got caught in a claw to hoof fight… he would lose. A new surge filled his veins as the red hot blood pumped itself into his wings. Each feather stiffened straight, layering themselves in perfect aerodynamic fashion. His autumn shaded feathers aligned like sharp rows of razors, slicing neatly through the sheets of air.

Flying at 100%, he didn’t even bother to look back. If he was going to get caught, he’d have to drain himself to zero first.
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“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Gilda muttered to herself as she flew.

Even traveling at her top speed, the object in front of her kept pace. How could anything be able to out fly her? What’s more, it was going up and down, dodging the rocks jutting out from the canyon walls and floor. The grumbling griffon could do little more than keep flying, and so she did.

Following the winged, eh thing, from such a distance proved to be a greater advantage than she had previously thought. Gilda, although movingly at an extremely fast pace, still had the keen eyes of an eagle. The living bullet ahead was avoiding the rocks from the surrounding terrain. It was such an obvious fact that she failed to realize how critical it was.

The lagging griffon released a deep breath. She knew these mountains like the back of her claw. Even when intoxicated she could still find her way around, well, with a little help staying steady. The particular canyon they were heading down now lead to a dead end, mountainous walls blocking off every path except up. Gilda, without a second thought, shot upwards herself, being sure to avoid the ledges above.

Now steadily floating above the canyon, Gilda mentally measured the distance remaining till the cut off. The speedster wannabe continued on, wholly unaware that she had ditched chasing him. Without anything left in her way to hinder her flight, she took off to the exit at the top of the canyon. She wouldn’t be able to catch her opponent going forward, but she could catch him going up.
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The stallion pushed forward. So far he had done well at evading the many obstacles in his path, even dodging some falling debris from above. He hoped inside that his pursuer had fallen prey to something along the way, but in his mind he knew that wouldn’t be true.

It was all he could do to just run, or fly as it was. Dodge the rocks and go, right? Unfortunately, the last bit of hope ran out when he realized that he was headed straight for a wall. There were already walls on both his left and right… he was going to get caught at a dead end.

Even worse for wear, he was going far too fast to stop. If he slowed down now, there was a chance the griffon would capture him. Of course, if he reached the end the griffon would catch him anyways. Before he could even debate the decision, one of his wings clipped a stone to his left causing him to spin out of control.

The instant jet of pain into his wing made him retract it back to his body, throwing his flight pattern off. His right wing still flapped, flipping him over barrel role style. The seemingly endless dirt world spun itself around his kaleidoscope eyes. First he crashed into the side of the canyon, and then he hit the floor. Like the perfect smooth stone to a placid lake, the stallion bounced along the floor of the earth. On his fourth leap, leading with his side, he slammed into the awaiting wall at the end of treacherous chasm.

Pebbles and dust sprinkled over his cringing form. His eyes were shut tight, trying to repel the onslaught from the sky. His left wing throbbed, pressing hard against the ground over and over before returning to his side, simply to repeat the process. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he had knocked his head on the second skip.

‘Great.’ He thought to himself before fading out of consciousness. ‘How am I gonna get home like this?’
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Gilda’s plan was working even better than she had expected. She knew that whatever it was, it didn’t know the terrain well. That caused it to keep such vigil senses in regards to the terrain. Her prey had fouled up and crashed itself into the wall of the mountain. A mix between a giggle and cackle escaped the griffon’s mouth. It might’ve been fast, but whatever it was wasn’t too smart. Reaching the end of the gully trail, Gilda sank slowly to the ground.

A quick survey of the scene revealed that the being had indeed crashed and was lying before her, unconscious. The more important fact of the matter proved to be the being itself. Battered and dirty, the once unidentifiable object confirmed itself as a pony. Gilda cocked her head sideways, inspecting the pony.

Male, obviously. He seemed like a pretty full grown stallion, maybe even Rainbow Dash’s age. The thought sent shivers down Gilda’s neck, ruffling her feathers. Rainbow Dash had finally managed to escape her realm of thought… until now. Shaking the idea away, Gilda matted her feathers back down to her neck. The stallion at claw must have been in his prime, being able to compete with Gilda on her home turf. Still, it assured her ego even more to know she outsmarted him and proved that she was right. Ponies rarely came to Griffhala, so his foolish flying techniques were easily justified.

