A New Queen
Setting
Players
The coup was a very quick, and very big success. And given with the tempers arising against the old Queen, not many cared to defend her anymore. It's been four days. This has given everyone time to settle down, for the roughly one hundred bodies that were slain to be removed from the Fort, and for everyone to start wondering...
It's dark outside, a couple of hours after the second sun had set off to the east horizon. The night is clear, the weather cooled, the winds quiet. Most are awake, and most are here. Those who are not are doing their final scouting missions for the time being. All have been called home, to the Fort, as the new Queen is making her appearance.
There seems to be no distinct order in anything specific. Noone knows where ranks are concerned anymore. At the moment, no word has been sent from the Queen's chambers if those who were once officers still are. There is a certain level of mass confussion because of this...But yet there is also calm in the massive crowd, knowing that change is certainly good. Old officers sit or lay in wait just as the rest, expectant.
There are only a select few gryphons that are touching the upper-level's ramp or higher into the Fort, and these are all strictly guards. Everyone else has been ushered to the Courtyard or Lower by order of the Queen herself. There have been no rebellions to this fact.
The two guards standing up at the top of the Upper ramp look back, then slowly raise to attention. There is no sign, yet, of the new Queen, but its a warning that she is likely coming. This gives those who want to chatter amoungst themselves a chance to do so...
Khasra sits attentively between his mates, a wing draped across either one. His tail flicks slowly, mulling over the thought of life among the ranks again. It's not.. a pleasant thought. Naturally he'd assumed being part of the coup would imply position, power... all the perks he's come to expect. After all, better to support the new queen and retain his position than oppose her and lose everything, right? Which isn't to say he doesn't agree with her platform.
Talkeenta lays beside Khasra, though she moves, after a bit, keeping from under his wing. She killed people, two for sure, and another, maybe, a few days ago, the first real people she's ended in her life as a Shkrill. Her lungs feel better, and she doesn't feel like she needs his wing over her back to protect her today. The general mood is such that people give the three of them a little margin. The fighting certainly hasn't done good things for Kirrta's sanity either.
Words trade between various gryphons for a time, but as a third guard walks up, the crowds become quiet. Heads turn up toward the ramp, looking, watching, waiting.
In that quiet, the click of talons purposely struck hard against the ground echoes from the upper level. Slowly, the form of Savant stalks into view, head down and pointed, shoulders up, the red, silver, and black hen coming to the edge in a predatorial way. She turns to the side of of the ramp, and moves to a ledge that overhangs slightly, talons purposefully gripping the edge tightly, scratching a little into the ledge's sight.
The hen is silent for the longest time. Her head turns slowly, eyes seeming to scan over, to look at, and to burn through ever single gryphon here, as though she searched for the one in the crowd that still opposed her new rank, and was still in support of Eli. It seems a lifetime that the crowd is left quiet like this...before the new Queen flares her wings high, lifts up, and lets off a very raptorial, and very victorious Skreeeee!!!
Talkeenta lifts her head, joining the ranks of the gryphons who answer the Queen in kind, thousands of voices, shrill and echoing within the fort.
Khasra and Kirrta scream back in turn, the noise echoing in the high chamber for some time as though answered by a thousand more throats.
Talkeenta looks back to the new Queen, quiet save for the cries of a few gryphlets, slow to catch on when the cry started, slow to catch on when the cry was to stop, their parents hushing them to give the queen chance to speak.
Savant lowers her head as the crowd erupts into equal skrees, looking over her subjects. Although those voices were high pitched and shrill, the very sound seemed to make the Fort shake, reverberating a deep bass as well. A powerful sound, indeed.
She lets the cheer go up for a moment, then lifts a talon swiftly, opened, calling for silence once more. As gryphons go quiet, her talon closes as well, fisting tight as full silence returns once more. Head scans again as she starts to speak in a loud voice, powered by the acoustics.
