|
|
Post by Stygg Whitefeather on Dec 17, 2012 17:06:38 GMT -5
Rumors abound the Hollow of a masked griffon of magical might had brought Royal Rocks to its knees in a sweeping assault, under a banner of flame and blood. For the Hollow this was a rallying cry, their years of constant humiliation under the talon of an inept king ruling from his ivory tower in the distant city of the royal and wealthy while leaving the poor and desperate of the Hollow to their own devices or their mineral wealth exploited for Royal Rock’s halls of white elephants and gold washed festivals. The Hollow’s people saw this for what it was, black eye to the Whitefeather name and the chance to reclaim the Hollow for themselves; support for the unknown assailant of Royal Rocks grew exponentially, fliers begun to circulate, manifestos, propaganda, rallies in favor of taking this opportunity to back the new usurper. Hijrat, the Hollows de-facto leader and griffon of traditional values and honor, kept quiet, watching and waiting for what was to come. He suspected Loci’s spies in his midst, waiting for the moment he moved in favor of the masked griffon – so he waited, in silence, for the winds to move in his favor. He supported his people and like them, saw the opportunities that could arise from this fortunate – for them – turn of events.
As the spot on the horizon grew larger with each passing moment, that of the grandest ship ever to grace the griffon armada slowly cut a path through the heavens toward their humble settlement, the griffons of The Hollow took up arms – not in defiance, but in unity to the cause the masked griffon had made so clear just days ago. The vessel swept overhead with a ticker-tape parade raining down from its hull. The catalyst, like mana from heaven it feed the fervor that was at its boiling point. Hijrat could not longer control his people, they were thirsting for blue blood and not Hay-fire could stop them from quenching this ravenous hunger.
The smell of soot and ash still lingered in the city of Royal Rocks and it was clear to the griffons of the Hollow that this One would not let them have time to wash the stink from their fur and feathers. As the vessel rolled past, like thunderheads, many went to meet her. Hijrat himself, donning his old vestments of a warrior soon joined them – it wouldn’t matter now if Loci’s tools squawked to home, because the Dreadnaught was posed to beat them there. The civil war was coming to their steps.
|
|
