>”My friends …We are gathered here today to mourn the tragic and anguish-ridden passing of the great Emperor Pelé, who led the Dominion for more than 50 years with a passion that burned so hot that not even the sun could hope to match its sheer intensity….”
>Outside in a private courtyard of the palace, where the ancestral burial ground of the Griffin Dominion royalty lay stretched over countless acres of land, you and a great number of griffons stand in solemn silence for the funeral service of Pelé, who looks so peaceful and still within his gilded casket.
>It has been only five days. You can't help but wonder if the maid had been incorrect in her dosage of the basilisk venom.
>If that's the case, then she will need to be punished. Your instructions are meant to be followed to the letter.
>You look around at the weeping, tear filled eyes of the others in attendance, all of them in emotional agony over their emperor’s death.
>You feel the faintest twinge of pity for them all, before you ruthlessly crush the frail feeling like an insect under your shoe.
>It needed to be done; if you were to assume the crown of the Dominion in a timely manner then this was inevitable.
>Halfway through the service, a light drizzle starts, as if mother nature expresses her own grief for the old griffin in the form of misty tears.
>”And now,” the funeral director, a portly griffin with an eternally glum expression, begins, “if anyone would like to say a few words on behalf of the great Pelé, then please step forward.”
>Many of them do so, mostly distraught family or politicians looking to subtly improve their lot in the power vacuum left behind.
>Some things are said, many of them tearful and stuttered while others border on poetry with their declarations for the Emperor.
>Finally, it’s your turn. It’s expected since you’re to be the new Emperor.
>Walking up to the front of the group of mourners, you keep your gaze aimed firmly at the ground to seem as if you were saddened as well.
>Once you are in front of the casket, you look down at the still form of Pelé, satisfaction welling up in your chest before you turn and address the crowd.
“Today…truly is a memorable day in the worst sort of way. Today the Dominion has lost a ruler, a father, a grandfather, and in everyone, a friend.”
>You pause to look at the attendants, seeing as they are all paying attention, you keep going.
“His rule was long and memorable. He lead the Dominion through the famine of 971, the economic depression of 987, and the Diamond invasion crisis of 994...all while standing steadfast and true to the his morals and the spirit of this proud nation.”
>Murmured agreements filter up from the crowd, almost all of them in total agreement with what you are saying so far.
“He was one in a million, a distinguished individual who will doubtlessly be remembered by history for his amazing feats to better and protect the Dominion,” you say, putting more fire into your speech.
>Another glance at the mourners tells you that all of them are listening closely. Each one pushes away their sorrows to better listen.
“I didn't know the proud emperor for long, barely a year even. However, I can say that he has shown me the kindness of the griffin race, shown me the remarkable spirit of this nation. He took me in, trusted me, and offered me work, where others would have turned me away! Then he offered me the ultimate honor: The throne of the Griffin Dominion. To me, a foreigner who found a friend and a leader in him.”
>The eyes of everyone are locked onto you, the passion you are putting into your words practically gluing their gazes to you.
>You lower your head and force your eyes to water, giving them a misty and emotional appearance.
>Pulling back up, you bring your attention back to the attendants and continue with your speech.
“To think, one so kind truly exists and is not a liar hiding behind a thin façade of false friendliness,” you choke out, forcing your voice to crack. “And today we have lost him… Great emperor Pelé, may your blessed soul rest in peace.”
>You walk down from your place in front of the casket back to your spot in the crowd. Along the way you get the watery eyes of Pelé's family looking at you in gratitude, as well as nods of approval from the various politicians who attended.
>The portly priest retakes his spot at the front of the service. “Friends,” he begins “we will now lay the emperor to rest alongside his father, and our previous emperor, Pepe.”
>With a soft ‘clink’, Pelé’s casket is closed right before it is slowly lowered into the ground in front of a gargantuan marble gravestone.
>On the obelisk shaped gravestone is Pelé's birth and death days. November 15, 919 to March 7, 1002. A permanent reminder of the years he spent as the head of his people.
>The service over, the mourners slowly shuffle out, save for the most grief-stricken.
>You leave as well, seeing no reason to stick around at the gravesite when you have much more productive things to be doing.
>Walking the route around the palace, you can't help but look up at the large building and admire it. The griffons mostly use medieval style stone construction with a ‘bigger is better’ mindset when it comes to building important structures.
>It seems that no expense was spared when it came to building the simply gargantuan royal palace in the capital city of Koti Sydamemme.
>Standing as tall as the mountains of the Dominion and looking twice as unshakable, the palace is a work of art just as much as it is a miracle of architecture. The whole thing the subject to rigorous upkeep and constant improvements from the griffons who maintain it.
>If you were correct, or rather if the books you read are correct… Then the palace has enough room to house all of Koti Sydamemme in times of crisis.
>Looking away from the immense building to the city surrounding it, you see the largely nordic settlement is rather subdued today. It is to be expected, however, seeing as how their emperor passed away hardly even a day ago.
>Really, it would make for a great stroll through town without being harassed or pulled aside for conversation, so you decide to do just that.
>With a leisurely pace you walk through a market district, taking in the pleasant sights of the large city that will soon to belong to you. You briefly and politely acknowledge any griffin to greet you along the way.
>All the stone and wood buildings are connected together, forming large alleys of shops in between a cobblestone road, giving the area an attractive rustic look to them.
>”Hey hey! Look who it is!”
>You halt your walk mid-step and turn to see who called out. You can't help but allow a miniscule smile to come to your face at what you find.
>Standing in front of one of the city’s nicer bars is a middle-aged, gray plumed griffin male in an apron, who is leaning on the broom he was using to sweep the front of his bar.
“Working hard or hardly working, Allto?” you ask
>Allto smiles, stretching his cheek feathers and revealing a scar he likely got from breaking up a brawl. “Don’t be like that, I thought that you were the one who told me ‘Work smarter, not harder’ didn't you?”
>You raise an eyebrow in amusement. Allto seems to have an eternal case of smartass, or at least he does when he talks to you.
>”What are you standing there for? Come in!”
>Seeing as you have nothing better to do until you need to report back to the palace, you comply and walk with the griffin into the aptly named “Allto’s” pub.
>The whole place is rather small, making it a favorite hangout of small groups of friends and those who seem to attract more attention than they like.
>Right now the whole place is empty, seeing as how bars aren't allowed to serve until four o'clock in Koti Sydamemme.
>Allto hops the counter with a flap of his wings as you sit in one of the chairs around the bar.
>”So, what brings you here, Anon?” the griffin asks as he restocks a shelf of liquor behind him. “I figured the suits-n-ties of the ministry would have you up to your neck in paperwork with what happened to the emperor.”
>You shake your head.
“No, I was just out for a walk to clear my head I suppose. The last 24 hours have been beyond hectic.”
>The bartender nods thoughtfully. “I would think so. Who knew that Pelé was so close to the end? He seemed like he would live forever.”
>You give him some silent agreement in the form of a slow nod. Now if only he knew that you were the one that ordered Pelé's death…
>Allto looks at you with a sideways glance “You don't seem to be all that upset over this. I figured you would be coming here looking for a drink,” he quips with a questioning tone.
>Plastering a look of fake affront on your face, you give him a swift response.
“I’m not so low as to go and try to drown my sorrows over something that would've happened sooner, but unfortunately not later. Doing so would be an immense disrespect to him and set a horrible example for everyone around me.”
>Allto raises his eagle talons in a sign of mock defeat. “Easy there, I'm not out to get on anyone's nerves, just saying what's on my mind.”
>You level him with an unamused look.
“Be careful when you think out loud, Allto. It's not hard for someone to misinterpret what you said and take it the wrong way.”
>He snorts and smirks. “Words of wisdom from the ever so intelligent Lord Anonymous,” he playfully snarks.
>His smirk melts into a worried look “Say Anon? Have you heard some of the rumors flying about around town yet? Not all of them bode too well for some circles of the ministry, and an uncomfortable amount are about you.”
>Here is where Allto really shines in terms of usefulness. Being a bartender means he hears almost everything interesting there is to hear in this side of town.
>You can't help but narrow your eyes at him, making the griffin squirm in discomfort.
“What exactly are you hearing?” you ask, lightening up on the glare you were giving the bartender.
>He sighs and thinks for a moment. “Everyone is going on and on about how there is corruption in the ministry, despite how many say that you fixed it. The ones who are getting ruffled feathers about it had even gone as far to say that you brainwashed the emperor in his illness.”
>You grit your teeth and grip the bar counter so hard that the wood quietly groans in your hand. The act may be a little extreme, but it's best to keep up your righteous appearance in front of anyone and everyone not directly under your control.
>Taking a deep breath, you make it look like you are calming yourself. There's no real need to be upset over this, you can easily take the little momentum the rumor starters have and throw it back at them 10 times as hard.
“Any idea who the one is spreading this around?”
>Allto scratches his chin in thought. “Hmm, I know it's some high-ranking, suit-n-tie sort of guy. Stick up his ass, snooty, and bad at tipping,” the bartender mumbles to himself. “But for the life of me I can't seem to remember his name.”
>Oh, you know exactly who he's talking about.
“…Tell me, did he have dark yellow feathers, green eyes, and a nasally voice?” you ask, already knowing the answer.
>”Hey yeah! He did! How did you know?”
>You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between your finger and your thumb.
