Vermicide

[Stygg Whitefeather]

The flight back to Royal Rocks felt longer than a lifetime. Stygg had sequestered herself in armory, feverishly honing and polishing her blades as she tried to make sense of the encounter she had with the machine Severus. She knew what she had to do for the good of the kingdom, but the lingering uncertainty stung far to close and deep. If she were to go through with the plan, even if in the end it proved to be the right thing, that asterisk on her life will always be there – patricide. She begged that her father would listen to reason peacefully relinquish the throne, she would promise him anything if only he would just pass the throne onto her. She cringed at the thought of the alternative – a city on fire.

Her worst fears were soon confirmed. When their small detachment came upon the city, they found the 1st Fleet in military readiness, the Magionte line charged and prepped. Her father was ready for a battle. The Dreadnaught could slice through the fleet but the batteries would be another matter – foolish he was though, his formation choice would put the Fleet precariously close to the battery guns. If not surgical careful, their own ships would find themselves at the violent end. Most surprisingly, they passed through the blockade without hindrance. Suppose her father’s threats were as bloated as he was.

When their vessels docked, the gravity of the situation came to a head. To great their arrival was a contingent of the kings personal guard, armed to the beak, and her father at their rearguard, awaiting them. As Stygg and her team disembarked, Whitefeather’s voice boomed as he addressed them – this was far from a congratulatory welcome.

“My daughter! What of the Dreadnaught? We know you and your team boarded her, so what is your report?”

Stygg glanced around, in their current position they were surrounded and if her father wanted, her and her team would be struck down before they could take to the air. “Father, the situation has changed, can we speak in person, alone?”

Whitefeather chuckled at the absurdity of the Stygg’s request. “Alone? But why my daughter? Is there something you cannot speak of in front of my most trusted and personal guard?” From Behind Stygg, Loci peered his head, grinning devilishly.

“The Usurper you so claim is not who they appear to be. They are demanding that you relinquish the throne for the good of our kingdom – this you already know… Father, he’ll destroy Royal Rocks with the Dreadnaught. He won’t stop till you are no longer on the throne. Please for the good of the kingdom listen to me.”

Whitefeather was cold in his presence, staring down at her daughter like the impudent child she appeared to him. “And I take it is you who should rise to the occasion? You ungrateful little fledgling, conspiring behind my wings so your greedy little magpie eyes could try and steal the throne from me. And your tenacity that you would come before me like this and demand such an asinine request – guards, take her to dungeon. I’ve had enough of your insubordination.”

As the Kings guard moved into to arrest, Scythe drew their weapons. For a moment the air held still till Stygg ushered them to stand down. “This isn’t the place or time to fight. We do as we discussed, that’s an order” She offered herself to the guard willing, raising her talons up. The King’s guard seized her and dragged her away. “Father! This will be the death of you! You can’t stop him! No one can!” She screamed back as she was led her away.

She was thrown into a dingy cell at the bottom of the palace, a place for assassins and spies. There she had her hands and wings bound with nothing to measure the passing of time. By the time she had begun to question her reasoning for coming back here – she heard someone approach from down the way.

”Cannot the caged bird sing anymore, with her wings bound so tight? Though her flock sung with all their might. Tell me about Usurper you met, the one named Severus. Perhaps if you abide, I can share with you what I have brewed. In truth Stygg and Loci aren’t all that far apart except you are now riddled with vermin and lice.”

[Stygg Whitefeather]

“Not interested, Loci. Go do whatever it is you do somewhere else.” Stygg begrudgingly requested, pulling on her chains. “Or… is it you’ve just always wanted to see me like this? Tied up and helpless.” Stygg spat at the ground, “Don’t make me puke.” She slouched in her bonds, “Get whatever it is over with, I’m busy.” She hissed, glancing away from the cell’s door as Loci’s shadow washes over the far wall.

