Pathfinder and the City of the Griffons (Phil the Time Wizard and SteelEagle)

[SteelEagle]

Gilda's words betrayed naught her inner turmoil, and Pathfinders inquisitive attitude failed to pierce the veil. Luckily for all this was fact for she was not a mare to be messed with even if injured. That was a lie. She could be messed with. She had no real recourse or action to be undertaken at this stage n the game. Even a particularly vicious butterfly could stop her at this stage and Gilda was a few rungs up the ladder from even the most vicious of the butterflies.

But if nothing else was received, Pathfinder heard something related to the Helm and all of her previous half-muttered suggestions fell to the wayside. Pathfinder in a singular burst of enthusiasm burst from her position and gently slammed her hoof down on Gilda's wing and brought her face to Gilda's. It was more of an effort to make sure she was heard than anything else.

"Yes! The H-h-h-h-h-h-h-helm! Where is it? Who has it? I'll even give you one of those books if you tell me! Pllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll..." Her mind went blank and she momentarily collapsed unconscious against Gilda. Nothing unusual for her lately.

She eventually woke up on the ground some time later- a second, a minute, who knew. Gilda was still there and Pathfinder swiftly brought herself up to Gilda's level, her excitement unabated.

"Pllllease tell me Gilda! We can get it a-and BAM just like that we'll be FAMOUS!" She screeched unnaturally, her voice carrying forth the cracking of her own vocal cords. Her smile, undimmed by effort but shorn by action and her eyes half-glazed over mere inches from Gilda's own carried with the sinister aspects of a mind so fully ravaged by delusion that no sane words were to be heeded.

[RarityDash]

"Yes! The H-h-h-h-h-h-h-helm! Where is it? Who has it? I'll even give you one of those books if you tell me! Pllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll..."

Gilda flinched noticeably as the beaten pony collapsed into a temporary unconscious against her. Her body shook with an an anxious fear. She had to do this. It was her freedom! This pony understood, back then she had told her how it was: Gilda comes first. Always. That was the code she lived by, and if the pony was looking for something else, she was looking for it from the wrong griffon.

"Pllllease tell me Gilda! We can get it a-and BAM just like that we'll be FAMOUS!"

Gilda nodded as the pony recovered. That's it. This pony was just after something selfish too. Fame, money, whatever. It was all the same. Gilda couldn't feel so guilty. She couldn't feel so guilty. The pony would understand in the end, and if she didn't what of it? It wasn't her problem. it was easy.

"Well, it''s like this. Those military goons I've been rubbing shoulders with had to go out of their way to get the helm. A private collector had it, so a trade had to be made. Now they think it's a pretty big deal, so before they're putting it away in a safe box where no one is going to be able to get to it, especially not you or me, it's going to be on display at the private military museum of Major Brenda Razorclaw, niece of the Razorclaw head," Gilda paused, taking a breath. Her eyes met Pathfinder's attentive but so dazed and wild. Gilda gulped slightly, finding it somewhat harder to speak. She needed to finish this.

"The building is located in a secluded spot at on the far west side of town. It's only going to be there for a single day: tomorrow. No one outside the force knows about this either, so security detail is going to be relatively light," Gilda said, nodding along, looking Pathfinder over, her cadence become lower, her words more hesitant as her eyes re-evaluated the pony's battered form and screamed to her that this wasn't fair. "So that's why I think, that... tomorrow night, you should go and..."

"A-and..." Gilda hit a wall. She just could find the power to force it out. She was physically unable to tell Pathfinder she should do this. Instead she looked upward and then suddenly gave a frustrated yell before looking back downward. "And get away from this city as fast as you possibly can. This isn't worth it."

Gilda closed her eyes and sighed, not waiting for the pony to react to her sudden change in tone. "I'm going to be real with you, Pathfinder. I was put up to this. This is a trap. They may have the helmet, but it's bait. Nothing more or less. If you go there tomorrow night, you won't be leaving with it. You won't be leaving at all; not under your own power at the very least."

The griffon opened her eyes and in a strained voice added, "So please forget everything I told you. It's not worth what they'll do to you."

[SteelEagle]

Like the plot of a particularly wonderful Daring Do novel, so richly textured and full of amazing plot turns and twists. The author took great pains to ensure his work took on familiar and friendly patterns that his rabid fans could consume joyously. Such tropes became golden laws and such laws must apply to life. Gilda spoke, her words feeding the plot that unfolded within Pathfinder's mind rather ably. She may be racked with remorse for issues outside of her control- after all, she was an adventurer just like Pathfinder- but that was very easily dismissed. She was spouting off material Pathfinder needed to absorb energetically.

The fact that the helm existed and they had went to such efforts to get the item told Pathfinder that every single moment spent adventuring was worth it and then some. Every nick and moment of confusion, the hunger and tearing up of muscles, it was all worth it as the Helm existed and providence itself declared it to be hers. She was also a little more than pleased to hear that she had caused her would be tormentors so much trouble that they had been forced to go to such lengths. It was flattering and exciting at the same time to know she engendered such fear, excitement, hatred and demanded such decisive action. Aqueilia might as well have sent her a bouquet of roses and took her out on a date.

Then came the big revelation that Gilda was sent here and it was all a trap. Whatever effect this was supposed to have on Pathfinder, she could only guess that almost unbridled joy was not it. It only cemented the cinematic worthiness of her quest and the veracity of her beliefs. She expected it. Almost required it, if she was being honest. It fit into the plan, the story, so absurdly well that to imagine it any other way was nearly painful. Of course Gilda was sent here, of course it was a trap, of course she was conflicted. The story of the Helm's recovery would be bland were it not for such items. The climax seemed obvious: Pathfinder would find herself in possession of the helm, but with no avenue of escape. Gilda would rescue her and allow Pathfinder her escape. It would be be a classic. It was going to be classic.

Pathfinder was still for a solid ten seconds, her mind running over something many times. Suddenly, a wide and bright smile.

"AWESOME! YAY!" She shouted, her voice nearly giving out but not giving a single hoot, she pranced as well as a three-legged pony could in place. She then wrapped Gilda up in a terribly weak hug, unleashing all of her strength.

"Thank you thank you thank you! W-we can do this, Gilly! This'll b-b-b-b-be the best story ever..." Pathfinder's voice gave out entirely at the end of the sentence, and a sudden light-headedness took hold, dropping her to her knees. No control was applied to this position and she found herself face first in the ground directly under Gilda. Spots of different sizes and shapes danced in front of her for a few seconds and she took a dozen deep breaths in of the sewer grass. She painfully pushed herself up, retreating from under Gilda and on her knees in front of the griffin.

"Perfect...story...it'll b-be so awesome when its all done...Major Niece...Major Brenda Claw...Razorclaw...that was...I think target thirty-seven on the list, yeah?" Pathfinder looked up at her griffin pal, asking her former companion whether or not she had in mind the best place with which to gamble her life.

[RarityDash]

Gilda waited with some anticipation to see how the pony would react? Would Pathfinder back down and agree? Would the revelation that she had been lying to her cast doubt upon her intentions and lead to the pony stop trusting her? Would the pony outright refuse her? There were many possibilities, and Gilda didn't know which of them to expect should happen.

"AWESOME! YAY!"

Of all the things to expect however, this reaction, and the hug that came with it was not among them. Gilda stepped back quickly, not necessarily wanting the pony to be that near to her with how she looked and smelled. She stared ahead at Pathfinder, puzzled, still not really sure what her cheer was about.

"Thank you thank you thank you! W-we can do this, Gilly! This'll b-b-b-b-be the best story ever..."

Story? What was the pony talking about? She questioned this for a moment before the obvious came to her. This pony lived in her Daring Do books. She emulated the heroine. She wanted to be in one of those books. Gilda had read enough of them now to see what the pony did as well. Comrades double and triple-crossing each other, a perfectly laid trap, a hero who has been beaten down to nothing, hopeless odds... all of it, it all added up to the perfect climax for a Daring Do adventure. There was a big problem with all of this though. Fiction and reality did not operate by the same rules. And with the pony still barely able to keep herself conscious, the odds weren't just hopeless... they were flat impossible.

"Perfect...story...it'll b-be so awesome when its all done...Major Niece...Major Brenda Claw...Razorclaw...that was...I think target thirty-seven on the list, yeah?"

Gilda shook her head. This pony couldn't really be planning to go through with this? Didn't she see it? Didn't she understand. Gilda growled in frustration and then shook her head again.

"You don't understand. This isn't a Daring Do story. It's not going to work! if you attempt this, you are going to either be killed or locked up in a cell possibly for the rest of your life. Their trap is going to be perfect and I don't have any power here to help you if you go into that place! You'll be entirely at the mercy of the Major, the Captain and who knows how many of their soldiers! They want to end this, and they'll stop at nothing to do so!," Gilda argued, her intensity continuing to build.

"I'm being entirely serious here, Pathfinder. Hang this up. I know that won't be easy, but this... this isn't possible. The helm is not worth the trouble. It's not worth your life. Do not even think of trying this. Daring Do might always make it to the next adventure... but the same guarantee isn't there for you," the griffon started, shaking her head as she took a step backward.

[SteelEagle]

Gilda sure could get a little frustrated when her vision of reality and Pathfinder's knowledge of that reality conflicted with one another so harshly. It was a little disheartening and dissapointing that her mind and soul were so shackled by the physical world that they lacked the ability to see beyond those pale forms and limitations. One day, someday, she would learn that the body was nothing more than a vessel for whatever the creature in question wanted to be in spirit. Apparently, Gilly wanted to be a coward, terrified of any harsh reaction to her actions and unable or unwilling to truly make a mark. Time would change that- Daring Do would change that, as she had changed Pathfinder. Gilda would not be a coward. She would be brave. She would not seek the easy way out. She would challenge herself. She would be something greater than a single creature as she would come to embody something more, something better. She would become an adventurer like Pathfinder and represent the spirit of freedom like nothing else. She would still be a griffin, but, well, nopony was perfect.

Gilly continued and did little to deter her. A perfect trap called for a perfect getaway, and a perfect getaway demanded a perfect adventurer. With no arrogance, she knew she could at least claim a piece of that title. That Major she had beaten and the niece of some griffin she didn't care about? All those soldiers? All of them would be nothing more than bit players in her success story. Gilda vastly overestimated her comrades in species, and underestimated her comrade in spirit. They might have had every conceivable advantage from intelligence and training to health, strength, speed, numbers, and a perfect plan, but they did not have Pathfinder working for them and therefore the conclusion was already written. She'd have the helm and would get out of here a hero. Everything that happened now would make up the flavor or her adventure.

Gilda didn't need to tell Pathfinder she was serious as the rising of her voice and collapsing of any sense of calm spoke plainly. Deterence left Pathfinder undeterred. The fact she continued to beat that drum told Pathfinder that Gilly had run out of excuses beyond, "You're going to die or go to prison and its hopeless". Weak excuses overall.

Pathfinder allowed Gilda to end her mini-rant, gathering herself to stand up as straight as she could. A slight wobble, a massive improvement over how she was previously. Having pity for another did that for her. Pathfinder sighed and then tapped Gilda lightly on her face and shook her head like a disapointed mother.

"G-Gilly, Gilly, Gilly. I thou...thought you'd have known better by now. We're ad-ad...adventurers. Or at least...I am. I've n-n-never met a task I couldn't a-acc-acco...do. I never will. Not here or in M-Manehattan or Unyasi or at the bottom of the ocean or in the badlands or the Everfree or Stalliongrad...or Talonopolis. M-Maybe by...your..." Her head fell forward for a second before it snapped back up, "y-your definition, I'll fail. But you wanna...make a...bet there, Gilda?" Pathfinder's guttural utterings from her relatively ravaged vocal cords fluctuated more than they should have, but they had a modicum of stability this time around. She leaned in to whisper.

"I'm leaving this city with that Helm, one way or another," Pathfinder whispered before pulling back, stumbling a bit as she did. She then grinned as she nodded.