“I’ve dealt with him before... The bastard’s name is DiVargin…”
>Allto grins in the most infuriating way. “Sounds like you know him well. How are you going to manage with his mudslinging? I mean, it wouldn’t look good for an emperor-in-waiting like you to let him keep it up.”
>You pull your hand away from your face to address Allto
“I’m not for sure the emperor yet, the Vähemmän still have to gather and name me as such.”
>You set your jaw as plan after plan rushes through your mind, creating a complex spiderweb of thoughts with all of them centered around the cocky visage of a young griffin
“As for DiVargin…Yes,I do know him. His not-so-subtle smear campaign? I’ll deal with it…”
>You rise from your spot and make for the door.
“Thanks for the conversation Allto, but I should be getting back. I have things to do and a letter to send to Gilda.”
>The bartender grins widely. “Anytime!”

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>”Sister! Is it true? Has Pelé fallen?”
>Celestia, the Sun Princess of Equestria, looks up from the pile of paperwork in her study to see her younger sister Luna standing in the doorway.
>The news was rather jarring to Celestia when the letter arrived, as the old griffin emperor seemed to be made out of steel.
>But it seems that word travels far faster than she anticipated if her sister knew without any sort of official channel.
>”Indeed Luna, Emperor Pelé has fallen prey to the same illness that took his son. It was rather unexpected,” the ivory alicorn says, a twinge of sadness coloring her voice.
>Luna’s ears fall back as a melancholic expression finds its way to her face. “He was such a kind old griffin. It's so unfortunate that he has passed away.”
>Celestia silently nods in agreement.
>Luna seems to perk up for a moment. “Pray tell, sister, have they decided a successor for him? With the tragic passing of Prince Gildart they would need a new griffin to take the throne.”
>The sun goddess picks up the letter sent to her from the Dominion in a golden glow, re-reading the current status of the neighboring nation.
>”As of now they have an individual named ‘Anonymous’, who was selected by Pelé before his death to be his successor.”
>The moon goddess tilts her head “Anonymous? I have never heard of a Dominion official with that name before,” she says with some confusion.
>”Neither have I,” Celestia replies, keeping the ‘and that worries me’ out of it.
>The princess looks back down at the letter, wondering just who this ‘Anonymous’ is.
>Whoever he was, one thing is for certain: he is an unknown. This wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the fact that unknowns in politics tend to be incredibly dangerous.
>Worse yet, he is the most likely candidate to be the emperor of the Dominion. Just the implications bring about a slew of problems that are sure to cause Celestia more than one headache.
>”Sister, should we perhaps get in contact with this griffin? Surely he is reasonable enough to accommodate such a request,” Luna asks as she walks into her sister’s study and settles herself in front of the desk.
>Celestia mulls it over for a moment. It’s considered to be bad form for the ruler of one nation to seek out another who isn’t in power yet. But at the same time she couldn’t help but be tempted by the idea.
>There are other things that she could do, but none of them would bode well for her or Equestria should something go awry
>The Sun Princess bites the inside of her cheek, indecisiveness tightening its grip on her. She had built herself up onto a pedestal, making her out to be the ultimate good and so much rides on it. Her gentle and polite nature tended to make things easy for since no one wanted to contest the gentle sun goddess for fear of somehow disappointing her or upsetting her, which also upsets her followers by proxy.
>Any sort of action she takes here could lead to a catastrophic end should something go wrong, yet she had no idea what the agenda of this Anonymous.
>Something needs to be done.
>If Celestia remembers correctly, then all of the lesser griffin lords need to hold a summit before a new emperor can be appointed. If this goes the way that Pelé’s inauguration went, then she should have almost two months before Anonymous comes to power.
>Mind made up, the white alicorn raises her eyes to look at her sister.
>”Luna,” Celestia begins, “I don’t like this in the least bit so I ask you, how well-trained is your stealth corps?” She says, carefully gauging the smaller alicorn’s expression as she spoke.
>Luna’s eyes widen. “Tia, surely you aren’t going to ask what I think you are...” she says, trailing off at the end.
>Celestia sighs and gives her sister a pleading look, “Luna, you know as well as I that this whole situation could take a turn for the worse if not monitored. Please don’t fight me.”
>The moon goddess shakes her head in denial before responding, “Tia, I cannot in good conscience allow you to place spies within the Griffin Dominion. It would be an enormous breach in the trust between our nations!”
>This is getting out of control, Celestia needs to turn it around.
>”Luna,” she says, stopping Luna from ranting, “we need to think about the good of everyp0ny here. We literally have no idea what Anonymous’ plans for the future are. For all we know he could be a psychopath. Do you want to potentially let him run free like that?”
>Luna stops and bites her lip, her face etched into conflict.
>Celestia keeps going. “Remember Discord’s first rampage? All caused by our not being vigilant enough. The same with Sombra, only we stopped him in time thanks to some well-placed informants.”
>Luna is looking less sure of herself now, her eyes on the floor as she desperately tried to think of some sort of comeback.
>Her sister is relentless however, and keeps her argument rolling. “Just think about it, we’ve always known who is who when it comes to leadership positions. Then suddenly one we had no idea existed is suddenly next in line for position of great power. Don’t you find that to be suspicious? And furthermore I thi-”
>”OK! I GET IT!” Luna shouts with her impressive voice, making the windows in the room rattle.
>Celestia winces at the harsh noise, flattening her ears back and recoiling as the sound of the guards stationed outside falling over in surprise meets her ringing ears.
>Luna takes a breath, then sighs in defeat. “Very well, Tia, I’ll tell the night captain to have the best members of the stealth core begin training...”
>She looks up into her older sister’s eyes. “What sort of timeframe are we dealing with?”
>Celestia inwardly smiles, pleased with the turn of events.
>”Tell them that they have approximately a month and a half to hone their skills, and that only the best will be selected for this incredibly important mission.”

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>You sigh and shake your wrist as you finish writing the letter to Gilda about Pelé. Inkwells and quills are certainly not your first choice as a writing implement.
>The thought is only more reinforced since you had to write letters yesterday to numerous other officials in other nations, informing them of Pelé’s death.
>Putting the letter in an envelope and sealing it with a few drops of wax from a lit candle sitting on the desk, you stamp it with your personal crest before standing and stretching.
>You walk out of your study into your suite-like room and make for the door, wanting to get this letter into the talons of a courier so they could take it to Gilda.
>Walking out, it doesn’t take much time to come across a servant wandering the halls like usual.
“Maid,” you call, getting the attention of the griffin hen.
>You hand her the letter.
“Take this to a courier, tell them to find Gilda and to be quick about it,” you order.
>The maid inclines her head and turns to leave with a quick, “Yes, Lord Anon.”
>With that done, you decide to make a trip to the archives. There is no better way to learn than to learn from the mistakes of others, and history books should give you an idea of what NOT to do once you are in power.
>The trip is slow and leisurely, which lets you admire the tasteful build of the palace as well as the multitude of portraits and tapestries lining the walls, many of them depicting important events or griffons of times long past.
>You scratch your chin in thought, just what should you look for in particular?
>Two things in particular jump out at you. First, how to totally remove or at least neutralize DiVargin before his slanderous campaign can gain any more momentum.
>Second, you need to find a way to firmly root yourself into your soon-to-be new position. You have no delusions about the public’s opinion of you. No matter how many say they like you, there is always a handful of liars and those who prefer to just quietly stew in their negative opinions.
>As much as being an old member of Earth’s illuminati has taught you, there’s still elements of this world that you have yet to grasp, and that needs to be rectified.
>Several more minutes of walking brings you to one of the entrances to the royal library, the most extensive archive in the whole Dominion.
>Considering that you started out on one of the highest floors of the palace, you get a magnificent view once you enter the library.
>Looking around, you see the huge, circular room, its walls filled to the brim with different books, scrolls, and manuscripts of all sorts.
>Even more awe-inspiring, however, is the open center of the library, letting you look down at the other floors, all arranged in tiers so the griffons could just fly to a different floor should they need.
>A glance downward tells you that the bottom floor must be almost two hundred feet down, making you feel the slightest bit nauseous and acrophobic. 
>A look up shows you only a handful floors above, along with the white marble ceiling supporting a golden chandelier, filling the enormous chamber with a soft, white light thanks to the enchanted, Equestrian crystals it holds.
“Enough admiring the scenery, I’ve been here before,” you mutter to yourself.
>You make your way to the history section, dodging around scholars and the archivists who seem too absorbed in their own work to give you a second glance.
>Pulling out several books, all of them about either important individuals in Dominion history or past conflicts, you find a free table and seat yourself down and prepare for what’s probably going to be a long day.
>Before you start your reading, you have an archivist bring you several sheets of parchment as well as some ink and a quill for notes.
>You open the first book, ‘Downfall of the Nomadic Tribes’, and can’t help but smile at the distinct smell of a book so old that the pages have yellowed.
>In all the chaos that is life, it’s always nice to have a good, immersion-worthy book to take a break from it all.
>Your reading stretches long past daylight and into the deep night, accompanied by the distinct sound of a quill scratching upon paper.
>By the time your eyelids begin to grow heavy, you have almost twenty pages of parchment filled corner to corner with useful and relevant information.
>You stand and stretch, making your back loose a medley of satisfying pops. Despite how much you want to go to bed, there is still a handful of things you must do.
