Prince Captain Scipio Skytalon sighed deeply and shuffled his feet as he stood sentry upon the wall. Of all of his duties, this was by far the most boring. It was Tradition, with a capital T as he was so often informed, that there be a strong guard on the outer walls of Roam. Nevermind that no force had made a serious bid for the city since before the Nightmare War, or that getting any armed force even close to the walls would be a task of logistical absurdity. But It was Tradition, so the sentry was posted each and every day.

It was also Tradition for the first sons of any noble house to stand guard upon these walls, even though as a Captain he would have otherwise been spared the duty. Officially he was in charge of the sentries, of course, which actually gave him a command in size more in line with a Major than a Captain. Even that didn’t take away the sting of doing the boring grunt-work. At least, he thought with a moment of wry amusement as he peered down over the massive granite outer walls, I’m not in yet another boring class about the history of the Griffon Kingdoms in all of their faded glory.

So Scipio sighed and tapped his heavy war-spear’s butt against the flagstones as a wall patrol began to approach from the south. His nares perked up and his eyes brightened - At last! Someone to talk to! Wall Patrols had to report in to the Captain whenever they passed him, another Tradition he found quite silly as many of the soldiers of the patrols knew him personally. So while a few traditions would be observed, the rest would devolve into a few moments of gossiping and chatting - a nice break from an otherwise lame morning.

Scipio took a moment to ensure his kit was well fitted - burnished steel breastplate with similar steel discs sewn into the leather pants he wore for leg-armour. His wide, heavy shield leant against the wall - but that was acceptable for Wall Guards in a way that it wasn’t for the average patroller. He donned the golden-plated steel helm, slipping it over his head and ruffling the crimson crest into something more presentable before turning to face the approaching patrol.

Their gear was much like his; save the plate was a dull matte gray rather than polished, and their helmets were of the same type. The one hundred armed griffons - quite an impressive sight, even on the incredibly wide pathway that topped the wall - came to a halt, as their more impressively coiffed leader snapped his wing to salute. “Third Patrol reporting all is well, Wall Captain.” His voice cracked across the wide stone expanse of the wall with all the discipline Scipio could have asked for. Whoever this Centurion was, he was a good one.

So Scipio returned the wing salute with a similar snap and a griffon-grin. “So noted, Centurion. Any news?” The last part was code amongst the less stuffed-up soldiery of the Griffon Kingdoms as short-claw way of saying ‘lets chat for a bit.’ It was a silly sort of thing to go through, but that described a lot of the pomp and circumstance of the Griffon Kingdoms.

Fortunately, the Centurion wasn’t completely devoid of humor. He turned and barked out. “Stand at ease!” to his soldiers, all of whom quickly dispersed into their own little knots of discussion - some of them breaking out rations while others took the time to stretch out their wings or take a moment to relieve themselves off the edge of the wall. Then he turned back with a soft chuckle at how fast discipline could dissolve before his face turned sober. “We’ve officially lost contact with Tiberius. The Kings think that there’s been another Changeling attack.”

That got a wince out of Scipio, who leaned against the wall and sighed - not even bothering to pull off his helmet like he usually would. “Ever since they got their flanks handed to them in Canterlot, they’ve been a veritable menace.” Scipio growled, to the nodding understanding of the nameless Centurion. “I’ll speak with my Father. With fortune, they’ll be worried enough to actually ask the Sun Queen for help in getting rid of them. They’ve got to have some kind of secret if they stymied a full on invasion of their capital!”

The Centurion nodded and his beak opened to speak again only to be interrupted by the distant sound of a horn. “What…?” Scipio said slowly, grabbing his spear and pushing himself off the wall. Then another horn sounded - and another. Echoing down the walls until the nearest watch-tower sounded its own horn. “An alert? Impossible! We haven’t seen anything big enough to possibly threaten…”

Later - much, much later - Scipio would remember that keeping on his helmet had probably saved his life. Only the faint sound of wingbeats warned him in time to spin around in a defensive posture to stare into the black, wild eyes of a griffon bearing the colors of his House. The crazed griffon’s war-spear struck just above Scipio’s temple and sent him crashing into the ground. Had he not been wearing his helmet, had he not heard the sound of those wingbeats, he would have been dead instantly.