"Hear that? There was a sound we have not heard in far, far too long. Crag. A single, powerful voice. The Shkrill in tune with one another." She rumbles deeply for a moment, and shifts, slowly settling her haunches down. She chuckles quietly as a couple of gryphlets cry again, by accident, the Queen seeming at ease with this fact. "We have been a divided nation, torn between laziness or boredom, between routine and repetitious nonsense. We have lived under a Queen that saw it fit to spend more of her time in a nest, tail held high, groaning in the hidden depths, instead of being out here with her own, with the Shkrill she supposedly respected and controlled. So mighty a clenched talon that power was! Indeed, over fifty of our very own, amoung thousands of Shkrill, came to her defense." Though the words hold a mild humor, she doesn't pause to allow any chuckles. "It was a chance for a much-needed bloodshed. I pity that it had to be within the Fort, our home..." She grows quiet again, and looks to others, watching for reactions to this simple fact...
Khasra mumbles to his mates, "Which isn't to say that's a bad way to spend your time..." He gives an irreverent grin and nods in response to the pause, his claws curling. He knows it's all rhetoric, but... something down in his chest leaps at the grand words and their implied return to action.
Talkeenta gives a look over to Khasra, but doesn't answer his words. She looks back, later, whispering under her breath, "Fifty?" It was more than that. She counted the bodies, and she saw at least fourty, and that was upstairs. She rumbles though, and doesn't make anything more of it.
Savant takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. "I have spent my time amoung you all. I have listened to the grumbles and the growls. I have listened to the distress that was the lack of a seen Queen. And...I have brought the answer." She trills quietly. "Elizarraraz is gone. No, not killed...I granted her mercy. She is young still, and was obviously too young to be our Queen. But our downfall from the strength we once commanded, that was none the less her fault. She is an Outcast, now, to live her days whereever she chose, as long as that choice is not here. In OUR home." She flares her wings again, a sign that cheers are welcome if cheers are wanted to be given.
Talkeenta rumbles, joining the cry after a moment, seeming less convinced by this... And indeed, it shows, the mob more reserved in its acceptance of these words and news.
Khasra raises his voice as well, wings twitching as he cries out--zealously, apparently, for his part.
Savant not the least surprised by the shallower cry. That was a decision she had made that had not exactly come with much agreement to those that had joined her coup. Death had come to the defenders, surely death should have come to Elizarraraz as well. She hold up a talon again, asking for that silence once more. "She is no longer under our protection. She has been given this time, between her removal and today, to flee as she will. If you seek vengence, then vengence may you give in part. I wish not to hear of it if such happens." She nods her head once, making the point final. And perhaps making those who felt reserved lose that feeling. "But what of our New Queen! What do we expect now? Is she another Sharrah, ripping and tearing her claws through whomever she chooses? Or is she another Elizarraraz, intent to give orders enough that she can live in luxury?" The hen looks over everyone slowly, letting them mull over the question. "I...will be a mixture of various traits of the queens past. And will bring fresh thoughts to the Shkrill as well. I will shed blood, mark my words. Yet I will have reason behind the slice of my claw. I will command you all, yet I will give you freedom to live, and to be what we all are. Gryphons, to the last." She looks to her side, toward the Ramp. "I bring you myself. I do not bring you a Queen exposing all the riches she can muster." She looks back. "I bring to you myself, a hen of true Shkrill Blood. I bring to you a warrior."
Talkeenta is quieter here, as well, listening, to the new queen, and to the way her new subjects answer these claims, still making up her mind as to whether she believes them or not... She matches her response, for now, to the mood of the mob.
Khasra leans forward to drop the double entendre, "I'll take her," in Talkeenta's ear. He leans back again and shrills assent along with the rest of the group, eager to get on to the important part--officers.
Talkeenta gives a sideward glance to Khasra's words, not answering them, and seeming unamused. Whether she finds them in poor taste, or whether she's simply more intereted in what the new queen has to say, would be hard to try to judge.