Loci’s talons tapped against the slimy stone floor as he approached, each tap like the steady rhythm of a metronome. Tap… tap… tap… click and tap. ”Oh, Stygg, Loci is hurt. You speak of me as villainous. That stings deep, right to the core.” He raised himself upon Stygg’s cell, the whole of him casting a dark blanket over her as his claws gripped at the bars, talons twisting and chocking the cold out from them. ”Loci is sorry you had to end up here, but it is for the best. But, perhaps, yes – yes, perhaps. Tell me what Severus said, Loci is dyyyiiinnng to know.”

Stygg tried to ignore him but when it became increasingly clear he wasn’t just going to leave on his own accord, she acquiesced. “Exactly what I told my father. He wants him removed from the throne for the betterment of the kingdom – oh, and something about seeing you plucked and chopped.” She grinned, taking an ounce of delight in that thought.

Loci clicked his beak, ”Is that so? Curious, curious.” He rubbed a talons along the underside of his beak. ”Loci is to assume he doesn’t approve of me. It is so nice to get noticed once and awhile – certainly never get that from your lard of a father.”

Stygg turned her ear to that sentence, curious she thought. Why would he dare say such a thing out loud? Such words could have him end up here beside her – how vile that notion was. “Do my ears deceive me, but was that an insult directed to the throne? Never expected that from you of all griffons. So loyal to my father – using him for your own personal vendettas. You’re a leech, nothing more.”

Loci snickered, ”A skillful leech is better far than half a hundred men of war. You need to understand that, daughter Whitefeather.” He slid up against the bars, dramatically sliding up against the steel frames, reaching toward high to the bleak ceiling. ”You listen far too much to the rumors, the hearsay, the chirps from the uniformed masses. Yes, Loci admits he hasn’t always been so honorable as our kind cherishes – but this is a strange new world. Your father’s kingdom has been built upon sand and salt. So fragile, delicate like a frost bitten flower in the early winter morning.” He rolled over onto his back, his wings slamming into the bars – a few feathers expelling into the air. His tailed wrapped around one of the bars, circling in and out between them like a cat between legs. ”But my intentions are honorable. They may have called me a puppet, but it was Loci who had your father on that lonely string – someone had to rule this kingdom. Your father was more content to throw balls and festivals, growing fat all the while. Tragic that it was him who would ascend to the throne in the first place. Thus is the plight of monarchy. Some good some bad, take what it is your dealt. But, Loci spat in the beak of that notion. I saw an opportunity to keep the Kingdom together, regret Loci had to do it as so, but when you work with the cards you’re given. You see, young Whitefeather, while you were off gallivanting with the likes of Starling, having fun with ponies and other allies, transversing the globe in the name of griffon honor, it was me who was back here making sure you came back alive. Loci has made sure the fragile alliance of clans stayed cohesive, the glue that bound this kingdom together. Oh yes, deals had to be made, funds moved here and there. Promises, flattery, ran like wine through the ranks. Loci never wished to see the kingdom dissolve into war! Faction against faction, clan against clan, nest against nest. No, Loci sees the Kingdom for what it could be. Not just a shaky confederacy of clans, but an empire built on industry and innovation. Our wings could wrap around this world, we just need the right ruler to see such an imperial notion come to fruition.”

Stygg shifted in bonds, this conversation was becoming increasingly uncomfortable yet she had nowhere to run and no way to ignore it. Yet, all the same, there was something intriguing about what he was stearing towards. “Go on…”

Loci chuckled, ”Now the fledge wishes to listen. Good, here me out. Your father has brought a pony here. A unicorn, believe he hopes it will turn the tide in his favor. That’s why he was so cocky earlier. Frankly, Loci believes his bravado is misplaced. His fate was sealed long ago and now he wishes to delay the inevitable. Tragic, Loci pities him but thus is the burden of the throne. Heavy lies the crown. And Loci knows too that Severus wishes to see my head on a silver plate, but the fool and his ancient notions know nothing of my work. He is blinded by his hatred for my kind, the poor sap. Pity him and his eternal prison of iron and steel. Yet, there is a way to free him and free ourselves in the process. We may yet be able to realize the greatness of our potential and it all lies within your talons.”

Stygg now turned her attention to Loci, focused with deep curiosity. This was becoming increasingly interesting. If not for the absurdity of it, then for the simple fact he was making odd sense.

