Post by sevenseas on Apr 24, 2012 14:38:51 GMT -5
Below is my take in the griffons. As official show canon is sparse, I got darn tired of "winging it".. pun intended.. when it came to playing a griffon. Below is what I've roughly been going off of, with some inspiration from RPed events (like Luna skewering griffons in the past!). Griffon players, potential players, and just everypony, please please feel free to add your remarks, suggestions, corrections, objections, and commentary you want. I wanted to leave offshoots of the griffons in place for those who don't want to go via the below and make their own rendition, but I figured having a 'basic 101' on griffons would benefit anyone who is or might play a griffon in the future.
Note: I did not add anything about physiology. I'm under the presumption is generally any combo of a raptor and medium/big cat, but I'm sure that's open to interpretation. It just seems the show goes by the historical Gryphon/Griffin of lore.
There are more races in the world than just ponies. Creatures of the sea and the land, the skies and the deep. None are quite so like the griffons. The griffons are regarded to this day are a rare breed not often seen and disinclined to want to be seen, but then… that’s what the ponies say. Griffons, while in less numbers than they once were, are not the ramshackle handful of specimens pony historians claim they are. In truth, they are a strong and ancient race, just ones who learned long ago to mind their neighbors. Below is the history of the griffons, as told by Ferrox, stated Primary of the Red Eye Eyrie:
“Much about us has been forgotten, but then ponies do seem a race of short memories. Their lives are easy and they have their books, they do not need to remember. They won the war, afterall. A victor doesn’t need to remember the history, they have nothing to learn from it. We do. We have not forgotten. We will not forget. Learn of us, ponies, and remember those whom once you knew. We were not born of Equestria. It went by another name, once, but that tale isn’t for me to tell. We were born in the Himavian Mountains, where sky and earth meet and the wind always blows. Our capitol is Starhigh, the highest point of the tallest peak Pardust, where the mountains grew into great spires and arches like a city made of stone. There is where the five stars of the founders sit and Conclave is held, but, more on that later.
Aakaash is our mother. We use her name often, for it is the name we call the sky, the air, the heavens. All that is above is of Aakaash. She is the mother of all that flies, from the humble moth to the burning phoenix. Our father is Sansaar, he of the earth and the pathway on which the universe is built on. All that walks upon the ground traces their lines to him. In the first days, no creature was of two worlds – those that flew, those that walked, and those that swam were all separate. None knew of the other. Saddened that the children of the world could not enjoy the many splendors the creators made, Aakaash and Sansaar gathered and asked of their sister, Saleel of the water, to join them in making new creatures. However, Saleel is a unpredictable one and is always changing. She did not wish to join them.
So, Aakaash and Sansaar gathered and thought. Sansaar marveled at the great raptors of the skies, swift and regal and proud. Aakaash admired the hunting cats of the earth, graceful and cunning in all their colors and patterns. Together, they fashioned the first griffons, five in all. The eldest, Daamini, was white marked grey like snow on the mountain and his eyes sparked like lightning. His warlike brother, Jalan, was banded red and orange like a flickering fire. Their quiet, secretive sister, Kuhaasa, was the dark blue-gray of the evening fog. Kaashth, the patient and wise youngest brother, was the mottled browns of an autumn forest. The youngest of all, Dhaatu, was graceful and keen, and shone the brilliant yellow of hammered gold. Only then did Saleel look upon these mighty new creatures and grew jealous she was not involved, and having forgotten she was invited to take part, refused to share the secrets of the seas with the griffons. To this day, we do not dare enter the world of Saleel and we cannot swim. To drown is the greatest fear of the griffon, for Saleel in her envious state, would never see us to a peaceful rest. In addition, she refused to share with us her secrets of magic, for magic is as ever-changing and unknowable as the deep sea. Those rare members of our race who know it are odd and unbalanced, touched by Saleel's tidal nature.