"And t-t-then I'll write my book and everypony will love me- AND YOU TOO!" She bellowed out of the blue, pointing her hoof at Gilly half-accusatory and mostly excited. "They'll l-love you! A triple agent m-mystery griffin with...suave and grace working on her own terms, with an agenda, trying to save her own flank...the fans'll go nice. Nuts. They'll go nuts! They'll draw pictures of y-y-you, write songs, ship us together, all sorts of fun things. Then some...little chick o-out there will read it and become enamored and there you'll be..." Pathfinder once more stumbled to the side and her eyes rolled to the back of her head for a brief moment before once more getting back up and smiling.

"And then Snowfall w-wrote me this very sweet letter and...where am I...oh, yes! I remember! The helm!" She bounced around on her three operable legs, unaware pr uncaring of the pain as her broad smile seemed to suck away all negativity. She turned back around.

"Thank you thank you thank you!"

[RarityDash]

"G-Gilly, Gilly, Gilly. I thou...thought you'd have known better by now. We're ad-ad...adventurers. Or at least...I am. I've n-n-never met a task I couldn't a-acc-acco...do. I never will. Not here or in M-Manehattan or Unyasi or at the bottom of the ocean or in the badlands or the Everfree or Stalliongrad...or Talonopolis. M-Maybe by...your...y-your definition, I'll fail. But you wanna...make a...bet there, Gilda?"

Gilda could not believe what she was hearing. She was perfectly aware that this was not a particularly sane pony, that for all intents and purposes Pathfinder was out of her bucking mind, but this? Seriously? Gilda couldn't understand it. How could she have so little concern for her own health and well being? This was her life here! She could seriously die? Did she mean to say she was okay with that? That this treasure and the glory that returning with it might bring was worth a painful death away from everypony who knew and cared for her? The griffon couldn't wrap her head around it.

"I'm leaving this city with that Helm, one way or another!"

Gilda was stunned. This was beyond simple recklessness! This pony was delusional. She could only see the reality locked in her head. Somehow her dreams made the simple fact that between her condition, the force they were going against and the potential consequences of it all escape her. Why was this pony so unreasonable? Why was she so determined to reject all sense and leap off on what could only be described as a fool's errand? It baffled her.

"And t-t-then I'll write my book and everypony will love me- AND YOU TOO! They'll l-love you! A triple agent m-mystery griffin with...suave and grace working on her own terms, with an agenda, trying to save her own flank...the fans'll go nice. Nuts. They'll go nuts! They'll draw pictures of y-y-you, write songs, ship us together, all sorts of fun things. Then some...little chick o-out there will read it and become enamored and there you'll be..."

Okay, now the babbling had seemed to reach a particularly peculiar fixture. She had mentioned she wanted to write a book before, and among her items there were some seemingly rather overwritten scripts and writings that seemed to be from the pony's own pen. She had to admit she did sound like a kind of awesome character when it was all put out there, and if there were songs and stuff singing her praise, that would be kind of cool. What did this she mean by "ship" though? Wait! It didn't matter! She was getting sucked into this pony's delusions again! Not with the situation as dire as it was.

"You won't be able to write your book if you die, Pathfinder!" Gilda started but the pony stumbled and seemed to lapse off momentarily again, before her eyes regained their strength.

"And then Snowfall w-wrote me this very sweet letter and...where am I...oh, yes! I remember! The helm!"

Gilda stared ahead, more perplexed than even before. "Who's Snowfall" she mouthed, but the pony had already moved back to the matter at hand. Gilda opened her beak to protest but the pony had already turned and taken steps back.

"Thank you thank you thank you!"

Gilda gave another frustrated yell and then stomped a few steps away. "Fine! Don't listen! This is... this is stupid and you're going to die if you try it! But if after everything I've said you still want to go for it, that's your call! I've said all I'm going to here!"

The griffon couldn't take anymore than that. Feeling a full flood of strange emotions she leapt up and let her wings carry her above the trees and into the night sky. "Stupid pony!" she repeated under her breath as the wind carried her back toward where Gavin Stormwind and his soldiers waited for her. All the while an emptiness remained with in her, a sick feeling that very soon another all too fleeting friendship was going to come to a sudden and ugly end.

[SteelEagle]

There was a lack of faith to be found in Gilda, a disconcerting sensibility that discarded the trappings and reality of the adventure for the mundane and inconclusive fiction of defeat. And those that beat the drum of defeatism would always be defeated. It was sad, really, as Gilda had all the capability and opportunity to become a great adventurer! Oh well. Such was life. Someday she'd learn what it was all about and look on this day with regret. For now though, Pathfinder had to rest up and prepare to get that helm, triggering the trap and somehow escaping despite impossible odds. It was beyond glorious; her little heart hammered away in her chest like a mare first in love, which was another experience she could claim.

Pathfinder waited for a few minutes before making her way back into the sewers, swiftly making her way deep so as to give her distance from any potential pursuers. She had no reason to expect that they would send any of the guards after her since it would be several magnitudes easier to just wait to spring the trap. It was mostly out of habit, which was shockingly common for an adventurer who liked to buck the trend. The sewer no longer held secrets and after an hour, she stopped cold and allowed herself the beauty of non-motion. That didn't stop her head from swimming in an ocean of ether for a few more minutes, the walls and floor coagulating into a dark river of fluidity until her awareness caught up with her body.

Rest came easily afterwards as the minor shot of energy provided by the information initially gave in swiftly to a desire to be fully prepared for the coming operation. The only thing more powerful than her desire for constant excitement was her desire for a successful adventure and this time that transitioned seamlessly to a need for sleep. She slept soundly on the sewer floor, unable nor willing to engage in activities not aiding her directly to get the helm. It was deep, sound, perfect sleep owed somepony much her elder in her twilight years. By the time she woke up in the wee hours of the sun's rise, it was as if the past few weeks of physical anguish and mental torment were gone. She felt absolutely rejuvenated. Perfect. Pathfinder was an idiot to think so, but an idiot's gut instinct was often profound in impact

She rose and flew well enough along the sewer, her mind reaching back through the foggy days of legend to decipher the near mystical map she once possessed. It was amazing; she could not remember the last time she had eaten, but she could remember with a stunning degree of clarity the blueprints of target thirty-seven. Scary. Sad. It would have been funny had it not been so important a matter. She could recall the twists and turns and the private hold and gallery that had a clear viewing arena, usually for some sort of large object. It was the best place for an ambush and therefore for the Helm to be placed.

Had Pathfinder not suffered such damage in her previous excursions, this unusually accurate view would have allowed her to plan excessively for her prize. She would have all the tools for the job and knowledge as a weapon was the greatest of all. However, Pathfinder had no such mental capacity for this, nor the patience. She was swimming in a sea of euphoria, and that addictive feeling clouded all else. That would end up including reason and proper preparation.

She continued flying and flying down the sewer until through some strange and virtually unknowable combination of luck and memory, she stopped under the manehole and looked up. And that was all she did, as even the thoughts in her mind that occupied space and time for several hours amounted to little more than filly fantasies about how awesome getting the Helm would be. It was time well spent..

[RarityDash]

"So, you're sure there's nothing I can do here?" Gilda spoke in a somewhat uneasy voice as she tried to avoid matching gazes with Gavin.

"I've told you already. You did your part! Provided she does show up tonight, you will be free to go," the male griffon said in a stern voice, smirking slightly. "You'll be staying here in the tower tonight. If things go well, you'll be set free in the morning."

"But I could help you know! Fast wings, sharp claws; you could use me on the team, to make sure it all goes right..." Gilda argued, heaviness in her chest. This whole thing was making her sick. If only Pathfinder had actually listened to her.

"Don't you get it?" a third voice chimed in with a certain harshness. Gilda turned to find a female griffon in the doorway. She was larger than Gilda, had a deep scar across the side of her face, a severe look in her eyes and was decked out in very ornate full armor. Gilda didn't even have to ask to know that this was the griffon in charge of the operation, Major Brenda Razorclaw. "This is a military operation! Non-military personnel are not permitted to interfere! Captain Stormwing here has been far too kind to you through this whole ordeal. Under my watch you would have been dumped in a cell straight away! Regardless, it ends now; the details of this operation are finalized and there is no place in any of it for you!"

Gilda took some steps backward, feeling rather intimidated. This chick was scary. The intensity in her voice, the harsh look in her eyes as she screeched her words, it was enough to get even the most aloof griffon to bow her head. Next to her, Gavin was kind of a lightweight. Messing with someone like her was, simply put, not a good idea. Gilda felt even sorrier for Pathfinder. This griffon was liable to tear her apart.

"That's better. Looks like you've realized it's time for you to back down," Gavin said, nodding at the look of fear in Gilda's yes. "Is everything prepared?" he asked, turning to the major.

"Indeed," she said. "Follow me, Stormwing. It'll be my pleasure to show you how a true soldier of the Aquelian Republic is prepared to finish this embarrassing little mess you've continued to fumble."

Gavin gave a frustrated grunt as his beak tightened sharply. He was clearly not happy to be so forwardly criticized, but as it was by a griffon who was not only a superior in rank but also a member of the most powerful family in Aquelia, he had no choice but to bite his tongue. After a moment, he strained to say, "Yes, sir, Major. Lead the way."

That was it for Gilda. As the two military griffons left the room, her part in the events of that night, whatever they may be, reached an end.

---

"Welcome to my home, Captain," Brenda Razorclaw said with a cocksure grin as she lead Captain Gavin Stormwing into the centeral gallery of her home/private collection of exquisite military artifacts.

"It's quite lavish, as is only fitting for a griffon of your distinguish," Gavin said as he looked around at all the various arms and armor of note. His eyes eventually found the piece at the very back of the room, sitting prettily on a large pedestal. The helmet was ornate, and clearly quite ancient, but it still held some of its luster; the craftsmanship was unmistakable and the piece in general just screamed out with the power it so perfectly represented. "So this is it, huh? The thing that's at the very heart of all this mess?" He laughed as he approached it. "Some outdated pony relic hardly a match for modern craftsmanship."

"I'd advise you to hold your tongue when you haven't a clue what you're talking about, Stormwing," Brenda started coldly. "That helm is a flawless wonder. Made from alloys of metals so scarce we would never consider using them for such a thing, tempered and treated through means only possible via pegasi weather magic. It is nothing short of a masterwork, fit for a king." The major shook her head and laugh. "If I can say one thing about this clown who has so laughably eluded you it is that she has an impeccably discerning eye if this is the treasure she has so rigorously hoped to find."

Gavin gave a low grunt and looked down, wondering for an instant why he ever chose to say anything. He gave a huff before deciding to change the subject. "So tell me, how is all of this going to work? How are we going to catch her?"

"My home has been outfitted with the finest electric security system the Silverbeaks have been able to produce. The second any of the doors or windows to this place have been opened for any reason, a silent alarm will go off that a griffon on the outside will be able to pick up on. He will then fly up into the sky above the house and give a signal to the soldiers waiting all around. All doors and windows will then be locked and barred with a squadron of griffons standing by at each to ensure none of the barricades are penetrated," Brenda explained, completely matter-of-fact, her unwavering confidence aggressively apparent.

"That should certainly keeping her from getting out should she decide to try and run..." Gavin started gruffly, nodding.

"There is a hidden room behind that portrait of my uncle," Brenda said, pointing toward a large painting to the back right. "She will find this room where we are now and she will see the helm. A dedicated trigger griffon will be watching and waiting in that room. The second he sees her get close to the helm, he will push a switch. This switch will activate a mechanism in these pillars you see," Brenda tapped her talon against one of two pillars located at either side of the helm's pedestal. "Openings will appear and from them a potent sleeping gas will pour out and rapidly fill the room."

"What if the gas doesn't stop her? What if she's able to resist it?" Gavin asked, head tilted to a side.

"We'll be prepared. As you can see, there is only one entrance to this room. It has no windows or doors save the main entrance and the secret entrance she will not know or even think about," Brenda said. "After she enters this room, you and I will move to the room immediately before it. We will be waiting for her, ready to make the final capture personally."

