Talonopolis Queenly Plots (Bellosh101, Raridash, & Diomedes)

[Bellosh]

No matter how hard the modern-day griffons of Aquellia try, none of their architectural efforts have ever come close to recreating the indestructible reminder of Absolute Power that is the Lion’s Lair. Painstakingly carved out of an enormous basalt monolith at the northern edge of Talonopolis (some say the tower’s erection took nearly a century), right at the point where the White and Blue Raptorclaw Rivers converge into one entity, the Lion’s Lair is one of the most legendary fortresses in the entire known world.

Essentially an oversized keep, this formidable tower is virtually impregnable from a hostile force. No convenient ground entrances exist, while each of the Lair’s thirty levels house numerous embrasures and machicoulis, from which hordes of any sort of projectile, from crossbow bolts to molten lead and cannon balls, could be used on any foolish besieger. Just as importantly, the walls themselves could withstand the infernal fire of dragons; an important consideration for any invincible fortress. What few “windows” existed around the upper levels performed double-duty as fortified gates, complete with all the usual refinements one could find in a ground-side gatehouse. And crowning the top of the Lion’s Lair was a carving that appeared, fittingly enough, as an iron crown.

No enemy has successfully breached the Lion’s Lair in all its existence, providing good fortune to its occupants, the politically-minded House of Razorclaw. Generations of Razorclaw hatchlings have spent their formative years in the confines of the “Tower of Talonopolis”, learning their very first lessons about the methods of statecraft. Growing up, numerous Razorclaws continued to employ the Lair’s facilities in their pursuits, both prestigious and questionable. The dark rumors involving this bastion of Aquellian might grossly outnumbered the number of recorded Razorclaw members who’ve ever lived.

Behind a closed portcullis high in the tower waited the eternally-majestic Prof. Morianna Razorclaw, current warden of the Lion’s Lair, and overseer of Aquellia’s sprawling intelligence apparatus. In only a matter of minutes, a very important individual, accompanied by the Professor’s niece Maj. Brenda Razorclaw, was scheduled to arrive via flying chariot. Morianna gave very specific instructions that the identity of her guest today must be kept secret at all costs, all except for the Professor and the Major themselves. Even the distinguished guest, queenly as she was needed to enter the Lion’s Lair using a fake identity.

But Prof. Razorclaw knew that such a feat was trivial for the distinguished visitor, a natural trait of her outcast species. That ability was the reason why this meeting was being held; that the Professor hoped to acquire the use of the feared changeling race as spies in her service. Through a secret alliance between the Aquellian Republic and a Hive designated as an Enemy of Harmony, Morianna expected to gain additional tools in her ends-justify-the-means fight to impose Pax Aquellia upon the rest of the world.

[RarityDash]

Brenda Razorclaw wore a dour expression on her scarred but fine featured face as she stepped proudly through the long hall of her birth home. It was impossible for a Razorclaw to fully escape the Lion's Lair. Even though she preferred to spend her time in her private villa in the woods on the edge of town, where all her treasures waited for her protected by myriad ingenious and deadly traps, she was still made to visit this place regularly for all manners of family matters. Some in the clan regarded her as paranoid and dangerous, and there was perhaps some truth to their words, but she was also the famed Battle Princess of the Aquellian Marines, so she could not be cast off as some misbegotten black sheep just yet. Besides, her dearest aunt still had some favor for her, she liked to believe. She was practically the face of Razorclaws in the military, which gave her a certain use to the family. Sometimes this meant she would be called upon for certain important tasks...

And so Brenda found herself once more in the Lion's Lair, not that she minded so much that. She didn't have particularly fond memories of the place or her youth in general. She did however admire its architecture. She had taken some of its aesthetics to mind when she constructed her own villa. She admired its history and the reputations of its defences, though she had confidence her own vaults were even more impregnable. In visiting the Lion's Lair, she could be reminded of the simple fact that she was proud of her name and her blood. The Razorclaws were the greatest in the land. They had no cause to answer to anyone, be they Silverbeak, Goldplume or otherwise. As she saw it, the triumvirate had become a bad joke. Sure, the Silverbeaks had their invaluable mastery of technology and science and the Goldplumes had a most mysterious way of getting themselves quite rich and fat, but it was the Razorclaws alone who waves the flag of power. Brenda often felt that none, not even the ponies and their princesses could stand against their proud and storied house.

Which was why Brenda's current objective gave her pause. She was presently escorting a peculiar outsider to the crown of the Lion's Lair where her favorite aunt Morianna awaited them. In the very highest chambers, generally only the highest born Razorclaws were permitted to tread, but it was not uncommon that on rare occasion very important guests would be escorted up for a private discourse. That Brenda had been the one requested for the escort spoke volumes about the danger this one was perceived to pose, though looking at her, no one would ever know it. She looked like a normal enough griffon. Her fur was snowy white, her feathers long and pitch black with silver tips. She was medium sized and wore a long cloak and hood the color of night. Her beak was small but looked sharp and her eyes were cold and yellow green. She looked like any griffon, but Brenda knew enough to know that this was all a guise.

No, this one was an outsider, a dangerous and deceptive sort. She was a monster merely assuming the shape of Brenda's kind for the time. She was a monster queen of a monster race. Brenda could see no good in doing anything but than destroying her and all of her kind outright. She couldn't imagine what deal her aunt could get out of this manner of fiend. Her aunt was the wisest of the wise though, so Brenda would abide the order though she found it ludicrous to lead this enemy fiend into the heart of their most treasured stronghold where none but her most noble brethren could freely tread. She stayed relatively silent as she lead the fiendish queen along the hall.

One of the best parts of life as a changeling was the creativity it allowed. That was Chrysalis' opinion at least. She very much savored the days where she could go out in disguise as someone else. One day she could be Argent Arch, the charming but shadowy young earth stallion from Beakbreak City, the next Ephemeral Fancy, a noble born unicorn mare from Canterlot. The day after that she could even be Cadenza Mi Amore herself. it all depended on her mood and what was required of her. Today she was in Talonopolis, at the venerable estate of the ruling Razorclaw family, so of course that meant she had to be a griffon. A pony couldn't get far in this city without attracting eyes, and certainly none would ever think to escort one into a place such as this. No, Chrysalis had to be a griffon... an identity she was choosing to call Cyrene Blackgale, a traveller who has come from visiting far off lands.