As it was, he was simply dazed beyond all belief. His eyes refused to focus as the Centurion leapt into the air and crushed the crazed griffon’s head with a blow of his own steel spear butt. The griffon sank to the ground in a heap, and a black whisp of smoke seemed to seep out of his corpse before vanishing in the bright sunlight. Scipio was certain he’d hallucinated it - until the voice of the Centurion broke through his dazed. “Blessed Hawkwing…. Darksun…” he whispered in with an unintelligible oath as the sounds of battle closed in around them.

It took Scipio nearly thirty seconds to fight to his feet, but get to them he did. The helmet was pressing painfully into the side of his head, but it was still intact enough to protect him, so he left it there. “Captain! Here!” another nameless griffon called out, and a moment later a shining golden disc was hurtling towards him. His talon lashed out and grabbed hold of the shield, just in time for him to smash it into the face of another crazed attacking griffon. Reflex took over as he pinned the attacker to the ground and drove the tip of his spear right through it’s neck, killing it instantly.

“FORM UP!” he screeched out, although it wasn’t really necessary - the wall patrol had already locked shields with one another and were fending off what looked like an entire wave of attackers, each and every one of them a griffon with that crazed, mad look in their eyes. They wore armor and bore weapons the same as any griffonic guard, but they fought like berserkers. Unfortunately for them, griffons were past masters at fighting the maddest creatures the world could throw at them, and the wall patrol was no different.

Though a half dozen of the patrol had fallen, the rest were now locked into a phalanx, with shields above and about to protect their flanks and war spears lashing out with astonishing speed and range to fend off the attackers. Scipio’s training did for him what his mind was still too dazed to do. His wings flared out and he launched himself at speed toward the mob of attackers - smashing into their right flank with all the ferocity of a dragon. His spear spun and flashed, and his shield lashed out at every turn. Thick and wild though they might have been, they were no match for him as he advanced.

One did not become a Captain by collecting bottle caps, after all.

It was only when the last of the first wave of foes fell beneath his spear that he stopped - his breath coming in heavy heaves as he wheeled about, looking for more foes to slay. His talons and arms were slick with blood as were his weapons of war. Rarely before in his life had he fought with such vigor or valor, and on any other day this would have been a battle for the stories of bards and tales.

But his keen eyes ranged down the wall, where the sound of wild horns wailed in the distance and seemingly thousands of griffons, pegasi, and other winged creatures carried those traditionally ground-bound over the mighty walls of Roam. The City was under attack by a force he of which he had no knowledge, and they appeared all but innumerable. The Centurion marched up beside him with the rest of his surviving troops in battle formation, and Scipio knew what he had to do.

One of the troopers offered a worn and battered towel, which Scipio used to clean his weapon and shield and to dry off his talons. “We need to rally the wall guard.” Scipio’s voice was astonishingly calm, his tone firm and resolute. His eyes trailed to the inner city where a feeling of sharp emotional pain struck at him. His sister would be fine for now - right now, he had a wall to defend. “We move along the wall in this direction! If you see a fellow soldier, bring them into the formation! Engage the enemy as we encounter them and STAY TOGETHER! Now, move out!”

“So. We come to the twilight of the world.”

The deep and raspy voice echoed through the tiny hall. But tiny though it was, it was luxurious in the extreme. Deep golden marble made up the floor, embossed with a symbol all of those creatures within knew too well. Thirteen seats were arranged around the symbol, each with a small desk beside it. Twelve of these seats were filled with the bodies of griffons - and one, filled with a golden helmet wrought with beautiful filigreed wings.