This particular pony had an odd aura about him. Gilda regarded his autumn shading with a high level of interest. Gradually, the griffon paced her way around the unconscious body. It seemed familiar to her. Gilda rattled her brain for memories long since forgotten, trying to recall where she knew this stallion from.

Saddled on a rock, claw to her chin, the idea struck her. There was only one place she could’ve been that any pony would’ve stuck out and that was Junior Speedster Flight School. Her flying prowess had gained her admittance to the prestigious school, accompanied by a few other select griffons. One would’ve imagined they would’ve been ostracized or ridiculed, but ponies were a rather accepting bunch. Still, the griffon’s general upbringing managed to keep them from making too many friends.

Rainbow Dash circled Gilda’s mind again. The angry griffon snorted, trying her best to think away her ex-friend. Why couldn’t she just be left alone? She hadn’t done anything wrong. Rainbow Dash had been the one who changed. She became so lame, so stupid…like some prissy loser pony. Gilda had stayed the same; tough, fast, cool. So why did she feel so empty?

“You’re stupid, you know that?” she snarled at the stallion’s body, “You and all the other lame ponies. You’re all pathetic.”

It didn’t really matter why she knew this guy. It didn’t even matter if she did know him. She wanted no part of him. No more ponies, no more. One last glance at the poor stallion proved to be satisfactory to the griffon, allowing her mind to leave for the moment. Standing up from the rock, Gilda used her large lion legs to push off into the gaping hole that led out of the canyon.

She took one last look around to make sure she was going in the right direction, and flew further away from the bar, further away from the stallion, further away from… her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The only thoughts going through Alba’s mind were as follows: Fly, breathe, fly, remember, fly, hurry. The cycle would repeat endlessly through his mind like a broken record as he made his way to the first guard outpost on the Oiseau Tower near the east. Alba was never known for his brawn, leading his enlistment in the king’s army into his recruitment in the mail service. He didn’t mind all that much. He delivered messages to and from the king and his commanders. That was all.

Of course, sometimes he had to cross over enemy lines, or make a shifty trade with local scum to get the information needed by his superiors. He wasn’t above getting into fights, nor was he above petty theft. Of course, that described the majority of griffon kind. Alba tried the best he could to stay out of the more violent aspects of his country though. He was a small griffon in comparison, which put him at a huge disadvantage.

Alba always thought of his size as blessing when it came to his field of work, surprisingly enough. Being smaller gave him better mobility and hiding capabilities. He had never once failed in delivering a message on time, and had never been caught. Alba prided himself on his impeccable record, and it crushed him to have to throw it out the window.

Fortunately, his need to save his people was greater than his need to be perfect. If he could warn the guard towers fast enough, they might be able to put a stop to Maxido’s madness before it began.

A grey blur began forming in Alba’s line of vision. He had almost reached the castle walls. Oiseau Tower was the closest outpost to the king’s castle and it had barely taken the griffon any time to get there.

The enormous stone behemoth loomed over the tiny approaching griffon. It was a cylinder tower, a set of stairs on the outside and another on the inside. It was meant mainly for scouting and relaying messages, not protecting borders. Atop the structure were three griffon guards. Their shining silver armor told Alba that they were part of the king’s personal service.

“Halt!” called one of the guards, “Who goes there?”

Alba, fully aware of proper procedure, stopped midflight and saluted. “Colonel Alba T. Ross, messenger of the king.”

“State your purpose.”

“I have a special message from the king to the captain of this outpost.”

“Papers?”

“I said special message,” Alba glared.

Although small in size, Alba was not to be trifled with. As a messenger of the king, he was granted the title of Lieutenant Colonel. This ensured his travel throughout Griffhala. It was a precautionary measure taken to make sure that the messengers would be able to get into every outpost, save a few specific bases. Generally, papers were a requirement to get by, especially in times of panic. But Alba knew a few certain tricks that would get him by without them.

The first guard nodded his head in understanding and let Alba land on the base. The other two guards searched him, and finding nothing suspicious, accompanied him down into the depths of the base.

It was a good fifty or sixty stories tall, although the majority of the base was underground. Several levels were reserved for barracks, but there were few griffons not out at the moment. The new king had just called for a nationwide alarm on the intruding stallion. Only Alba knew what his real intentions for it were.

When they finally reached their level, Alba opened the door to the Major General’s office. It was a small room, carved inside the mountain. It’s only functions were to hold the proper paper work of the MG and allow him a desk to review it at.