Not that the guise mattered in the moment. The one she went to visit now knew her identity, as did her escort. There was no need for trickery here, and yet Chrysalis had a way of thinking keeping character was important. Not doing so, she had learned the hard way, could be mostly costly. Whatever the case, it amused her. As did her escort. This bird in her blood red armor lined with furs, with her sword ever at her side in its gilded scabbard was something of a ridiculous thing. Her face was so sullen and fixed in its ridiculous place that the Queen knew at once that she could be an amusing one to tease. Seeing her she was very much curious about the bird who ruled this silly roost, this Morianna. What could she be like, and what did she aim to get from changelings? It truly was an uncommon thing for contact like this to be requested of her by other kingdoms. Chrysalis half wondered if they didn't attend to have her assassinated. If so, she was eager to see the little squawking birds try. It might prove an amusing distraction.

For now, Chrysalis just allowed herself to be lead by her escorted. She was too eager to memorize the details of the famed Lion's Lair to purposefully provoke the sulky and ill tempered Major. She just continued after her until they reached their destination

​

"Presenting the changeling leader, my esteemed aunt Morianna!" Brenda started proudly, stepping aside at the door to her aunt's chamber so the one she was escorting could step ahead. She narrowed her eyes slightly as the creature walked by, She felt the weight of her sword at her side and took up a vigil there. She would draw the blade at the first sign of anything nefarious from this despicable character.

"Please, for now you can call me Cyrene. Cyrene Blackgale of the Falkensfjord, come to relate to you, most esteemed of Razorclaws, all the wonders I have seen in my long ventures to the far North," Chrysalis started playfully, giving a small and perhaps mocking bow along with an amused giggle as she looked upon the aged griffoness. This Morianna certainly wasn't much to look at. Her age worn form made the changeling proud of her heritage and of her beauty, which would be long to last.

​

"I would advise you to watch your tone when in the presence of Professor Morianna, you fiend!" Brenda started out in irritation claw moving toward her sword.

The changeling just laughed and looked at the professor. "I must say that I am most curious to hear the things that you have to relate to me today," she said, not even looking back at the firebrand major.

​

​

[Bellosh]

Despite all the lessons ever taught to Brenda Razorclaw, she never managed to learn the importance of subtlety. Her recklessness had cost the warrior before; had she, her aunt, and their distinguished guest been out in the public, everyone and their mother would have been able to hear that “Cyrene Blackgale” was really a changeling queen. Brenda couldn’t even wait for the portcullis to close before making her first blunder.

As for the curious case of Cyrene Blackgale, unraveling her real personality and modes of thinking presented an unique opportunity for Prof. Razorclaw. No doubt, not only would a changeling need to master the art of forging convincing glamours in order to fit into an alien society, but would also need to play the role of someone so completely unlike a love-sucker with only the highest of skill. What this meant for Morianna was that she could not afford to assume that how Lady Blackgale presented herself reflected the true nature of Queen Chrysalis.

Especially if Chrysalis accepted the invitation into the Lion’s Lair to play a game of deceit, intended to further some carefully obscured. It’s what the scheming Morianna would do in the changeling’s place, without any question.

Brenda meanwhile displayed her unique conception of diplomacy, by issuing banal threats only suitable for the ears of common criminals and other dregs of society. Without making it seem like her niece was even in the entry hall, Morianna bent her head and placed her free claw on her heart. “Welcome, Lady Blackgale of the Falkensfjord, to the Lion’s Lair. As Steward of the Tower, I invoke the sacred laws of my people by extending to you my hospitality. May no harm come to you under my protection, or you will be avenged with all the wrath of the House of Razorclaw.”

The Professor raised her head, finally giving the younger Maj. Razorclaw a death glare to signify her displeasure. But even as Brenda received a silent reprimand, a griffon crossbow sharpshooter covertly kept his sights on the proceedings from a murder-hole up in the ceiling. Only a standard security precaution of course; Morianna expected that Lady Blackgale would instigate no blatant betrayal while in the Tower. But Prof. Razorclaw never felt it did wrong to never let one’s guard down.

Keeping up the ancient-styled formalities, Morianna beckoned for the royal visitor to follow her through the somber halls of the Lion’s Lair, the rhythmic rapping of the Professor’s cane casting ominous echoes throughout the Tower; “Come Your Grace; you must be weary, and eager for a feast worthy of a Lady of the Falkensfjord.” As the Tower’s matriarch walked away, the iron portcullis that granted Queen Chrysalis entry into the den of Aquellian power clang shut, locking all occupants in. No visitor left the Lion’s Lair without leave of Professor Morianna Razorclaw.

[Dio]

Change was a necessary part of life. For a changeling, this grew ever more evident with each passing day. For a changeling like Bucephalus, it was something he had come to appreciate as an art form as he learned to master his own body. Each new form brought with it certain nuances that had to be... dealt with.

Bucephalus stretched his hoof out, or rather his talon, before cracking his neck. The griffon form was something he had not assumed for a while and the foreignness of the body was taking longer to dissipate than he would have liked. The knees bent the wrong way, the wings felt too big, and having to remember he had claws that could be articulated individually rather than hooves was distracting. Still, Bucephalus did not complain. This form, like the others, was his to master and his Queen’s for use.

Of course, this griffon form, this Aristarkhos Ironspur’s body had its perks. He was a handsome specimen, a capable athlete and limber combatant. Fingers allowed the use of all the manner of unusual weaponry; specifically the Aquellian sword bayonet, and hand-held ballistica secured to scabbard and holster on his combat saddle and silvered breastplate with canvas straps. They were merely tools, however. Bucephalus himself was the weapon and if worst came to worst, he could always revert to his natural form where he fought best.

It was indeed unusual to receive such an invitation to visit someone. One did not simply “invite” a changeling into their fold. All throughout their flight, Bucephalus could see the Major eyeing both himself and his Queen. She was nervous. Periodic tics of her claws toward her sword were met with knowing glances from the Queen’s guard. These silent exchanges occurred even in spite of her conversation with the Queen. Finally they arrived at Lion’s Lair.

“I would advise you to watch your tone when in the presence of Professor Morianna, you fiend!”

As she spoke, the griffonness reached for her blade. Brenda’s outburst spurred Bucephalus into action. In an instant, he was between the Queen and the Major, wings extended to mask his Queen’s form and gnarled claw firmly clasped around the grip of his ballistica. If she so much as twitched the wrong way, she would be greeted by a spray of gas-powered darts from his weapon. Gut instinct, of course, implored restraint, which was precisely why Bucephalus refrained from drawing his weapon. Bucephalus’ only shot was a glare that could melt stone directed at the Major.