>After returning the books to their proper places, you make for a sliding metal door between two bookshelves and open it. Inside is a rather rudimentary elevator.
>You can’t say that you trust the rickety looking device much, but it’s the fastest way down to the ground floor of the library sans jumping.
>The trip down is bumpy and uncomfortable, but not totally intolerable.
>On the ground floor is a lone griffin hen with half-moon spectacles sitting behind an attendant’s desk, the scratching you hear coming from her obviously telling you that she is busy with some paperwork.
>You walk up to the desk quietly and she pays you no mind, until you speak.
“So, the weather has been nice. Don’t you agree?”
>She looks up at you, then scans her eyes around the area before answering.
>”Indeed sir, but it could be brighter...” she says carefully, as if thinking about each word before letting it out of her mouth.
>As she should...
>You grin at the answer and nod for her to continue.
>With another glance around, she begins, “Alpha is nearing completion and should be operational soon. Beta is still in the prototype stage but is moving along quickly. Both Gamma and Omega are still facing some serious complications,” she quietly whispers as fast as she can.
>Hmm, that’s farther along than you would have expected.
“And what of...the conversation?”
>The library attendant begins to look nervous as she refuses to meet your gaze. “Still not going as smoothly as you would wish, sir.”
>You frown slightly, but it’s still something that can be worked around.
“Stop looking like you’re going to pluck your feathers out, I’m not one to shoot the messenger.” 
>The griffin sighs in relief.
“Tell Boris that in five days time I will come to talk to him. It’s important that everything is finished in a timely manner.”
>You turn to head back to your quarters, but stop and say over your shoulder
“We never spoke, understood?”
>She quickly nods her head, almost making her spectacles bounce off of her beak.
“Good.”

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>At the same time that you spoke to the library attendant, a pair of griffons clad in black fly across the night sky, silent as specters.
>”Are we there yet?”
>...Almost silent as specters.
>The lead griffin sighs and looks back at his younger partner, an unamused expression painting his visage.
>”Almost kid, just calm down,” the older leader says with exasperation.
>”My name is not ‘Kid’, it’s Erio, get it right!” the younger shouts. 
>The leader turns his head and puts a talon in front of his beak, indicating that he wants Erio to remain quiet.
>The young griffin grumbles but complies reluctantly.
>Both of them fly in silence for several minutes before Erio speaks up once more.
>”So... What exactly are we doing again?” he asks with a scratch of the back of his head.
>”We’re going to a plateau just outside of the D-dog capital to gather some intelligence. Did you listen to your briefing at all?” the leader asks irritably.
>Erio slumps his shoulders. “Command didn’t really tell me that much, they just said that I needed field experience so I should tag along with you. Hell, they didn’t even tell me your name.”
>The elder griffon just chuckles under his breath. “Poor new blood, always out of the loop. Just call me Chief for now.”
>Erio opens his beak to fire off more questions but is cut off as Chief makes a dive to a flat-topped mountain just below them.
>Both fly in low and land near the edge overlooking a large and rather ramshackle city. Faint lights flickering throughout the spartan buildings telling them that there was in fact life in the settlement.
>”Is that the dog capital?” Erio asks with a hint of disgust as he looks at the edge of the city, which may as well be a shantytown.
>Chief just nods before shrugging off his pack and digging through it, pulling out a suit that looks camouflaged just right to blend in with foliage.
>With a curious blink, Erio asks, “What is that?”
>His partner takes off the black face mask he was wearing, revealing his old, gray plumed face before answering.
>”If I was told right, then this thing is called a ghillie suit, perfect for blending in with nature and whatnot,” he says as he dons the garment, looking like a bush as he gets it all on. “You’ve got one too. Put it on, this is a covert mission and we’re going to be here for a while.”
>”Wha? But, but...” Erio stutters, obviously surprised by the turn of events.
>Chief chuckles and grins “What? You thought that fresh meat like you will be tossed into something like sneaking into some big, important place just like that? Hell no, you and me are going to be sitting here for about two weeks looking over this city for anything interesting. If we DO find something then another team will likely be sent in to do the dirty work.”
>Eiro looks like someone just kicked his puppy, his face a perfect picture of disappointment. 
>”Don’t give me that look, kid, you’re the one who signed up to be part of the Unohdettu. If you were looking for glory and excitement than you came to the wrong place,” Chief says as he settles himself down and digs a high-powered telescope from his back.
>With a downtrodden sigh, the younger griffon pulls his own equipment out and settles on his stomach facing the city, leaning against a large bush to bend in.
>Almost an hour goes by with no activity before Erio breaks his silence.
>”Say Chief, what exactly ARE the Unohdettu? Like what does being one fully entail?”
>The old griffin ‘hmm’s to himself in thought, trying to come up with an answer that would satisfy his young charge.
“Well in the most literal sense we, the Unohdettu, are Lord Anonymous’ go-to griffins. We do the things that need to be done out of sight of others. We’ve been like this since our founding about a year ago. Lord Anon is so concerned about the state of the Dominion that he founded us in secret so that we can keep a lot of operational freedom. We do the stuff that needs to be done,  but no one wants to do.”
>Erio tilts his head “But wasn’t Lord Anon just an advisor until a few days ago? How does he have that much power?”
>Chief just shrugs. “Dunno, if the rumor mill is anywhere near accurate then apparently he was some big shot in his old home. So he organized everything efficiently and out of sight.”
>”Isn’t that wrong, though? Going behind everyone’s back?”
>The older griffin sighs and gives his partner a flat look. “He has everyone’s best interests at heart, of course it’s not wrong.”
>Erio frowns. “What if he’s lying?”
>The sudden growl that comes from Chief makes Erio jump.
>”Boy,” begins Chief in a challenging tone, “drop it, he’s not,” he says with a sharp glare to the rookie.
>With a gulp, Erio goes back to looking over the city while wondering just what he got himself into.
>The rest of the night is spent in tense, uncomfortable silence.
>As the morning sun begins its ascent from the horizon painting the sky in soft, pastel hues, the two griffons shuffle.
>Not a word had been said in hours, and the silence has been as tense as metal wire ready to snap and slice any who dared to get in its way.
>It’s broken when Chief sighs and turns to his young companion, “Look kid, I’m not out to get you and I’m sorry I snapped, but you have to learn that questioning the one who writes your paycheck is not a great idea.” 
>Erio looks away. “It’s not that, it’s just...well how do you know?” he questions, “how can we be sure what we hear is right?”
>”Let me tell you about the time I met Anonymous,” Chief begins. “It was about a year ago when we all came together in secret to form the Unohdettu, it was just me and a handful of other griffons loyal to lord Anon. He came and addressed us himself, telling us all what we were going to be doing and how we were going to go about it.”
>With a tilt of his head, Erio says, “That doesn’t sound like a reason to join...and neither did it answer my question.”
>”I’m getting to that,” Chief gently chides. “Anyway, after he explained everything, he told us WHY we were going to do it.”
>He looks away into the distance. “He told us... that there are just some things that need to be done, for the greater good of everyone within the Dominion. He gave us his speech with such fire, such passion that it couldn’t possibly be a lie.”
>Chief turns his baleful yellow eyes to his younger companion, who is listening intently. “You can’t just hop up on a stage and start doling out something like that and have it be untrue, no one can lie with that much vigor. Every one of his words were so robust and they flowed together almost perfectly. Plus, just why would he want to mislead any of us? Lord Anon has proved time and again that he has everyone’s safety in the forefront of his mind.”
>Could it all be true? Maybe the rookie griffin is just over thinking things.
>Cowed, Erio looks away. “I guess I just didn’t see like that...” he mumbles, even if an itch of doubt still worms away at the back of his mind.
>He turns back when a claw lands on his shoulder; Chief’s claw.
>”Kid, there’s no need to beat yourself up over this. In fact,” the gray plumed griffon smiles faintly “it’s good that you don’t just blindly follow everything you hear. It’s a poor trait to have.”
>Erio returns the smile uneasily, still on the fence about his opinion of Anonymous before a loud growl rips through the small area.
>Both of the operatives jump, only to realize that it’s Erio’s stomach protesting its lack of nourishment.
>”Er...we did bring rations right?”
>”Heh, hope you enjoy the taste of boiled ass, kid, because that’s the best you’re going to get out of a standard MRE.”
>A despaired groan sounds out from the edge of the plateau along with the grumbling of an empty stomach.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

>The next morning you’re back in the library, this time looking through the history of some other nations, namely Equestria and the Canine Republic.
>Both could turn into huge threats at a moments notice, seeing as how Equestria is home to the most proficient magicians in the world, and the Canine Republic for its less-than-friendly history with the Griffin Dominion. 
>It always pays to know one’s foes well. That goes double for anything on a national scale.
>Scratching through another several pages of notes, you stop when a passing archivist very subtly slips a small note between the pages of a book you were reading.
>Something important has come up then?
>Without any sort of unneeded movements, you pull the small corner of parchment from the book pages and read the hastily scrawled message.
>”DiVargin stirring up trouble with council”
“Of course, I can never seem to catch a break can I?” you mutter to yourself.
>Picking up the several pages of parchment you had written down, you rise and make for the elevator as a pair of archivists come and take your books back to their rightful places.
>During the bumpy ride down, you take some time to think yourself. What could DiVargin be up to? More mudslinging? A bid for the throne? Or perhaps...