From those five griffons came the five Eyries, what you ponies might call tribes. The descendants of Daamini call themselves the Storm Riders. As Daamini was eldest and thus leader, so too do they command lordship over the griffons and serve as judges and lawgivers to a tumultuous race. They are noble and they are beautiful. The hatchlings of Jalan are warriors, savage and strong, and they call themselves the Burning Sky for they bring great torches into battle and are all but unequaled in war. Kuhaasa’s chicks are the Mist Weavers. Of all the griffons, they are most prone to passions of magic and secrets. Magic is not a birthright of griffons as it is ponies, but they alone seek things best left forgotten. What rare griffon of magic is born, it is born a Mist Weaver. The Ivory Talons are the hatchlings of Kaashth. They are our historians and scholars, as patient and as wise as their clutchsire, and those most often to seek out those of other races from which to learn and teach. My Eyrie is of the line of Dhaatu and we call ourselves the Red Eye, for in our gaze burns the passions of the arts and the labors of talon and muscle. Artisians, you ponies would call us. Some of us perform in song, others in crafts, but in each of us we honor a calling of creation.
Most remain a member of their Eyrie for life. You are born of it, you die of it. Rarely, one of us might be called by another path and, should the Primary, or leader, of an Eyrie be willing they might allow a foundling entry. You might think of a foundling as an orphan, and in this you would be right, for to deny your birth Eyrie is to orphan yourself. I have heard those griffons who denied the Eyries entirely have gone into the world and made their own ways. Of them, I do not know. Our life can be twice that of yours so we breed slowly. When we choose a mate it is a decision made for life. We do not choose another. An eyrie, or a family unit, usually only consists of a mother and father. A chick has more family, of course, but they do not aid in raising the young one. Our territories are vast and we are disinclined to share save with our mate. Even our young are cast out when they are of age. Upon birth, a chick is called a hatchling until they have grown their first true wing feather. Then they are called fledglings and expected to leave the nest to seek their calling and place in the Eyrie. A kit is a fledgeling who has been accepted by an elder, unrelated member of their Eyrie who teaches them their craft, akin to an apprentice and master. Once they feel they are ready, they approach a Secondary to complete their Rite of Passage and become a Tertiary, or adult, member of an Eyrie. A Secondary is the second rank of Eyrie membership. Akin to your mayor, they are the voices for several smaller family units in a given range and the only ones welcome to cross territory to solve disputes. Above them is the Primary. We are the leader of the Eyrie and carry the voice of our kin in Conclave. We are as close to your princesses as you ponies might reckon, none rank higher than us. Conclave is when the five Primarys gather to discuss the state of the griffons. Conclave is only held once every five years, but it can be summoned whenever the need is great.
It was during one such Conclave, early in our history, that we first took note of ponykind. You were young, as we were, and just newly freed from the rule of Discord. However, you had yet to acknowledge the leadership of the alicorns, your Princesses. No doubt they were recovering from expelling Discord from the world and lacked the strength to unite your warring tribes. Divided as you were – those of the earth, the sky, and magic – we saw a possible kinship in you. Your tribes reminded us of our Eyries. So, we send our Secondaries out to serve as Emissaries. Truces were erected, trades were made. For a time, our kinds existed in harmony. Those ancestors of my own, I recall, crafted numerous pieces of armor and weaponry for your early squabbles amongst yourselves. I believe I saw some resemblance in the royal armor your kind now wears to that of my ancient forebearers, but no matter. It was a short lived peace. Once your tribes united under the rule of the alicorns, your numbers grew. We had begun to set territories in the land that now was called Equestria and soon our kind and yours began to disagree how the land should be divided. Rapidly the ponies outnumbered us, but instead of seeking amiable resolution, the griffons fought – unwilling to share hunting ground and nesting sites with swift-breeding ponies. The war that began then was ugly. It was foolish.
We are fierce warriors. Our armor and weapons, beaks and talons, make us more than a match for most races – dragons included. Magic, however, is weak in our blood. Our only true source is the Star Armor, five suits gifted to each succeeding Primary, passed down from our originators. The Five Founders each collected a fallen star and forged the armor in their likeness and power. Do you see this band I wear around my neck? A small part of the star metal is within, just a tiny portion, a daily reminder of our place as leaders. The ruby is the Eye of Dhaatu, always watching and learning. Each of us bears an ornament similar, but the Star Armor… it is magnificent to see and terrible to behold. Still, They were not enough. Without true magic or unity we were not strong enough to hold the battle long. Defeated and our numbers decimated, we retreated to our ancestral homes. There we remained for some time and that is why ponies now know so little of us. Only recently have we begun to venture back out into the world and see what has become of it.
