Illumination, The Story of an Antagonist

by Retired5262020

Chapters

Intro: Beginning of an era
Act 1:1
Act 1:2
Act 1:3
Act 1:4

Intro: Beginning of an era

A ragged cough sounds through the large bedroom, where everyone stands crowded around a four poster bed. A large sickly griffin lay prone under the sheets, living on borrowed time.

For almost a year now, you had been the trusted servant and advisor to this griffin, to Emperor Pelé. He had been kind, A patrol of griffin soldiers forcefully captured you, claiming that you were “trespassing” when really they were just out to harass you out of boredom.

Pelé, who had been doing a personal inspection of their outpost at the time saw this and ordered you released. He was interested in you, seeing as how the old griffin had never before laid his eyes upon humans or even anything remotely close.

He asked your name, and you gave him a full story, one filled with the grandeur and extravagance only an alien world could provide. One that told humanity as the pinnacle of life and the chosen race of God… one filled with lies so sweet that only a fool would believe it.

So enraptured with your tale was the emperor that he decided to bring you back with him to his palace, convinced that your meeting was no mere coincidence but rather some sort of event drawn together by the fates. And that marked the beginning of your time within the Griffin Dominion as the miracle worker and right hand of the emperor.

To think, an individual as extraordinary as yourself reduced to a mere servant, to live a life where the whims of another dictated your actions. Even with as grim as such a life seemed, your emperor was not unkind. Stern, but not unkind.

It was the perfect position for you in every sort of way, so you put up with it and did what you were told without question and with no expectation of a reward. And so you strived, strived to perfect everything you did. Not for Pelé as most believe. Oh no, you had much greater plans in mind.

This world you were dropped into, all of it is so full, so untapped... This is your environment and this is where everything would be molded in your vision.

Earth… Earth was too chaotic, the people too volatile and too unpredictable. Even with the cooperation of others that rivaled even you in brilliance, it was all you could do just to keep the world steered in one direction. Order and harmony is the name of the game here. The last major conflict between any nations was centuries ago, proving to you that this endeavor could be successful.

So you worked, you planned, you made connections and you put an ironclad hand around the throat of the infantile underworld of the Dominion, all away from prying eyes.

Gangs, mobs, illegal trading rings, corrupt circles of the ministry and every other group that possessed a broken moral compass was forced to bow their heads to you, powerless.

In the light-bathed side of society, you kept everything about yourself in check. Always even-tempered, always fixing problems, always going out of your way to make someone else smile. Soon you were the most well-loved politician and ministry agent to ever grace the Dominion. Not even a sliver of the public was aware of what was going on right in their backyards.

Not even once did you slip up; far too much was at stake for even the slightest margin of error. All your diligence, all your patience, and all of the admittedly few sacrifices from yourself are all paying off today.

You look down at the dying griffin, feeling a twinge of pity. How tragic it is for such a powerful figure to be lying almost helpless.

Almost all of the emperor's proud crimson plumage has been reduced to a pale pink, a mockery of the grandeur it once used to be. His fur is thin and patchy, revealing dry, flushed skin beneath it. And his pride and joy, his wings… They lay next to him, tattered and shriveled from the intense sickness he has been forced to endure.

Another cough rattles the walls; even while so ill Pelé still has enough power in his old body to make the room vibrate with just his death rattles.

After many minutes he speaks up, addressing you, the rest of his loyal staff, advisors, administrators, and close friends.

“My friends…” he weakly croaks out, the two simple words almost robbing him of his breath. “Long have I led this great nation, standing as the eye that sleepeth not, vigilant for even the barest hint of a threat, whether it be foreign or domestic.”

Pelé slowly lifts his head to look at the group in front of him better. “Thankfully my rule has been a boring one in terms of true threats,” he says with a wan smile.“But I cannot say just how glad I am that I have had all of you to keep me on my toes.”

A faint few laughs circulate through the gathered attendance, none of them holding any true mirth in the grim atmosphere.

“My time, however, is fast upon me. I have lived a long and truly full life so ask you not to mourn, but rather rejoice for the next great adventure is soon upon me.”

The emperor scans his eyes over everyone, stopping to linger upon you for just a moment longer than the others.

“But I cannot go yet, for I have no living heir and I have not named a successor,” he says, stopping to cough at the end of the sentence.

Here it is, the moment of truth, the moment of payoff for all of your hard work.

His eyes turned to rest on you. “It is with great pride... that I name Anonymous, my right hand and greatest advisor… The next Emperor of the Dominion…”

Gasps ring out from the others as they all turn their gazes onto you, shock written plainly on their faces.

You remain stoic in the face of the close scrutiny, however, and reply to the aging ruler.

“Your highness, I cannot in good conscience accept this position… I am neither your blood nor a griffin. It would be improper.”

Silence envelops the room, everyone flabbergasted by the sudden and shocking turn of events.

Pelé frowns, obviously not expecting you to turn down his offer of the crown. “My boy, from day one you have done nothing but help. You defied the expectations of everyone around you. No, you went above and beyond what was expected of you. You have proven yourself time and again to be a leader of enormous skill and incredible virtue, something everyone should strive to be. I know for fact that you can lead, yet you turn me down?”

You open your mouth to refute him once more, only to be interrupted.

“If you plan on using the ‘I am not a griffin’ excuse once more, then I will have you know what I see in you. You may look different, walk different, and act different, but I know at your heart is the prideful soul of the griffin race, and that's all you need to stand with the best of them,” Pelé says, his speech full of passion and pride.

You smile ever so faintly to yourself. It looks like this will all come together after all.

“Your highness… I accept,” you say, feigning a large prideful smile.

He smiles as well, obviously pleased with your decision. “I knew that you would see it my way. Anon, I know that you have the potential to lead the Dominion into a golden age of honor and prosperity, I knew that your coming here could have not been simple coincidence. You were sent here by a higher force, one that we mortals cannot hope to understand.”

He turns from you to the rest of the griffons in the room. “You may all leave, if I am hope to recover somewhat then I need rest; There may only be a handful of years left before I must turn the reins to young Anon here. Now be gone! This weary old griffin wants some sleep.”

Everyone shuffles out of the room, some throwing backward glances at the aging ruler who seem to be dozing off.

Once outside, you’re stopped on your way back to your room when a young griffin steps in front of you.

“Something I can do for you, Gilda?”

The now-named Gilda looks up at you, conflict written on her face. “Yeah… Be straight with me man, how long do you think Gramps has?”

“…I’m not sure, but I'm going to guess that you're upset I was named his successor?” you ask carefully, not wanting Gilda’s temper unleashed on you.

She shakes her head. “Nah… He's right. You’re the best for this. Well, other than…”

You place a hand on her shoulder, painting your face to be a look of pure compassion.

She growls and looks ready to pull her shoulder from your hand, but decides against it and sighs. “Look, I'm not one for all this mushy stuff, but after my old man got sick and… passed on… I don't really want to lose Gramps too… Not the exact same way that pops went… I mean, even the symptoms match.”