“Excuse me, but I’m rather busy. Why am I being interrupted?” He growled at the incoming messenger and guards.

“General Graft, I am Colonel Alba T. Ross and I have an important message for you from the king’s palace.”

The disgruntled MG lifted his eyes from his paperwork to glare at Alba. Rather, he lifted his eye. Graft’s right eye had an eye patch over it, with a scar showing around it. His eye didn’t seem to be showing any signs of happiness either, only annoyance.

“The king’s palace, not the king? What do you mean by that?” He asked, doubting the small messenger.

“You see sir, the king had ordered me to tell everyone to hold off on the search. He wanted the townsfolk to go after the intruder while he reorganized the military. But when I went back to retrieve a signed paper with his orders, I overheard him talking to himself.”

Graft nodded his head as the messenger spoke. Alba, deep in his own speech, did not notice the subtle hints the general had been giving to his men with his nods. They inched forward, unheard and unnoticed by Alba.

“He didn’t see me, but I heard him say that he was the king’s killer! We need to stop him immediately. I’m going to go and inform the other forts now. Please mobilize your men!”

Alba’s hadn’t intended to yell, but as he retold the information his blood pressure began to rise. He was tensing up with the knowledge that he had become involved in political intrigue. Had he kept his cool, he might’ve been able to escape his inopportune fate.

“I understand, Colonel. We should act fast, lest this information get out of claw. Men,” he paused; his mouth smirking, his eye looking at Alba with superior aptitude, “mobilize.”

Instantly, the two guards grabbed Alba and cuffed his claws. The one on his left held him tightly while the one on his right clapped on the shackles.

“What the, let go!” Alba pleaded angrily.

“Take him to the penitentiary and lock him down to ground level. I want him chained up now!”

“What’re you guys doing? There’s a killer impersonating our king!”

The treacherous griffon laughed in Alba’s face, “Kid, don’t you get it? We’re with Maxido. The whole of the royal guard is.” Turning to his men he said, “Now lock him up. I don’t want this messenger delivering another message for the rest of his miserable life.”

Pain For Freedom, Pain For Prisoners

Gilda flapped her wings steadily. Each beat was synced with her heart as she flew over the never ending rock. That stupid stallion just had to remind her of Rainbow Dash. Gah! She said her name again. Even the idea of the mare was enough to physically sicken the griffon.

“I don’t get it.” Gilda scolded herself. “Why do I even care? She’s lame now. She means nothing… nothing at all.”

Sure, they had been good friends back in the day, but ponies change. Griffons don’t change, they adapt. And if anything, Gilda adapted amazingly. Spending time with ponies softened her, but her return to Griffhala made her into the trooper she needed to be to survive. After all, what good is a touchy-feely mercenary?

Gilda really needed a drink. In fact, she could really go for one of Kondore’s mixes right about now. Anything would get her by, as long as her favorite bartender made it for her. Thoughts of drinks and merriment distracted her. Had she bothered to take any notice of where she was flying, she would’ve realized she was headed straight out of Griffhala.

The great country of Griffhala bordered two major adjoining countries. One was the obvious Equestria to the west. The second was the dirt country, or as the dogs called it, Koerstad. No one really cared much for the dogs, save what produce goods they could give to the griffons. All they wanted were gems. They mined them day and night, only to use them for petty crafting purposes. Only the heavens could figure out why, and Gilda wasn’t one particular griffon to care for the heavens.

As it was, Gilda was on her way to Koerstad, and as it happened there was a dog on his way to Griffhala. This particular diamond dog was not all too happy with his assignment either.

“Stupid onyx. Go to stupid birdy country, they said. It has so much onyx, they said.” Grumbled the dog.

Chip the diamond dog was sent by his firm to acquire a sufficient supply of onyx for an artistic masterpiece by some dog he could care less about. Of course, Chip wouldn’t normally have been in this situation. Normally they would’ve sent Sparky, but he was on vacation for the next week and Chip was the only other dog who specialized in minerals.

Chip just wanted this job to be over. No one wanted to go in griffon country, mostly because it was dangerous, but even more so because it was really freaking dangerous. Griffons did not take well to other animals in their territory, even if they were just trading. Chip just wanted to find his onyx and scat on out.

Sadly for Chip, there was a griffon nearby, just waiting for something else to occupy her time.

