therookery | Griffon gripes

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Griffon gripes

FORM: Sending crystal
SENDER: Freddie, Val, and Jehan (your favorites!)
RECIPIENT: Everyone
WHAT: A Griffon Grievance
WHEN: Now
WHERE: Everywhere
NOTES: Can we say a group of griffons is called a grievance? A grievance of griffons?

Inquisition.

[This is Val. Don’t stop listening, his tone is grave and serious, which means what follows will be equally grave and serious.]

When one thinks of the noblest of creatures, beasts of the air, one must first and always think of griffons. The dragon, she has a certain unspeakable loveliness, a loveliness of her form, in all her savage glory, but if the word to meditate upon is nobility, then it is the griffon that comes first to mind. On this, we can all agree, yes?

So, then, tell to me: why complain about the smell? [ Because it is terrible! another accented voice says in the background, muffled. ] Yes, it is a pungent aroma. But nobly so. Less noble and far more worthy of complaint is the habit of the griffon of which books do not speak of: the habit of airborne thievery.

A whole ham, Inquisition.

[ Jeannot—who had his despondent face buried in a pillow, before this point—lifts his head to chime in. ]

A good ham. It tasted of hope. Or I imagine that it must have, before it was swallowed whole by a beast who did not even pause to appreciate it.

We ought to have been warned. And another thing—

And another thing! [ It's Freddie now, talking over Jehan, feel free to begin paying attention again. She sounds incensed, but also like she's probably putting it on a bit. ] Hair ribbons! If the beasts want my last good set of silk hair ribbons I would be more than happy to donate them to the cause of brightening up the horribly dull colors you chose for their tack, but I won't have them eaten! It shows an appalling lack of taste which would never have happened if these fine Orlesian creatures had been properly raised.

Perhaps it is not the tack that is the problem? Perhaps it is the color of the griffons themselves. The horrible grays, and duns - the griffons are surely desperate. I would be. Can you dye the feathers, do you think?

—I was going to say, [ Jehan continues, ] I think we are owed an explanation, as academics, for this reemergence of an extinct species. As well as a new ham. If we are given these things then perhaps we can offer ribbons and dye.

And if we offer these griffons ribbons, and dye, and perhaps the smallest piece of our ham - I will take the cut, my friends - perhaps then the griffons will find themselves more kindly disposed to us. And by us I mean me. [If Val sounds a little sulky, that’s because he is.] What an unkindness. I will stoop to bribery if I must, griffons.

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Chimeras who gre--

[ w h a t ]

You do know what a griffon is, yes?

I know! I've seen them, I spent time in their company and I can't help if if they remind me of certain creatures from my world...

[There's a sigh] Listen, I know they're wonderful and intelligent beings but hearing them being consider less noble than dragons... it irks me. Sir, have you ever seen a dragon in flight? Or in combat?

In flight, to be sure. At a distance. I have made great study of creatures, dragons among them. It is my life's work--among other works. I have in fact composed a poem of dragons--and still, begging the fullest pardon of whatever dubious family tie to the species you are claiming, mademoiselle, I would say the griffon is nobler.

It is the eyes, I think.

So you dedicated your life to study creatures and you still consider griffons something more... elegant, to say, than a dragon. While I'd love to hear your poem I wonder [She frowns] dubious? Sir, there's nothing dubious about my family ties: I lost my family when I was a kid and a loving dragon took me in and raised me.

How so, if I may?

The larger the eye, the deeper its depths. The dragon has an eye into which one feels one could fall. Fathomless, eternal, a savage wisdom that no man will ever know, not even if he were to study for two lifetimes. This is not the same as nobility. It is something else, something separate--some other that a dragon possesses.

And now that I have explained something to you: your pardon, mademoiselle, but you must explain why a dragon would be interested in raising a child.

Oh, well, in that... I cannot disagree. [Rydia has the deepest love and admiration for them, whenever someone lacks of respect toward them the woman feels it almost as a personal attack - something that happened far too often in Thedas.] I apologize for reacting in such a way to your initial words, I'm glad to see someone who doesn't blindly consider them fiends in this world.