The tension was broken by the weathered voice Morriana Razorclaw. “Welcome, Lady Blackgale of Falkensfjord…”

Bucephalus paid little attention to the elder Razorclaw’s conversation, instead soaking up the room with his senses. Brenda was in front. Spacious, vaulted ceilings above with plenty of hiding places for traps and snipers. No obvious exit from the lair save that which they were about to enter. The entire complex was a deathtrap.

But it was not Bucephalus’ place to tell his Queen the danger of their endeavor. The Queen knew full well the risks. It was merely his job to ensure she would leave alive. As the portcullis slammed shut, Bucephalus kept his eyes ahead and his ears peeled. Vigilance was virtue, and virtue was Bucephalus.

[RarityDash]

It was not hard for Brenda to recognize the death glare she received from her favorite aunt. Even less subtle was the motion from the vile changeling's bodyguard. In a way, Brenda welcomed this. She'd love a chance to test her strength against a trained changeling warrior. The species as a whole was built on deception not on physical prowess. How she'd love to tear down some prideless thing that considered itself a guardian. However, Brenda knew the Lion's Lair well enough to know that there were unseen risks to starting anything. If a struggle broke out, ruining her aunt's meeting with this monster queen, the marksman situated across the way in the high tower would not hesitate in laying waste to all involved, including Brenda herself.

Brenda could tell that she needed to ease up and not let the presence of these deceptive creatures unnerve her, even if everything they were disgusted her sensibilities. She knew not why her dearest aunt would speak to them, nor why she would insist on keeping up pretences and playing into their game of deception and lies. Her aunt was wise though. She always had her reasons, and she always knew best, even if it often seemed to Brenda that she was far too keen to put on unnecessary airs or entertain low individuals not worth her time. This wasn't the place for such things though. Her part in that was the same as the monster queen's loyal enforcer, so keen to jump to protect his queen. She would stand at Aunt Morianna's side as her first line of defense against potential hostility and ensure nothing foul befell her. She would do her best to stay silent and behaved, even as the sight of these creatures wearing griffon faces offended her at her core.

Chrysalis smirked at the events that unfolded. The young major was amusing in her idiocy. Rash, impulsive, and so very convinced that she understood every detail of what was happening around her. She knew the type well enough. It was common among changelings. Luckily the fool held from her blade and backed down, taking to a vigil at the side of her fellow Razorclaw. This was for the best truly. Even saying nothing of the safeguards the Professor undoubtedly had prepared, Bucephalus proved himself ready to act at a moment's noticed. Bucephalus truly was the ideal subject. He did his job, he did it flawlessly, and he mostly kept his mouth fairly shut so that you almost forgot he was there when he wasn't needed. Snively and some of the others could certainly learn something from that.

The tension could still be felt in the air, but Chrysalis saw no need to pay it any mind. Nor did she pay mind to the way they came being shut off to them, leaving them trapped and at the mercy of the professor and whoever she had waiting in the wings. She was sure Bucephalus was considering it. The details of this unfriendly, cold fortress and the dangers it hid were undoubtedly repeating at length in his head as he struggled to form a working plan in the case that things turned hostile. Chrysalis quickly dismissed the need for this herself. It was apparent from the start that the griffons had the advantage of terrain, and that would be hard to surmount. What Chrysalis had for her defense were the professors own words. This sacred law of protection; she knew enough about the griffons to know they would not discard such things without good cause. And even did they, she still had Bucephalus there, and there was hardly a changeling she'd sooner trust her life to even in a situation poised against them.

"I would expect no kinder a welcome from the illustrious Razorclaw clan," Chrysalis said in a smooth voice, unfazed by what had happened. The words were delivered half ironically considering the reckless major and her harshness. "It would be my great pleasure for myself and my guardsman to feast with you and your kin. There is much for us to talk about."

She left it as that as she, with her vigilant Bucephalus, followed the griffons wherever they would lead her.

​

​

[Bellosh]

Those griffons who have no need to be granted admittance into the Lion’s Lair like to believe that the stark tower’s interior was ruled by a spartan design philosophy, devoid of any decor. Nothing could be further from the truth; while the Tower was by no means a cheery place, the halls that Prof. Morianna Razorclaw led her entourage through were adjourned with numerous symbols of Razorclaw pride. Full suits of plate armor flanked the corridors at regular intervals. Swords, shields, longbows, maces, pikes; all the classical tools of combat enjoyed prominence as wall mountings.

There were paintings too, depicting all the great moments of Aquellian and Razorclaw history. One such masterpiece depicted the three ruling families signing the Charter that served as the Founding Document for the Republic of Aquellia. Other art depicted the enormous Roc, a legendary bird of prey adopted by the House of Razorclaw as its sigil (emblems of the Roc showed up frequently on many of the Lair’s tapestries and displayed shields). Battles also were a favorite subject matter of these paintings; none of them afraid to showcase the realities of war.

Morianna enjoyed one piece in particular most of all, which she stopped in front of to showcase to her guests. It was a coldly-painted image, depicting a female pegasus warrior lying prone on a large stone, shielding her exposed face from the victorious gaze of a griffon. The griffon female, fully covered in crimson armor and bearing a mighty lance, stood tall over the vanquished pegasus, whose plumed helm was noticeably knocked from her head and laid by the rear paws of the griffon. For the Professor, it depicted a proud moment in family history.

“What you’re glimpsing is a painting of my forebearer: Flavia Razorclaw, founder of the Garrison of the First Feathers, and the first to call herself a Razorclaw. According to our House’s most time-honored legend, it was Flavia who defeated Hurricane, the Great Imperator of the Pegasus Tribe, in a legendary joust lasting for seven days and seven nights. With her victory, Flavia Razorclaw earned the ever-lasting respect of all griffons, and her descendants went on to erect the Tower and defend the realm now called Aquellia.”

“The vanquished Commander Hurricane meanwhile flew back home in disgrace, destined only to be remembered as a reckless warrior mocked annually during each Hearth’s Warming Eve. Of course,” Morianna dismissively snorted; “Almost every Equestrian historian claims our legend to be nothing more than a fabrication. To their credit, few things about the ancient past are certain... but I have always found amusement seeing how a pony’s mind warps in turmoil over the prospect of their kind failing at a challenge. Tsk tsk tsk.... what else can be expected of a people all too accustomed to deliverance by the hands of magical intervention, and not from their own sweat and toil?”