"It sounds like it just may work," Gavin said, nodding.

"There's no 'may' about it," Brenda said with deadly certainty. "When you have a pest, you set a trap, Captain Stormwing. It's simple. It's how you solve the situation. What you've been doing all this time is merely flailing about, making yourself look like a fool."

Gavin grumbled some more as he struggled to keep his true thoughts inside. He then swallowed and gave a sigh. "So what still needs to be done now?"

"Nothing," the major said simply. "For now, all we can do is wait."

[SteelEagle]

There was a time and place for just about everything, from waiting all week for the release of a novel to eating stale pasta for the sake of survival. You could easily explain experimentation with all manner of woodland foods and it was just a matter of course that any adventurer worth her salt that she would eventually spend a few days figuring out some ancient puzzle. There was a time and place for everything for sure, and Pathfinder's allotted time to stare at the manehole with a blank expression had come and gone. She shook her head and ascended the wobbly ladder up and through the top, dropping the cover on the hole with an earth-shattering crack that seemed to echo across the neighborhood. There was a time for her to look at maneholes. There was a time for her to o through them. Finally, there was time for adventure and in an adventure, time for victory. This was that time.

She approached the bottom of the well-to-do residence, a certain air of certainty and calm slicing through her psyche. She knew there was a trap being laid for her, and what use was that trap if it wasn't triggered the way the too-proud Griffons had laid it. She doubted that the trap would be triggered by a door getting breached. She was certain there were other measures that would inform them of her progress as any other good would-be ambusher would have in place, but this expedition was less about stealth and more about bringing about a swift and exciting climax. She bucked open the doors with her one good hind leg, repeated weak blows eventually forcing it open enough for her to struggle her way through. After a few seconds of straightening herself out, Pathfinder took to the air and started moving about the residence.

Even in her overjoyed and focused state, it was clear to any who had been following her that she was less than a shell of the pony that had given them so much grief. She couldn't fly straight, sliding in flight against walls until during a flap her wing would get stuck and she would for a brief moment fall until she pushed away from the wall and regained herself in mid-drop. All the while, inane mumblings escaped her, murmured and frantic words without due cause or reason. Excitement gave her awareness focus but it didn't partition any of its reserves for higher thought processes and speech. She still amounted to little more than a heavily wounded and damaged pegasus flying and moving, even breathing, on the pure adrenaline and love of adventure. Even that was starting to fade, this great and final kick in the aimless flank the last great push her mind could handle before the white flag would be raised.

She bumped and ground her way up and up until through glazed eye she spotted an entire floor seemingly dedicated to the wares of a successful career profiting off of the misfortune of others. This would be the place, it seemed. Pathfinder landed on all four legs and gave a brief yelp as she pulled the wounded leg back up. On three good legs she loudly trotted ahead, head whipping back and forth to take in the vastness of the collection. She regarded much of it with unrestrained scorn. Relics that belonged to so many more worthy creatures than the cruel griffons who ran a cruel city in a cruel country bound by cruel laws and powered by cruel definitions of honor and respect. Perhaps one day she would gather some friends and liberate these things from the city and return them to their true owners in a display of courage, grace, and guts. Then maybe these beasts would know about honor. Maybe then they'd know why Pathfinder, Daring Do anyway, was unstoppable. She just held the moral high ground is all.

Pathfinder continued to clop clop clop her way through the floor until she turned into a smaller sideroom and looked down the entire length and spotted the helm. She froze and the color drained from her, her eyes grew wide and every part of her honed in on it. It looked marvelous. Amazing. A few dings and scratches but considering the vast number of years and the conflicts it had seen, to describe it in great shape was a holy dishonor. It was almost immaculate, the alloys used to forge it even now among those counted rare and foalish to use. The design had been custom made as all ancient pegasi commanders, the knowledge that it once adorned the head of Commander Hurricane so perfectly as to be exactly the perfect fit was alone chilling. It was almost too much to bare, being in a wide open room, alone. Yes, it was almost as overwhelming, almost as much as the obvious trap that it was surrounded by.

Her awareness and instincts kicked into overdrive and all physical ill-being seemingly vanished as she took it all in. Was the trap on the floor? No, she could just fly to it. Was it above? Perhaps, but again she could fly. Could she escape? Unlikely. She was being trailed and the exits were likely blocked; these things were the obvious bullet points to every ambush, of which she had been on both ends in her life. So they wouldn't let her escape, but they also couldn't hedge their bets on just blocking her. They had to know that was a recipe for something amazing to happen. No, they would be more aggressive- they were, after all, brutal creatures. Yet she was still here, meaning the trigger had yet to be, well, triggered. It was in the room. She would go into the room and would be attacked, but not from above, not from below, and she couldn't hear them- meaning they weren't so close as to attack from behind immediately either. No, something else had to be done. And since they were so keen on giving her distance, they had to have a way to trigger it without a mass being here.

Swiftly, Pathfinder grabbed a sword and tossed it into the room, the well-regarded double edged blade clacking against the floor and doing all sorts of fanciful motions as it cascaded around the Helm. Pathfinder had expected electronic klaxons to signal something new or, failing that, griffins to appear from almost every angle to an empty room. So it was not guarded by electricity or magic, and that left being guarded by a griffon- eyes on the prize, as it were. Yet she was not being so closely followed as to allow them such easy access unless they were looking on from the sides. The sides were walls. Fake walls? Fake rooms behind them! Such cleverness! But what for? What use did that pair of eyes serve? If they were just to send word that Pathfinder was at the helm, why not just use the electronic security system?

No, no. He needed to see her and then do something, but do what? They were going to be aggressive and they were going to ensure that when they did arrive some moments after the trap was triggered that she could not escape. They were going to weaken her and he was going to be the cause of it. Arrows? Unlikely as they could just as easily harm a griffon and were not necessarily very good traps. She'd ran into a few and found them wanting, and unless Brenda had dedicated more time to an arcane trap than ponies from the times when such traps were not arcane did, the thought seemed silly. Physical items eventually checked out- either the make-up of the room didn't support the theory or it was plain illogical. No, it wouldn't be weapons. It wouldn't be magic, they had a deep disdain for it. It wouldn't be electric as the sheer cost and scale of supporting such a trap was beyond the budget of all but the united griffon state in a high security setting. No, it had to be- gas. Yes, gas. It would weaken her and she could likely not escape it. He would trigger it and the griffins would come after her in that state. Maybe they'd have some ill effects, but she would take the brunt of it.

IT was a good plan, a good plan indeed. If Pathfinder had been better equipped or had more time, she knew what she would do to get out of this. She would continue 'investigating' the floor, inspecting the other sides of the walls until she believed she found the side with the griffin trying to trap her. She would take care of him or her. She would take the helm and instead of using an already established exit, would have used some sort of magi-tech device to blow a hole in the wall and escape. She was sure the NSI had something like that. Sadly for Pathfinder, she did not have the time, the ability, or the equipment to do any of this. She knew the trap that was in place down the specific timing and was unable to do anything about it. The smart thing to do was hide, evade, and eventually escape.

Pathfinder was not a smart pony.

She removed her shirt and started wrapping it around her head. The smell was beyond foul, weeks of sewer treatment, sludge, and intense physical exertion combining to form a smell of such potency that if she had the sense of smell any more she may very well have croaked on the spot. Here now, it acted as the most effective mask she could muster. The filth and volume of grime on it caked into every opening between every fiber, turning a Daring Do look alike uniform into an effective impromptu survival device. Yet again, Daring Do came through. was there anything that mare couldn't do? After a few more seconds, Pathfinder was ready and waited not a second more before she commenced a vigorous three legged gallop into the open room.

She reached the helm and touched it gently as if it were a newborn foal and she the most protective of the nurses. She considered every tiny dent and scratch with equal amounts dissatisfaction and interest- were they just the effects of time and movement or was this scratch and that dent from the time when it adorned the head of Commander Hurricane? It was as light as a feather and as strong as the toughest granite rock, perfectly formed by the greatest smiths of the era it had dominated. What she held in her hooves for that moment in time was not just the greatest helm ever made, it was the definition of history, society, and culture, everything that the ancient Pegasi were distilled into one item that had for so long abandoned its true owners for the comfort of those who treated it like some sort of luxury item that could be bought and sold. No more. It was coming home, having called its hero to claim it.

Pathfinder cradled it and turned to face the entrance, thick green smoke starting to fill the floor. A smirk rose behind her tightly wound mask and she took to the skies in an effort to make her escape. In no time, she made her giddy flank out of the room that held the Helm and found herself in the entrance room to the floor. The entrance room to the floor that was now filling up with her pursuers, who were still trying to form and had yet to fully deploy from the air tunnels that were used to traverse the floors. A few looked stunned. Most looked dissapointed. Pathfinder didn't pay any attention as she shot straight into the horde, trying to take them by surprise and get past by them.

To her credit, it worked on the first two lines. A few grasping claws and weapons grazed her to no effect as the gas filled up the air tunnel. Beyond the first two lines, disorganization reigned. She slammed at full speed into one griffin, who was sent flying into two more all three crashing into a nearby window that cracked and nearly broke open on impact. A grasping griffon missed and instead clutched the spear of another diving comrade, pulling him unintentionally into two more. The four cascaded down the air tunnel in chaos, their entangled free for all causing chaos and confusion amongst their allies and giving Pathfinder a path to follow. The only one with his head in the game released an electric stun grenade that was immediately put to good use by Pathfinder, who punched it back down and into a pack of four griffins who were ascending. They were knocked out and started falling as well. Within moments, the tight space of the air tunnel owned by Pathfinder's brand of chaos.

Squawking and the barking of orders echoed down the air tunnel. Cohesion was lost. Griffins coming up the air tunnel were met by a mass of knocked out comrades or entangled, flightless griffins with weapons being followed by a pursuing force of only vaguely coherent and enraged allies who were also being hurt by the gas. Chaos reigned and in chaos large masses of soldiers become almost embarrassingly ineffective. Griffins were big and their flapping and route-less anger hurt them far more than anything Pathfinder could do.

Finally, some griffin had had enough of this. Pathfinder had just broken through the last group of griffins in the air tunnel when a spear thrown from the side, from a floor she was passing. It couldn't have been planned; it had to have been impromptu and the accuracy meant it had to be somepony very good with great knowledge of the building. It was probably Brenda. It didn't really matter, as the spear missed Pathfinder's head by mere centimeters and pinned her via her mask against the wall, her body slamming against a window below and cracking it nearly open. For a moment, Pathfinder was dazed and that was followed by fierce driving pain from her left wing. She was being choked by gravity and could feel the fierce wings of her griffin pursuers beating down on her. Pathfinder's left hoof starting cracking against the window while her head twisted and turned against the fabric, which started to tear open and allow the gas to seep on through.

The window cracked and the fabric tore apart, freeing herself from being trapped. She pulled away just as half a dozen griffins charged the spear-point to destroy Pathfinder, the group looking foalish as they slammed into the wall. The window was open. She was momentarily clear.

She was also utterly flightless, her left wing kaput. Her right flapped once or twice towards the window before she started to free-fall. All the while she clung to the helmet as she turned around and around. She was clear of the griffins, and that meant they could now use their weapons. Misses were in abundance as she twisted and turned, the gas stealing increasingly any ability to even fight the free for all. As she turned once more, an accurate spear throw meant she was met with a spear directly in her face. Her reflexes shoved the Helm in the path, and the supernaturally strong Helm sent the spear away like a fly with not even a dent to show for the effort. Before she could contemplate how amazing an action this was, she slammed into the bottom of the air tunnel alongside the nearly fifteen griffins that had been knocked out out way or another during her escape.

It had only been a few stories, but that was all it took. Pathfinder didn't even feel it as much as acknowledge it; her body was utterly spent. It wasn't that she felt anything hurt, it was that she didn't really feel anything and couldn't really move anything. After a few moments of silence, Pathfinder turned around- the Helm a few inches from her face, mocking her- and soon was on her back as the griffins closed in. She weakly moved her shaking hooves to the Helm and with great pain, put it on her head.