You smile gently and ruffle her head feathers, making her groan in annoyance.

“Look, I know that you are still pretty upset over Prince Gildart’s passing, but the emperor is one tough griffin. I'm sure he still got a number of years left, and he'll keep a stubborn grip on them.”

Gilda smirks a little bit. “Yeah, Gramps is one tough customer.”

“Why don't you go do something to take your mind off of all of this? Didn’t you have a friend in Equestria that you were planning to visit?” you ask.

Gilda perks up. “Yeah, I was going to go see RD before all of this started! Thanks for reminding me!” Before she goes, the young griffin turns and says. “Get in touch with me if Gramps gets any better or worse!” And then she takes off down the hallways, almost knocking over a poor maid.

That girl... No one in their right mind would have ever suspected that she was royalty.

You continue on, but stop at the third door down from Pelé's master bedroom and wait. If you remember correctly, then at 8:13 PM she would be here. You pull out a pocket watch stamped with the logo of the royal ministry to check the time, 8:12. And sure enough, a white-plumed maid rounds the corner down the hallway, carrying a tray of different medicines, obviously bound for Pelé's room.

She looks at you with obvious fright as she walks by, but before she can totally pass you grab her shoulder roughly. The maid freezes in her place, her eyes watering as she looks perilously close to tears.

You bend down to her height and whisper into her ear. a short, simple message that felt so good coming from your mouth.

“One week from now, basilisk venom, work it up to a full dose then dispose of the rest. Failure won't be tolerated.”

She stifles a terrified sob as she nods slowly. Seeing as the message got across, you let go and she resumes her walk, her whole stance radiating fear and disgust.

You stand and stretch, and then begin the walk to your room, where a good book waits for you.

Everything is shaping up so nicely…

Act 1:1

“My friends …We are gathered here today to mourn the tragic and anguish-ridden passing of the great Emperor Pelé, who led the Dominion for more than 50 years with a passion that burned so hot that not even the sun could hope to match its sheer intensity….”

Outside in a private courtyard of the palace, where the ancestral burial ground of the Griffin Dominion royalty lay stretched over countless acres of land, you and a great number of griffons stand in solemn silence for the funeral service of Pelé, who looks so peaceful and still within his gilded casket.

It has been only five days. You can't help but wonder if the maid had been incorrect in her dosage of the basilisk venom. If that's the case, then she will need to be punished. Your instructions are meant to be followed to the letter.

You look around at the weeping, tear filled eyes of the others in attendance, all of them in emotional agony over their emperor’s death. You feel the faintest twinge of pity for them all, before you ruthlessly crush the frail feeling like an insect under your shoe.

It needed to be done; if you were to assume the crown of the Dominion in a timely manner then this was inevitable. Halfway through the service, a light drizzle starts, as if mother nature expresses her own grief for the old griffin in the form of misty tears.

“And now,” the funeral director, a portly griffin with an eternally glum expression, begins, “if anyone would like to say a few words on behalf of the great Pelé, then please step forward.”

Many of them do so, mostly distraught family or politicians looking to subtly improve their lot in the power vacuum left behind. Some things are said, many of them tearful and stuttered while others border on poetry with their declarations for the Emperor.

Finally, it’s your turn. It’s expected since you’re to be the new Emperor.

Walking up to the front of the group of mourners, you keep your gaze aimed firmly at the ground to seem as if you were saddened as well. Once you are in front of the casket, you look down at the still form of Pelé, satisfaction welling up in your chest before you turn and address the crowd.

“Today…truly is a memorable day in the worst sort of way. Today the Dominion has lost a ruler, a father, a grandfather, and in everyone, a friend.” You pause to look at the attendants, seeing as they are all paying attention, you keep going. “His rule was long and memorable. He lead the Dominion through the famine of 971, the economic depression of 987, and the Diamond invasion crisis of 994...all while standing steadfast and true to the his morals and the spirit of this proud nation.”

Murmured agreements filter up from the crowd, almost all of them in total agreement with what you are saying so far.

“He was one in a million, a distinguished individual who will doubtlessly be remembered by history for his amazing feats to better and protect the Dominion,” you say, putting more fire into your speech. Another glance at the mourners tells you that all of them are listening closely. Each one pushes away their sorrows to better listen.

“I didn't know the proud emperor for long, barely a year even. However, I can say that he has shown me the kindness of the griffin race, shown me the remarkable spirit of this nation. He took me in, trusted me, and offered me work, where others would have turned me away! Then he offered me the ultimate honor: The throne of the Griffin Dominion. To me, a foreigner who found a friend and a leader in him.” The eyes of everyone are locked onto you, the passion you are putting into your words practically gluing their gazes to you.

You lower your head and force your eyes to water, giving them a misty and emotional appearance. Pulling back up, you bring your attention back to the attendants and continue with your speech. “To think, one so kind truly exists and is not a liar hiding behind a thin façade of false friendliness,” you choke out, forcing your voice to crack. “And today we have lost him… Great emperor Pelé, may your blessed soul rest in peace.”

You walk down from your place in front of the casket back to your spot in the crowd. Along the way you get the watery eyes of Pelé's family looking at you in gratitude, as well as nods of approval from the various politicians who attended.

The portly priest retakes his spot at the front of the service. “Friends,” he begins “we will now lay the emperor to rest alongside his father, and our previous emperor, Pepe.”

With a soft ‘clink’, Pelé’s casket is closed right before it is slowly lowered into the ground in front of a gargantuan marble gravestone.

On the obelisk shaped gravestone is Pelé's birth and death days. November 15, 919 to March 7, 1002. A permanent reminder of the years he spent as the head of his people. The service over, the mourners slowly shuffle out, save for the most grief-stricken.

You leave as well, seeing no reason to stick around at the gravesite when you have much more productive things to be doing. Walking the route around the palace, you can't help but look up at the large building and admire it. The griffons mostly use medieval style stone construction with a ‘bigger is better’ mindset when it comes to building important structures. It seems that no expense was spared when it came to building the simply gargantuan royal palace in the capital city of Koti Sydamemme.

Standing as tall as the mountains of the Dominion and looking twice as unshakable, the palace is a work of art just as much as it is a miracle of architecture. The whole thing the subject to rigorous upkeep and constant improvements from the griffons who maintain it. If you were correct, or rather if the books you read are correct… Then the palace has enough room to house all of Koti Sydamemme in times of crisis.

Looking away from the immense building to the city surrounding it, you see the largely nordic settlement is rather subdued today. It is to be expected, however, seeing as how their emperor passed away hardly even a day ago. Really, it would make for a great stroll through town without being harassed or pulled aside for conversation, so you decide to do just that.

With a leisurely pace you walk through a market district, taking in the pleasant sights of the large city that will soon to belong to you. You briefly and politely acknowledge any griffin to greet you along the way.

All the stone and wood buildings are connected together, forming large alleys of shops in between a cobblestone road, giving the area an attractive rustic look to them.