Loci rolled back over upon the bars to face the prisoner, his head pressed between two bars, with eyes focused like a crazed starved predator at a morsel of rotten food. ”The wheels were already in motion before Severus made his appearance, now we find ourselves at a precarious crux. The shape of this kingdom lies before you, what you do next will determine her outcome. Will you return to the old ways, the ways of our forbearers, the way of backwards fools and ignorant clans, or the way of the future. Of technology and expanse, empire and industry. With me we’ll see the latter or choose Severus and see us fall behind the ponies and perhaps even the rabble of Diamond Dogs. The choice will be yours. In a few days time, the Dreadnaught will be upon us and assume Severus, that golem, will be too. Loci knows you are worthy of the throne, he said so himself, so take the throne when he comes. Loci has arranged for a special meal to come that night. Hope it will be to your liking, but be warned that if not careful you may choke on it. Eat hearty, because you will have quite the burden upon shoulders thereafter. You’ll need your strength, my Queen. And be sure to aim for the heart, straight and true.” Loci slipped from the bars, back on his forelegs. He turned to leave, cocking his head back once. ”By the way, your mother has gone on holiday. Somewhere safe, far. Loci knows that is what you would have wanted. Take care, we’ll be seeing each other very soon.”

[Stygg Whitefeather]

Stygg had lost track of time since her imprisonment, two, maybe three days or perhaps even more. She had no way to judge. It certainly must have been several days since Loci had visited her and offered to her an alternative to Severus’s offer. In that time, she thought hard on it. He did speak some sort of mad-sense about it all – the griffons could retake their rightful place in the sun with the right guidance and with a renewed drive. If only they could be truly united, under a leader which commanded the respect of all the admirals. No more shaky confederacy of clans, no, there should be a new season on the horizon. From their winter slumber the griffon empire will rise with renewed vigor. A spring born of wing and talon, no more would they kowtow to their hoofed neighbors. Yes, she concluded, she could guide them into the spring – a true griffon empire whose wings would stretch across the known world – Loci did speak some sense. Now she would just have to figure out how to get out of the shackles binding her.

On the eve of the Dreadnaught’s arrival, her first meal arrived since she was shoved into the dark deep cell under the palace. The griffon who brought it released the chains from the wall with the pulling of an outside pin, letting her have some room to move and eat. The prison guard slipped the tray with some sort of gruel through a slot on the cell, “Don’t choke.” They said as they left. Stygg leapt onto the food, digging her talons into the slop. Dipping her claws into the amorphous gunk, she heard and felt a scrape of something metal at the bottom. Digging whatever it was out and flicking away the slop, she found herself in the possession of two keys on a key-ring. So Loci wasn’t yanking her tail after all.

Stygg slipped the shackle key into her restraints, popping them free, then made for the cell door. She looked as best she could for a sign of the jailer – nothing. Taking the opportunity, she let herself out and made for the exit but as she passed by the jailer’s desk, she noticed something quite out of place. Something with her name on it resting on the edge so she would not miss it as she fled. Something wrapped loosely in leather with a top it. Suspiciously she approached, snatching up the letter first but before slicing it open, she flipped the leather back on whatever was hidden inside. What she found she was unsure, but it was both fascinating and frightening.

There, flat on the table was a strange device. At first it appeared like someone’s ornate walking cane, snapped off a quarter of the way down. But the distinct barrel, trigger, and an assortment unusual devices with a most unusual chamber above the barrel told her it was something far more menacing. She ignored it for a moment and ripped the letter open, shattering the wax seal of Loci and read.

”Aim for the constructs core. Don’t think, just squeeze the trigger and end the thing’s existence. You have one shot.
P.S. Point away from face.
-Loci”

So, she concluded, it was some sort of small, talon-held cannon. Curious, she picked it up and inspected it closer. It was heavier than she would have imagined from looking at it – it also made her feel odd. Something radiated from it; was it magic? She thought. It was clearly griffon designed and craft so why did it exude with unsettling magic. She couldn’t make out its finer details in the dim light and moved over to a nearby torch to get a better look at the strange thing in her possession. She found that the strongest sensation of magic came from the pistol’s top, some-sort of advanced device was attached extending from where the hammer was to over 2/3s the barrels length. She noticed there were what appeared to be almost like veins, tiny-little tubes, running from the box against the hammer into the long chamber over the barrel. She debated whether she could continue playing with it, unsure what could set it off or break it, but curiosity was a powerful thing.