The griffins stopped and a particularly large one moved towards her. Her face was fading. Pathfinder smiled.

"I win."

[RarityDash]

Gavin Stormwing slowed his swift approach as he observed the pony squirming helplessly on the ground. She had put up considerable effort; there was more fight in this one little pony than he would have typically credited to the whole race. He could respect that. This pony, like himself, was a fighter; one who wouldn't give in no matter what was thrown at her. Her struggle against impossible odds, it was nothing if not admirable. At the same time, Gavin was smiling in that moment. He was nothing but pleased that the long, embarrassing ordeal this pony's mischief was now at a close.

"She continued to squirm even after suffering so much," Gavin spoke, looking down at the helpless pony as her frail form reached for the helm lying just nearby. "It's impressive... and just somewhat sad to quell such impressive fighting spirit."

Brenda Razorclaw, just behind him, stepped forward. "I'm neither saddened nor impressed. It's just the annoying cries of an all too annoying pest!" that said, the fierce female griffon took her spear and slammed the shaft of it into the pony's head forcibly, sending her flying to the slide, only to crash back down in a motionless lump. "There. Now we'll not have to endure it any longer."

"I half expected you to just kill her here and now," Gavin said, glancing toward the spear in the major's talon.

Brenda laughed coldly and shook her head, "That would be my pleasure, but no... Killing them on the scene never looks good."

"I suppose a planned execution at a later date will come instead then?" Gavin questioned, somewhat surprised.

"That's for you to decide," Brenda said curtly. " You may have needed me to save your flank, but this whole misbegotten mess is going in your file, not mine, Stormwing. Up to you how much you want to flaunt it about. Up to you how much you want this pest exterminated."

Gavin growled slightly as he looked from the Major to the pony and back again. He could tell what she was getting at. This pony had already attracted media attention and scrutiny. For an execution to be ordered, a full, detailed case had to be built and issued publicly. Did he want to drag out all the details of the operation before the public eye like that when so much of it made him and his soldiers look ineffectual? They had nearly failed, even tonight, and it was all against a single pony.

Was that really worth it? He hated this pony. She had been a constant source of interminable trouble since she first struck in the city. She was continual headache, a throbbing pain his side. Yet, at the same time, with so many of his able griffons a mess after facing off against a single already injured pony, he still did feel that strange sort of respect for how far this pony had come. He nodded. There were other options. Perhaps there were other options? Perhaps this pony had just bought herself a stay on a quick death.

"Let's move her out of here," Gavin said, motioning toward a couple of his soldiers. "We'll place her in holding for the night. Tomorrow morning we'll throw her in The Pit."

"Oh? So that's your decision?" Brenda said, laughing. "Figured you'd go there. Well, that's that then." She gave the other griffon a sideways glance and then smirked. "What about the other one?"

Gavin looked downward for a moment and nodded. "Oh, don't worry. I have my plans," was all he said.

----

Gilda wasn't entirely sure what she was doing. After Pathfinder's capture the previous night she had been set free by Gavin. As he let her go, however, the captain invited her to a location a fair distance north of the city. It was called a number of things on paper, but most griffons simply knew it as The Pit. In all of Aquelia, there was no place a griffon wanted to end up less. As prisons went, this place wasn't just worse than the worst most could imagine, it was flat out sadistically cruel. It was reserved for the worst offenders. It wasn't monitored. Criminals were simply thrown in and they didn't come out. Food was lowered in, and the prisoners were trusted to divvy it up themselves. Occasionally things, like letters to the outside or the bodies of prisoners who didn't survive were raised up to the surface, but it just wasn't the place one could ever hope to escape.

Knowing this was to be Pathfinder's fate, Gilda felt a sharp pain of regret. She had did all she could. Her plea to the senseless pony had gotten her nowhere, but even so it just felt like somewhere she had miss-stepped, like somewhere she could have done more to prevent this. Now this pony who... despite all that had happened, was still probably one of the closer things to a friend she had had was going to be lowered into this dark abyss where she was all but certain to eaten alive, possibly... probably even literally. It was due to all of her deep regrets that Gilda couldn't leave that. She had to be there. She had to see Pathfinder one more time, even if there wasn't anything she could do for her. She owed the pony that much.

Gilda swept downward as the large opening in the earth came into view. The Pit was aptly named. It was, in fact, a pit. It appeared as nothing more than a massive hole in the dirt. The facility was entirely underground. Underground, was not a place griffons wanted to ever be; it was a place for filth and sewers; griffons wanted to be as close to the sky as possible. For a griffon, the torture of The Pit thus started on a fundamental psychological level. They weren't just grounded, they were on the same level as the filth. For a pony, and especially a pony like Pathfinder who seemed to have little problem enduring such condition, that wouldn't be the difficult part... but that was one of the few things Pathfinder did have going for her.

Spying Gavin, Gilda flew down to meet him. She landed carefully and walked ahead. She could see Pathfinder, strewn and not moving, clearly long unconscious, looking more battered and terrible than the last time Gilda had seen her. She was sitting on a platform which was attached to a mechanism clearly designed to lower it far below. Gavin turned toward her as she approached.

"Good, you decided to grace us with your presence after all," the captain said, nodding.

"I just want to put all of this behind me for good," Gilda said. "I thought this would provide some closure."

"Well, you came at a good time," Gavin spoke with a bit of a smirk as a griffon approached him and handed him a large syringe. He approached Pathfinder, holding it out.

"What's that?" Gilda asked with some trepidation.

"The only reason The Pit works," Gavin said with a laugh as he injected half the syringe into Pathfinder's right wing. "it's a special chemical mixture which pinpoints the wings and leaves them disabled."

"Permanently?" Gilda questioned, feeling another pang of guilt.

"In time, with enough exposure to it, yes," the captain replied, with a steady nod. "We throw them down there with no bars to keep them down, this gaping entrance mocking them, but they unable to fly freely. In time, the damage becomes an all too permanent reminder of their crimes, far more harsh and crushing than any shackles or bars one could conceive of."

Gilda gulped. She had never heard Gavin talk like that. Through the time she had known him, he had always seemed to her like kind of a dolt. Now there was some kind of intense, sadistic look in his eyes. Did he hate Pathfinder that much? It was kind of unnerving, and suddenly Gilda just wasn't very sure she should have come down there. It felt wrong to her to even be watching this.

"I think I've seen enough of this," Gilda said, starting to turn around. "You griffons are sick, you know that?! I don't want anything to do with this!"

Gilda finished turning to find two very large griffons standing behind her. She was taken aback and tried to jump away but the two of them grabbed her and held her still.

"What's the meaning of this? What are you doing?" she shouted, looking for Gavin. He was stepping toward her with another syringe. "You said I was free!"

"Oh, Gilda... you've made this all too easy. I made good on my promise of freedom. For a single night, you were free... but I knew you couldn't resist a chance to see this irritating little pony again, and now it's time for you to pay for your crimes!" the captain started, still approaching her slowly, smiling.

"What crime?! I've helped you! I did everything you asked me to!" Gilda protested, still trying to kick and scratch at the much larger griffons holding her down.

"You underestimated me. As much trouble as your little friend may have given me, I am not the fool you took me for," Gavin started with a huff. "I know you've been undermining our efforts this whole time. This pony never stole a thing, not for lack of trying! Everything that disappeared along the way, has ended up in your talons. Furthermore, you've put forth effort to manipulate myself and my soldiers, back in the sewers, you allowed her the time to get away... and that's to say nothing of how you tried to deter her from springing our trap."

"I was just--" Gilda started to protest, but was cut off when Gavin stepped forward and jammed the needled deep into her wing. She gave a scream in terror.

"I don't want to hear it," the other griffon said, shaking his head as he removed the syringe and then jammed it and the rest of its contents into the other wing. "I gave you a chance to reform yourself and you've clearly chosen who your real friend is. Now you're going to share her fate."

"No! Stop this! You can't do this to me! You... you... bas..." Gilda screamed, but soon started to find herself feeling incredibly drowsy, unable to even stay standing.

"Tired? The initial dose tends to do that. Don't worry, you'll get used to it in time," Gavin started with a laugh. He nodded to his two griffons and they nodded back and started dragging Gilda over toward Pathfinder. They ultimately threw the griffon right on top of the battered pony atop the platform, her body lacking the energy to even move much.

"Isn't it great? Neither of you will enjoy the skies ever again!" the captain said with finality as he turned around. He nodded to the griffon operating the platform, issuing the simple order. "Lower them!"

Gilda lacked the strength to move. Her entire body was shutting down. As the platform began to move down into the darkness, she found herself quickly fading out of consciousness.

[SteelEagle]

Pathfinder had a habit of putting herself in a sticky situation, sometimes a fair bit more literally than others. Mind control was always the worst, especially when you didn't know you were being mind controlled. Literally being put into a sticky situation was highly unpleasant, and it often took as much ignoring the substance that covered you as it did almost endless squirming to get out. Then there were the times when a pony found herself in shackles or in a dungeon or sometimes even both. These were the times that a true adventure was tested like never before, when she had to dig deep and figure out was more important: Safety, or the adventure itself. For any real adventurer the choice was a false one, but it did allow the not-so-committed a way out. Feeling iron on your hooves and seeing the light fade in some cell, not underground, was disconcerting. Still, it wasn't that big a deal. That just meant there was one more thing she needed to do to write the book.

Of course, that didn't apply all that well considering she was surrounded by griffons. After the Major had showed her the courtesy of knocking her out, she had spent the remainder of the night in the care of the Griffon military. It had been a net improvement over her previous few weeks of sewer life as even at their worst the griffons weren't going to allow a defeated enemy to starve in their detention. Honorable of them and Pathfinder took advantage of their hospitality as well as she could, having woken a few times from her spear-aided unconsciousness to eat something. They were rough with her but she wouldn't term them necessarily abusive, and even though she went unconscious a few times she couldn't really blame them. She was a a talker and her enemies weren't very talkative. Eventually, she was taken from her cell and trussied up like a turkey. Halfway out of the city she had been knocked out again.

A sudden weight on her back woke her from this current adventure in unconsciousness and she burst into the aware world with gusto, Gilda being tossed on-top of her in an increasingly vague sense of consciousness. The world burst into light, the crackling sun hammering the adventurer through the cracks of Gilda's coverage. Every inch on her hurt in one fashion or another but that was no different from a normal day, so she counted her initial accounting of the world as being only slightly worse off. Gilda was simply too large for Pathfinder to adequately hope to counter and there was this weird near-numbing of her wing. This was the extent of her break into awareness, however, as if something else was present bringing her down. A moment later the physical realm caught up with the mental and she felt herself being lowered.

It was an extremely odd situation, going from the dark to the light to the dark once more. It didn't happen initially, the sun glistening off of the armor of the guards who supposedly were standing around in a large circle around the...hole? They were being lowered by a platform that seemed to be more excited to make noise than it did in speeding them down the descent into some sort of hole. As they continued to descend the light grew dimmer and yet more pointed, like a scalpel to a wound. The platform stopped suddenly, jerking around for a second and sending Gilda's claw right into Pathfinder's throat.

"G-g-g-g-gilda, get it off!" Pathfinder squeaked as she moved her head around until the talons fell off of her neck and onto the platform below. Underneath, through the cracks, she could spot rippling water that seemed to dark as to almost be ancient. Surrounding that were griffons- dozens of them, and only now could she hear the cackles and hoots from the rabble. They sounded racous, rowdy, despnate, angry- excited. Excited for females? Possibly. Food? More likely. Pathfinder struggled to try and get a better view, but she was constantly mindful of the weight on her back. Gilda needed to go on a diet.