“Hey hey! Look who it is!”

You halt your walk mid-step and turn to see who called out. You can't help but allow a miniscule smile to come to your face at what you find.

Standing in front of one of Koti Sydamemme’s nicer bars is a middle-aged, gray plumed griffin male in an apron, who is leaning on the broom he was using to sweep the front of his bar.

“Working hard or hardly working, Allto?” you ask

Allto smiles, stretching his cheek feathers and revealing a scar he likely got from breaking up a brawl. “Don’t be like that, I thought that you were the one who told me ‘Work smarter, not harder’ didn't you?”

You raise an eyebrow in amusement. Allto seems to have an eternal case of smartass, or at least he does when he talks to you.

“What are you standing there for? Come in!”

Seeing as you have nothing better to do until you need to report back to the palace, you comply and walk with the griffin into the aptly named “Allto’s” pub. The whole place is rather small, making it a favorite hangout of small groups of friends and those who seem to attract more attention than they like. Right now the whole place is empty, seeing as how bars aren't allowed to serve until four o'clock in Koti Sydamemme.

Allto hops the counter with a flap of his wings as you sit in one of the chairs around the bar.

“So, what brings you here, Anon?” the griffin asks as he restocks a shelf of liquor behind him. “I figured the suits-n-ties of the ministry would have you up to your neck in paperwork with what happened to the emperor.”

You shake your head. “No, I was just out for a walk to clear my head I suppose. The last 24 hours have been beyond hectic.”

The bartender nods thoughtfully. “I would think so. Who knew that Pelé was so close to the end? He seemed like he would live forever.”

You give him some silent agreement in the form of a slow nod. Now if only he knew that you were the one that ordered Pelé's death…

Allto looks at you with a sideways glance “You don't seem to be all that upset over this. I figured you would be coming here looking for a drink,” he quips with a questioning tone.

Plastering a look of fake affront on your face, you give him a swift response. “I’m not so low as to go and try to drown my sorrows over something that would've happened sooner, but unfortunately not later. Doing so would be an immense disrespect to him and set a horrible example for everyone around me.”

Allto raises his eagle talons in a sign of mock defeat. “Easy there, I'm not out to get on anyone's nerves, just saying what's on my mind.”

You level him with an unamused look. “Be careful when you think out loud, Allto. It's not hard for someone to misinterpret what you said and take it the wrong way.”

He snorts and smirks. “Words of wisdom from the ever so intelligent Lord Anonymous,” he playfully snarks. His smirk melts into a worried look “Say Anon? Have you heard some of the rumors flying about around town yet? Not all of them bode too well for some circles of the ministry, and an uncomfortable amount are about you.”

Here is where Allto really shines in terms of usefulness. Being a bartender means he hears almost everything interesting there is to hear in this side of town.

You can't help but narrow your eyes at him, making the griffin squirm in discomfort. “What exactly are you hearing?” you ask, lightening up on the glare you were giving the bartender.

He sighs and thinks for a moment. “Everyone is going on and on about how there is corruption in the ministry, despite how many say that you fixed it. The ones who are getting ruffled feathers about it had even gone as far to say that you brainwashed the emperor in his illness.”

You grit your teeth and grip the bar counter so hard that the wood quietly groans in your hand. The act may be a little extreme, but it's best to keep up your righteous appearance in front of anyone and everyone not directly under your control. Taking a deep breath, you make it look like you are calming yourself. There's no real need to be upset over this, you can easily take the little momentum the rumor starters have and throw it back at them 10 times as hard.

“Any idea who the one is spreading this around?”

Allto scratches his chin in thought. “Hmm, I know it's some high-ranking, suit-n-tie sort of guy. Stick up his ass, snooty, and bad at tipping,” the bartender mumbles to himself. “But for the life of me I can't seem to remember his name.”

Oh, you know exactly who he's talking about.

“…Tell me, did he have dark yellow feathers, green eyes, and a nasally voice?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Hey yeah! He did! How did you know?”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between your finger and your thumb. “I’ve dealt with him before... The bastard’s name is DiVargin…”

Allto grins in the most infuriating way. “Sounds like you know him well. How are you going to manage with his mudslinging? I mean, it wouldn’t look good for an emperor-in-waiting like you to let him keep it up.”

You pull your hand away from your face to address Allto

“I’m not for sure the emperor yet, the Vähemmän Lordit still have to gather and name me as such.” You set your jaw as plan after plan rushes through your mind, creating a complex spiderweb of thoughts with all of them centered around the cocky visage of a young griffin “As for DiVargin…Yes,I do know him. His not-so-subtle smear campaign? I’ll deal with it…”

You rise from your spot and make for the door.

“Thanks for the conversation Allto, but I should be getting back. I have things to do and a letter to send to Gilda.”

The bartender grins widely. “Anytime!”

“Sister! Is it true? Has Pelé fallen?”

Celestia, the Sun Princess of Equestria, looks up from the pile of paperwork in her study to see her younger sister Luna standing in the doorway. The news was rather jarring to Celestia when the letter arrived, as the old griffin emperor seemed to be made out of steel. But it seems that word travels far faster than she anticipated if her sister knew without any sort of official channel.

“Indeed Luna, Emperor Pelé has fallen prey to the same illness that took his son. It was rather unexpected,” the ivory alicorn says, a twinge of sadness coloring her voice.

Luna’s ears fall back as a melancholic expression finds its way to her face. “He was such a kind old griffin. It's so unfortunate that he has passed away.”

Celestia silently nods in agreement.

Luna seems to perk up for a moment. “Pray tell, sister, have they decided a successor for him? With the tragic passing of Prince Gildart they would need a new griffin to take the throne.”

The sun goddess picks up the letter sent to her from the Dominion in a golden glow, re-reading the current status of the neighboring nation. “As of now they have an individual named ‘Anonymous’, who was selected by Pelé before his death to be his successor.”

The moon goddess tilts her head “Anonymous? I have never heard of a Dominion official with that name before,” she says with some confusion.

“Neither have I,” Celestia replies, keeping the ‘and that worries me’ out of it.

Act 1:2

The princess looks back down at the letter, wondering just who this ‘Anonymous’ is. Whoever he was, one thing's for certain: he is an unknown. This wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the fact that unknowns in politics tend to be incredibly dangerous. Worse yet, he is the most likely candidate to be the emperor of the Dominion. Just the implications bring about a slew of problems that are sure to cause Celestia more than one headache.

“Sister, should we perhaps get in contact with this griffin? Surely he is reasonable enough to accommodate such a request,” Luna asks as she walks into her sister’s study and settles herself in front of the desk.

Celestia mulls it over for a moment. It’s considered to be bad form for the ruler of one nation to seek out another who isn’t in power yet. But at the same time she couldn’t help but be tempted by the idea. There are other things that she could do, but none of them would bode well for her or Equestria should something go awry

The Sun Princess bites the inside of her cheek, indecisiveness tightening its grip on her. She had built herself up onto a pedestal, making her out to be the ultimate good and so much rides on it. Her gentle and polite nature tended to make things easy for since no one wanted to contest the gentle sun goddess for fear of somehow disappointing her or upsetting her, which also upsets her followers by proxy.