>You narrow your eyes dangerously, perhaps he’s found out about your less than legal activities. If that’s the case, then it looks like DiVargin will be able to count the rest of his life in minutes.
>But what of the council? If the snooty bastard had opened his big beak then they would need to go as well, but explaining the sudden deaths of the Council members and a high-ranking politician and noble like DiVargin would be well and beyond tricky.
>Once on the ground floor of the library, you take off in a brisk walk to the council chambers, where the head advisory body of the emperor resided.
>It takes you only several minutes with your pace to reach the chambers. The guards stationed outside don’t even try to stop you as you push the large, oak, double doors open. You stroll inside to the sound of arguing voices.
>”Councilman Harel, please reconsider! It is obvious that a non-griffin should not be the one to take the throne!” a slightly nasally voice says, obviously frustrated.
>You walk further into the ornate antechamber to see none other than DiVargin pleading his case to five elderly griffons, all of them seated at a half crescent table surrounding DiVargin.
>The councilmember in the middle sighs and takes a moment to clean off his spectacles before replying.
>”Young DiVargin, the late Pele selected Anonymous personally to be his successor. The council has no influence over that decision. Only the Vähemmän may select a new emperor...”
>The old griffin glares down his spectacles at the noble, who fumes silently.
>”...and as I can see, you are not one of them...” he finishes severely.
>The others nod silently, supporting Harel’s statement.
>”If you are truly so hell-bent on taking the throne, then you may apply for an appeal to the Vähemmän, just don’t expect to be taken seriously. Now go child, we grow weary with your presence,” Harel says with the dismissing wave of his talon.
>If the spotless yellow feathers on DiVargin weren’t hiding his face, you’d swear that his face is purple as a pruce in anger, even if his visage remains in a carefully controlled façade of minor annoyance.
>He turns walks out without so much as a ‘farewell’, stopping once he sees you.
>”So if it isn’t the one and only Anonymous, there’s been much talk about you,” he says as cordially as possible. In other words you can practically feel the venom behind each word.
>You narrow your eyes at the phrase ‘one and only’, a veiled insult to your race no doubt.
“Well I’ve heard quite a bit about you as well. Mostly about some recent topics that have, in your conversations... odd if I might say so myself...”
>He doesn’t miss a single beat, “odd conversation about an... odd individual.”
>You have to give him credit, DiVargin has a face that would make a veteran poker player green with envy.
“You sound like you speak from experience, as I should have expected from you.” 
>He actually trips up some from that one, taking longer than usual to think of a comeback.
>”Am I experienced? Yes actually, but not as much as you,” he quips. 
>You go to reply, and hopefully rile him up before he abruptly stops and turns to you, his eyes filled with silent accusations.
>”Enough of the foolishness, I know that you are up to no good. How convenient it is that the emperor would name you successor a scant five days before his death. Almost TOO convenient...” DiVargin snarls quietly.
>You raise an eyebrow, making him continue.
>”I KNOW, that something is going on around here that isn’t right. You are the villain here, the one that will be stopped by me.”
>You chuckle quietly to yourself, how naïve. This griffin is plenty smart and resourceful, but in no way shape or form is he your match.
“Really? And I’m guessing that you have hard evidence of my so-called crimes? Unaltered photo evidence? A confession under a truth potion? Well? Speak up, I want to hear just how I’ve been ‘caught’.” You say was a grin on your face.
>DiVargin says nothing, opting to glare into your eyes with his own fearsome green orbs.
“Exactly. In fact, I bet this isn’t about any sort of perceived wrong on my part, you just want the crown of the Dominion to yourself, to have more power than you know what to do with. How close am I?”
>Now he’s almost lost his cool. His red face, burning in anger becoming visible beneath his feathers.
“Hit uncomfortably close didn’t I?” you say with a grin slowly forming on your face
>DiVargin bites down on his own beak so hard that you can hear it grinding.
>”... Bastard, you dare? You dare to spew such lies about me when the same lies are what brought you into power!” He almost yelled, stopping himself just short of alerting everyone around.
>He takes a deep breath and turns his baleful gaze back to you, “From the moment I first saw you, I knew you were no good. You worked your way through the ranks too fast, got too many achievements too soon. Some say it’s good nature and that you just want to please, but I know better. This is all the actions of someone with a plan, someone with too much ambition. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I WILL stop it. I am the hero here, and nothing will get in my way when it comes time to tear you from the little pedestal you’ve built yourself up on. Mark my words.”
>With a final sneer in your direction, he turns and leaves the council chamber entrance.
>Well, looks like the cards are on the table and the hands are about to be dealt. It’s a good thing you know how to stack the deck...
>Leaving out as well, you wander the large halls of the palace aimlessly, until you come across a lone, chain mail clad guard on patrol.
>He looks up at you and slows his walk just enough to be noticeable.
>Lucky break it seems.
“The world would be an awful, ugly place without friends. Don’t you agree?”
>The guard replies slowly “That is quite debatable, sir.”
>Good... whoever originally thought of using codes within normal phrases was a genius.
“I want you to get a tail for DiVargin, he proved not even ten minutes ago that he is paranoid and on to what we are doing. Under no circumstance is he to be left unwatched. Should he find out something crucial, neutralize him. I don’t care how,” you order.
>The guard nods. “Of course sir, I will begin now and then relay the orders when I can.”
>You give him a pat on the shoulder.
“Good. Know that you’re doing the Dominion a service.”
>With that out of the way, you begin the trek back to your quarters. Seeing as how the day has been somewhat stressful, you could use a drink and a bit of time to yourself.
>A ten minute walk brings you back to the luxurious room, but before you can open the doors you feel a tug at the back of your suit coat.
>With an annoyed sigh you turn and find, to your considerable surprise none other than Gilda.
>She’s a mess. Feathers out of place, fur dirty, and the markings around her eyes looking pale, giving her a rather sickly look.
“Gilda?”
>She mutely nods her head. “Anon? Do you mind if I talk to you?” she quietly asks, a far cry from her usual brash self.
>Really, you’d rather tell her that yes, you did mind, but considering her standing within the Dominion that’s not much of an option.
>You open the door and motion for her to come in, which she does without a word.
>She settles on the couch of your front room as you seat yourself next her, wondering what could be wrong.
>...Ah...
“I take it that the letter about Pele arrived you?” you ask gently.
>Gilda let out a shaky exhale and nods. “I came back as fast as I could...I almost beat the tar out of the courier thinking this was some kind of cruel joke...”
>She looks up at you, looking more vulnerable than you had ever seen her. As if all her life lines keeping her connected to reality had been severed.
>The young griffin hen wrings her claws in her lap anxiously. “So this isn’t a joke? He...he’s really gone?”
“Yes Gilda, I’m sorry,” you say, painting your voice with false remorse.
>”N-nah, it’s good. You couldn’t have done anything...It’s just... he was the last one...”
>The white plumed griffin clenches her eyes shut and turns away, her shaking shoulders set in place.
>“First mom, then my old man, and now gramps... It’s not fair man...” she forces out, her voice cracking more as she goes on.
>Now you can officially say you had never seen Gilda this distraught. Normally she shrugged off anything and everything that life throws her, but it looks like she place more stock in her family than anyone realized.
>Then something comes to you. You don’t know where it came from or just how it sprung up, but it’s without a doubt one of the greatest, yet cruelest ideas you’ve ever had.
>Just thinking about it puts a smile on your face, a smile devoid of happiness, but instead filled with a distorted and perverted sense of accomplishment and giddiness.
>Without waiting for her to break down any farther, you wrap your arms around Gilda in a tender embrace, making her gasp and turn to look at you.
“Gilda... I know what it’s like, the hurt I can come from losing those close to you. For so long I’ve strived to avoid it, and to prevent it in others.”
>You tighten your hold on her slightly.
“I can promise you... that no matter what I will be here for you. No one can take me away.”
>She pushes away, halfheartedly trying to pull herself from your grip and failing.
“Gilda... just let it out, I’ll keep it all to myself.”
>She once more tries to pull free, only to put almost no effort into it before she gives up and opts to look at you with misty eyes instead.
>“H-how? How can you promise any of that? How do I know you’re not lying!?”
“Does this look like the face of a liar?”
>Once more she looks you in the eye as you morph your face into the kindest, most gentle expression of compassion you can.
>Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the thin trails of moisture from leaving the corners of her eyes
>Unbidden, the young griffin buries her head into the chest of your shirt. Silently regaling you with the misery of losing family and the relief of your promise in the form of tears.
>You just hold her closely As she slowly cries herself to sleep, your mockery of a smile coming back full force. Telling a soon-to-be horror story.


>Slowly, Gilda's cries calmed, her tears making way for the exhaustion that her form radiated. Your demented grin never left your face.
>Normally you would never be one for expressing your thoughts on your face, but this is too much and it's all working out so well.
>... Which means Murphy's Law would be rearing its ugly head soon. You can't afford to screw up here, not with success so close.
>You take a breath and calm down, letting your grip on Gilda loosen to a gentle cradle.
>As gently as you could, you lay the young griffin hen on the couch so that she may sleep.
>You rise and make your way to the bedroom where you get a blanket that you take back to the front room and drape over Gilda. Said griffin grumbles contently in her sleep.
>Doing a mental recount, you remember that you have four days until you visit Boris to see the progress of the various projects you had commissioned.