[Dio]

Bucephalus had spent little time in synthetic armor, preferring his own carapace or the natural form of the creatures he assumed to dead bits of cloth and steel. Thankfully, he had been able to tune his griffon form to fit the armor of the disguise, which for him was much easier than the other way around. The sentinel took a deep breath of deep air from within the keep.

The air of the keep was sterile, its humidity carefully regulated and air currents meticulously directed to flow only one way. Bucephalus noted that the faint breeze was always against them as they proceeded deeper into the tower. Clever. The natural airflow would serve to disperse any sort of poisonous agent introduced into the atmosphere before it could settle into the complex. As they continued, Bucephalus mentally constructed a map of his surroundings, dropping mnemonic breadcrumbs for him to follow out in the event of crisis.

The exterior of the Lair belied a lavish interior adorned with myriad symbols of griffon authority. Bucephalus silently scoffed at such gilded trinkets and baubles placed on display for all the world to see. He had quite the collection himself at home, but they were merely his own personal pieces for study and meditation. This… this was gaudy and extravagant to the extreme.

Bucephalus idly cocked an ear to the history lecture. While there were many lessons to be gleaned from history, much of that lore had transformed from oral history to legend with the passage of time. Having studied pony history as well, it was easy to cross-reference Morianna’s “lesson” with the very legend she mocked.

To be fair, Hurricane was something of a maverick, not thinking things through before she leaped into action, but neither was Flavia’s history unblemished. It would take nearly two decades after her legendary victory before Flavia had subjugated enough clans and assembled enough allies to even approach the unity of the political entity that Aquellia was today. To say that Hurricane’s defeat at her claws was the defining moment of Aquellia’s founding would be to ignore the blood spilled in the long conflict after the joust’s supposed date. In fact, it could be said that the confrontation between Flavia and Hurricane-- if it even happened at all-- was largely irrelevant to Aquellian history.

Bucephalus remained silent, the only indication of his ruminations being a quick glance from the painting to Morianna during her speech and an imperceptible shifting of his lower beak in protest to her decidedly griffocentric and borderline jingoistic lesson. It was truly Aquellian Exceptionalism at its most egregious.

With nothing to add and no desire to interrupt the brewing discussion between his Queen and the griffon matriarch, Bucephalus consigned himself to watching his Queen and listening for signs of trouble.

[RarityDash]

Brenda listened with pride as her favored aunt recounted the tale of her great ancestor. She knew the tale well. She had been compelled by it since her youth. With her great might and unyielding courageous spirit she compelled masses of griffons to follow her, leading to the establishment of the great and mighty Aquellia of today. She was a leader and a champion. She was a warrior of respect; an unmatchable icon of power and strength. That was what Brenda wanted. Long had she seen herself as a Flavia for the new age. Ever since she had come to terms with the truth of her heritage and come to embrace it, it had been her goal to achieve some of that storied greatness. It was in why she lifted a blade for the Aquellian Marines. It was why she chose to always wear crimson armor herself. It was in why she listened to Aunt Morianna always, even when it frustrated and tested her burning spirit. It was why she had been so entrhalled to for a time have Commander Hurricane's helm in her collection, and why she cursed the name of ponies everywhere for robbing it of her.

Flavia's tale was the tale of the greatness of griffonkind. It was a reflection of everything they were. Pride, courage, strength, cunning. Brenda had to wonder, however, what her aunt thought to gain by relating it to these vile shapeshifters. It was a pride-less species or parasites content on merely surviving out of sight and harm. There were creatures of deceit. What might they possibly have to think of Flavia and her proof of her might? Nothing. It was utterly ridiculous. Why must they waste their time putting on such airs before these lovesuckers? She could just glance at both of them, and see how pointless it was. She could read some manner of disapproval on the practically blank face of the mostly silent enforcer. As for the wretched queen, her face showed some kind of wry bemusement. It made Brenda wonder again why she shouldn't just run them both through on her blade right then and there and make the world better for it.

For now though, she'd just continue to observe, listening for the first sign of trouble.

Chrysalis grinned as the professor related to her the tale of her most celebrated ancestor. It took her back to her youth, to time spent listening with wide eyes as her mother regaled her with tales of the exploits of changeling queens going back through the ages. She smirked softly and glanced at Bucephalus. No doubt he was concerning himself with the veracity of the tale in his logical brain. That wasn't important though, and Chrysalis knew it. The truth wasn't ever as meaningful as the legend. Whatever the real Flavia the Razorclaw had done ages in the past was utterly insignificant. What was important was her as a symbol. What mattered was what she meant to the griffons of today. She could see it in the idiot Razorclaw child trailing after them with thinly veiled contempt in her eyes even easier than she could in the boldly spoken words of the aged professor.

No, Flavia's conquest of Commander Hurricane was not the kind of thing to attempt to unravel with facts. The griffons themselves likely had long since stopped caring what the full truth was. Flavia the Razorclaw now existed not as a mortal griffon but as something more. She was an idol, an idea, a source of strength. For that simple reason, Chrysalis could readily find respect for the ages gone and deteriorated bird just as she could any who ages had preserved so long after their existence had run its course. She smiled wryly at the lovely painting. She appreciated fine art. Changelings were not terribly creative, she loathed to admit. It was seldom she got to behold such fine pieces of art as this. She nodded in approval and then looked toward the senior Razorclaw.

"It's a lovely piece," she said quietly in a low voice. "Who might I ask is the artist?" she asked.

"Her endurance through the annals of time, I think, is proof enough that your Flavia was every bit as great as your legends claim," she said, still smirking. "Time tends to forget those who give no cause to be remembered."

The queen chuckled and grinned. "But it is certainly truth that the memory of the pony can be surprisingly short," she started, closing her eyes for a moment. "During my time in the northern lands I happened to hear of similar stories, likewise forgotten in the history books the ponies will write. One particularly curious anecdote I heard told of Queen Vespa who in a game of wits outsmarted the unicorn's champion Starswirl during one of his adventures. She held him captive for well over six years, it is said, using his magical strength as her own as she built an empire to be envied in the north."