Any sort of action she takes here could lead to a catastrophic end should something go wrong, yet she had no idea what the agenda of this Anonymous.

Something needs to be done.

If Celestia remembers correctly, then all of the lesser griffin lords need to hold a summit before a new emperor can be appointed. If this goes the way that Pelé’s inauguration went, then she should have almost two months before Anonymous comes to power. Mind made up, the white alicorn raises her eyes to look at her sister.

“Luna,” Celestia begins, “I don’t like this in the least bit so I ask you, how well-trained are your stealth corps?” She says, carefully gauging the smaller alicorn’s expression as she spoke.

Luna’s eyes widen. “Tia, surely you aren’t going to ask what I think you are...” she says, trailing off at the end.

Celestia sighs and gives her sister a pleading look, “Luna, you know as well as I that this whole situation could take a turn for the worse if not monitored. Please don’t fight me.”

The moon goddess shakes her head in denial before responding, “Tia, I cannot in good conscience allow you to place spies within the Griffin Dominion. It would be an enormous breach in the trust between our nations!”

This is getting out of control, Celestia needs to turn it around.

“Luna,” she says, stopping Luna from ranting, “we need to think about the good of everypony here. We literally have no idea what Anonymous’ plans for the future are. For all we know he could be a psychopath. Do you want to potentially let him run free like that?”

Luna stops and bites her lip, her face etched into conflict.

Celestia keeps going. “Remember Discord’s first rampage? All caused by our not being vigilant enough. The same with Sombra, only we stopped him in time thanks to some well-placed informants.”

Luna is looking less sure of herself now, her eyes on the floor as she desperately tried to think of some sort of comeback.

Her sister is relentless however, and keeps her argument rolling. “Just think about it, we’ve always known who is who when it comes to leadership positions. Then suddenly one we had no idea existed is suddenly next in line for position of great power. Don’t you find that to be suspicious? And furthermore I thi-”

“OK! I GET IT!” Luna shouts with her impressive voice, making the windows in the room rattle.

Celestia winces at the harsh noise, flattening her ears back and recoiling as the sound of the guards stationed outside falling over in surprise meets her ringing ears.

Luna takes a breath, then sighs in defeat. “Wery well, Tia, I’ll tell the night captain to have the best members of the stealth core begin training...”

She looks up into her older sister’s eyes. “What sort of timeframe are we dealing with?”

Celestia inwardly smiles, pleased with the turn of events. “Tell them that they have approximately a month and a half to hone their skills, and that only the best will be selected for this incredibly important mission.”

You sigh and shake your wrist as you finish writing the letter to Gilda about Pelé. Inkwells and quills are certainly not your first choice as a writing implement. The thought is only more reinforced since you had to write letters yesterday to numerous other officials in other nations, informing them of Pelé’s death.

Putting the letter in an envelope and sealing it with a few drops of wax from a lit candle sitting on the desk, you stamp it with your personal crest before standing and stretching. You walk out of your study into your suite-like room and make for the door, wanting to get this letter into the talons of a courier so they could take it to Gilda.

Walking out, it doesn’t take much time to come across a servant wandering the halls like usual.

“Maid,” you call, getting the attention of the griffin hen. You hand her the letter. “Take this to a courier, tell them to find Gilda and to be quick about it,” you order.

The maid inclines her head and turns to leave with a quick, “Yes, Lord Anon.”

With that done, you decide to make a trip to the archives. There is no better way to learn than to learn from the mistakes of others, and history books should give you an idea of what NOT to do once you are in power.

The trip is slow and leisurely, which lets you admire the tasteful build of the palace as well as the multitude of portraits and tapestries lining the walls, many of them depicting important events or griffons of times long past. You scratch your chin in thought, just what should you look for in particular?

Two things in particular jump out at you. First, how to totally remove or at least neutralize DiVargin before his slanderous campaign can gain any more momentum. Second, you need to find a way to firmly root yourself into your soon-to-be new position. You have no delusions about the public’s opinion of you. No matter how many say they like you, there is always a handful of liars and those who prefer to just quietly stew in their negative opinions. As much as being an old member of Earth’s illuminati has taught you, there’s still elements of this world that you have yet to grasp, and that needs to be rectified.

Several more minutes of walking brings you to one of the entrances to the royal library, the most extensive archive in the whole Dominion. Considering that you started out on one of the highest floors of the palace, you get a magnificent view once you enter the library.

Looking around, you see the huge, circular room, its walls filled to the brim with different books, scrolls, and manuscripts of all sorts. Even more awe-inspiring, however, is the open center of the library, letting you look down at the other floors, all arranged in tiers so the griffons could just fly to a different floor should they need.

A glance downward tells you that the bottom floor must be almost two hundred feet down, making you feel the slightest bit nauseous and acrophobic. A look up shows you only a handful floors above, along with the white marble ceiling supporting a golden chandelier, filling the enormous chamber with a soft, white light thanks to the enchanted, Equestrian crystals it holds.

“Enough admiring the scenery, I’ve been here before,” you mutter to yourself. You make your way to the history section, dodging around scholars and the archivists who seem too absorbed in their own work to give you a second glance.

Pulling out several books, all of them about either important individuals in Dominion history or past conflicts, you find a free table and seat yourself down and prepare for what’s probably going to be a long day. Before you start your reading, you have an archivist bring you several sheets of parchment as well as some ink and a quill for notes.

You open the first book, ‘Downfall of the Nomadic Tribes’, and can’t help but smile at the distinct smell of a book so old that the pages have yellowed. In all the chaos that is life, it’s always nice to have a good, immersion-worthy book to take a break from it all. Your reading stretches long past daylight and into the deep night, accompanied by the distinct sound of a quill scratching upon paper.

By the time your eyelids begin to grow heavy, you have almost twenty pages of parchment filled corner to corner with useful and relevant information.

You stand and stretch, making your back loose a medley of satisfying pops. Despite how much you want to go to bed, there is still a handful of things you must do. After returning the books to their proper places, you make for a sliding metal door between two bookshelves and open it. Inside is a rather rudimentary elevator.

You can’t say that you trust the rickety looking device much, but it’s the fastest way down to the ground floor of the library sans jumping. The trip down is bumpy and uncomfortable, but not totally intolerable.

On the ground floor is a lone griffin hen with half-moon spectacles sitting behind an attendant’s desk, the scratching you hear coming from her obviously telling you that she is busy with some paperwork.

You walk up to the desk quietly and she pays you no mind, until you speak.

“So, the weather has been nice. Don’t you agree?”

She looks up at you, then scans her eyes around the area before answering.

“Indeed sir, but it could be brighter...” she says carefully, as if thinking about each word before letting it out of her mouth. As she should...

You grin at the answer and nod for her to continue.