Gilda shook her head, rattling the thoughts of Rainbow Dash away for another time… when she had some alcohol on claw. The only thing she knew that would require thought was her mission. Some random pony out there was worth a big bounty, and she aimed to find him. Reaching into her feathers, she pulled out the crumpled scroll that detailed her prey.

Hmm, orangey-brown coat with a dark purple mane. Pegasus, obviously. There wasn’t a lot to go on, but then again there weren’t that many ponies in Griffhala. Oh it also noted that he had a small goatee.

And just like that, Gilda’s blank stare at the paper sparked an intensely fuming rage that sent her zooming back from where she came.

“How could I have been so stupid!?”

The paper delayed as it fell from its great height. Swishing this way and that, it eventually found its way into the face of one particular aforementioned diamond dog.

“Ah griffons! I’m being attacked! Help, help me!” screeched the deceived dog as he ran in circles trying to escape the wrath of the paper.

After many minutes of futile running and screaming, Chip finally managed to calm down and pull the paper from his snout. Flipping it this way and that, he worked his way into understanding the proper reading technique: right side up.

“Pony...king…attack…dead…reward…50000 BITS!”

The formerly disgruntled diamond dog jumped up and down, waving the paper in the air. Mining boring onyx was one thing, 50000 bits was another! This was Chip’s lucky day after all. All he had to do was traverse all of ‘stupid birdy country’ in search of a pony and then…

“Dang.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fuzzy lights graced the awakening stallion’s eyes. He let out a strangled yawn, bringing morning tears to his eyes. With his best efforts to keep the bright lights and tears away, he rubbed his hooves across his eyes repeatedly. Soon enough, he was steady enough to look around.

Flipping himself over, he pushed himself up and stretched. His muscles felt like he had been out for days. Either that or he had just pushed his body past its normal limits to escape certain death. The second option seemed more viable, considering he had no idea why he would want to sleep on cold and unforgiving stone.

Slowly the memories trickled back into his train of thought. The king, the escape, the flying, the chase, the crash; it was all coming back to him.

“I should get outta here.”

Frightened eyes scanned the surrounding area. No griffons, just rock. Still, there was no way he could be sure. He didn’t want to set himself up for a trap. It was best to just get out as soon as possible. Stunning autumn wings cascaded over the similarly shaded ground.

Crack!

“Oh Celestia, why!?” he yelped, swiftly contracting his wings as he fell to the ground in pain.

His left wing had been seriously damaged in his high speed flight, and he knew there was no way he would fly quite yet. After trying to use it, the collapsed wing pulsed against his side. The dull throb was enough to get the stallion off to a quick trot back from where he came. It was the only available option considering he could no longer fly upwards.

The path was straight forward, but covered a long distance. The only hope was that there would be somewhere he could stop along the way. The bumpy road was slow going, ups and downs every few feet. Coarse, jagged rocks kept the stallion on his toes as he trotted. Light cries of ‘ow’ and ‘hey’ echoed against the canyon walls, conversing with his future self along the way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Let me go!” Alba protested, trying his hardest to wriggle free from his captors’ grasp.

The guard griffins said nothing, but responded gladly by tightening their grip. The prisoner’s left eye twitched with the pressure.

Alba had made a serious miscalculation in judgment. Indiscriminately, he went to the first griffins he could instead of going for someone he knew he could trust. The dank scenery surrounding him as he plummeted downwards into the depths of the Oiseau base assured him of that folly.

The cylindrical building shape had a spiral of stairs that worked their way up and down the entire structure, but these particular guards decided to take the quick route and fly down. Second hands had barely passed when they arrived at a solid stone door in the bottom levels. The door had a small window, barred both vertically and horizontally, sitting at head level for a griffon on all four limbs.

The first guard released Alba, and used his key to activate a crank which lifted the bulky door up. Alba continued to resist, but each new attempt was met with an equal increase in force from the second guard. Once the door had risen fully, the guards threw the distressed messenger inside. Releasing the crank, the weighty slab of incarcerating stone slammed back down to the ground.

“Please, one of you must realize how serious this is?” Alba pleaded helplessly.

The gruff voice of a military griffon answered him, “King Maxido is a far better choice as a leader. He has great plans for our country. We aren’t going to let you stop him from saving us.”