"And yet, the tale won't be found in even the best of the pony written biographies, just a jump across time where those years were lost, even as his great and familiar magic was flying in the face as Queen Vespa warred against their own Crystal Empire. It's curious how that happens, but it also holds to a simple logic," she gave another full laugh and smiled. "The pony is all too used to being favored by the sun, in the most unfortunately literal sense of it all. Everything is gifted to them without them needing to take a thing. Loss, defeat, failure--as you say--it is not generally something they know, not in the larger sense at least. They've become both complacent and vain--even arrogant--sitting comfortably in the light of their great and eternal sun princess. What cause might they see to admit the best among them ever faltered?"

The queen trailed off and sighed before shaking her head. She then looked at Morianna for a moment, interested to see how she might take her words.

​

​

[Bellosh]

"It's a lovely piece. Who might I ask is the artist?"

“Mathis le Magistral,” the griffoness answered effortlessly; “One of the greatest artists Aquellia has ever produced. This piece may not be his most famous masterpiece, but it holds the most significance to our House. So we keep it here in the Tower; to honor the legacy of our great forbearer.”

"Her endurance through the annals of time, I think, is proof enough that your Flavia was every bit as great as your legends claim. Time tends to forget those who give no cause to be remembered."

"Time tends to forget those who give no cause to be remembered." Truer words have never been spoken. Just from this one brief exchange, Prof. Razorclaw could get a feel for how Queen Chrysalis valued ambition. “If there is one thing I tell each of my protégés, it’s that while history is written by the victors, the real victors of history,” Morianna flashed a small self-satisfied grin; “Are those who dare go out and reshape the world in their own image. The average sentient being has too short a memory, and is too busy worried about their own day-to-day existence, to remember a mere caretaker ruler. No songs or poems have ever been dedicated to those skilled only in maintaining the status quo.”

Deciding that enough time had been spent in front of Mathis’s artwork, Morianna signaled the changeling queen to recommence their walk to the dining hall. At this point, the Professor listened intently as the other gushed on about an obscure tale about Queen Vespa, and laid bare her resentment of ponykind. Ah yes, equines. The same beings who lived like poker players going ‘all in’ on every hand. For a thousand years, they’ve been lucky enough to scrape by on nothing else but the protection of an ancient alicorn, and a primal magic that only a half-dozen could yield.

But like any gambler on a winning streak, their luck would inevitably come to a bitter end. For reckless gamblers like Equestrians who wagered the entirety of their money with every bet, just a single defeat alone could spell an eternal nightfall for all ponies. Ergo, Morianna Razorclaw believed wholeheartedly that as a professor, she had the unenviable duty to one day teach Equestria the consequences of holding onto its naïve perspective of the harsh, cruel world. It would be this lesson, a lifetime in the making, which would propel the Professor to the lofty heights of a true victor of history.

When the phony griffon turned to look at her host, she saw Morianna’s face lit up like a grinning demon prepared to torture its newest victim. Prof. Razorclaw viewed herself as a superior judge of character compared to everyone else; her livelihood depended on it. When one admitted a deep loathing for ponykind, none did so without themselves reveling in the grand game of lies, deceit, and conquest. Just the sort of twisted game favored by the elderly steward of the Lion’s Lair. “........I believe you and I will enjoy a fruitful relationship, Your Grace,” Morianna finally commented, her eyes fixed on the bulky wood doors opening up to grant the party of four entry into the dining hall.....

[RarityDash]

“Mathis le Magistral,One of the greatest artists Aquellia has ever produced. This piece may not be his most famous masterpiece, but it holds the most significance to our House. So we keep it here in the Tower; to honor the legacy of our great forbearer...If there is one thing I tell each of my protégés, it’s that while history is written by the victors, the real victors of history, Are those who dare go out and reshape the world in their own image. The average sentient being has too short a memory, and is too busy worried about their own day-to-day existence, to remember a mere caretaker ruler. No songs or poems have ever been dedicated to those skilled only in maintaining the status quo.”

The queen was increasingly impressed the more she heard this amusing griffoness speak. From her books she had mostly thought of griffonkind in the terms of the younger Razorclaw there. Sure, she had read of the artists and artisans in Aquellia, but she was still surprised with how keenly this aged old bird spoke. It was refreshing. It reminded her of the conversations she had had with her own mother as she prepared to one day become queen. Not that she could feel any affection for this esteemed and venerable griffoness, just a growing sense of camaraderie, of accord. They were not creatures with incompatible or even dissimilar views. This was a creature she could contend with as very near an equal.

"That, I fear, is a critical fault of my own tribe, one might say. You won't find many artists or poets among them. If one were to look for a Mathis le Magistral among the Blackgale and associated clans, they would turn up with surprisingly little," Chrysalis spoke with resignation. Changelings really did have a limited creativity on the whole; being able to transform yourself at will, she supposed, left them with little reason to apply their imagination to anything else. Sure, there was the occasional changeling with an artistic flair, like that bloated diva Luxuria with all her winsome songs and pretty clothes that she used to tend the flames of her own blazing vanity, but such creatures were an exception by in large.

"Take my dependable Aristarkhos here," she said, nodding toward Bucephalus. "Stoic, pragmatic and stern-faced as he might be, he's actually probably one of the more imaginative among us. He at least has an eye for aesthetics and in fact sketches for a hobby. So often, that's the best we can hope for..." she continued with a small laugh. She wondered what Bucephalus might think about her causally bringing up such things about himself, but it was of no mind. It was important Chrysalis used her words well here.

"Next to your artists, we certainly can't compare. Though who can, really? I'd very much like to see a pony artist contend to have produced a piece finer in detail and quality than Mathis' On the Wings of Victory," the queen started, speaking in a careful tone. She didn't want to sound patronizing, or like she was going to thick with the compliments, only to merely show her earnest respects. This piece, one of the artist in question's most well known, was in fact quite a stunning image which Chrysalis could recall appearing reproduced in a book of art she had read long ago in a book. It captured a great and fierce battle. In perfect detail, more realistic than reality, it captured hundreds of armored griffons locked in combat with two great and mighty dragons. It was a representation of the griffon legend of the courageous force of griffons who through great sacrifice successfully expunged the dragons who once inhabited the southern stretches of the Raptorclaw Canyon, expanding Aquellia across the continent. Stark and beautifully detailed, it was regarded as one of the finest works of the post-classical period of Aquellian art.