With another glance around, she begins, “Alpha is nearing completion and should be operational soon. Beta is still in the prototype stage but is moving along quickly. Both Gamma and Omega are still facing some serious complications,” she quietly whispers as fast as she can.

Hmm, that’s farther along than you would have expected.

“And what of...the conversation?”

The library attendant begins to look nervous as she refuses to meet your gaze. “Still not going as smoothly as you would wish, sir.”

You frown slightly, but it’s still something that can be worked around.

“Stop looking like you’re going to pluck your feathers out, I’m not one to shoot the messenger.”

The griffin sighs in relief.

“Tell Boris that in five days time I will come to talk to him. It’s important that everything is finished in a timely manner.”

You turn to head back to your quarters, but stop and say over your shoulder “We never spoke, understood?”

She quickly nods her head, almost making her spectacles bounce off of her beak.

“Good.”

At the same time that you spoke to the library attendant, a pair of griffons clad in black fly across the night sky, silent as specters.

“Are we there yet?”

...Almost silent as specters.

The lead griffin sighs and looks back at his younger partner, an unamused expression painting his visage.

“Almost kid, just calm down,” the older leader says with exasperation.

“My name is not ‘Kid’, it’s Erio, get it right!” the younger shouts.

The leader turns his head and puts a talon in front of his beak, indicating that he wants Erio to remain quiet.

The young griffin grumbles but complies reluctantly.

Both of them fly in silence for several minutes before Erio speaks up once more. “So... What exactly are we doing again?” he asks with a scratch of the back of his head.

“We’re going to a plateau just outside of the D-dog capital to gather some intelligence. Did you listen to your briefing at all?” the leader asks irritably.

Erio slumps his shoulders. “Command didn’t really tell me that much, they just said that I needed field experience so I should tag along with you. Hell, they didn’t even tell me your name.”

The elder griffon just chuckles under his breath. “Poor new blood, always out of the loop. Just call me Chief for now.”

Erio opens his beak to fire off more questions but is cut off as Chief makes a dive to a flat-topped mountain just below them. Both fly in low and land near the edge overlooking a large and rather ramshackle city. Faint lights flickering throughout the spartan buildings telling them that there was in fact life in the settlement.

“Is that the dog capital?” Erio asks with a hint of disgust as he looks at the edge of the city, which may as well be a shantytown.

Chief just nods before shrugging off his pack and digging through it, pulling out a suit that looks camouflaged just right to blend in with foliage.

With a curious blink, Erio asks, “What is that?”

His partner takes off the black face mask he was wearing, revealing his old, gray plumed face before answering. “If I was told right, then this thing is called a ghillie suit, perfect for blending in with nature and whatnot,” he says as he dons the garment, looking like a bush as he gets it all on. “You’ve got one too. Put it on, this is a covert mission and we’re going to be here for a while.”

“Wha? But, but...” Erio stutters, obviously surprised by the turn of events.

Chief chuckles and grins “What? You thought that fresh meat like you will be tossed into something like sneaking into some big, important place just like that? Hell no, you and me are going to be sitting here for about two weeks looking over this city for anything interesting. If we DO find something then another team will likely be sent in to do the dirty work.”

Eiro looks like someone just kicked his puppy, his face a perfect picture of disappointment.

“Don’t give me that look, kid, you’re the one who signed up to be part of the Unohdettu. If you were looking for glory and excitement than you came to the wrong place,” Chief says as he settles himself down and digs a high-powered telescope from his back.

With a downtrodden sigh, the younger griffon pulls his own equipment out and settles on his stomach facing the city, leaning against a large bush to bend in.

Almost an hour goes by with no activity before Erio breaks his silence. “Say Chief, what exactly ARE the Unohdettu? Like what does being one fully entail?”

The old griffin ‘hmm’s to himself in thought, trying to come up with an answer that would satisfy his young charge.

“Well in the most literal sense we, the Unohdettu, are Lord Anonymous’ go-to griffins. We do the things that need to be done out of sight of others. We’ve been like this since our founding about a year ago. Lord Anon is so concerned about the state of the Dominion that he founded us in secret so that we can keep a lot of operational freedom. We do the stuff that needs to be done, but no one wants to do.”

Erio tilts his head “But wasn’t Lord Anon just an advisor until a few days ago? How does he have that much power?”

Chief just shrugs. “Dunno, if the rumor mill is anywhere near accurate then apparently he was some big shot in his old home. So he organized everything efficiently and out of sight.”

“Isn’t that wrong, though? Going behind everyone’s back?”

The older griffin sighs and gives his partner a flat look. “He has everyone’s best interests at heart, of course it’s not wrong.”

Erio frowns. “What if he’s lying?”

The sudden growl that comes from Chief makes Erio jump.

“Boy,” begins Chief in a challenging tone, “drop it, he’s not,” he says with a sharp glare to the rookie.

With a gulp, Erio goes back to looking over the city while wondering just what he got himself into. The rest of the night is spent in tense, uncomfortable silence.

Act 1:3

As the morning sun begins its ascent from the horizon painting the sky in soft, pastel hues, the two griffons shuffle. Not a word had been said in hours, and the silence has been as tense as metal wire ready to snap and slice any who dared to get in its way.

It’s broken when Chief sighs and turns to his young companion, “Look kid, I’m not out to get you and I’m sorry I snapped, but you have to learn that questioning the one who writes your paycheck is not a great idea.”

Erio looks away. “It’s not that, it’s just...well how do you know?” he questions, “how can we be sure what we hear is right?”

“Let me tell you about the time I met Anonymous,” Chief begins. “It was about a year ago when we all came together in secret to form the Unohdettu, it was just me and a handful of other griffons loyal to lord Anon. He came and addressed us himself, telling us all what we were going to be doing and how we were going to go about it.”

With a tilt of his head, Erio says, “That doesn’t sound like a reason to join...and neither did it answer my question.”

“I’m getting to that,” Chief gently chides. “Anyways, after he explained everything, he told us WHY we were going to do it.” He looks away into the distance. “He told us... that there are just some things that need to be done, for the greater good of everyone within the Dominion. He gave us his speech with such fire, such passion that it couldn’t possibly be a lie.” Chief turns his baleful yellow eyes to his younger companion, who is listening intently. “You can’t just hop up on a stage and start doling out something like that and have it be untrue, no one can lie with that much vigor. Every one of his words were so robust and they flowed together almost perfectly. Plus, just why would he want to mislead any of us? Lord Anon has proved time and again that he has everyone’s safety in the forefront of his mind.”

Could it all be true? Maybe the rookie griffin is just over thinking things.

Cowed, Erio looks away. “I guess I just didn’t see like that...” he mumbles, even if an itch of doubt still worms away at the back of his mind.

He turns back when a claw lands on his shoulder; Chief’s claw.

“Kid, there’s no need to beat yourself up over this. In fact,” the gray plumed griffon smiles faintly “it’s good that you don’t just blindly follow everything you hear. It’s a poor trait to have.”