Reports were streaming in and out of the room on the wings of young and swift griffons and into the talons of those that sat within. The news was grim in the extreme. The Outer Walls had been breached, and chaos was reigning within the Outer City. The city patrols were fighting back - but they were scattered and disorganized. All reports agreed on one thing - only soldiers were being killed outright, unless they surrendered their arms. The rest were being herded into buildings and open squares where…

“Darksun,” whispered the gravelly voice again, and twelve heads nodded in slow agreement. Twelve sets of eyes went to the helm upon the chair. “Hawkwing preserve us, she has returned for her vengeance,” the voice continued. The reports kept coming in - more death, more darkness - the Shadow had fallen upon the Empire once again. Finally, the voice that seemed to be the only one capable of speech spoke up. “What will we do if he does not appear now, in our darkest hour?”

One of the figures stood up - his beak still sharp, even if his feathers and fuzz had grayed considerably over the years. His body was as lean and powerful as it had been in his youth, and his eyes still bright. “He will appear, my brothers and sisters. Else there will be no world after this one, save one cloaked in darkness and shadow.”

Eleven eyes cast to the floor, and the aged griffon spoke again. His voice was full of authority - but also a deep and abiding pain. “We must prepare to retreat. Gather the Legion.”

The massive western gates of Roam were shoved open slowly as ancient wheels and weights turned and moved to drive the steel doors. When they had parted sufficiently, Twilight Shadow strode through them with an imperious tilt to her chin. In her wake, Umbra strode with a careless confidence as their newly minted griffon servants bowed to them - each possessing a core of The Shadow power within them.

Twilight kept her face cool and calm in spite of the raging battle of pain and pleasure within her. She could feel every one of the Shadow touched who died upon the walls - their pain and sadness at failing her. She could feel a rush of pleasure at every new convert to the cause, as large groups of griffons were forcibly converted under the lustful attentions of her many new children. Had she been any other pony, she probably would have been driven quite mad by the dichotomy within her.

But Twilight was not any other pony. She could compartmentalize, suppress, and disperse her emotions quite efficiently. Of course, that didn’t mean she wasn’t very, very distracted as she strode into the streets of Roam. Fortunately, Mother was there to keep her steady - her gentle strength guiding her steps, buffering her thoughts. The first battles were always the worst - she’d been warned of that. But Mother would not let her fall - not here, not now. Twilight surely didn’t know how she’d managed these stressful sorts of things without her before… until memories resurfaced of the Want-it Need-it spell, and she remembered with a wry smile. Badly was how she’d managed it.

Still, that was then and this was now, and the moment was never the same twice. So she focused as best she could and kept her gaze level and cool - just as Mother had taught her. Roam was as beautiful as the books had said with its wide streets paved with glittering white granite, and its ancient architecture reaching as far back as the time of the First Empire. Even the sights and smells… well, the sights and smells beyond the bloodstains and the rankness of fear. Twilight so dearly hoped the city could be taken without too much damage to it. Who knew how much history could be studied here? How many secrets might be hidden deep within its ancient towers?

The thought of her passions for learning and scholarship dulled the pain of battle from her soul and garnered an amused smile from Mother. “It’s not the most elegant of battle plans, but it does appear to be effective,” Umbra mused with a quiet chuckle, and Twilight just shook her head ruefully. She wasn’t a general - she was a scholar! Generalship was Winterlight’s job, or it would be soon enough. Besides, her tactics here were played to an environment already in her favor. Total, complete surprise on an unaware and unprepared enemy. Seize the walls, carry over the ground bound creatures, and convert the city into more soldiers. Simple.

Twilight frowned though as it appeared the first part was proving more difficult than she’d originally anticipated. “Do as I told you, Daughter. Use that power to sense the touched,” Umbra urged her, now standing firmly at her shoulder. “I shall bolster your strength,” Umbra said - and immediately, Twilight could feel the churning emotions simmer down considerably.