As she followed along toward the dining hall, smirking a cautious smirk, content with the conversation she gave a small chuckle. "The desire to create, I believe is a sign of ambition. Ambition is the thing I have hoped to give to my tribe since I came to lead them. Ambition as it were, comes with failure... bitter, painful failure...but what is life without it? What is life without art?" The queen shook her head. "The creatures who inhabit the north lands were almost forgotten entirely because of these things they lacked. They, as you say, became too dedicated only to the status quo, perhaps even more so than the idle-minded ponies. They allowed themselves to become a near forgotten memory to all across the land as they contented themselves in the simple act of surviving."

"But all it takes is a single spark of ambition to direct the course of history. And yet, ambition alone will not make the impossible possible... Sometimes, to really make the desired impression, one must seek the aid of another..." the queen looked sidelong at the elder griffoness then and smiled. She then gave another laugh.

"Listen to me prattle on. I do hope not to bore my most esteemed host," she said, nodding. "It would do me well to save some words for when we dine, I imagine!" she said finally before stepping through the dining room doors.

​

The monster queen sure loved the sound of her own voice, it seemed. Brenda had trouble listening to all of it. No matter how well this creature used its words, it was still some lovesucking shapeshifter who lived by deceit. What could she really know of Mathis or of griffonkind at all? The words were like everything else, concocted for a particular pointed purpose. This creature wanted something and that was the simple truth of it. She sincerely hoped that in all the airs the two of them were content to put on that Aunt Morianna didn't hazard to think for a moment there was anything more to any of this. Sure, they were both poised against the ponies, but Aquellia could find better friends than these lowly insects.

But what could Brenda really do? She felt compelled to keep her mouth shut, lest attract another icy death glare from her dearest aunt. No, her talons were irrevocably tied in the moment. She could do nothing but stand there at the side of the group, watching. It went without saying, as she walked through the great doors to the dining hall that she was not looking forward to her meal...

​

[Bellosh]

"That, I fear, is a critical fault of my own tribe, one might say. You won't find many artists or poets among them. If one were to look for a Mathis le Magistral among the Blackgale and associated clans, they would turn up with surprisingly little..... Next to your artists, we certainly can't compare. Though who can, really? I'd very much like to see a pony artist contend to have produced a piece finer in detail and quality than Mathis' On the Wings of Victory"

A lesser person would attribute the changelings’ lack of culture to biological inferiority; that a love sucker’s brain lacked the mental capacity to create civilization. Quite the barbaric way to look at things it was; thanks to Morianna Razorclaw’s intelligence analysts however, she could offer a more accurate theory. “There’s a simple solution for your tribe’s predicament. Due of the unique circumstances of... your kin, normally they’d have to integrate into an outsider civilization by themselves, and adopt all the customs and mannerisms of their new homeland. In order to thrive, these immigrants have to act like ponies in every way; including how they create art. Your work with the Blackgale Clan is the first step towards formulating a new culture without any outside corruption, for your kin are now allowed to mingle with each other... work with each other. The next step eventually is securing a stable food source. Historically, once a society no longer worries about their most basic needs on a day-to-day basis, only then can that population truly take to the high arts.”

If nothing else, the Professor’s monologue would feasibly further harden “Cyrene Blackgale’s” heart against ponykind, subtly planting the thought that Equestria’s very existence was robbing the changeling race of a unique culture. The more reasons Lady Blackgale had to despise ponies, the easier it’d be to manipulate her for Morianna Razorclaw’s own uses. All that said though, the griffoness appreciated her counterpart’s refined artistic tastes, even if it sounded like the distinguished guest was buttering her up with carefully chosen comments. But flattery was part of the game of diplomacy, now was it?

".....Sometimes, to really make the desired impression, one must seek the aid of another....."

Morianna shot Lady Blackgale a knowing predatory glance as the two entered the Razorclaw Great Hall. This long chamber, anchored by a vast wooden table, mostly agreed with the bleak design philosophy exhibited by the earlier halls. Lighted chandeliers and torches hung from the ceiling, vaulting three stories up. Remarkable tapestries, chronicling the House of Razorclaw’s history and the individual emblems of past ancestors, decorated the walls. Finally, a fireplace roared at the far end of the Hall; the head of table safeguarding the Hall’s most prominent chair. Morianna’s chair.

But Morianna didn’t sit down in that particular chair; this needed to be an intimate dinner. The griffoness instead sat down one chair over at the side, biding her counterpart to take a seat on the opposite side. As their personal guards moved to sat down with their masters, Prof. Razorclaw suddenly opted to quiz her niece’s opposite number. “Guard,” she sharply commanded Aristarkhos, providing him with a manufactured interrogative glare, “Your background and your history with Lady Blackgale. NOW.” Morianna desired to observe how the unfamiliar guard responded to this unforeseen questioning session.

[Dio]

The sheer opulence and garish appointments of the dining chamber were enough to make any ascetic gag. For all their talk of proud ruggedness and Spartan appointments, the griffons could most certainly rival most magpies in their fixation on baubles, treasures, and marks of superiority. That said, it appeared that Morianna had at least gone through great pains to acquire actual tapestry rather than reproductions, something that could be ascertained with the keen senses acquired from Bucephalus’ griffon form. That much at least showed an appreciation for the art form.

Bucephalus made careful note of the fact that Morianna elected not to take a seat at the head of the table, instead opting for a seat at the side. It was a deliberate gesture to create a sense of parity, even if by all accounts, he and his Queen were still at a disadvantage. Psychological ploy aside, Bucephalus trusted Chrysalis to shape her words accordingly and not be swayed by cheap tricks.

Morianna continued to speak as Bucephalus only half-listened. Half-listened as he seated himself, that is, until he himself was addressed. It was rude to be certain. But Bucephalus was well aware that warriors of his ilk were susceptible to being viewed as tools or playthings by those they served. Of course, that sentiment was applied to the featherbrained Major in equal measure, resulting in a quickly concealed half-smirk from the disguised changeling soldier.

Bucephalus paused for a moment, though it was obvious that it was in contemplation rather than hesitation. An unexpected question? Perhaps. But was he unprepared? Never. To Bucephalus, it wasn’t enough to simply assume the form of another, one had to become another. Delivery, as always, was far more important than merely knowing the script.

His response was measured, delivered with careful pacing and neutral timbre. “Clan Ironspur is known in the vicinity of Falkensfjord for its fine warriors and keen hunters. When asked by House Blackgale to provide the services of our finest soldiers, we naturally obliged.”