Erio returns the smile uneasily, still on the fence about his opinion of Anonymous before a loud growl rips through the small area. Both of the operatives jump, only to realize that it’s Erio’s stomach protesting its lack of nourishment.

“Er...we did bring rations right?”

“Heh, hope you enjoy the taste of boiled ass, kid, because that’s the best you’re going to get out of a standard MRE.”

A despaired groan sounds out from the edge of the plateau along with the grumbling of an empty stomach.

The next morning you’re back in the library, this time looking through the history of some other nations, namely Equestria and the Canine Republic.

Both could turn into huge threats at a moments notice, seeing as how Equestria is home to the most proficient magicians in the world, and the Canine Republic for its less-than-friendly history with the Griffin Dominion. It always pays to know one’s foes well. That goes double for anything on a national scale.

Scratching through another several pages of notes, you stop when a passing archivist very subtly slips a small note between the pages of a book you were reading.

Something important has come up then?

Without any sort of unneeded movements, you pull the small corner of parchment from the book pages and read the hastily scrawled message.

”DiVargin stirring up trouble with council”

“Of course, I can never seem to catch a break can I?” you mutter to yourself.

Picking up the several pages of parchment you had written down, you rise and make for the elevator as a pair of archivists come and take your books back to their rightful places. During the bumpy ride down, you take some time to think yourself. What could DiVargin be up to? More mudslinging? A bid for the throne? Or perhaps...

You narrow your eyes dangerously, perhaps he’s found out about your less than legal activities. If that’s the case, then it looks like DiVargin will be able to count the rest of his life in minutes.

But what of the council? If the snooty bastard had opened his big beak then they would need to go as well, but explaining the sudden deaths of the Council members and a high-ranking politician and noble like DiVargin would be well and beyond tricky.

Once on the ground floor of the library, you take off in a brisk walk to the council chambers, where the head advisory body of the emperor resided. It takes you only several minutes with your pace to reach the chambers. The guards stationed outside don’t even try to stop you as you push the large, oak, double doors open. You stroll inside to the sound of arguing voices.

“Councilman Harel, please reconsider! It is obvious that a non-griffin should not be the one to take the throne!” a slightly nasally voice says, obviously frustrated.

You walk further into the ornate antechamber to see none other than DiVargin pleading his case to five elderly griffons, all of them seated at a half crescent table surrounding DiVargin. The councilmember in the middle sighs and takes a moment to clean off his spectacles before replying.

“Young DiVargin, the late Pele selected Anonymous personally to be his successor. The council has no influence over that decision. Only the Vähemmän may select a new emperor...” The old griffin glares down his spectacles at the noble, who fumes silently.

“...and as I can see, you are not one of them...” he finishes severely.

The others nod silently, supporting Harel’s statement.

“If you are truly so hell-bent on taking the throne, then you may apply for an appeal to the Vähemmän, just don’t expect to be taken seriously. Now go child, we grow weary with your presence,” Harel says with the dismissing wave of his talon. If the spotless yellow feathers on DiVargin weren’t hiding it, you’d swear that his face is purple as a pruce in anger, even if his visage remains in a carefully controlled façade of minor annoyance.

He turns walks out without so much as a ‘farewell’, stopping once he sees you.

“So if it isn’t the one and only Anonymous, there’s been much talk about you,” he says as cordially as possible. In other words you can practically feel the venom behind each word.

You narrow your eyes at the phrase ‘one and only’, a veiled insult to your race no doubt. “Well I’ve heard quite a bit about you as well. Mostly about some recent topics that have, in your conversations... odd if I might say so myself...”

He doesn’t miss a single beat, “odd conversation about an... odd individual.”

You have to give him credit, DiVargin has a face that would make a veteran poker player green with envy. “You sound like you speak from experience, as I should have expected from you.”

He actually trips up some from that one, taking longer than usual to think of a comeback. “Am I experienced? Yes actually, but not as much as you,” he quips.

You go to reply, and hopefully rile him up before he abruptly stops and turns to you, his eyes filled with silent accusations. “Enough of the foolishness, I know that you are up to no good. How convenient it is that the emperor would name you successor a scant five days before his death. Almost TOO convenient...” DiVargin snarls quietly.

You raise an eyebrow, making him continue.

“I KNOW, that something is going on around here that isn’t right. You are the villain here, the one that will be stopped by me.”

You chuckle quietly to yourself, how naïve. This griffin is plenty smart and resourceful, but in no way shape or form is he your match.

“Really? And I’m guessing that you have hard evidence of my so-called crimes? Unaltered photo evidence? A confession under a truth potion? Well? Speak up, I want to hear just how I’ve been ‘caught’.” You say was a grin on your face.

DiVargin says nothing, opting to glare into your eyes with his own fearsome green orbs.

“Exactly. In fact, I bet this isn’t about any sort of perceived wrong on my part, you just want the crown of the Dominion to yourself, to have more power than you know what to do with. How close am I?”

Now he’s almost lost his cool. His red face, burning in anger becoming visible beneath his feathers.

“Hit uncomfortably close didn’t I?” you say with a grin slowly forming on your face

DiVargin bites down on his own beak so hard that you can hear it grinding.

“... Bastard, you dare? You dare to spew such lies about me when the same lies are what brought you into power!” He almost yelled, stopping himself just short of alerting everyone around. He takes a deep breath and turns his baleful gaze back to you, “From the moment I first saw you, I knew you were no good. You worked your way through the ranks too fast, got too many achievements too soon. Some say it’s good nature and that you just want to please, but I know better. This is all the actions of someone with a plan, someone with too much ambition. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I WILL stop it. I am the hero here, and nothing will get in my way when it comes time to tear you from the little pedestal you’ve built yourself up on. Mark my words.”

With a final sneer in your direction, he turns and leaves the council chamber entrance. Well, looks like the cards are on the table and the hands are about to be dealt. It’s a good thing you know how to stack the deck...

Leaving out as well, you wander the large halls of the palace aimlessly, until you come across a lone, chain mail clad guard on patrol. He looks up at you and slows his walk just enough to be noticeable. Lucky for you break it seems.

“The world would be an awful, ugly place without friends. Don’t you agree?”

The guard replies slowly “That is quite debatable, sir.”

Good... whoever originally thought of using codes within normal phrases was a genius.

“I want you to get a tail for DiVargin, he proved not even ten minutes ago that he is paranoid and on to what we are doing. Under no circumstance is he to be left unwatched. Should he find out something crucial, neutralize him. I don’t care how,” you order.

The guard nods. “Of course sir, I will begin now and then relay the orders when I can.”

You give him a pat on the shoulder. “Good. Know that you’re doing the Dominion a service.”

With that out of the way, you begin the trek back to your quarters. Seeing as how the day has been somewhat stressful, you could use a drink and a bit of time to yourself. A ten minute walk brings you back to the luxurious room, but before you can open the doors you feel a tug at the back of your suit coat. With an annoyed sigh you turn and find, to your considerable surprise none other than Gilda.