[There's a moment of silence, as if she's considering if she wants to reply or not] ... out of necessity, I suppose. I was young, weak and I had to be trained. Fast. I think he took the role he knew I needed, at least at first.

Oh, they are fiendish.

[And he sounds very pleased about that truth.]

But to that I have always felt a kinship. I was accused of rampant destruction when I was a child, and worse. Perhaps I should have been raised by dragons.

Though I can't imagine a dragon would be so very attracted to the weak, unless it was to eat. This dragon must have felt some affection for you, if you were not eaten.

Hardly. But then again my world seems a different place...

You're a mage too, aren't you? Considering what I heard about the mages of this world I agree, being raised by a dragon could have been a better option. Then again, it seems times may be changing even for your people?

My survival and my training, despite my weakness, was... a meaning to an end. Mother and father had their reasons to take me in, they forced me to prove my worth and for a long while I was afraid of them. Still, affection developed during time and even now, despite living on different worlds even in my place of origin, we still seek each other's company.

Oh, by the way, he actually ate me... it's a long story.

Me, a mage! Mademoiselle, would that it were so. Alas, I am but a humble scholar of the greatest University--but my admiration for mages is as hale as a dragon. You are a mage, then?

Is that why you were able to withstand being... [er] devoured? Truly, that is a strange way to come around to 'adoption'. I suppose in the very loosest sense, it is true. You were adopted into the dragon's stomach.

My apologies... it's just... "accused of rampant destruction and worse" sounded like a child who still had to learn how to control his powers. And, yes, I am one even if I don't think there's so much to admire about it. Magic is convenient, I'm often fascinated by how ingenious those who are unable to cast spell are...

He never had the intention of digest me but his idea of adoption was... peculiar. [It involved destroying the ship she was traveling on, probably illing dozens of people, and eating her... just to vomit her once they arrived in the Feymarch, his world.] Let's just say his majesty Leviathan had no time to waste asking the permission to take me, little matters if it meant taking me by force and having me arrive at destination inside his stomach.

Thinking about it, it definitely was a rough start...

Fortunately I was quite equipped to destroy rampantly even without magic. Would that I had the skill. My parents would have been wholly bereft.

[And that would have been great.]

Your fascination in the ingenuity of the spell is mine as well, mademoiselle. How novel, the mage. How inventive. It is an inspiration to which I may only aspire, that spark of connection to move the mind and the heart and the very fabrics of reality.

Which, speaking of organs like the heart--how does one survive in a stomach? I assume magic played a part. Even a dragon would have the biles and the acids of dissolution. Especially a dragon, I would think. Not to mention the lack of food. Did you survive on the nearly digested? And how did you stop from entering the lower tracts of the dragonbody?

[ A stage whisper: ] She is telling a tale, surely.

But to what end?

Absolutely not, fair sir. Anyway, I suppose your parents should be grateful of your lack of magic.

[She shakes her head]

No no no... the inventive one is the person without magic. We can materialize what we need in case of necessity, most of the time, we can fight with it but others? Oh, they have to invent different ways to do so without spells, it's incredible! You can create fire by rubbing two twigs together, you create incredibly complex machines, in my world they even fly without magic! Sweet father, my best friend created life in her dolls, as far as I can tell, without a single spell. Ahem, my apologies, I'm getting carried away...

Anyway I cannot properly answer: it was decades ago and I was drowning, I only remember being swallowed by the creature and waking up in his world. He's a shapeshifter, thought, and even in our land he uses his human form most of the time so he won't take too much space in our small city... it's safe to assume he generated a safe space for me while diving back in the ocean...

A pity. I live to make my parents ungrateful for me.

I must admit that I find myself confused. You were swallowed by a creature. You woke up in his world--his stomach, perhaps? If he was using a form that cast his face so human, were you amid the digestive organs of a human? That is grotesque to the extreme, mademoiselle. What a life you have had!