Emphasis was placed on the final point. After all, in the ancient lineage of Ironspur, it was a most noble endeavor to don the mantle of warrior. “I will not bore you with details of selections. But suffice to say that in the end My Lady selected me from among my... less fortunate colleagues.”

“Less fortunate” was again emphasized, with enough heft to suggest something terrible befalling his former comrades but insufficiently conclusive for there to be any certainty as to their fate. Deliberate ambiguity was, after all, among the best weapons in a changeling’s arsenal of tricks to entertain and by proxy deceive. Despite his direct address of Morianna, Bucephalus kept a mental eye on Brenda at all times, splitting his concentration between his reply Morianna and reading the true griffoness’ responses.

“I have happily been in Lady Blackgale’s service since.”

[RarityDash]

“There’s a simple solution for your tribe’s predicament. Due of the unique circumstances of... your kin, normally they’d have to integrate into an outsider civilization by themselves, and adopt all the customs and mannerisms of their new homeland. In order to thrive, these immigrants have to act like ponies in every way; including how they create art. Your work with the Blackgale Clan is the first step towards formulating a new culture without any outside corruption, for your kin are now allowed to mingle with each other... work with each other. The next step eventually is securing a stable food source. Historically, once a society no longer worries about their most basic needs on a day-to-day basis, only then can that population truly take to the high arts.”

Chrysalis smiled and listened to the professor speak. Did this Razorclaw truly think she needed to add kindling to her fire of hatred for the ponies and their kind? How very amusing.

"Hmm," she started with a chuckle. "Well, my most esteemed Professor Razorclaw, it would seem there is much we agree on," she said. "Art, culture and other such pretty things, they are born or passion... of love, the very thing that is the essence of what we all need in this world. I truly believe that I can and will bring both to my clan. I just need time... and friends I can trust."

The queen went quiet with those words. When they reached the dining hall, she made note of the professor's gesture with the chair. This Razorclaw did not disappoint. Astute and clever. Every action was calculated. Every word she said was carefully chosen. It was impressive. She was pleased to sit in the chair across the table from her, Bucephalus sitting to her side. Cleverness along wasn't going to have Chrysalis letting herself get manipulated, however.

​

“Guard, Your background and your history with Lady Blackgale. NOW.”

“Clan Ironspur is known in the vicinity of Falkensfjord for its fine warriors and keen hunters. When asked by House Blackgale to provide the services of our finest soldiers, we naturally obliged. I will not bore you with details of selections. But suffice to say that in the end My Lady selected me from among my... less fortunate colleagues. I have happily been in Lady Blackgale’s service since.”

The queen actually hadn't expected to have her Bucehphalus so suddenly questioned, and in such an insistent tone from the professor. Was it a test? Perhaps Chrysalis' earlier words about her Aristarkhos had left the professor intrigued and she meant to test them. She had claimed he had some creativity, so perhaps Razorclaw wanted to see if he would truly be able to come up with a story that matched well with the facade Chrysalis had created. If he couldn't do it, it would point to the possibility that Chrysalis was using empty words.

Luckily and entirely unsurprisingly considering how dependable he was, Bucephalus didn't even falter, as he offered his story. It was delivered stone faced and naturally, without a stutter or break in his timing. Chrysalis smiled. She had truly brought the right changeling along with her to this place, she couldn't help but think. She nodded as she looked upon him. "Aristarkhos is one of my most loyal and sure subordinates. His cool head and keen, discerning eyes place him as a soldier with few peers."

Chrysalis was happy to leave it at that. She supposed it might be expected of her to turn around and in her time ask similar questions to the young griffoness sitting across the table from Bucephalus, but she saw little purpose in it. She felt she understood that one perfectly well from just the few words she had said at the start, from her armor and her sword and from the scowl that so often stuck on her scarred face. Her comments would likely a sticking point for this prideful creature. The more pressing question is what the elder Razorclaw might have in store.

​

As she sat down, Brenda gazed across the table bitterly. The shapeshifting lovesuckers with their borrowed faces coveted art and culture now and thought themselves warriors and soldiers. This was farce. Infuriating, ridiculous farce and Brenda was growing sick of it. What could her aunt truly be aiming for with all of this? She couldn't begin to conceive it. All she knew that it made her blood boil hearing this false griffon and his queen speak of how fine a soldier he was.

"Perhaps in the lands from which you come," she decided finally to say something, hoping it didn't draw her aunt's rage. "But there are none in any land who can hope to stand with the best of the Republic," she said with all her pride as an Aquellian marine.

​

[Bellosh]

The Ironspur guard’s story pleased Morianna Razorclaw, content to know that his cover was top-notch. On another level, the Professor was also entertained trying to read between the lines, and decipher the true story behind the foreigner and his seamless veil. A number of Blackgale’s subjects counted themselves as elite soldiers, but obviously there isn’t enough of them yet to ensure their Lady’s military success. No doubt because the selection process ensured an ill fate for those weeded out, so it was implied. Morianna’s guest would have to devote tons of effort to civilize her armies before they could start winning on the battlefield.

But whatever went through her mind, Prof. Razorclaw maintained a perfect poker face. The younger Razorclaw, on the other talon, wore her belligerent and prideful emotions right on her sleeve. Thankfully, Brenda did not issue any needless threats this time around, meaning that her aunt wouldn’t have to clean up a diplomatic mess. In fact, the outburst could in fact serve as another brief lecture moment. “My distinguished niece makes a most enlightened point,” Morianna closed her eyes in contemplation; “Precious few who’ve foolishly stood against the might of our Marine Corps has ever come out the victor. And as for the Major, none have ever succeeded in defeating her in combat.”

Opening her eyes, the aged griffoness pointed her cane at Brenda’s facial injury; “You see that scar on my niece’s cheek? .......Tell us Major; what did you do to the brainless griffon who dared give that gift?”

[RarityDash]

Brenda stood with pride at the rare praise her aunt placed upon her record in combat, though she was somewhat surprised by the questions aimed her way. She hadn't expected to be so involved in the discussion personally, even as she knew she couldn't remain entirely silent. If her aunt wanted her to tell a story, however, she was pleased to do just that. It was not difficult to summon enough ire and venom to recount the fate of the one time friend and would be assassin who had left the mark across her face.