It was hard to get a good view of what was going on at first, but little by little she was getting the hang of the technique. It was a remarkably complex application of a simple ability. She could sense the location of all of those touched by the Shadow power; and thus, she could tell where the fighting was fiercest by simply figuring out where large clumps of her Touched were crowded together.

Surely enough, far above their heads upon the outer wall, a mass of newly shadow Touched were having a wedge driven through them by some unknown force. “Yes… a great Captain of the griffons,” Umbra whispered softly, almost as if she was unaware that she was speaking at all. Twilight focused harder, planting her hooves equidistant from one another and trying to sense what the Touched were sensing.

It was more difficult than any spell she’d ever performed - all she could get was a jumble of mixed up visions and senses. The hot, coppery smell of blood. The sight of a column of warriors, bristling with wicked spears and massive shields. Screams of defiance. Pain. Death. It very nearly drove her to her knees with the intensity of it all, only to vanish in a heartbeat as the warm and comforting presence of Umbra settled over her shoulders.

“Rest a moment, Child. We have a long day ahead of us.” Umbra’s voice was like warm milk and honey, like her favorite blanket or Mr. Smarty Pants. It soothed her instantly even as it flared up in her a set of entirely more base desires. Twilight turned on the spot to press a passionate kiss upon the Shadow Goddess, wrapping her hooves around her neck and leaning up into her. For her part, Umbra responded in kind and with a wordless command the other Touched left to perform other essential duties.

Even in the midst of war, there was time for a bit of fun.

“Hold! Hold you featherbrained shitheads!” Scipio Skytalon’s voice crowed across the the wall, thundering through the chaotic sounds of steel on steel and the screams of the dying and the dead. “Get that patrol into formation! Prepare for defensive retreat!” His voice had gone hoarse over the last hour as they had inexorably marched toward their one hope of getting down off the walls - one of the large watch towers that still flew the pennant of the Griffon Kingdoms.

Three other Wall Patrols had been found and now the column of three hundred some-odd soldiers was marching in unyielding formation towards the tower. The Outer Walls were utterly lost, and even Scipio could not think of a way to retake them without the aid of the Legion… and the Legion was going to be busy doing other things. Fortunately, the horn-calls a few minutes earlier had dictated a retreat to the inner city…. to prepare to evacuate Roam.

It was heartbreaking, but Scipio knew his duty. So foot by foot, his tercels ploughed through the crazed attackers - now including some pegasi and a few other odd winged creatures - like they were tilling the soil. Behind them, a trail of dead and wounded bodies told the tale of what happened when the fight was brought to the legion. Despite losing nearly a fourth of his force so far, Scipio had accounted for at least three times that in enemy casualties. Unfortunately, that was just a drop in the bucket.

He had long since realized what this foe had done. They weren’t just fielding the guards and professional soldiers one normally found in a griffon city, but every single member of their militias. Driven by new and fanatical devotion to this ‘Shadow’ they kept screaming about, they were just as dangerous as the professionals… in fact, probably moreso. A professional fighter engaged in trained and predictable ways. There was no telling what an amateur might do.

Then everything got weird again as the mass of crazed creatures peeled away from them and down into the city proper. Their force, once a prime target for attack, was now being utterly ignored. Tactically, it made sense. They weren’t much more than a rock in a flowing stream and the river had better things to do than wear them down. Still, he wasn’t going to complain. A rock in a stream might not be much on its own… but if you get enough rocks… Scipio had to smile at the analogy, in spite of his weary body.

The column marched much quicker towards the tower now, and its precious set of solid staircases that would protect them from attack within the walls until they could reach the ground. Certainly, they could have flown… but their enemies could fly too, and so far the only thing that had kept them from getting overwhelmed had been having solid ground beneath their talons. The four Centurions now under his direct command quickly organized the descent as Scipio looked on, doing his best to look like he wasn’t nursing one mother of a headache.