I am not here to wage a new war, ponies. I am here because I seek to strengthen my Eyrie. Griffons are few, each precious, and our homeland too small and secluded. Long have we drained the mountains of resources. If we are to survive, we must seek new homes and knowledge. Perhaps our kinds can live in harmony again. I hope so. My race’s survival depends on it.”
Note: I did not add anything about physiology. I'm under the presumption is generally any combo of a raptor and medium/big cat, but I'm sure that's open to interpretation. It just seems the show goes by the historical Gryphon/Griffin of lore.
There are more races in the world than just ponies. Creatures of the sea and the land, the skies and the deep. None are quite so like the griffons. The griffons are regarded to this day are a rare breed not often seen and disinclined to want to be seen, but then… that’s what the ponies say. Griffons, while in less numbers than they once were, are not the ramshackle handful of specimens pony historians claim they are. In truth, they are a strong and ancient race, just ones who learned long ago to mind their neighbors. Below is the history of the griffons, as told by Ferrox, stated Primary of the Red Eye Eyrie:
“Much about us has been forgotten, but then ponies do seem a race of short memories. Their lives are easy and they have their books, they do not need to remember. They won the war, afterall. A victor doesn’t need to remember the history, they have nothing to learn from it. We do. We have not forgotten. We will not forget. Learn of us, ponies, and remember those whom once you knew. We were not born of Equestria. It went by another name, once, but that tale isn’t for me to tell. We were born in the Himavian Mountains, where sky and earth meet and the wind always blows. Our capitol is Starhigh, the highest point of the tallest peak Pardust, where the mountains grew into great spires and arches like a city made of stone. There is where the five stars of the founders sit and Conclave is held, but, more on that later.
Aakaash is our mother. We use her name often, for it is the name we call the sky, the air, the heavens. All that is above is of Aakaash. She is the mother of all that flies, from the humble moth to the burning phoenix. Our father is Sansaar, he of the earth and the pathway on which the universe is built on. All that walks upon the ground traces their lines to him. In the first days, no creature was of two worlds – those that flew, those that walked, and those that swam were all separate. None knew of the other. Saddened that the children of the world could not enjoy the many splendors the creators made, Aakaash and Sansaar gathered and asked of their sister, Saleel of the water, to join them in making new creatures. However, Saleel is a unpredictable one and is always changing. She did not wish to join them.
So, Aakaash and Sansaar gathered and thought. Sansaar marveled at the great raptors of the skies, swift and regal and proud. Aakaash admired the hunting cats of the earth, graceful and cunning in all their colors and patterns. Together, they fashioned the first griffons, five in all. The eldest, Daamini, was white marked grey like snow on the mountain and his eyes sparked like lightning. His warlike brother, Jalan, was banded red and orange like a flickering fire. Their quiet, secretive sister, Kuhaasa, was the dark blue-gray of the evening fog. Kaashth, the patient and wise youngest brother, was the mottled browns of an autumn forest. The youngest of all, Dhaatu, was graceful and keen, and shone the brilliant yellow of hammered gold. Only then did Saleel look upon these mighty new creatures and grew jealous she was not involved, and having forgotten she was invited to take part, refused to share the secrets of the seas with the griffons. To this day, we do not dare enter the world of Saleel and we cannot swim. To drown is the greatest fear of the griffon, for Saleel in her envious state, would never see us to a peaceful rest. In addition, she refused to share with us her secrets of magic, for magic is as ever-changing and unknowable as the deep sea. Those rare members of our race who know it are odd and unbalanced, touched by Saleel's tidal nature.
From those five griffons came the five Eyries, what you ponies might call tribes. The descendants of Daamini call themselves the Storm Riders. As Daamini was eldest and thus leader, so too do they command lordship over the griffons and serve as judges and lawgivers to a tumultuous race. They are noble and they are beautiful. The hatchlings of Jalan are warriors, savage and strong, and they call themselves the Burning Sky for they bring great torches into battle and are all but unequaled in war. Kuhaasa’s chicks are the Mist Weavers. Of all the griffons, they are most prone to passions of magic and secrets. Magic is not a birthright of griffons as it is ponies, but they alone seek things best left forgotten. What rare griffon of magic is born, it is born a Mist Weaver. The Ivory Talons are the hatchlings of Kaashth. They are our historians and scholars, as patient and as wise as their clutchsire, and those most often to seek out those of other races from which to learn and teach. My Eyrie is of the line of Dhaatu and we call ourselves the Red Eye, for in our gaze burns the passions of the arts and the labors of talon and muscle. Artisians, you ponies would call us. Some of us perform in song, others in crafts, but in each of us we honor a calling of creation.