"After her ill-fated attempt to get the better of me, Ava Piniongale was thrown by me personally, bound and trembling into the Pit, the Aquellian prison under the ground where griffons are stripped in time of their dignity and sense of worth and self," she explained with a pleased smirk, consciously putting out of her mind the fact that some more recent lapses in judgement in her part had lead to the very same prison being compromised, and many prisoners, including perhaps the one in question, escaping.

"Her possessions of worth were confiscated, the rest burned along with her home in Rockwington. Her relations and co-conspirators were apprehended, questioned diligently by me personally and punished as was deemed appropriate," she added for finality. "In short, I tore down everything that she was and left her with nothing. That is what true retribution is."

"But it's not really a story of prowess in battle," Chrysalis observed, smirking. "Your palpable severity when dealing with a threat, is admirable Major, but it doesn't prove strength. The perhaps most brazenly vindictive and cunning among our Blackgale clan, after all, is perhaps one of our least durable."

​

Brenda snarled. "Ava was not a weak foe, and she had the advantage of surprise. There was a struggle, and though I was unarmed at the moment, I did ultimately subdue her and leave her unconscious on the floor." she insisted. "She's far from the only challenge I've faced either. I've stood against griffons and ponies and wild beasts and always I have emerged."

"Of course," Chrysalis replied, not looking entirely impressed. She looked back toward the older Razorclaw. "Your niece does seem like an interesting study, Professor.I can tell you are quite proud."

She gave a short sigh and looked toward Bucephalus. "I am sure it is as you have said and your Marine Corps are well tested and difficult to best. The forces loyal to House Blackgale meanwhile have only met with bitter defeat of late. Our soldiers are brash, lean and far from well tested. We would do well with more keen commanding officers like your Major Razorclaw."

"That said, Aristarkhos is as proven as he is stalwart. My faith in his abilities is quite strong," she added, smirking.

​

​

[Bellosh]

Morianna Razorclaw hoped Lady Blackgale’s faith in her bodyguard was very well-founded. But before anything else pertaining to the current subject could be brought up, a well-dressed griffon butler entered the dining room with an important announcement; “Ahem... dinner is ready to be served.” The Professor’s beak expressed a sort of warped satisfaction; this mealtime would give her much to mull on, especially concerning how changelings in disguise handled eating regular food. So much about that species remained unknown to the outside world that even the most trivial insights could prove... illuminating.

On the heels of the butler came two other griffons from the kitchen staff, each one rolling over a covered tray, then placing it in the middle of the table. Swiftly, the servants uncovered the two trays, revealing one of Morianna’s most prized delicacies: cooked chicken. No matter how many beings in the world whined about the evils of eating meat, the Professor saw this practice as a matter of prestige. With more griffons these days settling for grain-based diets, the elder griffoness thought it very important to keep the old ways intact. After all, meat always tasted so tantalizing when cooked by a highly-skilled chef.

“Only the very best meat in Aquellia is worthy of being served at the Lion’s Lair,” the salivating Prof. Razorclaw bragged as the servants cut up for each griffon at the table a chicken leg and thigh to start with; “Spared no expense.”

[RarityDash]

Brenda scoffed at the idea that their best meat would be brought out to serve these shape shifting monsters. She said nothing though and just focused her eyes on the chicken. Brenda preferred redder meats to be honest, but she couldn't deny the house chefs had a deft claw with spice. it looked rather savory and she was quite eager to begin eating.

Chrysalis' eyes also focused on the food served to her and she smiled. "Oh, my... what manner of creature did this come from?" she asked as she stared at it.

"You'll forgive me, but the lands from which we hail are quite barren and sparse. For far too long, my brethren have been forced to live off of scraps, sustaining themselves on whatever scaly vermin crawls from out of the woods onto our land..." she muttered darkly. It was no small exaggeration. The kingdom was a wasteland surrounded by different varieties of wastelands. Resources were scarce. That was why a change was so badly needed. That was why Chrysalis needed to act.

"It is a great kindness to be served such fine smelling and no doubt flavorful fair as this," the queen said as she collected some of the chicken on her fork and tasted it. She spoke when she was done chewing it. "How very savory this is. Your chef deserves praise."

​

​

[Bellosh]

"Oh, my... what manner of creature did this come from?"

Morianna Razorclaw had to remind herself that Cyrene Blackgale, as someone who wasn’t what she seemed from the outside, might not know a number of things that any other griffon would have known. Blackgale and her followers must have spent so much effort on learning the ways of pony society that they understood little of unique Aquellian cuisine. “That... is the meat of a chicken. In our land, we breed such lesser creatures for more than their eggs.”

".....How very savory this is. Your chef deserves praise."

The griffoness nodded in approval; “I shall send the chef your compliments.” It was one thing to read survey reports from scouts who made it back from the dreadful Wastelands. It was another to hear confirmation from a sovereign herself of the pitiful state of her realm. Clearly agriculture wasn’t an option to meet the uttermost basic needs of Blackgale’s subjects, or otherwise they wouldn’t have to rely on scavenging in the first place. Prof. Razorclaw, well aware that an entire civilization thrives on its stomach, understood full well that her counterpart would likely do anything to find a stable food source. This one fact may prove to be the most important bargaining chip in Morianna’s possession.

Meanwhile, the servants laid out loaves of bread on the table as side dishes. “It is quite easy to assume that force of arms is the most dependable method of bringing peace and order to the world,” the Professor seemingly began another intellectual tangent; “Certainly, it’s the most attractive vision among young lads, all too eager to play out their childish fantasies, tsk tsk tsk. One might also be forgiven of believing that exerting power from the shadows... is the true path to maintaining world peace. In my experience however, I’ve found that for most beings, there is no greater security in the knowledge that they have a roof to sleep under, and that they, and their loved ones, have an adequate meal to eat for the night... and all other nights to come.”

By under no stretch of the imagination was Morianna a charitable griffon. Her concern for the masses existed only because a content citizenry would willingly dedicate themselves to the fulfillment of Pax Aquellia. Otherwise, the elderly Razorclaw did not believe in performing “acts of charity” unless it was to her benefit, and that of the Aquellian Republic’s. “Throughout my long years of public service, I've seen our Republic perform good deeds for the entire world. Griffonkind may be fierce beyond all measure, but we have also always extended a helping talon to those in need. Unquestionably, Aquellia ranks as the most dominant nation in the world because we alone believe a Great Nation’s duty... is to share its prosperity and wealth to others. Not just horde their riches and hide away like an isolationist dragon.”