[Unless Jeannot is right and she's having him on. Not sure.]

That's certainly... peculiar. Yet I have no right to judge anyone's life choices, sir...

Oh, I will admit I'm still slightly confused myself but allow me to explain the full story, then. When I was really young I was forced to... leave my village and I kept traveling a lot, kingdom by kingdom. After leaving a place called Fabul I sailed with my companions on a ship, trying to reach- I don't honestly remember, it was decades ago- point is my father sunk said ship. He's a sea dragon, you know. I vaguely remember almost drowning in the water and his mouth closing around me then all somehow fades to black.

When I woke up I was in the Feymarch... my world is divided in surface, underground -beautiful with its seas of molten lava- and the Feymarch -which is almost another little world inside mine, you could almost compare it to your fade since only spirits and monsters live in there, inside time flows faster and magic is almost palpable. That's where I woke up, in a wooden house surrounded by monsters pretending to be humans for my sake... I can only assume he regurgitated me after the kidnapping.

Oh, also... no, the Feymarch is everything but grotesque or disgusting! It's just a large, immendly large, cave. Most monsters live in a suspended wooden city, the only point with actual light in the whole area, and that's where I spent most of my time.
I apologize for the misunderstanding...

[Ohhhh okay. With certainty, now:]

You are telling me a tale. It is very charming, mademoiselle. Far more charming than the stories that I was told. You would make a wonderful nursemaid.

By what is the wooden city suspended? Gossamer thread of some great spider, I suppose?

Well, I'm not going to ask you to believe me, sir, I understand that a rifter's world can be rather... strange for people coming from other places ad this Thedas has been for me.

Actually, I don't know. Everything inside the Feymarch has been crafted with magic, the three main platforms the city is built in are just... there. And looking down all you see is darkness, it can be quite intimidating at times.

And if you think it's just a tale then please, go ahead and ask more, maybe you could write a good book out of it.

[If anything, she's amused by this conversation]

I think not. I will leave that writing for others more suited to it. I have written a great deal, of course, and I am very well-published--but it has all been scholarly works.

But tell me. What is at the bottom of that darkness, beneath the city that hangs by the slender thread of magic?

And what is more scholarly than thalking about other worlds, my friend? [There's a small chuckle, if anything she's amused he discredited her story so easily] I guess I will amuse you a bit further with my tale-like origins.

Oh... countless caves. There are caves above us, you need to pass them to access the entering teleport, there are caves under us and may Bahamuth protect you if you ever fall, if anything I really learnt how to navigate my way underground.

Well, since you asked--talking, for the sake of mere conversation, is not very scholarly. That is a conversation, you see. At least there ought to be note-taking involved for the activity to take a scholarly bent. And one ought to approach the conversation with the intent to make study of its contents later.

If you learned to navigate your way underground--does that mean you did fall?

But one can always learn, even from mere conversations with others: wouldn't it be a shame to lose potential precious informations only because the Scholar dismissed whatever talk he had only because it didn't happen... in the appropriate way.

Not that my story is important or interesting but others may be...

I didn't but I had to learn from my people. When I was finally allowed to return on the surface I had to travel alone and pass the caves I mentioned before to return to the humans I traveled with as a kid.

A point, yes. But it isn't that the conversation is inappropriate. More that I would need to refer only to memory, should I want to use the conversation, or refer to it later. And memory is so unreliable, Mademoiselle Rifter. I say that, even as a great mind myself.

What a strange obstacle to have needed to overcome. Who was barring you from your return, that you had to wait to be allowed?

I can understand your point, even if I still consider oral tradition extremely important and reliable. You know, a piece of paper can hardly transmit someone's feelings about a certain things, openly talking about it... that can.

I thought I told you, sir, I had to be trained. I wasn't allowed to leave the Feymarch until I was ready for it and no, Leviathan wouldn't offer me another free ride to step in or leave.

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Griffon gripes

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