Savant lifts herself back up, and pulls back from the ledge, walking back toward the ramp once more, and quick twitch of her head sending the guards down the ramp, and into the throng of gryphons. She moves to the top of the ramp, and looks out over them. "I still stand up here alone. I have wanted your attention as a mass, first, as a single Shkrill, but the truest fact is a Queen alone cannot lead all. She needs other superiors, others of respect to help her, and to help all of you." She settles down again. "I will state now...Change will not come instantly. Some things don't need to be changed. And where it comes to those of higher ranks, those who needed change the most are now dead." She looks over the crowd for a moment, then holds out a talon toward the crowd below. "The Officers of Elizarraraz have changed their rank. They are now the Officers of Queen Savant. And that is a leap above what they may have been before. Come, my generals, my captains, my wing leaders. You have lost nothing. Do not fret your place, and come to my side."
Khasra lets out a breath and rises, brushing a wing over Talkeenta and one over Kirrta as he ascends the ramp to join the queen, his usual arrogance once again present in his stride. He pauses a few meters below her and bows respectfully.
Talkeenta growls softly, wary... The past few days have made her see. She gives a glance to her drake as he steps forward, and back up, and a quick glance around, judging... Is this some kind of trap, or an honest deal?
Savant watches closely, clear eyes scanning every hen and drake that rises up the ramp. She knows every single one by name, naturally, and likely has some amount of repect to let them all back up to her, with no guards at her side to ward attacks. If this were a trap, it would have been poorly planned, as Savant was leaving herself far too open.
Once all of the officers have risen and come up, she looks down at the lines at her sides. "To each of you, I will state this in the open. Some ranks will change. Some officers will be moved from duties they have now to duties better suited to them. I know what each of you want to do, over what some of you were positioned to do. And a few will raise in the ranks they had before. I will need a Second, and any ranks that were slain before must be filled. But...That meeting will come." She raises and looks over the crowds again. "Tonight, however, there are no Wars. There is no Hate. There is only Us, and of this fact we shall celebrate. Work and training come tomarrow. Tonight, we have fresh meats and we have the best wine there is, our very own Shkrill wine." Savant stands tall, and lifts her wings high. "Tonight, let the rest of Shrilk hear the sounds of the Shkrill as they rejoice!" She once again lets out a loud skree, lifting to her hindlegs as well to make herself that much larger to behold.
Khasra screeches once more, watching the queen rear and skree... she's certainly impressive, no question there!
Talkeenta looses a cry, mingled with that of her clanmates, this one rising up, collectively eager in its approval.
Savant holds up her talon after a few more moments of cheer, and calls silence once more. She leaves it that way, ominously, for some time, making everyone wonder. Then, with a rouse of her feathers, and a deep sweeping bow, she calls out, "Crag, At Ease." The first collectively Military order given in a long time. With that, she tunrs to her side, and dips her head to her officers, acknowledging that they, too, are free to go as they please. Then, unlike many of the hens before, the Queen flits her wings, then leaps out and flies into the throng, to celebrate this night WITH the Shkrill, instead of going off to hide in her chambers.
Talkeenta rumbles. Khasra seems popular tonight. He won't be coming back soon. She gets a skin of wine, and Kirrta, and slips off somewhere quiet.
Main Courtyard - Fort Crag
Cleared of the debris and redecorated with several large cloth tapestries this courtyard has regained a lot of its original ancient splendour. It is a large, wide open area sheltered by a smooth rock ceiling at least forty feet above the ground. The acoustics here are very good, and the slightest whisper carries easily from one side of the courtyard to the other, making a gryphon giving an announcement or a speach to gathered gryphons sound all the more impressive. On two sides, ramps lead either down to the lower levels of the fort, or up towards the administrative complex embedded higher within the mountain's protective embrace. The dominant feature of the courtyard is a large, black rectangular slab of rock embedded in the ground, which sports a blood red chevron on the side facing the entrance.