She’s a mess. Feathers out of place, fur dirty, and the markings around her eyes looking pale, giving her a rather sickly look.

“Gilda?”

She mutely nods her head. “Anon? Do you mind if I talk to you?” she quietly asks, a far cry from her usual brash self.

Really, you’d rather tell her that yes, you did mind, but considering her standing within the Dominion that’s not much of an option.

You open the door and motion for her to come in, which she does without a word.

She settles on the couch of your front room as you seat yourself next her, wondering what could be wrong...Ah...

“I take it that the letter about Pele arrived you?” you ask gently.

Gilda let out a shaky exhale and nods. “I came back as fast as I could...I almost beat the tar out of the courier thinking this was some kind of cruel joke...” She looks up at you, looking more vulnerable than you had ever seen her. As if all her life lines keeping her connected to reality had been severed.

The young griffin hen wrings her claws in her lap anxiously. “So this isn’t a joke? He...he’s really gone?”

“Yes Gilda, I’m sorry,” you say, painting your voice with false remorse.

“N-nah, it’s good. You couldn’t have done anything...It’s just... he was the last one...” The white plumed griffin clenches her eyes shut and turns away, her shaking shoulders set in place. “First mom, then my old man, and now gramps... It’s not fair man...” she forces out, her voice cracking more as she goes on.

Now you can officially say you had never seen Gilda this distraught. Normally she shrugged off anything and everything that life throws her, but it looks like she place more stock in her family than anyone realized. Then something comes to you. You don’t know where it came from or just how it sprung up, but it’s without a doubt one of the greatest, yet cruelest ideas you’ve ever had.

Just thinking about it puts a smile on your face, a smile devoid of happiness, but instead filled with a distorted and perverted sense of accomplishment and giddiness. Without waiting for her to break down any farther, you wrap your arms around Gilda in a tender embrace, making her gasp and turn to look at you.

“Gilda... I know what it’s like, the hurt I can come from losing those close to you. For so long I’ve strived to avoid it, and to prevent it in others,” you tighten your hold on her slightly, “I can promise you... that no matter what I will be here for you. No one can take me away.”

She pushes away, halfheartedly trying to pull herself from your grip and failing.

“Gilda... just let it out, I’ll keep it all to myself.”

She once more tries to pull free, only to put almost no effort into it before she gives up and opts to look at you with misty eyes instead. “H-how? How can you promise any of that? How do I know you’re not lying!?”

“Does this look like the face of a liar?” Once more she looks you in the eye as you morph your face into the kindest, most gentle expression of compassion you can.

Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the thin trails of moisture from leaving the corners of her eyes. Unbidden, the young griffin buries her head into the chest of your shirt. Silently regaling you with the misery of losing family and the relief of your promise in the form of tears.

You just hold her closely As she slowly cries herself to sleep, your mockery of a smile coming back full force. Telling a soon-to-be horror story.

Act 1:4

Slowly, Gilda's cries calmed, her tears making way for the exhaustion that her form radiated. Your demented grin never left your face. Normally you would never be one for expressing your thoughts on your face, but this is too much and it's all working out so well.

... Which means Murphy's Law would be rearing its ugly head soon. You can't afford to screw up here, not with success so close. You take a breath and calm down, letting your grip on Gilda loosen to a gentle cradle.

As gently as you could, you lay the young griffin hen on the couch so that she may sleep. You rise and make your way to the bedroom where you get a blanket that you take back to the front room and drape over Gilda. Said griffin grumbles contently in her sleep.

Doing a mental recount, you remember that you have four days until you visit Boris to see the progress of the various projects you had commissioned. It’ll still be about a month until the Vähemmän of the Dominion strongholds come together in Koti Sydämemme to debate your leadership skills. How funny, you think to yourself, that the Vähemmän, the lesser lords of the Dominion, are the ones to decide your fate, the shoe-in for emperor.

Each of the five rule over a huge citadel around the borders of the nation. In addition, each of them hold hefty amounts of both military and political power thanks to their private forces and finances. That power is the key to you gaining the throne. You need to get them to swear loyalty to you if this is to go smoothly. This could be where Murphy’s Law comes into play. You really hope it doesn’t, but the best laid plans of mice and men...

But for now, you can do nothing but wait in that regard. In the meantime, however...

You stand from the couch and stretch, suppressing a yawn as you do so. Being you is hard work.

Looking back at the blanket covered Gilda, you feel the edges of your lips lift the slightest bit.

Leaving your room, you close the door behind you gently as to not wake up your guest. Taking a look out the window, you see that you still have quite a bit of daylight left, meaning you can get more done today. Should you go back to the library? The sizable stack of notes from a number of old books says no, but what else can you do to prepare?

Ah, you know.

“Why didn't I think of this earlier?” you idly ask yourself.

Finding an elevator, you take the rickety device down several floors to the floor with the troop barracks. From there, you make the walk to the training grounds of the Koti Sydämemme palace.

It’s always quite an experience to see this place, as rather than on the ground the whole training area is built off of one of the smaller towers of the palace. This leaves some of it hanging over the city like a bowl filled with dirt. Not the safest design, but it’s very eye-catching.

Finally reaching the grounds, you’re treated to a most impressive sight.

WHOOSH!

You feel a smile creep up on your face as griffins clad in leather-backed chain mail rush by overhead, buffeting you with their wake. Three formations of five in a delta pattern soar effortlessly through the air, as if they didn’t even feel the weight of their equipment.

Breaking off from the center formation, the two splinters accelerate forward and pass by each other in front of the third group. The stunt leaves only a handful of centimeters between each of them. In a scramble of steel and feathers, the fifteen griffons form back up into a single, large arrow-like pattern and divebomb the ground.

With hardly a meter left to spare, they pull up and shoot into the sky.

“Enjoying the show, Lord Anon?” a female voice says next to you.

You look down and see a light brown-plumed griffin hen in dinged up armor standing next to you, also watching the flying team..

“I always do, Reeni. I always do.”

Colonel Reeni, one of the higher ranked members of the griffin military, an old member of the Tuulenmuutos ace flying team, and one of the few in your inner circle.

She nods in a pleased manner, making the windswept feathers on her head bob. “I would have thought as much; they were trained to be the best after all,” she says with a hint of pride. She looks back up at you, “Any reason you’re here? I know that you aren’t one to waste time.”

How right she is.

“Indeed I’m not. You’ve had almost six months to get a feel for your superior’s opinions of me. What’s the verdict?” you ask, getting straight to the point.

Reeni sighs and kneads the abused dirt of the training grounds in her claws. “We might be running into a problem there. I haven’t found any signs of outright hostility, but quite a number of them seem to think that you are worthy of being cautious around. I’m not sure whether they truly suspect what is going on or if it’s just instinct keeping them on edge.”

You frown at the thought of the handful of generals wanting to keep their distance from you. It’s not a terribly huge problem, but it would still be a noticeable setback. Having their support would be an enormous boon in the upcoming political battles that you are sure to face while reaching for the throne. You can do without. You would rather not approach them and perhaps give them reason to be suspicious.