>It’ll still be about a month until the Vähemmän of the Dominion strongholds come together in Koti Sydämemme to debate your leadership skills.
>How funny, you think to yourself, that the Vähemmän, the lesser lords of the Dominion, are the ones to decide your fate, the shoe-in for emperor.
>Each of the five rule over a huge citadel around the borders of the nation. In addition, each of them hold hefty amounts of both military and political power thanks to their private forces and finances.
>That power is the key to you gaining the throne. You need to get them to swear loyalty to you if this is to go smoothly.
>This could be where Murphy’s Law comes into play. You really hope it doesn’t, but the best laid plans of mice and men...
>But for now, you can do nothing but wait in that regard. In the meantime, however...
>You stand from the couch and stretch, suppressing a yawn as you do so. Being you is hard work.  
>Looking back at the blanket covered Gilda, you feel the edges of your lips lift the slightest bit.
>Leaving your room, you close the door behind you gently as to not wake up your guest.
>Taking a look out the window, you see that you still have quite a bit of daylight left, meaning you can get more done today.
>Should you go back to the library? The sizable stack of notes from a number of old books says no, but what else can you do to prepare?
>Ah, you know.
“Why didn't I think of this earlier?” you idly ask yourself.
>Finding an elevator, you take the rickety device down several floors to the floor with the troop barracks.
>From there, you make the walk to the training grounds of the Koti Sydämemme palace. 
>It’s always quite an experience to see this place, as rather than on the ground the whole training area is built off of one of the smaller towers of the palace. This leaves some of it hanging over the city like a bowl filled with dirt. Not the safest design, but it’s very eye-catching.
>Finally reaching the grounds, you’re treated to a most impressive sight.
>WHOOSH!
>You feel a smile creep up on your face as griffins clad in leather-backed chain mail rush by overhead, buffeting you with their wake.
>Three formations of five in a delta pattern soar effortlessly through the air, as if they didn’t even feel the weight of their equipment.
>Breaking off from the center formation, the two splinters accelerate forward and pass by each other in front of the third group. The stunt leaves only a handful of centimeters between each of them.
>In a scramble of steel and feathers, the fifteen griffons form back up into a single, large arrow-like pattern and divebomb the ground.
>With hardly a meter left to spare, they pull up and shoot into the sky.
>”Enjoying the show, Lord Anon?” a female voice says next to you.
>You look down and see a light brown-plumed griffin hen in dinged up armor standing next to you, also watching the flying team..
“I always do, Reeni. I always do.”
>Colonel Reeni, one of the higher ranked members of the griffin military, an old member of the Tuulenmuutos ace flying team, and one of the few in your inner circle.
>She nods in a pleased manner, making the windswept feathers on her head bob. “I would have thought as much; they were trained to be the best after all,” she says with a hint of pride.
>She looks back up at you, “Any reason you’re here? I know that you aren’t one to waste time.”
>How right she is.
“Indeed I’m not. You’ve had almost six months to get a feel for your superior’s opinions of me. What’s the verdict?” you ask, getting straight to the point.
>Reeni sighs and kneads the abused dirt of the training grounds in her claws. “We might be running into a problem there. I haven’t found any signs of outright hostility, but quite a number of them seem to think that you are worthy of being cautious around. I’m not sure whether they truly suspect what is going on or if it’s just instinct keeping them on edge.”
>You frown at the thought of the handful of generals wanting to keep their distance from you. It’s not a terribly huge problem, but it would still be a noticeable setback. Having their support would be an enormous boon in the upcoming political battles that you are sure to face while reaching for the throne.
>You can do without. You would rather not approach them and perhaps give them reason to be suspicious.
“...Very well then. I don’t believe it’s worth it to try and bring them over. As long as their suspicions remain as merely suspicions, then they should stay an inconvenience at worst,” you say reluctantly.
>Reeni looks around in a shifty manner, something obviously on her mind.
“Something to say?”
>She laughs nervously and lets a sheepish grin wander onto her face. “Am I that transparent?” she asks.
>You give her no answer, but rather prompt her to speak her mind with a raised eyebrow.
>Looking up at the still flying team, she starts off, “Sir, maybe we shouldn’t be giving all of this to ourselves. Maybe we should tell others. This is all for their benefit, right? So as long as we keep it that way, then I don’t see any reason to keep being dis-”
>She stops once she looks up at you to see the glare she’s getting in return.
>Reeni shivers, swearing that the temperature around her is falling and desperately tries to pull her eyes from yours, only to fail each time.
“Reeni... remember what we fight for... we do this so that others may not have to experience such a burden... or do I need to remind you?” you ask, your voice low and your eyes narrowed.
>The colonel quickly shakes her head side to side, trying to form words that only come out as strangled gasps.
“Are you sure? I’m not above re-educating members of my group...”
>”NO! I mean, no sir... It’s fine. I forgot just what we were doing for a moment. It won’t happen again, I promise,” she hastily forces out.
>You let the hostile look on your face lighten up .
“Good, be sure of it. We will talk later about the allegiance of the city’s defenses. I have things to be doing.”
>With that, you turn and make your way back to the palace proper while thinking about what just happened.
>You also force your heart rate back down to a normal level.
>Intimidation. It’s such a useful, but so incredibly fickle tool, not unlike using a rapier in a fight for your life. Correct application can devastate an opponent in a single attack. One false move, however, can make it all for naught, leaving you at the mercy of your foe. 
>You held no illusions about your personal power. At the moment you are zero match for any griffin who would want to fight you.
>If she had wanted to, Reeni could have leapt up and ripped out your throat with her claws, beak, or sword and there would’ve been nothing you could have done about it. She could have even taken all the information that members of your inner circle are privy to and twisted it around to make you the villain, meaning she would get away with killing you. You know she is intelligent enough to realize that as well.  
>But rather than do so, she chose to give in to her instincts and follow the flight command that all creatures are born with. All because she found you too frightening to stand against in any shape or form.
>Anyone can use the standard, “I’m bigger than you and will hurt you if you don’t do as I say,” and call it intimidation. But things such as that can only be used on the small and weak.
>Exploit the subtle trappings and quirks of the mind, however, and you have a force that can stop an army dead in its tracks. Or even make them break rank and flee as if the hounds of hell were on their heels.
>And it just so happens that you have an excellent grasp of how the mind of a self-aware being functions.
>Some conditioning here, a few power plays there, and you have a potent weapon that’s perfect for forcing your will onto others. 
>Feeling your heart calming down, you begin the journey back to your room to check on Gilda.
>Halfway through the trip however, right before you get on the elevator to the correct floor, a guard with an uneasy expression pulls you aside.
“Something I can do for you?” you ask, not bothering to hide your displeasure at being interrupted.
>The guard nods and looks like he’s struggling to find words. After a moment he gains his bearings and addresses you.
>”Sir, we sort of... found an intruder trying to sneak into the restricted sections of the royal archive. She was muttering something about getting revenge before she was captured.”
>What? Why do you need to be contacted over something like this? There are practices and penalties already in place for such a thing. Attempting to break into anything off-limits to the common public is a felony and almost guaranteed to earn a sentence of twenty or more years in prison.
“Tell me, you needed to come inform me of this, why?” you ask with the flattest look you can muster.
>”You see, sir... she’s not a griffin.”
>You blink in surprise, not expecting that little twist at all.
>The guard looks over his shoulder down the hall, where raised voices can be heard. “We wanted to come to you and try to clear this up without some sort of international incident in our claws.”
>Of course, international dealings even before you have your legitimate power base established. Lovely.
“Care to tell me more about all of this? I need as much information as possible if we are to fix this in a timely manner.”
>”We’ve got nothing much, sir. She has been very... uncooperative. You’ll see in a moment.”
>The sounds of struggling and raised voices down the hallway grow louder, until you hear, “Take your filthy claws off of Trixie immediately!”

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>”So Twi, what’s all this business about, again?”
>Twilight Sparkle looks up into the bored, fluttering visage of her friend Rainbow Dash with exasperation. She’s not the only one, as the rest of her friends are gathered around within the town library as well, called here by its librarian
>”Rainbow! Weren’t you listening all?” Twilight asks, obviously annoyed.
>The rainbow-maned pegasus rolls her eyes, “Yeah, kinda. You were talking about how you, me, and the princesses got invitations to some big thing. Am I right?”
>”Rainbow dear, this isn’t just any old get together that can be blown off on a whim. This is a chance to meet with the royalty of the Griffin Dominion and to see the next potential emperor. This is a once-in-a-lifetime event!” chimes in Rarity from her spot between Applejack and Fluttershy. “And it would simply be a travesty to refute such a generous offer. Why, I would take it in a heartbeat,” she says firmly.
>”Ah dunno,” begins Applejack. “This looks like they’re tryin’ to butter y’all all up so this ‘Anonymous’ guy can git a good word from the princesses. What if he gits into trouble afterward and makes you all look stupid fur supportin’ him?” she asks cautiously.
>Pinkie jumps in as well. ”Nahhh. That would be a mean trick. The letter says that this Anny guy is super far in the lead anyway. Why would he need any to help?” she adds in her usual chipper manner.
>Applejack looks like she wants to refute Pinkie, but can’t seem to come up with an argument that would hold water.
>”...It seems like it would be nice... but what if all the griffons are as mean as Gilda? You would have a terrible time.” Fluttershy says demurely.