The wheels of tactics and strategy were already turning in his head - they would need to fight their way to the inner walls, going street by street. Splitting up his forces into fifty griffons apiece and forming hedgehogs would be the best so they didn’t get too heavily crowded against each other. Keeping the formations tight would also help. Any foolish attacker who tried to split them up would get crushed between the formations. Piece by piece, his mind put together an ad-hoc plan to get them back in contact with whatever was left of the Legion.

His mind snapped back to attention as he noticed all four of the legionaries watching him with deferent respect. Truthfully, Scipio had remembered very little of what had happened over the last hour… but from the way they were watching him, it’d had to have been impressive. “Right,” he said, and snapped his beak in annoyance. The last thing he needed was to start spouting platitudes. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

Twenty minutes later, the six hedgehogs were marching at the quickstep down a main trade avenue. Resistance was blessedly light as they marched quickly towards the pure white walls of the Inner City. Every shop they passed, militia and civilians joined the march bit by bit. That was a problem - as the last thing Scipio needed was untrained soldiers to look after - but as with all things, his duties here were very clear.

The poor militia had little but spears, leather armor, and smaller shields - but they would have to do. Even as his forced marched inexorably towards what Scipio was certain would be safety, he organized those that fell in behind him as best he could - militia fighters in square formations surrounding blocks of civilians armed with whatever they could put their talons to. Many had crossbows - a weapon Scipio was personally quite glad to see in abundance amongst them - and some few had swords, daggers, or other improvised weaponry.

As the column grew on the march, Scipio wondered what the attackers were thinking then. Roam was a vast city, full of a massive population and entire armies of soldiers. Certainly, surprise had won them the outer walls, but their surprise was going to run out shortly. Resistance would become ever more organized, and mass assault tactics were going to cease working with any effectiveness.

Then he remembered what the Centurion had said upon the walls. Darksun - the dreaded demoness who had shattered the First Empire with her corruptive magics. The patron goddess of Judas The Traitor, who had only been defeated in the end by the greatest hero in Griffon history - Ceasar Hawkwing, founder of the Second Empire. If Darksun truly had returned from the grave she’d been buried in by the great Ceasar, then there was literally no predicting what their foe might be capable of doing.

Then a feminine scream cut through his thinking - a very familiar feminine scream. ”GET AWAY FROM US, YOU LAMEOS!” The shrill words pierced through Scipio’s professional armor and cracked it wide open. Once again - training, instinct, discipline - it didn’t matter what one called it, took over for him. The scream had come from a side street, and a second scream echoing down the streets confirmed his suspicions.

He brandished his spear in one direction, even as his nominal command staff stared at him in horror. “All formations, to the left!” his voice boomed down the street, even as he took to the air, flying to the head of the column as another shrill scream and the sounds of battle pierced through his heart. “Spear Wall formation, on the quick march!” he yelled again, and the hedgehogs dissolved into three ranks, 16 griffons apiece and brandishing their spears ahead of them as they jogged down the streets.

Scipio was not going to wait for them though. He wheeled in midair and took off down the streets like a shot from a catapult. Damnit! What is she doing outside the inner walls? Why is she in - this - neighborhood? Blast it all, doesn’t she ever listen to Father?! But all the anger of his thoughts melted away at the sound of another shrill scream, this one thick with fear. The anger was replaced with a stern rage - and little though Scipio knew it, a fire had kindled inside his heart. A fire that another someone would have found very familiar indeed.

His voice tore from his throat as he rounded a corner to see a swarm of attackers - these wearing real armor, bearing real weapons, and looking not in the least bit crazed. No, they looked to be fully in control of themselves as they battered against the heavy door of some kind of drinking establishment with a makeshift battering ram as crossbow bolts and rocks rained down upon them from the upper windows. Scipio’s eyes narrowed and his spear flashed in the daylight. Though this had been a dark day for the Griffon Kingdoms, he would not allow the darkness to claim his sister. As he dove upon the attackers - alone and unaided - he screamed defiantly into the din.

“Hang on, Gilda! I’m coming! THE LEGION STANDS!”