As suddenly as it had stopped, the platform started to descend once more and this time it descended at breakneck speeds. Pathfinder was unprepared and felt herself and Gilda seemingly hover above the platform as it seemed to freefall. Flashes of color and sound cascaded around her right before the platform slammed into the shallow pool of water below. Pathfinder was dazed and trapped underneath Gilda's still unconscious mass and drowning in the shallow water. She struggled with despnation to free herself but was making only the most rudimentary of progress, her oxygen becoming increasingly rare and strained with every second that show by in this rather uncomfortable and untenable. With a final push, Pathfinder managed to free her top half and poked her snout out of the unusually warm water. She could no more but she needed nothing, as a moment later grasping talons clutched her head like an egg and through sheer strength pulled her up.

Pathfinder thought this a rather rude event and struggled for a second, but against this griffon she had no prayer. her hooves flailed but she was set upon a few squawking fellows. Her hooves were pinned as she was thrown onto her front and some sort of hard-teethered rope was wrapped around her waist and wings. After afew loops, it was tightened almost to the point of breaking her in two. Her wings were now not just pinned, but the tips fluttered at an angle as the wing was compressed terribly. If she had the ability to feel them, she knew it would be the cause of great agony. Something else stole her attention as by her head she was raised up. Through the talons she could make out a griffon with a fading military uniform and mattered fur that grew wildly.

"Why, what do we have here? A pony? Look'ie 'ere boys, we got us some dinner!" He growled to the great ecstacy of the crowd, who by the honor of their name followed behind him. Gilda was pulled off of the platform as the duo were taken out of the pool. One of the griffons then tapped the wall and an echo went up the well. A few moments later, the platform started to raise. Pathfinder had greater problems, like the griffon who just nibbled her upper thigh. Reflexively, her left leg shot out and bucked the beat right in the beak, sending it rocketing against the wall.

"What do you think yer doin', pony? I oughta-" He began before another voice cut him short.

"Start holding it down instead of up, you oaf," A gentler, older, and more sinister voice spoke. Pathfinder was tossed in the air from the first to the second, caught in the talons, and then slammed to the ground. Her world spinned out of control as the voice spoke. It was refined and spoke of an age or four down in the depths of desair, honed on the razor's edge between madness and excitement.

"Sorry my dear, but the boys and I haven't seen the likes of you in some time. You and your griffon buddy will see the boss, but let me be plain-" She leaned in, an inch but no more away, "-I expect you to taste like excellent venison." She finished, poking her head up and turning Pathfinder on the ground. Behind, Gilda was being trussied up like Pathfinder and dragged past Pathfinder.

"Alright! These two have a date with the Boss!"

[RarityDash]

As she was lowered, as she was dropped, as she hit the water, even as she was tied, Gilda remained unaware. The drug's effect on her was strong, and there was no fighting it. She remained motionless, entirely unconscious up until the point where her body began to get dragged. She awoke with a start, initially unsure of where she even was. When she realized that she was in a dark somewhere, tied up and feeling helpless, the events which had been transpired returned to her. The realization of it all was crushing.

Gilda didn't have a lot of luck. She never had. Things tended to not go her way, even when she thought things out. She had had confidence in her plan this time. She had thought she was reading the signals right. She had thought she had a leg up on Gavin Stormwing and his army of goons. She now realized she had just been deluded into thinking as much. She had been his pawn to get what he wanted and not the other way around. It was a critical miscalculation, and for it, in her vie for freedom she might have just sealed her fate.

Gilda wasn't however a griffon who took things lying down. She was a fighter. She wasn't the sort to ever resign herself to any kind of fate, and if Gavin Stormwing or anyone else thought this was her end, she was going to do everything in her power to maybe, somehow prove them all laughably wrong. That's why, as she was being dragged along ,she started to kick and fight at her bounds.

"What's the meaning of this?" she shouted bitterly. "Where are you taking me?"

As she became even more aware of her surroundings, there were a number of griffons in the shadows around them. A female griffon had been speaking and she could see a male griffon with hunger in his eyes. Also, Pathfinder was nearby and awake. Gilda didn't know what to say to her. This certainly wasn't the sort of reunion she had wanted to have with the pony.

She didn't know what would happen to her, but had some ideas and none of them were things she was looking forward to. That said, whatever they ended up being used for, whatever happened to Pathfinder was almost assuredly going to be worse. It was also even more obvious. In less civil times, it wasn't uncommon for griffons to hunt ponies for food. In modern Aquelia, it was prohibited by law as per the current treaty with Equestria. In general, the act of consuming creatures of comparable or better intelligence to that of a griffon was considered quite barbaric. However in a lawless place like this, none of that would matter. These were criminals and brutes in the first place and furthermore they were hungry. Pathfinder was going to end up feeding these creeps.

Gilda continued to struggle, but it was pretty clear she wasn't getting out any time soon. The female griffon had said something about taking them to meet a "boss". Gilda supposed she had no choice in the matter but to be dragged around to do just that. She wasn't through. She would fight this until she was free again. For now, however, she had to just wait and see what happened. Maybe she'd see finally see some luck? Of course, knowing her usual fortune, things seemed infinitely more likely to get worse before they got better.

[SteelEagle]

The duo were dragged to their soon to be master on a floor of mixed concrete and cobblestone, cracking and loose due to age and the repeated hammering assaults of claw and paw. The walls were even more varied in their type, rotting wood for doors in some areas or even seen in supports and often replaced by iron and stone in others respectively. The floor dipped where the vastness beneath them had grown too weak to support the weight and through cracks and missing blocks of stone one could stare down and see movement below where prisoners were moving to and fro for Celestia knew what purpose. Above them, lights were haphazardly strung along the top just out of reach of even the tallest griffons, perched atop crumbling arches. Pathfinder didn't really bother trying to look around to see anything more as all of this was quite interesting enough for her.

Indeed, how had all of this come to pass? How had it become so run down and yet powered? There was a vibrant history underneath the aura of despair that the prisoners around her that snapped at her outstretched limbs had clinging to them tightly. It was likely that the very vibrancy that provided the ambiance of despair was intended, and to think of all of this as part of a long time plan was oddly soothing. She had her own plans and she was happy to fit in some new locations and characters, as this was a new chapter and otherwise it might have grown old and stale. Almost as old and stale as this entire place, which would have been oddly fitting had that been the case.

Eventually, the duo were pulled into a large room, even by griffon standards, and well decorated all things considered. Old banners, laws, flags, and posters hung on the wall, time eating them slowly. A tables were crudely hammered together to form a dozen tables of great length, each one capable of holding fifty griffons each. Near the end of the room was a raised platform with a small single-griffon sized desk that was flanked by stacks of documents and assorted busywork. To accompany this was a single young, tall, brutally muscled griffon with spectacles who peered at the group as they entered. The flurry of activity, squawking and the tapping of anxious claws as well as screams both despnately hungry and ravenously excited. A few dozen griffons were doing random activities in the room and joined in- after all, gruel and card games held no special interest after years of it. Pathfinder and Gilda were dropped off in front of the bespectacled menace, who seemed to consider them for a few minutes.

After his piercing, dangerous eyes had devoured them for long enough, he bid them to stand up as he himself pulled himself from his position. His wings looked like they had been through something fierce. One only had to look at his feathers and see the odd discolorations and angles to see that it was likely whatever chemical was used to impede the wings in this place was not needed for him. That was taken care of someway else.

"New muscle, good. We can always use those with the willingness to work and the power to back it. But perhaps that is getting ahead of myself, ladies," He said as he reached into his desk and pulled out a fading stack of business cards. He leafed through them quickly before slamming the drawer shut with a wicked smile.

"Welcome to the pit. The one rule of it is that there are no rules but that which we make. It's paradise in that sense, free from outside influence. But we are not lawless. We may be the scum of society but even scum can be re-purposed for something better than the slow death of the soul. Laws help focus that. So as you spend the remainder of your lives with us, you will follow our laws and you will work. You will work from today until the day you cannot move anymore. You will work for most of the day, every day, no exceptions. You will get your fair share of food and a place to rest your head that will be yours and yours alone, and your safety from aggression," He emphasized the word so as to get across the real message: If you attack someone, their retaliation in any form is legal. He nodded down below.

"Or you can head down there with the lawless ones. They are little more than animals who have no place with us and have been cast down. We don't pass along the food we receive nor do we tolerate their presence. How they survive, what they do, what happens when they fall- I do not know, I do not care, I will never make an effort to get the answer. I do not concern myself with the feelings or lives of insects and I will not change now," He said as he spit through a crack in the floor. After a few seconds, he looked back up at the two.

"You will call me either the Boss or the Director, depending on where you are placed. There are six work groups I have under my control, each one has a task assigned to them every month. We are the only ones who can keep this crumbling structure from collapsing. That wouldn't be too big a problem if we could fly but- well, as you know, we can't and neither will you soon enough. The food we get is laced with the same chemical so expect in a few months to have two useless things on your back. You may think it cruel, but your thoughts are meaningless now. Deal with it," He whispered venomously as he closed in on the duo, inspecting them closer.

"A nice, solid griffon. And a female, too. Are you good with your paws? Your talons? We'll need you to be good at using both, soon enough. I think the groups might just get into a tussle about who gets to have you," He said evenly before switching his attention to Pathfinder, who had one leg tucked in and inspected the boss, the director, with the same amount of curiosity that he did her.

"And a pony, my my my. You look absolutely horrible. Your leg is messed up and you've missed quite a few meals. I don't see much use for you, to be frank. Maybe as a meal for some of the workers, perhaps?" He pondered and the griffons in the room responded with squawks and the slamming of paws. Pathfinder wasn't allowing that to slide.

"Ha! In your dreams, Bossy Pants. I'm not getting eaten and you're not gonna feed me to anygriffon. The only thing that's happening is I'm getting out of here and claiming the Helm of Commander Hurricane for Equestria!" She belted out defiantly, doing as much of a pose as she could on three legs. She was met with howls of laughter.

"Escape? Oh my, aren't you a hoot and a holler! This place will break you like its broken a hundred thousand before you. But I like seeing that happen to the small ones here, so I'll allow you to live. For now. However, I sincerely doubt you'll be of mush use working- which I'll expect you to do regardless- and will not promise you a safe place to sleep," He stated with a grin before he pulled back and his voice blasted out across the hall, "Anyone want a pet?"

[RarityDash]

Gilda hadn't know this "boss" very long, but already she had to say she didn't care for him. He was this symbol of authority here in the heart of Tartarus on earth. Gilda detested authority, but on the outside she didn't fear it. Griffons in power were there because they were lucky. They were born into the right families, they got the wealth, they got the power. The average Razorclaw wasn't going to be "better" than your average griffon from a nobody family, regardless of how many extra titles she had in front of her name. It was all artifice created by a broken system. The pony system wasn't so much better either, even if the rulers at the very top did have real power.

Outside of this pace, Gilda could get away with her flippant direspect for authority, because she didn't see any reason to respect it. In her heart, she knew she was better than the fools in power, so why should she listen to anything they say? This place didn't work like that though. No. This was chaos. This oversized griffon towering over her now had somehow built a semblance of order from within that chaos. He had set up law amongst the lawless, and here were griffons ready to follow him. For that to happen, it had to be genuine. He had to not only be the strongest here, but the smartest. The power was his because it was his to claim. There was reason to respect his brand of authority. That somehow made her hate him even more.

The tireless rebel in her almost demanded she be thrown in with these "lawless ones" then bowing to this power-drunk king of Tartarus. If she were on her own, she probably would have. If she was going to rot for the rest of her life in this place, she'd rather do it by her own means then at the beck and call of this creep. Total anarchy was more appealing to her than life as a slave.

"Ha! In your dreams, Bossy Pants. I'm not getting eaten and you're not gonna feed me to anygriffon. The only thing that's happening is I'm getting out of here and claiming the Helm of Commander Hurricane for Equestria!"

Pathfinder stopped her from considering this though. Even after descending into the abyss, the fire was there in this pony's eyes. The image of Daring Do pulling herself up, bruised, bloodied and battered to the top of the Crimson Tower only to laugh in the face of the wizard who was her captor popped into her mind and she smiled. The rational Gilda immediately chided her for even considering such things, but she smiled all the same. This pony had that spirit and moreover that wonderful lack of sense. If it was possible to get out of this place, this pony would find the way. Gilda made her decision then to stick with Pathfinder. They had gotten into this together. Somehow, together, they would find a way to fly free.