>”I think Gilda was just not the most even-tempered griffin around. Not all of them can be like that,” Twilight says with a nod. “I am curious, however. Dash, why are the only one to get an individual invitation? Princess Celestia offered to bring me along since her invitation allowed a guest, but why were you singled out?” 
>The pegasus shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe they just know how awesome I am!” she says with her usual bluster.
>The others quietly laugh to themselves.
>Even if she found the response funny, Twilight still can’t help but dwell on Dash’s personal invitation. Did she know someone important within the Dominion? Or is there something else at play here? For all she knows this could be some convoluted trap, but the fact that both Princesses Celestia and Luna would be there as well rules that out. What being could be insane enough to take on both of the celestial sisters at once?
>Applejack’s voice interrupts her thoughts. ”Ah dunno girls, this still seems a bit fishy to me...”
>”Darling, you worry too much,” cuts in Rarity. “I’m sure that this is just a gesture meant to improve some diplomatic relations. After all, the griffons are shut-ins to a degree as a race.”
>The apple farmer looks like she wants to argue further, but just sighs and stops. No matter what her friends say, she can feel it in the pit of her stomach: This is only the calm before the storm. 

*Footnote*
I’ve been putting some stuff in finnish and neglected to put translations, so here they are.
Koti Sydämemme = Home of our Hearts.
Vähemmän = Lesser/Lesser lords
Tuulenmuutos = Windshear

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx(4 Days Later)xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

>Erio sighs in boredom for what seems to be the tenth time today. It’s been a solid week of absolutely nothing.
>By nothing, he means just that. An absolute lack of any sort of stimulus other than watching diamond dogs go about their boring days with no events of any sort of interest going on.
>Even the capitol building of the city has been quiet, something that most would deem impossible in a structure where politics reign supreme.
>Then it hits him. What if they are like that on purpose? Could they know that they are being watched? Of course! Why else would the capitol building be in such a state of disuse? 
>He needs to do something about this.
>Turning to Chief, Erio opens his beak to alert his partner-
>”Once again, kid, no. They don’t know we’re here.”
>-and is promptly shot down once more.
>The young griffin groans and flops back down to his stomach, utterly dejected from the words of his partner.
>”Come on, Chief! There has to be something that they’re up to in there, I mean, what if the whole appearance of not being busy is just some way to distract us? They could be onto us and we don’t even know it!”
>The old griffin shakes his head in exasperation. What is it with the young ones always being suspicious of everything?
>Chief looks away from this telescope to glance at Erio. “Kid, if they had seen us I guarantee they would’ve sent a team after us, it’s not like Dogs to be diplomatic, or even subtle for that matter,” the gray plumed griffin says with a roll of his eyes.
>Erio grumbles to himself. Leave it to the old coot to be the one who isn’t rightly paranoid. “Come on, old man. you can’t say you really believe that they aren’t doing anything,” Erio says with growing irritation.  
>The older griffin shrugs, making his wing feathers ripple in a wave down his back. “They’re probably doing something, but the problem is that if it doesn’t pertain to us then we have no reason or authorization to do anything about it,” Chief replies as he adjusts a dial on his telescope.
>”Were you listening at all?” the younger Unohdettu asks asks incredulously. “They could be trying to throw us off!”
>”And I said don’t worry about it, we’ve got nothing to fear from the dogs,” Chief grunts, his own temper beginning to fray. “We just need to keep a report on suspicious activity, nothing more.” 
>Erio sighs and looks back to his own telescope as he decides against bothering his partner anymore. 
>With another grumble, he zooms in on a small military base on the outskirts of town and peers inside the window of the main hold.
>A trio of dogs are standing around the table, discussing something about some container in their rough speech. At least that’s what Erio thinks they’re talking about if his lipreading is up to snuff.
>One possesses a beige coat along with a rather thin muzzle and ears that fall to his neck. The  second as a pushed in face and beady eyes similar to a pug. Finally, the last one has a wide, but short muzzle and tiny ears that remain perked up on his head. 
>Apparently the subject of their discussion must be extremely important if the intensity of the disorganized bickering is anything to judge by, they’re practically snapping at each other.
>The one with the thin muzzle and floppy ears takes charge of the situation, ordering the other two to stop fighting and listen to him.
>They reluctantly stop fighting and give Thin-muzzle their full attention.
>Erio curses under his breath when Thin-muzzle turns his back to the window, breaking the young griffin’s line of sight to the dogs face and resumes talking.
>Subtly, Erio looks over at Chief, who seems preoccupied with scanning a more crime-ridden part of the Canine Republic’s capital.
>Back through his telescope, the three dogs seem to be coming to a consensus on their argument. It’s not long before they all nod to each other and disperse.
>There is definitely something interesting going on here, something that the dogs are probably trying to hide...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

>”Well Nine, what do you think?”
>You look to your left as you walk down the poorly lit hallway see a balding man with a cigar in his mouth addressing you with a grin.
>One, that is what you were told to call him. No one here ever shares their real name, most members neglect to even reveal themselves to each other. One apparently did not have that issue.
“Well, the atmosphere certainly fitting,” you comment in a deadpan manner
>He lets out a hearty laugh. “Ha! I have to give you that one. You would think that a group such as ours would be a bit more original.”
“Sometimes going with a classic works better than anything else.”
>One nods thoughtfully. “That it does, that it does,” he says before stopping with you at the door of the meeting room.
>This is it, the point of no return. Once you walk through these doors you’ll take your place as one of the true rulers of the planet. The sheer cunning, blackmailing, illegal activities, mercenaries and resources that you had to spend clawing your way up to this plateau of power have all paid off.
>The poor Siberians, they didn’t even realize what you are doing right under their noses. But then again, maybe the United Nations shouldn’t have been so lax when it came to the security of those schematics...
>You suppress a gulp. Despite everything, you are still incredibly nervous about all this. The Illuminati, they aren’t to be taken lightly by any stretch of the word. 
>You held no delusions about what really went on in the meeting room. It had to be a constant power struggle waged with words, words that held the power to destroy entire countries with but a casual utterance. The only reason these people would work together is for a common goal. Anything other than that must be a match of verbal fencing for dominance.
>One is probably using you in some sort of way and just covering it with a façade of kindness, but you can worry about that later.
>You were brought here for a reason, you proved to be such a massive danger to them that the Illuminati would rather have you in their ranks than out running without a microdem of control.
>”After you, Nine,” One says with a mocking undertone.
>This is it...
>Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you push open the doors and...
>...
>RINNNNNNGGGGGG! SMASH!
>Blinking your eyes groggily, you sit up in your bed to see your fist smashed into a now ruined alarm clock.
"They don't make alarm clocks the way they used to... cheap garbage..." you grumble as you shake your hand.
>You stretch your arms with a yawn, idly glad that your alarm had gone off before the dream could progress. You’d rather leave some things where they belong, in the past...
>It must be a little after 6 AM if your alarm was set right. 
>Rising out of bed, you go through the now routine motions of your morning. Shower, shave, get dressed and get ready for the day.
>Once in your usual suit, you ponder what you should do today. The archives had surrendered most of the useful information you find and filled a number of gaps in your knowledge of world history. Boris, the top scientist of the Unohdettu research and development division will be expecting you to come and survey your commissions tomorrow.
>All of that however leaves today rather open for you... thats certainly a change of pace.
>Before now you had kept yourself busy countless projects behind the scenes as well as your fair share of legitimate work as a ministry agent. Any significant amount of free time you had could always be dedicated to something else, but with DiVargin snooping around and rumors of other opposers doing the same you had put a few of those projects on hiatus.
>You leave your room wondering just what to do.
>”Hey, Anon!”
>Looks like that decision was just made for you.
>You look down the hallway and see Gilda, who is looking much better than she did a few days ago, making her way to you.
“Gilda,” you say politely with an incline of your head, “I was just about to head out for some breakfast, care to join me?”
>A grin stretches across her beak. “You think I wouldn’t come anyway?”
>Seems like her usual attitude made a recovery as well.
“No, but I just thought it polite to ask,” you respond with a slight smile. This is all going rather well, for it seems that Gilda is seeking you out more and more each day. Apparently what you had told her have made a far greater impact than you expected.
>”So, where’re we going?”
“Thats open for debate.”
>You and the young griffin make your way down to the dining room near the first floor, opting to take an elevator to to your room being on the 38th floor of the palace.
>Conversation about nothing of consequence flows between you and her easily, much to your pleasure. You avoided the subject of Pele seeing as how you didn’t wish upset her and possibly tip her off about your more clandestine activities. She needs to remain in the dark for the time being.
>Once in the large and ornate dining room which is still largely empty thanks to early hour, you and the royal griffon seat yourselves a smaller table and wait for a waiter.
>”... and that’s what I’ve been up to for the last couple days, how about you?” 
>You think to yourself. You haven’t really done much...
“Well, I sent out some invitations to the leaders of other nations to hopefully get their support for the throne. The Equestrian Celestial sisters are going to be the first ones.”
>Gilda rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I kind of knew about that already. In fact I sent my old pal Rainbow Dash her own invitation for that so she can tag along and we can see each other again.”
>You freeze, that wasn’t planned at all... 
>It’s fine, the situation is salvageable. You just need to keep an eye on Gilda’s friend should she start acting strangely. The biggest problems often come from the most unexpected places, and this could possibly be one of them.