She ran her talons over its surface, feeling for either a pin, screw, or button she could fiddle with to pry off the upper-most chamber. She found what she assumed was the screw holding the outer shell on and undid it quickly. Once removed, she palmed the pin and checked what was inside – what she found made her sick. There, attached to wires and other ungodly things was the disembodied horn of a unicorn. She shut the chamber closed and quickly returned the screw to its place – feeling sick and angered the whole while. What, she asked herself, had Loci been up too? This was twisted, wrong, against any moral fiber of any intelligent, civilized creature. Who would craft such a device and for what end, what was the purpose – she could guess, certainly, but she was afraid to confirm her suspicion. With only one shot, she didn’t want to waste it – least not yet. But, she had to learn more. Leaving the dungeon, she decided to take a little detour first before confronting her father. She had to know the full scope of Loci’s shadowy little operation and headed straight for Loci’s personal chambers.

[Stygg Whitefeather]

Stygg slipped through the palace’s dank and deep corridors with cat-quick ease, past guards and patrols, servants and clerics who were all in a fit of fevered preparations. Sirens blasted the royal city, all able bodied griffons were raised to arms – it was their right, after all, to die in the name of their king. This pre-battle chaos allowed Stygg to move about unnoticed, so long as she moved smart and quick. Up towards the King’s chamber she went, through the innermost halls that so few griffons took. This same path would lead her to Loci’s chamber, secluded away in a dark part of the secret halls, which made her trek all that much easier.

Stygg slipped up to an arrowslit glancing out to the scene beyond. The city was ablaze with preparations for the death that was to come. The Maginot Line was charged and ready, its guns loaded and waiting for the speckle of black death in the distance to close space. The sky was speckled with the silhouettes of numerous griffons ready and waiting, with weapons in talon and armor on feather and fur. She also spied the crests of ships for the 1st, 2nd and 4th fleets on alert, their guns poised to intercept the Dreadnaught. Stygg couldn't believe her eyes that her father, or his advisers, would let this travesty of a defensive line come to fruition. By her ancestors, they were in the path of The Line, they’d be decimated in the first few volleys. It was complete madness, how were the admirals allowing this travesty to carry on? She could only curse her stupid father for his lack of foresight. Did he not care that he would wastefully cast aside the lives of his countrymen for his foolhardy display of power? What type of king would throw his people into the fire like this; it was neither tactfully sound nor morally right. It was a cowards display, all it was, and it made the bile in her stomach rise.

She moved from the arrowslit and back on the task at talon. She climbed the stairs to the upper levels of the palace, finding her way to the last back corridors before the royal chambers and halls, scurrying like a rat in the dark to Loci’s personal chambers. The door was unassuming, made of wood and iron. She checked the door, locked, no surprise. She tried next to pick it with her talon, but found the slot too narrow to fit her claw through. She opted next for a more brutal approach. Skirting back, she pried herself against the opposite wall and pushed off with all her force, slamming into the door. It budged and the wood started to splinter around the latch, weakening. She did it again, forcing her shoulder into the wood. Cracks started to form, enough for her to decide a swift kick would finish it off. She psyched herself up, knowing full well it was going to hurt her back leg but time was of the essence. She reared and kicked, blowing the door wide open. Her right rear paw bleed and pain struck her when she sat it back down onto the ground but least the door was no longer a problem. She limped inside.