"Escape? Oh my, aren't you a hoot and a holler! This place will break you like its broken a hundred thousand before you. But I like seeing that happen to the small ones here, so I'll allow you to live. For now. However, I sincerely doubt you'll be of mush use working- which I'll expect you to do regardless- and will not promise you a safe place to sleep, Anyone want a pet?"

Anger crossed Gida's face as she struggled against her bonds. "She's mine! I don't give a flying feather what you have in store for me, but the pony stays with me! If you can agree to that, I'll do whatever kind of work you want me for! If not, just throw me down below. I'd rather be torn apart by your lawless ones than serve the slimy brute who's harmed my friend."

She snorted contemptuously as she eyed the large griffon. "Your call, pal. This worth losing a potential new worker over?" she asked, narrowing her eyes keenly.

[SteelEagle]

The Director liked this griffon who spoke so roughly with him. Others had stopped doing so many years ago in a combination of fear and respect that had left him perched atop the others like a sinister specter that with little effort could direct the forces of oblivion down upon them. There were some facts surrounding that story but he allowed the myth to grow upon itself like a tumor in the prison. They could hate him, fear him, respect his power: That kept them focused and as long as they focused, he could use them. But he had to keep fear in play, lest some upstarts with ambition dethrone him. He chuckled as Gilda spoke so confidently to him, a slow and crackling type that seemed more creepy than full of joy.

"I like you. I like you a lot," He said, his back still turned to Gilda. Another griffon then approached Pathfinder from behind and in a single bound, got on top of the pony and forced her to the ground. Pathfinder struggled but this prison-toughened griffon was without mercy as she found the injured leg and dug a claw into it. Pathfinder howled out in blinding, searing pain, which distracted her long enough for the harness to be attached. A gag went into her outstretched mouth, muffling her cries. A muzzle was then placed over her, compressing her snout against the jaw which protruded out due to the ball gag. The whole thing was tightened as around her legs the harness was attached to the muzzle. The griffon laughed and leapt off of Pathfinder, who after a few moments of confusion, pulled herself back up.

The harness made it almost impossible to move. When her two front hooves were planted on the ground, the harness forced her head downwards. She couldn't see in front of her and felt as if she were in a semi-permanent bow. For an adventurer, deference was something to be earned, not to be foisted upon by something as ridiculous as a harness. Pathfinder indignantly forced her head up and tried to take a step forward in defiance. Instead, the action raised her two hooves out in front of her and she fell straight down. Around her and across the room echoed howls of laughter from the prisoners as Pathfinder struggled to get back up. This was an impossible task, as she couldn't manipulate her legs to get her hooves to angle to push herself up. All she could do was sit there, angry and with her flank in the air as she watched the leash get attached.

As this went on, The Director made his move. In one blindingly swift move he had one of his super large talons wrapped around Gilda's head, the claws meeting on the back of her head with the center directly on top of her beak. He then moved his talons forward but down, forcing Gilda's head back and staring up. The pressure applied was carefully thought out. He had done this before and shattered beaks but he did not wish to see that happen this time, to this griffon, for now. No, enough pressure to cause a wave of pain across the head while he gave a calm and unforced grin.

"Okay, you get your pet. You'll be in charge of her well-being and as you can see, when she isn't working or in your living space, you'll have to make sure she doesn't start running into things or falling down. Pets are dumb. Thankfully, we provide a leash," He said as the leash was handed to him. Using his free claw, he somehow managed to wrap it around one of Gilda's free claws- whatever she was trying to do with them had become irrelevant the moment he chose to attach the leash to one of them. He then applied more pressure around her head- any more and he might start to break her like a dry twig.

"Secondly, I am not pal. I am not buddy. I am the Boss, the Director. You will refer to me as such or as Sir, Master, or Lord. You will refer to your so called friend as pet. You will work when, where, and how I say you will. You will do these things because I tell you too. You will listen because I am your whole world now. I am your mother, father, best friend, worst enemy, provider, and thief," He pulled back from her and after a second, tossed her. She went flying, as did the pony who was by leash attached. The two tumbled into a wall, intimately mixed up in harnesses, leashes, feathers and pelts.

The Director sighed.

"I will say it kindly only once more. Follow the rules and you will be provided for. You will eat, you will have a safe place to sleep, and you won't come to harm. Don't and you'll have to make do with the idiots below who I'd say hardly see a year of life on average before starvation or violence takes them. the choice will always be yours, worker," He said before turning to the assembled, taking note of them for a few seconds.

"Thunderpaw, take the worker and her pet. You have excess food and you're short a griffon, yes?" He asked. A smallish griffon from the fartherst corner of the room stood up.

"That is correct, mein Director," The aging Thunderpaw said as he approached the pair and looked at them dully. The Director nodded and waved the others away.

"Good. Have fun with them. I must get back to real work," He said before sitting down at his desk and resuming his appointed task for the evening. Thunderpaw untangled the duo and pulled Gilda up, taking the leash off of her claw and handing it to her instead.

"Follow."

----------

The walk wasn't short. The pit was huge and had many levels, collapses, detours and chokepoints that were guarded by the various workgroups. The constant clanging of tools and squawks of angered griffons didn't allow for any place to initially feel like it could ever know quiet. Plus, Thunderpaw was a very talkative griffon.

"I am in charge of the Thunderpaw work group. We have one-hundred and eighteen living workers and twenty-four pets. Normal rationing feeds us all, but just barely. You will never know what it is to feel full again. Our job is to maintain the overpass on section A-6, seeing as its a superstructure that supports the south end of the complex. If it falls, it could cause a chain reaction that could kill us all. We have..." Thunderpaws continued, his accent vaguely speaking of Germaney. Pathfinder wished to see his face but had to be content with being walked like a dog, face to the ground instead. After what seemed like two hours, the sounds started to fade.

Thunderpaw led Gilda through a series of wide, brightly lit hallways that ended in a single large room with but a single entrance. Just like the room with the director, there were several long tables with dozens of chairs scattered about and six smaller doors leading out from it.

"This is Thunderpaw Hall. It is here you will be when you are not working and have free time outside of your abode. We will distribute food here, collect what you need washed and sent out here, and when you have died it is likely here that you will be found and taken topside. For the most part, beyond section A-6 and where you rest, this is where you will spend the rest of your days," He said, briefly nodding at a few griffons playing a dice game on a table. He looked at the six doors and pointed to the fourth one.

"Block four. That is where you will live," he stated before leading them in there. The walkway was small and either side they were flanked by cells, some broken and all of them rusted, covered with whatever strands of fabric could be found. Ten on both sides with, Gilda and Pathfinder were led to the end of the right side. The ancient cell door had rusted away and finally had been kicked out, leaving a wide open space. Thunderpaw pushed past the billowing pink fabric to reveal a ratty mattress, more fabric, a chain on the wall and a pristine bowl.

"Here is where you will sleep. As time passes and you work harder, we'll see about improving some of this. We'll clean the mattress next time we are up for washing. For now-" He stated as he took the leash from Gilda and dragged Pathfinder to the chain in the wall, tying her up, "We'll speak in Thunderpaw Hall." He said before digging out of his pocket some seeds and tossing them at Pathfinder.

"That's something, at least," He chortled as he made his way into the hall. Once there, he sat down at a table and squawked and a diminutive griffon went into the sixth room and came out moments later with two bowls of gruel.

"It's not very tasty and laced with that wing-destroying chemical, but it is something, Fraulein. This batch is bland, but we find spaces on the ruins often enough. A few years ago we had a superb cook who was able to make this somewhat delicious. He went mad a year ago and tried to eat his own wings due to the pain. I'm glad I just decided to have them cut off," Thunderpaw spoke calmly and warmly as he took in the gruel and its somewhat metallic aftertaste.

"So, I know you're likely terrified and have a lot of questions. I can't promise that we'll ever have the chance to sit down like this one on one again, so if you want to know anything, now is the time,"

[RarityDash]

"I like you. I like you a lot."

Gilda chuckled at these words from the Director as a smirk crossed her beak. She couldn't even begin to say the same in regards to this guy. He was a creep, plain and simple. As she watched in disgust as Pathfinder was forced into an inhumane muzzle and harness the sentiment only grew. This was low and disgusting. She wanted nothing more than a chance to kick this jerk's beak in. Telling herself to stay calm and let it go was difficult, but necessary. She had to play by their rules for now, or this just wasn't going to work. She had little choice in the matter but to just lower her head and go along with it all. Apparently Mr Boss Griffon wasn't so keen on her lowering her head, however, as her swooped her up in his claw into a startling painful hold. This caused Gilda to struggle some as she was forced to look up and into the eyes of the monster before her.

"Okay, you get your pet. You'll be in charge of her well-being and as you can see, when she isn't working or in your living space, you'll have to make sure she doesn't start running into things or falling down. Pets are dumb. Thankfully, we provide a leash,"

Gilda's eyes burned with hate as they met those of the Director. His grip might have been painful as all Tartarus, and the humiliating words he was shoveling off at her and Pathfinder might have stung, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid. She just snarled as the pressure increased and a leash was attached to one of her talons.

"Secondly, I am not pal. I am not buddy. I am the Boss, the Director. You will refer to me as such or as Sir, Master, or Lord. You will refer to your so called friend as pet. You will work when, where, and how I say you will. You will do these things because I tell you too. You will listen because I am your whole world now. I am your mother, father, best friend, worst enemy, provider, and thief,"

"You're none of that, just a forgotten thug who's got it in his head that he's now some kind of king." Gilda wanted so bad just to say that, but it wasn't worth being killed then and there. The brutal throw all the way across the room that followed these words was painful enough, made worse when the pony tied to her followed and collided. She snarled in pain as she tried to push Pathfinder off.

"I will say it kindly only once more. Follow the rules and you will be provided for. You will eat, you will have a safe place to sleep, and you won't come to harm. Don't and you'll have to make do with the idiots below who I'd say hardly see a year of life on average before starvation or violence takes them. the choice will always be yours, worker. Thunderpaw, take the worker and her pet. You have excess food and you're short a griffon, yes?"

Gilda had long since stopped caring what this creep said to her or made her do. She just stared back at him as he spoke of her new place and decided what her fate would be. it was inconsequential, as was whoever this Thunderpaw character was. All that mattered was her and Pathfinder. As they were untangled, she still just stared ahead not seeing the point of saying a thing. When Thunderpaw instructed her to follow, she did so wordlessly, bringing Pathfinder with her.

----

"I am in charge of the Thunderpaw work group. We have one-hundred and eighteen living workers and twenty-four pets. Normal rationing feeds us all, but just barely. You will never know what it is to feel full again. Our job is to maintain the overpass on section A-6, seeing as its a superstructure that supports the south end of the complex. If it falls, it could cause a chain reaction that could kill us all. We have..."

After a bit of a walk, Thunderpaw began to talk to her for some reason. Gilda wasn't sure why, since she really didn't particularly care about anything being said. She was here to perform labor, not to think. Why did it matter that this griffon even told her why they were doing anything? It was meaningless.

"This is Thunderpaw Hall. It is here you will be when you are not working and have free time outside of your abode. We will distribute food here, collect what you need washed and sent out here, and when you have died it is likely here that you will be found and taken topside. For the most part, beyond section A-6 and where you rest, this is where you will spend the rest of your days,"

Gilda remained quiet as yet another place was shown to her and more things were told to her. There wasn't anything to say about it. It was what it was. As far as the aloof griffon was concerned they might as well have muzzled her as well as Pathfinder. She had nothing to say to these griffons. She stared blankly out at the hall and nodded. She supposed she'd be seeing a lot of this place for a while, but that didn't mean she was going to be bothered to care about it.

"Block four. That is where you will live... Here is where you will sleep. As time passes and you work harder, we'll see about improving some of this. We'll clean the mattress next time we are up for washing. For now-"

The griffon was shown more of her new prison home, specifically the cell block where her and Pathfinder would be living and then the cell. She made note of the relevant information but still didn't say a word. What was there to say?