“...Very well then. I don’t believe it’s worth it to try and bring them over. As long as their suspicions remain as merely suspicions, then they should stay an inconvenience at worst,” you say reluctantly.

Reeni looks around in a shifty manner, something obviously on her mind.

“Something to say?”

She laughs nervously and lets a sheepish grin wander onto her face. “Am I that transparent?” she asks.

You give her no answer, but rather prompt her to speak her mind with a raised eyebrow.

Looking up at the still flying team, she starts off, “Sir, maybe we shouldn’t be giving all of this to ourselves. Maybe we should tell others. This is all for their benefit, right? So as long as we keep it that way, then I don’t see any reason to keep being dis-”

She stops once she looks up at you to see the glare she’s getting in return.

Reeni shivers, swearing that the temperature around her is falling and desperately tries to pull her eyes from yours, only to fail each time.

“Reeni... remember what we fight for... we do this so that others may not have to experience such a burden... or do I need to remind you?” you ask, your voice low and your eyes narrowed.

The colonel quickly shakes her head side to side, trying to form words that only come out as strangled gasps.

“Are you sure? I’m not above re-educating members of my group...”

“NO! I mean, no sir... It’s fine. I forgot just what we were doing for a moment. It won’t happen again, I promise,” she hastily forces out.

You let the hostile look on your face lighten up. “Good, be sure of it. We will talk later about the allegiance of the city’s defenses. I have things to be doing.”

With that, you turn and make your way back to the palace proper while thinking about what just happened.

You also force your heart rate back down to a normal level.

Intimidation. It’s such a useful, but so incredibly fickle tool, not unlike using a rapier in a fight for your life. Correct application can devastate an opponent in a single attack. One false move, however, can make it all for naught, leaving you at the mercy of your foe. You hold no illusions about your personal power. At the moment you are zero match for any griffin who would want to fight you.

If she had wanted to, Reeni could have leapt up and ripped out your throat with her claws, beak, or sword and there would’ve been nothing you could have done about it. She could have even taken all the information that members of your inner circle are privy to and twisted it around to make you the villain, meaning she would get away with killing you. You know she is intelligent enough to realize that as well.

But rather than do so, she chose to give in to her instincts and follow the flight command that all creatures are born with. All because she found you too frightening to stand against in any shape or form. Anyone can use the standard, “I’m bigger than you and will hurt you if you don’t do as I say,” and call it intimidation. But things such as that can only be used on the small and weak.

Exploit the subtle trappings and quirks of the mind, however, and you have a force that can stop an army dead in its tracks. Or even make them break rank and flee as if the hounds of hell were on their heels.

And it just so happens that you have an excellent grasp of how the mind of a self-aware being functions.

Some conditioning here, a few power plays there, and you have a potent weapon that’s perfect for forcing your will onto others.

Feeling your heart calming down, you begin the journey back to your room to check on Gilda.

Halfway through the trip however, right before you get on the elevator to the correct floor, a guard with an uneasy expression pulls you aside.

“Something I can do for you?” you ask, not bothering to hide your displeasure at being interrupted.

The guard nods and looks like he’s struggling to find words. After a moment he gains his bearings and addresses you. “Sir, we sort of... found an intruder trying to sneak into the restricted sections of the royal archive. She was muttering something about getting revenge before she was captured.”

What? Why do you need to be contacted over something like this? There are practices and penalties already in place for such a thing. Attempting to break into anything off-limits to the common public is a felony and almost guaranteed to earn a sentence of twenty or more years in prison.

“Tell me, you needed to come inform me of this, why?” you ask with the flattest look you can muster.

“You see, sir... she’s not a griffin.”

You blink in surprise, not expecting that little twist at all.

The guard looks over his shoulder down the hall, where raised voices can be heard. “We wanted to come to you and try to clear this up without some sort of international incident in our claws.”

Of course, international dealings even before you have your legitimate power base established. Lovely.

“Care to tell me more about all of this? I need as much information as possible if we are to fix this in a timely manner.”

“We’ve got nothing much, sir. She has been very... uncooperative. You’ll see in a moment.”

The sounds of struggling and raised voices down the hallway grow louder, until you hear, “Take your filthy claws off of Trixie immediately!”

“So Twi, what’s all this business about, again?”

Twilight Sparkle looks up into the bored, fluttering visage of her friend Rainbow Dash with exasperation. She’s not the only one, as the rest of her friends are gathered around within the town library as well, called here by its librarian

“Rainbow! Weren’t you listening all?” Twilight asks, obviously annoyed.

The rainbow-maned pegasus rolls her eyes, “Yeah, kinda. You were talking about how you, me, and the princesses got invitations to some big thing. Am I right?”

“Rainbow dear, this isn’t just any old get together that can be blown off on a whim. This is a chance to meet with the royalty of the Griffin Dominion and to see the next potential emperor. This is a once-in-a-lifetime event!” chimes in Rarity from her spot between Applejack and Fluttershy. “And it would simply be a travesty to refute such a generous offer. Why, I would take it in a heartbeat,” she says firmly.

“Ah dunno,” begins Applejack. “This looks like they’re tryin’ to butter y’all all up so this ‘Anonymous’ guy can git a good word from the princesses. What if he gits into trouble afterward and makes you all look stupid fur supportin’ him?” she asks cautiously.

Pinkie jumps in as well. ”Nahhh. That would be a mean trick. The letter says that this Anny guy is super far in the lead anyway. Why would he need any to help?” she adds in her usual chipper manner.

Applejack looks like she wants to refute Pinkie, but can’t seem to come up with an argument that would hold water.

“...It seems like it would be nice... but what if all the griffons are as mean as Gilda? You would have a terrible time.” Fluttershy says demurely.

“I think Gilda was just not the most even-tempered griffin around. Not all of them can be like that,” Twilight says with a nod. “I am curious, however. Dash, why are the only one to get an individual invitation? Princess Celestia offered to bring me along since her invitation allowed a guest, but why were you singled out?”

The pegasus shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe they just know how awesome I am!” she says with her usual bluster.

The others quietly laugh to themselves.

Even if she found the response funny, Twilight still can’t help but dwell on Dash’s personal invitation. Did she know someone important within the Dominion? Or is there something else at play here? For all she knows this could be some convoluted trap, but the fact that both Princesses Celestia and Luna would be there as well rules that out. What being could be insane enough to take on both of the celestial sisters at once?

Applejack’s voice interrupts her thoughts. ”Ah dunno girls, this still seems a bit fishy to me...”

“Darling, you worry too much,” cuts in Rarity. “I’m sure that this is just a gesture meant to improve some diplomatic relations. After all, the griffons are shut-ins to a degree as a race.”

The apple farmer looks like she wants to argue further, but just sighs and stops. No matter what her friends say, she can feel it in the pit of her stomach: This is only the calm before the storm.