“Well, I really wish you would’ve informed me before hand... we could have made it more official.” You say, hiding your real reason to be upset.
>As you expect, she just shrugs and gives you a noncommittal grunt.
>A waiter dressed in a pressed shirt chooses that time to make his appearance, walking up with a small notebook in his talons.
>”Lord Anonymous, Lady Gilda, what would you like for breakfast this morning?”

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>Later that day, back in a Equestria, a certain moon goddess is reviewing the team that have been selected from her personal guard to infiltrate the Griffin Dominion to scan in-depth for threats.
>Luna looks at the statue like visages of her lightly armored and bat-winged stealth core, supposedly the most elite in the entire world.
>Even though she had given the Night Captain a month and a half to train these p0nies, he insisted that this group, the 4th black ops division, has so much skill that they only need two weeks of training in order to undertake any sort of mission given to them.
>This is not something that can be taken lightly, but no matter how many times she tried to reiterate this, the night captain insisted that does no possible way this team could fail.
>Inwardly though, the moon goddess is impressed. Normally any proximity to her would cause noticeable discomfort to anyp0ny, even a majority of her night guards. Yet these five seem as stoic as brick walls and look natural to boot.
>She walks down the short line of them, taking in their stances and rather nonexistent expressions. Not a hoof out of line, not a single breath hitched, and not a twitch of movement from any of them.
>It seems that Celestia took good care of Luna’s forces during her banishment.
>”So,” begins Luna as she stares the team down. “I was told that you five are the greatest that Equestria has to offer, so far you have given me no reason not to believe that.”
>They offer no reaction.
>”However, despite the wishes of your captain, you will undergo a mandatory one month of training for this extremely sensitive mission. We can offer no quarter in this matter, for there can be absolutely no room for error. One false move can plunge all of Equestria into a political calamity the likes of which we have never seen before.”
>If one looked close enough, they would be able to see the barest hints of worry beginning to creep into the eyes of the 4th black ops division. What sort of mission would involve such stakes?
>Luna’s eyes narrow into dangerous slits.
>”In fact, until you are ready I cannot disclose any more information to you. So this is where you must make your decision. You may choose not to accept this mission and you will not be penalized for your choice, but I must ask you. Do you think you can accomplish the great task that has been set for you?” Luna asks gravely.
>For a moment, there is silence. Until the guard furthest right speaks up.
>”I am ready to serve, your Majesty.” He says, his blank face settling into a severe expression.
>The others remain quiet, then speak one by one.
>”I am ready to serve, your Majesty.”
>”I am ready to serve, your Majesty.”
>”I am ready to serve, your Majesty.”
>”I am ready to serve, your Majesty.”
>All of use the same answer and adopt the same hardened expressions without fail, speaking volumes of their experience as a team.
>With an inward sigh, Luna gives them all nods In acceptance of their answers.
>Suppressing a shiver, the princess of the night hopes beyond all hope that she made the right decision by listening to her sister. 

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>Barely suppressing a fit of rage fueled cursing,  A blueberry-colored unicorn paces around in her cell in the dungeon of the Koti Sydämemme palace.
>How dare they! How dare they deny her the knowledge that she so desperately seeks. Why does the restricted section of a griffin archive have so many magic books that they can’t use?!?
>“They think that this is the last they will have of me? The Great and Powerful Trixie!?” the now named Trixie rages to herself, unconsciously powering up her horn.
>The anti-magic metal collar around her neck buzzes threateningly at the spike of energy, promising to electrocute her should she keep it up.
>Calming down some, least she be shocked, the unicorn sighs to herself. This is definitely going to result in her passport being revoked, and then it will be even harder to travel around.
>This was one of her last shots at power as well, seeing as how the Alicorn Amulet she had so desperately wanted was stolen from the shop she had last heard it was in.
>But still, she can’t believe that the griffons had the gall to not only manhandle her, but throw her in the dungeon for a bunch of charges that were probably made up. ‘Criminal trespassing?’ Is that even a thing?
>Looking at the door, Trixie wonders just how she’s going to escape. The door is nothing special, just the standard bars on a track reaching to the ceiling. Her lack of magic however is going to make this rather tricky.
>Before she can muse any further on thoughts of escape, the sound of walking on the stone hallway of the cell row reaches her ears.
>Trixie frowns in confusion, the steps had a distinct sound on the stone and were too irregular to be a griffin. Did they decides to detain a minotaur?
>That thought dies the instant she sees what steps in front of her cell.
>The darkness of the dungeon only let her see the tall outline and the baleful, almost unearthly eyes of her visitor.
>Trixie wants to step away and break eye contact with this being, as something seems distinctly wrong, almost disturbing about it. Just the horrid aura it seems to extrude makes Trixie want to grimace, but her pride forces her to stand her ground.
>”And what would you be? Why have you come to Trixie? Speak up!”
>It chuckles in a male voice. 
“Well, you certainly seem lively. That’s quite a bit to expect from someone who spent several days cooped up in a tiny jail cell.”
>”Really now? Perhaps you should release Trixie and she can show you the real definition of ‘lively,’” the unicorn says with a glare.
>The biped raises its hands in mock surrender.
“No need for any sort of violence. I think you’ll enjoy what I have to say, actually.”
>”Well? Out with it then.”
>The figure smiles a toothy, predatory grin that makes an uncomfortable shiver run down Trixie’s spine.
“My name is Anonymous, and I have a proposition for you.”
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>Your magically inclined prisoner narrows her lavender eyes in barely veiled suspicion. You can't really blame her. After all, if you are captured and held against your will then suddenly given a choice that could very well be a deciding factor in your life, you would be more than skeptical when it comes to negotiations.
>Finally, she decides to speak up. “What sort of... proposition do you speak of? Trixie does not wish to waste her time.”
“As if you have the time to waste whilst in this cell,” you reply with a faint smirk. “Not that I mean this deal will be necessarily bad for you, but enough dancing around the subject.” You lean down so that you look the unicorn in the eye. “You came here seeking arcane knowledge, knowledge that the scholars of the royal library zealously guard. For good reason, as well; there are few places in the world with knowledge hubs as extensive as the archives here.”
>You rise back to your full height and look down at her with amusement as she silently seethes over the reminder of her failure.
“However, if you feel like cooperating, then you might get what you wanted after all.”
>Her head shoots up so fast that it's a miracle she didn't get whiplash. Trixie immediately narrows her eyes and snarls. “What? Do you find some form of amusement in the dangling false promises over Trixie? Trixie knows your type: the low, manipulative, conniving sort. You won't hold up to your end of the bargain even if she agrees.”
>Well this is certainly something new. You offered her what she wanted, and yet she refused. This one must not have much business sense.
>It doesn't really matter either way to you. When it comes to life, it always boils down to two choices. The easy way, and the hard way.
>You’ll get what you want one way or another, but a willing follower is always more reliable than a forced one. With that in mind, you may as well make another attempt at trying to convince Trixie.
“Really now? Just how can you be sure of that? It’s everything you've ever wanted or needed and you’re just saying no? If that's how you feel , then I'll just pass on the opportunity to the next unicorn. She seemed extremely enthusiastic about the idea.”
>To her credit, Trixie doesn't so much as bat an eye.
> Turning on your heel, you start back to the door and walk your way to it with even, untroubled steps.
>30 meters from the door, nothing out of Trixie.
>She’ll fall for it.
>20, you hear shuffling from her cell.
>10, frantic muttering to low to hear.
>5, you hear her place her head against the bars, probably to look at you.
>1…
>”Okay! You win! Trixie will hear you out!” she calls out just as you expected she would
>Making another about-face, you walk back to her cell and look down at the unicorn with a condescending expression.
“Are you sure? Like I said, the other unicorn wanted into the archives soooooo bad. She was practically begging.”
>You receive a hard glare for the remark.
>She keeps up the ugly look for as long as she can before sighing in reluctant defeat. “Very well, what is this ‘proposition’ of yours?”
>Perfect. It was almost too easy.
>Or was it? Perhaps there is more to your prisoner than meets the eye. You dismiss the thought. It’s not like she knows what you’re doing.
“Here’s my thoughts: you want the power that the archives hold, no?” you ask. “As I’m sure you know, I’m running a country, not a charity, so I am going to need some form of compensation for giving out anything from the archives. Do you see where this is going?” 
>Trixie's face, previously blank, slowly transforms into an expression of absolute disgust, as if you had just told her that you are going to force her to clean lavatories for the rest of her days.
>”NO! I will not suffer such an indignity! You can take your impure desires elsewhere, I totally refuse to be your plaything!” she shouts, so angry that she forgot to refer to herself in the third person.
>It takes you a moment to realize what she's implying, and once you figure it out you feel almost apocalyptic. She dare insinuate that you would stoop so low? You? THE Anonymous!?!
>If you had any degree of arcane power, you guarantee the stone floor beneath you would have been melted into an angry red puddle of lava from the degree of anger that you feel coursing through your veins. Few times you've ever felt like killing someone yourself, and this is one of those times.
>Despite seeing red, you put on a smile so fake that you may as well have been wearing a mask. Destroying this little wench would be counterproductive in the long run.
“Now now, I believe you completely misunderstood me. I was asking that you come into employment under me, not… what you are insinuating…”
>Her face drains of its anger and is quickly superseded by embarrassment. You can only surmise that she has run into a situation like this before.