"For now- We'll speak in Thunderpaw Hall. That's something, at least,"

Thunderpaw continued to speak as he tied Pathfinder into the cell and threw her some seeds. Gilda just stared blankly as she was lead out then. Back in the hall she was sat at the table and presented with a bowl of unappetizing gruel.

"It's not very tasty and laced with that wing-destroying chemical, but it is something, Fraulein. This batch is bland, but we find spaces on the ruins often enough. A few years ago we had a superb cook who was able to make this somewhat delicious. He went mad a year ago and tried to eat his own wings due to the pain. I'm glad I just decided to have them cut off,"

Gida stared down at the slop blankly. She wasn't going to eat this. She wasn't going to eat anything they served her until she was near starved. She would serve them, but she wasn't going to become a part of their nauseating system. For her, this was all temporary. These creeps might have adjusted to this nightmare, but she still planned to see wide open skies again.

"So, I know you're likely terrified and have a lot of questions. I can't promise that we'll ever have the chance to sit down like this one on one again, so if you want to know anything, now is the time,"

Gida just gave a laugh. Terrified? That wasn't a word that readily came to her mind. She could think of any number of emotions that struck her before fear.

"Questions? I'm a prisoner here and pretty much a slave. What business might you possibly have entertaining my questions?" Gida finally spoke, derisively. "And it's not like I have very much to say to any of you anyway. If you're expecting shock or horror, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. I pledged to serve you and your oversized overlord, and I intend to follow through on that and all that comes with it... but that doesn't mean I'm going to give you the satisfaction of breaking me."

[SteelEagle]

Pathfinder didn't really have much in the way of personal pride that wasn't tied up with being an adventurer. You couldn't, seeing as it was dashed the moment you ate dirt due to hunger or slept in an open field in a rainstorm because you lacked a better place to lay your weary head. No, Pathfinder didn't have much in the way of pride. But even she felt belittled and upset when the muzzle was attached to her, and to have it restrict her movement so was beyond frustrating. When she walked, he rhead stood directly at her own hooves. When she looked up, she needed to be walked or else she would fall. It was as if she was a shy, mentally unfit puppy and while some may have claimed she was mentally unfit, she could certainly say she wasn't shy nor a puppy. Well, she thought she was that one time in Las Pegasus but what happened in Las Pegasus stayed there.

She was walked by Gilda, perhaps the only friendly face she'd see- or talons, seeing as she was staring at them. The sounds and smells of the entire complex wafted about her as she tried her best to think about something other than the fact that her dye was starting to fail around the hooves and in a few weeks she'd be that pathetic baby blue again. Was there any way to create new dye from the tears of imprisoned griffons? She hoped so or the adventure would take a turn for the ultra-lame. No one wanted to see her natural pelt color in all of its brightness, least of all Pathfinder herself, and most of all in the middle of an adventure. She was lead to her cell and then was tied to some sort of bar and then felt tiny little seeds slam against her pelt before Gilda and her newfound friend went off to have a discussion.

Immediately, Pathfinder went about trying to take apart the muzzle and harness with absolutely, positively zero success. It was old, used, and rusty- she could almost taste the flakes falling off and the decades of sweat build-up from previous occupants. She was stuck in this, but for how long? Was there even a key to it? The thought that this was possibly the device that would silence her for the rest of her life was deeply, deeply troubling. And exciting, so exciting- because she knew she would break out of it somehow, just like she would find a way to get out of this hole in the ground, find the helm, get back to Equestria, and get the mare to boot! For now though, Pathfinder contented herself with sitting on her flank and staring awkwardly out of the blanket covered entrance to her home, waiting patiently for some precision talons.

-----------------------------------------------------------

There was not an eye roll in the world large enough to deploy against what Gilda was spouting off, but there was a whole slew of annoyed facetalons he could deploy and he did so after she finished her proud and pointless blathering. Seeing a griffon so set to fight him for no reason and miss the point so completely was vexing. Terribly, terribly vexing.

"You're a fool," Thunderpaw blurted out from behind his facetalon, the largest tapping against his head for a few moments before pointing at her, though his head did not move and eyes remained close.

"Do you honestly think that your defiance hurts me in any way? It doesn't have to matter to me how you feel or what you think as long as you work. I don't need you nuzzling my talons like some chick nor do I need to see you sobbing in your room, completely broken. No, Wingie, I don't want to break you because I don't need to break you. If I wanted to break you, I'd tear off your wings like I tore the wings off of the guards who tossed me down here and then make you eat them as food. But i don't want to break you," he continued evenly before his head rose and the eyes opened.

"I'm here to make sure that at the very worst, you don't end up like the lunatics below us, Fraulein. You know how they ended up down there? Because they refused to accept what happened to them, who they were, where they were, and what they needed to do. They, like you, fought each and every one of us and believed they had all the answers. Eventually they broke like we all did but they didn't have anygriffon to rely on for support. They snapped, went crazy, got banished or ran down to join their fellow loons. What do you think they eat since they don't have any food, Wingie?" he offered up bitterly before flapping the stubs that were his wings. He scoffed.

"You think everyone here is a thug. You're proud because what, you think you're better than the rest of us? You aren't. Never were nor ever will. There are thugs here, but also good, honest griffons thrown down here because they opposed the ruling families, police who knew too much, officers who heard the wrong message- I myself was..." he began before his eyes grew misty and he leaned back, shaking his head slowly.

"You should have seen me, Wingie. I was stunning- arrogant perhaps, but still true. My feathers were preened by the best, talons sharpened daily, paws cleaned almost on the hour. I was one of the fastest fliers in the whole country and was even sent to Cloudsdale in Equestria for flight camp, only the third Griffon at the time to have done so. I traveled the world! Saw the Zebras of Unyasi and their rituals, was there at the Summer Sun Celebration in canterlot, the historical celebratory coronation of the Three Families in Rockwington, I went everywhere. Saw everything. I was beautiful, strong, fast, and very, very smart. So smart that I was asked to join the Guard as an Intelligence agent,"

"And so I did and for a while, things went well...until I found out how corrupt the system was. I was about to go to the public with some pretty heavy evidence when my own commanding officer, my own lover, choked me out and sent me down here...ahh... ma petite chou-fleur..." His eyes deepened in a combination of heartbreak and rage. He pounded the table, which sent it rebounding up to beak height.

"I have spent the better part of sixty years down here, Wingie. For every day I spent topside, I've spent three down here. So stop your theatrics and start working with us, because once you're out there with us, tolerance for your behavior will run out quickly," He muttered before settling with his gruel.

"If you won't eat it, you may feed it to your pet. There's a slot at the front of the muzzle for you to force it into her mouth."

[RarityDash]

"You're a fool. Do you honestly think that your defiance hurts me in any way? It doesn't have to matter to me how you feel or what you think as long as you work. I don't need you nuzzling my talons like some chick nor do I need to see you sobbing in your room, completely broken. No, Wingie, I don't want to break you because I don't need to break you. If I wanted to break you, I'd tear off your wings like I tore the wings off of the guards who tossed me down here and then make you eat them as food. But i don't want to break you,"

Gilda was somewhat surprised. She was curious as to how her flippant remarks would go over with this Thunderpaw, and immediately it was pretty clear to her that she had made a miscalculation in saying them. The fact of it made her grin slightly. This wingless old griffon evidently wasn't what she had imagined he was.

"I'm here to make sure that at the very worst, you don't end up like the lunatics below us, Fraulein. You know how they ended up down there? Because they refused to accept what happened to them, who they were, where they were, and what they needed to do. They, like you, fought each and every one of us and believed they had all the answers. Eventually they broke like we all did but they didn't have anygriffon to rely on for support. They snapped, went crazy, got banished or ran down to join their fellow loons. What do you think they eat since they don't have any food, Wingie?"

Gilda just laughed. She may not have understood this guy initially, but evidently he still didn't get her. It was obvious what the griffons below no doubt did to survive, and of course it was terrifying. All the same, the idea of becoming like them wasn't going to scare her. In a way, she admired them. They were the ones who stood strong on principle. The griffons she was currently among on the other hand, they were the ones who bowed their heads. They were the true cowards. If things were just slightly different, she'd have jumped down there into that pit of Tartarus willingly rather than submit herself to the system above. The ability to live by her own set of rules was worth any price.

"You think everyone here is a thug. You're proud because what, you think you're better than the rest of us? You aren't. Never were nor ever will. There are thugs here, but also good, honest griffons thrown down here because they opposed the ruling families, police who knew too much, officers who heard the wrong message- I myself was..."

Okay, she was guilty as charged here. She was full of herself and looked down on others. She always had been, and she was more than able to admit it. In this case, she was pretty sure she was right though. No matter who the griffons down here were when they entered, who they were now was someone different. Any griffon content to remain in this detestable pit was in her opinion, definitely lower than her.

"You should have seen me, Wingie. I was stunning- arrogant perhaps, but still true. My feathers were preened by the best, talons sharpened daily, paws cleaned almost on the hour. I was one of the fastest fliers in the whole country and was even sent to Cloudsdale in Equestria for flight camp, only the third Griffon at the time to have done so. I traveled the world! Saw the Zebras of Unyasi and their rituals, was there at the Summer Sun Celebration in canterlot, the historical celebratory coronation of the Three Families in Rockwington, I went everywhere. Saw everything. I was beautiful, strong, fast, and very, very smart. So smart that I was asked to join the Guard as an Intelligence agent, And so I did and for a while, things went well...until I found out how corrupt the system was. I was about to go to the public with some pretty heavy evidence when my own commanding officer, my own lover, choked me out and sent me down here...ahh... ma petite chou-fleur... I have spent the better part of sixty years down here, Wingie. For every day I spent topside, I've spent three down here. So stop your theatrics and start working with us, because once you're out there with us, tolerance for your behavior will run out quickly,"

Thunderpaw recounted his "tragic" backstory despite Gida having practically no interest in hearing any of it. She didn't need to hear it to get it. She had already readjusted her expectations and had a pretty good idea set in her mind as to who exactly this griffon was. Hearing it just confirmed it. He was an idealist, a romantic and most flagrantly a fool convinced in his way of thinking. Gida smiled.

"If you won't eat it, you may feed it to your pet. There's a slot at the front of the muzzle for you to force it into her mouth."

"i may do that," she said quietly. Pathfinder would need to eat something for strength. Gilda had been eating fine the past few weeks with Stormwing in that tower. She had had a nice big meal last night while she was free. She could hold out a while and go without and still function. Pathfinder would need some nourishment.

"I also must admit I had you pegged wrong," she said with a small laugh. "I figured you for some sort of rabid, angry dog at your master's beck and call, ready to go at any fresh meat put in front of you... but no, that's not it at all. You're the once proud dog who's been kicked against the wall so many times that he's gone stupid and afraid. You're resigned. That's what it is, and that's why we'll never see eye to eye."

The cocky griffoness smirked noticeably, as she continued her pointed remark, "My fire hasn't gone out, and I have news for you, buddy, but I'm not gonna let it. You see I'm the type who'd sooner invite the end myself than let myself sit and rot in this hole as you have. Sure, I'll play this game for now, but I'm not going to lose the hunger nor the hope. Unlike you, I still plan to see it again, the sky, the surface, all of it; I'm getting out of here. I'm not about to give up."

Giving a final laugh, Gilda shook her head. "And if I somehow do--if I fail, you can go ahead and throw me down below personally. I no doubt would fit in better with your 'lunatics' anyway," she added sharply before coming to a natural pause, curious as to how the old griffon might reply.

[SteelEagle]

Edit: Out.

[SteelEagle]

The impudence that this Gilda showed was born out of a certain character that he once claimed snug tight around his beak before starvation and violence claimed it. Confidence born of ignorance, snuffed out eventually by despair, that was Gilda's fate. Thunderpaw knew it, had seen it happen to dozen stronger griffons and when it hit Gilda he wasn't going to come to her for the comfort one required when the world around them snapped back to reality. Her insults didn't barb him, didn't illicit anything more than the continued smile that washed over his face while she spoke. He was going to enjoy her attitude and the day she cracked, broke, and wept uncontrollably would be a day he himself would detest almost as equally.