The floor of this chamber has been returned to close to its original condition, interlocked bricks of grayish-blue colour and rough texture for easy traction while mobilizing attack wings. At the entrance to the gates the shkrill emblem has been painted, a bright red chevron that matches the one seen on the monolith. The gates are open, allowing anyone to walk into or out of the fortress.
Savant
Savant is a savage, somewhat deadly looking hen simply in coloration and form. She's a sleek, middle-sized hen. 3'1" at the shoulder, roughly 530 pounds given her leaner form, a slightly oversized 17' wingspan, and a longer 5'8" in length from beaktip to rump. She's nearly an arrow in form because of this through the air.
Stormy grey eyes look out over a obsidian black beak. Red coloration flares up at the nares, and flows back over her head, staining the hen's head with the colors of dim fire and blood. The feather change color abruptly halfway down her neck, going from that red to a dull silver color. Dull, it seems, only in that she doesn't tend the feathers as well, though with her recent rank change, she's starting to clean up.
The same coloration seems to follow over her wings, except that her upper wings are entirely red, and the silver only shows underneath her wings along second and primaries, flashing bright color when they flare. Claws, talons, and forelegs are as black as night, just as her beak, and the color also shows up in all of her fur, the black seeming to practically soak up light in the area, still lacking a cleaner sheen. She has a freshly repainted chevrons on both her left and right flanks, as well as a smaller one on her left shoulder, showing no lack of pride in the very clan she now heads.
Khasra
Khasra is a fairly compact, falcon based gryphon. His feathers are white with a peppering of black in the manner of a gyrfalcon, with fairly small eartufts on his head. His rump is furred in light eggshell, like a bleached lion. Light yellow forelegs end with long ebony talons, matching the black retractable claws on his hindpaws. He is firmly in his prime, strong and agile, packed with hard muscle from his long pointed wingtips to his powerful haunches. His ice-blue eyes stare around him with the hard gaze of a veteran, the impression reinforced by the network of scars mostly covered by his fur. No imperfections mar his face, however. The only spot of color on his body is a large chevron of crimson on his left hauch, like a splatter of blood on pure snow, which marks him as a member of Shkrill Clan. A narrow band of leather runs around his neck, almost buried under the feathers, with a pouch in front to contain his most treasured posession.
Talkeenta
This is a gryphon of peregrine stock, easily seen in the dark slate hood that covers her crown and neck, and the lighter salmon that runs down her throat and chest before meeting the sharp, horizontal bars that cover her forelegs and bellyfeathers. Over her back, the slate continues down, the prominent color over her wings, well accented by the faded steel that edges the coverts, and the darker shades of slate at the ends of the primaries and secondaries. Her notched beak ends in a vicious, dark grey hook, while further back, the color fades to a yellow that matches the skin of her foreclaws. Past where the feathers fade into fur, her leonine hindquarters are light, ribs just showing, though still muscular. Her tail is long, and ends, unsurprisingly, in a dark tailtuft. Her left flank and right wing have both been freshly painted, each showing the red chevron of the Shkrill.
Kirrta
Typical of the Shkrill, Kirrta is a fairly small gryphon, less than a meter at the wingshoulder. Dark brown and rust feathers cover the front half of her body, and the wings, when spread, have dramatic black barring along their length. The left wing tends to droop when she is tired. If you should manage to catch her rousing, you might see that her throat, neck and shoulders are covered in scars, most fairly minor, but some were obviously very deep. Her furred parts are just as badly scarred, and there is one long deep puckered scar that runs along much of her belly.
Her powerful feline hindquarters end in broad pads, the claws usually retracted, though a hint of the sharp daggers shows at each toe. Where her proud, long tail once waved there is now only a stub a featherwidth or two long. Her fur is dark butterscotch, and with a chevron scarred and painted onto her hip, the color of old blood, that marks her as a member of the Shkrill.
Her eyes are a dark gold-red, staring out at the world under pronounced eye-ridges. When she speaks, her voice is raspy and hoarse. Her eagle-like talons are black and glossy, freshly honed and kept at a razor sharpness.
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