>“Ahem… right, a simple misunderstanding then,” she says with a hint of sheepishness. “Very well, what will this… ‘job’ entail?” she asks as she regains her composure.
>Back on to business.
“First and foremost, you will need to learn everything that you can from the archives up until a certain point,” you say, raising a single finger. “Once you've reached the proper threshold of skill, your studies will become a secondary priority as you will be assigned as a special agent under me.”
>Suspicion once more creeps into her eyes. “And why is that? Do you not have spell casters here?”
>You fight back the urge to roll your eyes.
”We do, but most griffin spell weavers are considerably weaker than even the average unicorn. If you are as great as you claim to be, then you will be an incredibly valuable asset… or were you lying?”
>”Trixie is NOT a liar! She is without a doubt the greatest! Trixie accepts your offer!” she thunders with an echoing shout.
>How delightfully easy, this whole endeavor was like taking candy from a baby. All it took was some choice words and a few well-placed accusations and this little unicorn played right into your hands without even realizing it.
>Is this how the elder members of the Illuminati felt once they had sufficiently sunk their claws into the world? It must be.
“Excellent! Now, an archivist will be by shortly to release you and take you to the library,” your face shifts into a leer that would stop the heart of an Ursa. “This is the only warning I give you on the subject, do not—for any reason whatsoever—damage any of the books or scrolls you come by. All of them are immensely valuable, some are even priceless. If I find out that you have…”
>A stiletto falls out of your sleeve and into your hand, where you open it and idly flick it around between your fingers.  
>Trixie's eyes are fixed on the flashing steel, worry etching itself into her features.
“…There will be VERY dire consequences…”
>With a blur of movement you fold the knife back up and put it back in your sleeve.
“Have I made myself clear?”	
>”Crystal…” she says quietly, not taking her eyes off of the sleeve you just slipped the weapon into.
>At least she seems to have some danger sense, more than what you can say about a number of other ponies who dare to venture into the Dominion.
>What is Celestia doing to her subjects? She must coddle them to such a degree that they believe everywhere to be safe and that nothing bad can happen to them.
>How utterly disgusting, purposely sabotaging your own people when you should have enough experience to know the world is a hostile place.
>You turn and leave the dungeon, ignoring Trixie's indignant cries to be released right now as you think about the state of affairs in neighboring countries.
>As far as you know, Equestria is supposedly the world's leading superpower in most national aspects. Economics, geography, quality of life, and military power to name the most notable.
>You shake your head as you think about the last one. Ponies were designed for the sole purpose of feeding those higher on the food chain, created with the inborn reaction to flee from danger and seek safety in numbers. Such is the role of herbivores. There is no possible way that a race of them could possibly, even with magic, remain the most powerful faction in the world.  Especially after the last conflict they faced was a brief civil war over 1000 years ago. It was the incident with Nightmare Moon and her collection of followers, if you remember correctly.
>Something of incredible note would be the celestial sister’s ability to control the sun and the moon, to fling them about like a child would it play things. Such a power would surely make the nation of Equestria untouchable, correct?
>Of course it would, if such a power was not a hoax.
>You may not have any proof, but the gut feeling that has served you well over the years is telling you that there is more than meets the eye when it comes to the supposedly godlike abilities of the alicorns.
>As said before, you have no hard evidence of the worldwide deception, but among your plans is one to build a powerful observatory. From there, you should be able to determine the legitimacy of the Equestrian royalty’s fabled abilities.
“Certainly, nothing can ever be boring in this world. Even the usual mind-numbing dredge of politics is rife with the most interesting bits of information that tell tales of their own,” you muse aloud to yourself as you continue walking.
>Next, you have the least numerous race in the world, the minotaurs.
>They proved to be among the most surprising things you had discovered during your time here. Rather than the marshal, warrior-based culture you are expecting, they were actually a race of rather ingenious engineers.
>Ingenious for the current level of advancement in the world, at least. But then again, it's unfair to compare them to Earth due to the lack of strife and magic supplementing a number of inventions. 
>However, that hasn’t stopped you from making a number of deals and agreements with less noble members of them. It’ll still be sometime before you can gain their full support, and by proxy, their secrets and resources. They are going to prove to be vital to you soon.
>The bull-people live on a mesa the size of a small country surrounded by numerous islands, the aptly named Minos United Isles. They travel between the landmasses with the aid of steam and magic powered machinery, something you couldn't help but find interest in.
>Something tells you that they're going to be less than pleased with you and the rest of the Dominion in the coming months… but that's a bridge to be crossed once you get there.
>They are prime traders of this technology and boast impressive military might thanks to it. If your sources are correct, they are the only ones to effectively utilize cannons, making ranged combat with them risky business.
>What you're most interested in them about, however, is the design of their airships.	
>Large, heavily armored things they are, yet there still fast enough to outrun most other flying vehicles with considerable ease. Rather than use a balloon as a means of levitation, the Minotaur airships utilize a steam/magic hybrid engine and propellers to achieve lift. The knowledge on how to create such an engine is guarded with extreme jealousy.
>Not that you're going to let that deter you from acquiring the schematics or copying it, of course.
>Next, the diamond dogs…
>Your face scrunches up in distaste. There’s not much to be said about them. Poor economy, low quality of life, high infant mortality rate, and a fragmented military that relies on ambushing as well as hit-and-run tactics. Not to mention an imperialistic streak and history of theft, making trade agreements and negotiations with canine race parlous at best. So simple they are, that their nation does not even have a proper moniker.
>Finally, there are the mysterious changelings.
>Little is known about them other than their ability to shapeshift and their constant need to keep any sort of activities they engage in on the clandestine side.
>The lack of proper intelligence on them is disconcerting, but if the scouts deployed to the changeling wastes are even halfway trained, then the information problem should be rectified once they return. As an afterthought, you mentally take a note to find a way to disrupt their shapeshifting ability. No need for potential spies and assassins in your midst after all. You make another note to see about capturing one to find out more about their anatomy.
>There are other races, such as the zebras and the dragons, but you don’t consider either of them civilized enough to even bother with factoring in. The dragons may be mighty, but you know just how to topple them. The zebras may be resourceful with their tribal magic, but that is nothing you cannot replicate with creativity and technology.
>Your internal musing comes to a halt once you find yourself stopped in a long hallway by Gilda, who was wearing an expression of vague concern.
>”You alright, dude? I found you just sort of wandering with a spaced out look. Somethin’ you want to talk about?” she asks 
>Her worry is waved away by you.
“I’m well, Gilda. There were just a few things of little importance on my mind. What are you doing here?” you reply, gesturing to the mostly empty hallway.
>She seems less than impressed with your lackluster reply. ”Nothing important,” she quips back smartly.
“Be that way then...”
>Everything lapses into silence as Gilda walks aimlessly with you. A glance at her from your peripherals makes you feel slightly guilty; she hasn’t the slightest idea of what her role is to be in the future. As fast as it came, you crush that guilt ruthlessly. You have no time for such a useless and impeding emotion. In the end, she’ll understand. Everyone will... you know it.
>A faint smile comes to your face. With everything forming up just as you would like, you can’t help but feel great. Maybe a sort of celebration is in order?
“Say, Gilda?
>”Hmm?”
“How about you gather up some friends and we all head to this nice bar I know? My treat.”	
>She stops and looks up at you, wonderment in her golden eyes. “What’s with this, Anon? You’re not usually the whole ‘griffins griffin’ kind of guy.”
“Just call it a sudden good feeling about the future. I may as well act on it before it goes away,” you say with a shrug.
>Gilda doesn’t need to be told twice. With a wide grin, she spreads her wings and takes off down the hallway, hollering back “Meet you at your room in a bit!”
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>Quite a few hours later, you exit the elevator on your floor and begin the journey back to your room with the slightest sway in your step. Even if you promised yourself to keep your drinking light, Gilda and her surprising number of friends egged you on until you had your fair share. You still kept your composure, however, as it wouldn’t be proper for you to be blackout drunk.
>Alto certainly had a field day with so many high rolling customers in his little bar. The brawl scar on his cheek was revealed all night thanks to his continuous grin.
>Just before you can open your door, you feel someone tap you on the back. This had better be good...
>Turning, you find a lightly armored griffin courier who is looking rather jumpy. When he notices your eyes on him, he clears his throat.
>”Lord Anon... important word just arrived... The Vähemmän Lordit, they... they want to...” he swallows a nervous lump in his throat. “They’ve made individual communications between each other and decided that they want to begin the delegation early.”
>That gives you pause, enough to clear most of the drunken haze from your mind out of surprise. They want to meet early? That could be a problem, but you seriously doubt it will be anytime soon. You likely still have several weeks.
“I see... and pray tell, when are they expected to arrive?” you ask, anticipating the answer.
>”They... they’re on their way to Koti Sydämemme as we speak... there is less than 48 hours before their arrival,” the courier forces out nervously, obviously afraid of drawing your ire.
>You stand silently for a moment, your mind utterly boggled by what your ears have just told it. Two days? You have two days before the ones with your fate in their talons arrive and begin the delegation for new emperor?
>You dismiss the courier and walk inside your room, your mind running with such speed that even lightning would be put to shame. You still have so much to do before you can even think about meeting them, so much that you need to sort out to keep your facade of ideal ruler in place.
>Action needs to be taken. Immediately.


End of Act 1