The room was a disaster, a chaotic confused mess of books, papers, oddities and littered about the entire room. A s ingle disheveled bed by the only window into the room was littered with written materials – leading Stygg to wonder if the mad-bird ever slept. Several desks were piled with more books, dockets and other transcripts from near and far, all left in a confusing mess that only a mad-brain could filter through. Shelves lined with books dotted the rest of the room, many haphazardly placed upon them with written papers and notes stuffed inside before shoved into their respective spots on the shelf. Stygg stepped warily into the room, noticing a peculiar odor lingering on the air; she followed her nostrils to its source, a chest near the bed. It smelt of meat, smoked but much of it smelt near rotten – it also burned with that sickly, vile smell of the death of their kind, not the sickly sweet smell of herbivore meat. She dared not continue that search any further, afraid what he would find. Instead, she put that horrid smell out of her mind and went to shuffling through the fevered writings and notes that scattered about the room.

Book after book, fevered writing after writing, nothing she found was of note. They were just the incoherent ramblings and scribbles of a sick and twisted mind. Poetry of a morbid sort, ciphers, and drawings so rushed that they appeared no more than the nightmares of ill and fever ridden. She cast that nonsense aside and took to ripping out drawers and cupboards open – surely something had to be here which explain Loci’s plans; the weapon in her possession and more. She turned to the bookshelves and begun tearing down the tomes from the shelves, flipping through ones that appeared relevant before casting them over her shoulder. A pile grew behind her till sudden, one book refused her pull. Instead, it clicked with resistance and the shelf suddenly slipped open revealing a small room beyond. There was nothing grandiose about it, just a simple little room large enough for a griffon and a desk to fit comfortably. There, her eyes gazed on in awe and horror. Schematics were pinned to the wall of all manner of inspired weaponry. Long and short cannons which could be carried by a single griffon, simple referred to as ‘firearms’ as a whole. The long ones, rifles, used explosive powder cartridges and soft metal balls which could fire at incredible speeds and reloaded quickly. The smaller ones, called pistols, were not unlike the weapon Loci had left for her, were much the same. There were even more advanced plans for cylinders that held several bullets and could fire in quick succession. Extremely similar to the ship mounted repeater guns on airships, but mobile and supposedly more accurate. Then there were the more sinister weapons. She stepped into the room and shuffled through the desk, finding what she feared she would. There were orders for hundreds of these weapons along with reports of their effectiveness against Diamond Dogs, Ponies, Dragons, and other creatures the Griffons have encountered in warfare and the wilds. Pictures of their horrific and brutal results were clipped to each report. Stygg couldn’t doubt their effectiveness but who were these poor test-subjects? There were pony foals, young dragons, Diamond Dog prisoners all subjected to experimentation. Worse yet, mixed in with these accounts were the schematics to weapons like the one she had. They detailed their design, the development of a device which simulated the part of the unicorn brain that allowed them to tune into the energy of the Ether, the source of their magic, with the failings of artificial devices to simulate the controlling and channeling element of the horn and instead suggested using actual unicorn horns. This, it indicated would allow the shots to be coupled with unicorn magic to increase their potency. Claims of striking down magical creatures with only a few shots or piercing pony magic and shields with ease were the highlighted results. Orders for these devices were all signed off by Loci himself, the paper trail leading to black projects within the 5th and 7th fleets started and funded by Loci. So, she concluded, this was Loci’s plan, to use these advanced and horrible weapons to wage a future war against all other Kingdoms under the banner of Griffon Kingdom. He was supplying the war that was to be.

A further search of the room turned up lists of code-names, operatives across the known world and embedded into the highest ranks of all Fleets. Though she couldn’t confirm ranks and names, she gathered this went all the way up to the Admirals. Where, she asked herself, was the honor that the griffons once knew. All this cloak and dagger business was for ponies or the undead, not her kind. This was a cancer that had snaked its way into the heart of the kingdom. If she were to ascend to the throne, she would have to cut the cancer and corruption out – the task ahead of her was greater than she had ever originally envisioned. She hated to admit it, but Severus was more right than she had feared. Had they, as a people, fallen so far to be swayed by coin? This travesty of cultivating ponies for their horns, the horror of testing and the mockery of corruption would have to be rectified. She snatched up the papers and documents, stuffing them into a binder as she left just as the first sounds of battle rang in the distance. The palace rumbled with the battery barrages firing their first volley of shots at the incoming force. The battle for Royal Rocks had just begun.