Most remain a member of their Eyrie for life. You are born of it, you die of it. Rarely, one of us might be called by another path and, should the Primary, or leader, of an Eyrie be willing they might allow a foundling entry. You might think of a foundling as an orphan, and in this you would be right, for to deny your birth Eyrie is to orphan yourself. I have heard those griffons who denied the Eyries entirely have gone into the world and made their own ways. Of them, I do not know. Our life can be twice that of yours so we breed slowly. When we choose a mate it is a decision made for life. We do not choose another. An eyrie, or a family unit, usually only consists of a mother and father. A chick has more family, of course, but they do not aid in raising the young one. Our territories are vast and we are disinclined to share save with our mate. Even our young are cast out when they are of age. Upon birth, a chick is called a hatchling until they have grown their first true wing feather. Then they are called fledglings and expected to leave the nest to seek their calling and place in the Eyrie. A kit is a fledgeling who has been accepted by an elder, unrelated member of their Eyrie who teaches them their craft, akin to an apprentice and master. Once they feel they are ready, they approach a Secondary to complete their Rite of Passage and become a Tertiary, or adult, member of an Eyrie. A Secondary is the second rank of Eyrie membership. Akin to your mayor, they are the voices for several smaller family units in a given range and the only ones welcome to cross territory to solve disputes. Above them is the Primary. We are the leader of the Eyrie and carry the voice of our kin in Conclave. We are as close to your princesses as you ponies might reckon, none rank higher than us. Conclave is when the five Primarys gather to discuss the state of the griffons. Conclave is only held once every five years, but it can be summoned whenever the need is great.
It was during one such Conclave, early in our history, that we first took note of ponykind. You were young, as we were, and just newly freed from the rule of Discord. However, you had yet to acknowledge the leadership of the alicorns, your Princesses. No doubt they were recovering from expelling Discord from the world and lacked the strength to unite your warring tribes. Divided as you were – those of the earth, the sky, and magic – we saw a possible kinship in you. Your tribes reminded us of our Eyries. So, we send our Secondaries out to serve as Emissaries. Truces were erected, trades were made. For a time, our kinds existed in harmony. Those ancestors of my own, I recall, crafted numerous pieces of armor and weaponry for your early squabbles amongst yourselves. I believe I saw some resemblance in the royal armor your kind now wears to that of my ancient forebearers, but no matter. It was a short lived peace. Once your tribes united under the rule of the alicorns, your numbers grew. We had begun to set territories in the land that now was called Equestria and soon our kind and yours began to disagree how the land should be divided. Rapidly the ponies outnumbered us, but instead of seeking amiable resolution, the griffons fought – unwilling to share hunting ground and nesting sites with swift-breeding ponies. The war that began then was ugly. It was foolish.
We are fierce warriors. Our armor and weapons, beaks and talons, make us more than a match for most races – dragons included. Magic, however, is weak in our blood. Our only true source is the Star Armor, five suits gifted to each succeeding Primary, passed down from our originators. The Five Founders each collected a fallen star and forged the armor in their likeness and power. Do you see this band I wear around my neck? A small part of the star metal is within, just a tiny portion, a daily reminder of our place as leaders. The ruby is the Eye of Dhaatu, always watching and learning. Each of us bears an ornament similar, but the Star Armor… it is magnificent to see and terrible to behold. Still, They were not enough. Without true magic or unity we were not strong enough to hold the battle long. Defeated and our numbers decimated, we retreated to our ancestral homes. There we remained for some time and that is why ponies now know so little of us. Only recently have we begun to venture back out into the world and see what has become of it.
I am not here to wage a new war, ponies. I am here because I seek to strengthen my Eyrie. Griffons are few, each precious, and our homeland too small and secluded. Long have we drained the mountains of resources. If we are to survive, we must seek new homes and knowledge. Perhaps our kinds can live in harmony again. I hope so. My race’s survival depends on it.”