"Oh, you're a delight, freulin. We'll be deeply saddened when your wings stop working and you, like everyone else here, has that proud exterior broken. Just don't eat your pet or if you do, keep the muzzle on so we don't hear it," He said half-heartedly, willing to put that distance between them for now. She would eventually need his help almost as much as she would need food and when the time came for her to accept her fate, he'd be there to put her to work even more than she would be for now. The smile continued to stay on.

"Since you're a new addition to the crew, after work tomorrow you'll be expected to introduce yourself to your fellow workers. Sort of a nice way to make sure we put faces, names, and a story to our fellow workers. Makes it harder to try and eat them," He finished, this time walking away rather unphased by the conversation out the door. There would be a time for her to show proper respect and become one of them and like inall things here, time was on the side of those who accepted their fate.

---

Back in the cell, Pathfinder was growing highly impatient. To describe the situation as irritating and annoying would be like describing The Adventures of Young Daring Do as heartbreakingly non-canonical. It was something that she had wished dearly to be untrue but what were you going to do when the author himself shot it down? It made sense in retrospect, what were her little filly crushes and desires that never seemingly made an impact in her later life or the discussion of her family that was patently untrue as one would see later on in the main series. But there was something endearing about that little pony adventuring across the land and getting in all sorts of mayhem, something wonderful and terrible that Pathfinder couldn't help but accept into her heart no matter what the author had to say. It was real to her. It was fact.

The slings and arrows of reality rarely caused so much as a blip on her radar, so fictionalized her perception of even herself. But just like how Young Daring Do was utterly non-canonical, the fading of her dye and the pain in her leg reminded her all too sourly that she could hardly fictionalize her position. She was stuck, tied up, harnessed, muzzled, and wounded deep in a hole in the ground in hostile territory. Her best ally was a griffon partially responsible for her situation and surviving a moment or five amongst the general population would be a success all on it's own. She had no reason to expect escape when everypony told her it was impossible. But there was something endearing about this little pony adventuring across the land and getting in all sorts of mayhem, something wonderful and terrible that Pathfinder couldn't help but accept into her heart no matter what the griffons had to say. Her escape was real to her. It was fact.

All she had to do was write it out, and make that severe mental fiction a reality.

[RarityDash]

"Oh, you're a delight, freulin. We'll be deeply saddened when your wings stop working and you, like everyone else here, has that proud exterior broken. Just don't eat your pet or if you do, keep the muzzle on so we don't hear it."

Gilda wasn't surprised by the response to her words that came. The other griffon blew her off as insane and unrealistic. She couldn't blame him. This was insane and unrealistic. It was all she had though. She was down to her last few bits and, in her mind, the choice was clear: either back away from the table, bow her head and pretend like those bits will multiply and not just run out; or go all in and take that last wild bet, hoping she'd recoup everything she gambled away. Sure, odds were she'd go bust doing so, but it was worth it in her mind, because she wasn't just throwing her bits--her life-- away, she had confidence in the bet. She had faith; somehow Pathfinder and Daring Do, together had cured her of enough of her cynicism to ignite a fire of hope.

He was being pragmatic, just as Gilda usually tried to be, but this griffon wasn't going to take that from her. Gilda wasn't going to let him.

"Since you're a new addition to the crew, after work tomorrow you'll be expected to introduce yourself to your fellow workers. Sort of a nice way to make sure we put faces, names, and a story to our fellow workers. Makes it harder to try and eat them,"

"Sure, whatever you say, pal," she said with a flippant snicker, as the elder griffon made his hasty exit from the room. She'd follow their protocol. She'd obey. She'd do whatever they wanted of her. She'd do it all until Pathfinder could find a way out. That didn't mean she was going to pretend like she enjoyed it.

Gilda sighed and then stared down toward the bowl of gruel in front of her. Pathfinder would need her strength. She would be hungry and in need of nourishment. Gilda felt bad about feeding her this slop though, especially if it was bound to sap her wings of life. Shrugging, Gilda grabbed the bowl and poured just under half of it onto the floor. For now, the best she could do was just limit how much of the stuff Pathfinder ate. She'd eat all that she was served, so the trick was to adjust the portion size. It made a mess of the floor in the hall, but eh, it wasn't like she really cared.

Grabbing the bowl, she left the table and started to move back toward the cell. She found it okay. It was pretty easy to remember the location, even though she had only been paying so much attention. She entered the room slowly and looked at Pathfinder, a sad sight to behold. She gave a frown and felt a small pang of guilt before brushing it off and stepping forward.

"Hey, pony. Got some food for you," she said as she put the bowl of gruel before the muzzled pegasus, figuring out how to open the muzzle to allow the pony to eat as she did. "This stuff's not a taste treat, but you need to eat something if you want to make it through this," she added. She was only guessing about the taste, but as far as she was concerned there was no way this stuff could taste appetizing.

She sat atop the bed and gave another sigh. "And we are going to get through this," she commented dryly as she found a small, hopeful smile.

[SteelEagle]

Pathfinder stared at the gruel that had been dropped in front of her. What sort of cruelness was this? Gilda spoke words of encouragement and excitement, defiance and strength, but offered to Pathfinder the mix that was to send their wings to Tartarus. That was bad enough, to be forced to eye this mess with the knowledge that no matter how awful it was for her it was the only way she'd make it out of there. She was beyond starving, the meager portions given to her the night previous doing little to aid her in that realm. Sure she could try to ignore the fact that her stomach was trying to devour the rest of her body in desperation but sven she knew that feeling your ribs poke through your skin was a bad sign. So, despite the fact she knew it was bad for her on a philosophical level, gruel was also the best defense against starvation she had at the moment. So she went down to take a bite...

And, well, she was still muzzled and fell snout first into it. She could smell it and bits of the nastiness slid through the muzzle to mock her mouth by laying at the sides. She coiulsdn't do anything, not even the faintest lick. She whimpered fitfully and angrily as she stood up and started thrashing about wildly until by luck she started kicking the mount which she was attached to. A half a dozen loud, cranky hoofcracks later and it snapped off like a twig, Pathfinder falling to the ground as the metal chains collapsed. Her work was not yet done, however, as she starting pawing uselessly at the muzzle, her eyes glowing with a mix of hunger-driven madness and normal, un-food related madness. Come Tartarus or rain cloud, this was one pegasus who was going to eat, even if all three hooves slamming against the muzzle did naught all to help.

[RarityDash]

Gilda wouldn't have been able to sleep immediately, even with the drugs in her system. Her head was racing. It was still back there in the confrontation with wingless griffon and also the one before him. She had a lot to think about, there were a lot of variables, a lot of uncertain. This was a high risk gamble and losing out would be something she regretted. Her convictions were set, however. She regretted nothing, and as the conversations replayed in her head, even if she was cognizant that they both likely found her to be a joke and a fool, she had won.

The griffon wouldn't have slept on all of that at once, but even if she had been able to put it all aside, rest wouldn't have found her for all of the racket her cell mate was making. Slowly Gilda sat back up and looked toward the struggling pony as she fought the bowl of gruel as fiercely as she might have fought a griffon pursuer. She looked kind of pathetic. No, there was no "kind of" about it. This pony was pathetic. Yet this pony was the very pony Gilda had decided to make her ultimate wager on.

Maybe she was the joke after all, she thought with a sigh. Maybe she was a fool. She laughed and smirked at that though. Being stubborn was a blessing sometimes; she was too proud to let the doubt in. She was too uncompromising to let it affect her. She wasn't wrong because she couldn't be wrong. All the times where she had been wrong in the past, those were just stupid little exceptions. No, she was right about this, and if she wasn't right, she was going to die anyway, so it didn't matter.

"Here, let me help," she said to Pathfinder, moving toward the pony. Using one talon, she grabbed the bowl, and the other she grabbed the pony's muzzled head. "Open up. Here goes," she said as she tilted the bow and began to pour its contents into the muzzle's opening, only stopping when the bowl was emptied.

Gilda shook her head as she finished. Her freedom hinged on this weak, half-starved, broken, lame, flightless, muzzled pegasus that she was apparently going to have to manually feed and yet she was still convinced this was somehow going to work. She wasn't going to argue with that conviction, but thinking on it in those terms, she had to wonder just how she had gotten to this point.

[SteelEagle]

Any doubt about whether or not Gilda was here as a friend or at best as a fellow prisoner flew out of the window, just as Pathfinder would have flown out the window had she not been tightly bound by harsh rope. The gruel slid down into the tiny muzzle hole like it was reluctant to even allow her to sniff it, mournfully and slowly falling from the bowl and into Pathfinder's little trap. It then covered the hole for a moment before dripping with some rapidity into her nostrils, into her mouth, and all across her face. It ran in thin lines down her jaw line and from her neck cascaded down to her chest. It tasted like if oatmeal had been left out all morning and then someone tossed in pepper, which for all Pathfinder knew was exactly what had happened. Griffon culinary habits were not a major focus of hers and she was willing to give in to the crazed meat-eating image that some had of them. But no, that had nothing directly to do with Gilda...yet. Who knew what depravity lurked in the heart of a desperate griffon.

No, this just confirmed that she was, indeed, messing with Pathfinder in the best way possible. Instead of trying to help the mare take the darn harness and muzzle off, she was forcefeeding Pathfinder the gruel which seemed to never stop. It almost suffocated her. It also almost chocked her. And as it fizzled in her belly, she could almost feel the chemical dispersing to her wings. That was probably a bit of a psychological overreaction but now that she actually took the substance into her body, she rued the day- which had been that day, specifically a few minutes ago- that she had considered it an attractive option. If she could have thrown it all up she would have but her gag reflex was nonexistent due to weakness and the muzzle didn't allow her to move her mouth in any defensive manner. All she could do was close her eyes in a defeated mixture of relief, horror, and exhilaration as she finished off the gruel.

When Pathfinder had finished letting Gilda troll her terribly, she pulled herself closer to the wall in defense of her throbbing back leg. Almost as she did so, however, the residual effect of the chemical started to take hold and Pathfinder felt herself getting drowsy. Perhaps due to her weakened state, not ten seconds later, she fell over on her left side head first, a thud announcing her entrance into the world.

[RarityDash]

Gilda slept on those thoughts. How was she so convinced Pathfinder would work it out? It didn't really make sense to her. Something in her brain had evidently been knocked loose through all of this. The old her never would have been so recklessly convinced some broken pony could get her out of this tight spot. Was it really the Daring Do, or was it just something else she felt. She didn't know, but as she laid back, finally the drug in her system caught up to her. Exhaustion set in quickly. Very soon she was sleeping soundly.

It was a deep sleep, full of dreams. Sky blue dreams, set racing around Cloudsdale, without a care. She was smiling in them. This of course made them the worst sort of nightmare. Upon finally awaking with a start the griffoness was forced to recognize that those picturesque blue skies were not her current reality. No, beyond that even, they were flat inaccessible to her at the moment. Failure here in this pit meant she'd never see them again. All together, these thoughts quickly sent her mood into a downward spiral.

Sitting upward, she glanced toward the pony. "Hey, Pony! You up? Think I'm expect somewhere; not sure what they want me to do with you," she started with a yawn. She frowned. Not matter what she said, the pony wouldn't be talking back with that stupid thing on her face. it was really starting to rub Gilda's feathers in exactly the wrong way.

"Ya know, what, hold on," she started with clear irritation as she moved toward the pony. "This thing is really starting to bug me... and it has to be even worse on you."

Gilda grabbed a hold of the pony's muzzle and began to pry at it with her claws, trying to rip it apart. "Blasted piece of junk!" she shouted. "Move!"

She kept prying at it forcibly but the rusted thing went budge. She turned to pulling at it, until eventually, she lost her grip and shot back several feet. Shaking her head, she looked back toward the pony, wondering if she had made any progress at all.