Alba opened his mouth to retort, but the sound of beating wings discouraged his voice. The air inside his cell was an odd combination of cold and muggy. Its complex feeling distracted Alba. Everything was dark, save for the light cast by the ‘window’. Alba tried to wipe his eyes, but realized that his claws were still cuffed.

“Guards, my claws! Guards!”

Alba’s cries fell on deaf ears, or rather no ears at all. Dejected, the messenger’s limbs fell limp. His knees collapsed, sending him crashing into the wall. His body was numb to contact, sliding effortlessly downwards until he rested sadly upon the ground. The ground was wet, dampening his feathers and greasing his fur. He didn’t mind though, he didn’t even notice. He was too busy staring into the nothingness with his mouth agape.

“I’m doomed.” He told himself, “Griffhala is doomed.”

Pupils flittered with darkening fright as the lightless room began to enclose on the griffon. Darkness slowly crept in, blurring his vision. Each second was another centimeter or sight gone, gone forever. The chains that held Alba’s claws together clattered against the floor as he shook. The darkness, the void was coming in on him… the world was already ending.

Alba thought back on his military training, trying to remember how to cope with prison environments. Nothing came to mind. Had he really learned anything during his training in the Griffhala royal guard? Chances proved negative. He was a simple messenger; they had no need to train him like they would a real soldier. And that was just a sad fact: Colonel Alba T. Ross was not a soldier.

The impossible escape cracked inside Alba’s brain. Veins snapped sporadically about his head, pounding, throbbing with the force of a full on aneurism. The incessant rattling of his own chains increased. Cold from the dampened floor seeped into Alba, his shivering worsening. The darkness closed the final gap between his eyes; his pupils still darting about, searching for a vision from reality. Little drops of spit fell from a harshly vibrating beak. Each drip sent Alba into a violent mental spasm.

Drip, snap.

Drip…SNAP!

The room went quiet. Absolute silence overtook the scene. The chains ceased their clatter, even Alba’s breath could not be heard echoing off of the cell walls. The entire room was full of darkness, so full that some even flooded out of the bars and into the tower. Cold encapsulated everything, freezing all that it touched.

Drip…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I see.” Maxido nodded, stroking his feathery beard. “Well that’s rather unfortunate for that poor soul. Ah well, necessary sacrifices. Still, he did have a message to deliver. Go, relay it to the posts, and thank you for the update.”

A door slammed behind Maxido, signifying he was once again alone. He had to watch himself now though, alone did not have to mean alone. The new king paced back and forth, thinking over the information he had just received.

The messenger boy he had sent off had overheard him gloating and tried to insurrect another revolution. Of course, Maxido had merely gotten lucky that the kid went to a base loyal to him first. He couldn’t take anymore foolish chances.

The griffon leader had had plenty of time to take in the view of his new throne room since he was crowned. With planning to do and orders to give, he had little time to be anywhere else. He wasn’t too happy about that fact, considering he had spent most of his life in the room as it was. Still, being able to sit in the throne was a nice bonus.

Pbbbbbbfff… Maxido let out a grand groan of boredom.

There wasn’t much he could do until the stallion was caught. Although he wanted to move forward on his Griffhala restoration plans, having the entire country on red alert wasn’t very accommodating in that respect.

The country needed a new start fast though! The very concept of having to wait angered Maxido to the point of fumes. Everything had gone perfectly, and if the stallion had just been kind enough to stay put, it would have gone over even better. Maxido tried not to complain though, realizing what a stroke of luck the stallion truly was. Which begged the question; how did he come here in the first place?

Maxido witnessed the events with his own eyes. The stallion just appeared on the king’s head. There was no rhyme or reason to it, nothing to prove he was even aware of what happened. It could’ve been that blasted unicorn magic of theirs, but he couldn’t be certain.

The puzzled griffon shook the thoughts away. No use straining over questions he had no way of answering. Besides, he could always ask the stallion himself, should he be alive when they meet once again.

After even more pacing about the throne room, Maxido’s anxious self decided it best to leave for a time. Nothing a good walk couldn’t fix. Maxido pushed open the large castle door, feeling a flaky coating on his hand. It was uncomfortable and dry, sending an odd chill through his spine similar to that of handling Styrofoam boxes. Maxido knew the source of his uncomforted though and decided that it was worth the slight annoyance of opening a door. Besides, dried blood could be washed off.