A Tale of Griffins and Half-Bloods

Being a monster is hard enough. Being a monster who needs demigods to help you is even worse. Being a monster who needs help from demigods against other monsters is living hell.
And you thought being human was hard.

(Okay so I'm now realising my huuuuuge mistakes in consistency with the actual books so please bear with me that will be fixed I swear.)


1. Prologue

I winced in pain, staggering forward a couple of steps. My shoulders were screaming at me, my legs ached, and I felt like I was about to pass out. Which, honestly, seemed like a very real possibility. Ahead of me was the dragon, and I was stumbling right toward it. Yeah. That probably wasn’t the best idea. But hey, it’s not all my fault. I was in a daze, my mind like a fish in the ocean. Swimming.

Blood trickled down my back and right leg, gushing from the holes in my shoulder and calf. My breath was sharp, the air spiking through my lungs like daggers dipped in acid. To be perfectly honest I wasn’t too sure why I was here. I mean, besides the obvious reason- I was ****ing dying.

As if the Half-Bloods would help me. Even in my confused state that one thought was clear. There was no way in the Underworld that the Demigods would aid me. They might put me out of my misery, sure. One quick stab with a Celestial blade would do just fine. Yup, killing was something those demigods did without a second thought. Anything else though? Nope. Especially not for an innocent little monster like me.

So, uh. You may be wondering how exactly I, a wounded monster, ended up here. At Camp Half Blood. Literally the worst place for a monster to be.

Well, dear reader, it’s a long story. A very, very, long story.

But, just for you, I suppose I can cut it short.


The most important stuff happened about a week ago, I suppose. I mean everything after my entire life story up until this point. That’s important as well, but it would take a couple of years to summarise the short millennia that I had existed. That’s right folks, millennia. This is one old monster you’re speaking too- you should be honoured.

Anyway. Back to the tale at hand.

Picture this- It’s a bright, sunny morning. The beautiful Canadian summer is just as lovely as always. We’re in lovely mountain scape, filled with tall, grey peaks that rise from dense forests of deep green conifers. I wasn’t too sure of the type- plants have never been my thing, I’m more of a carnivore.

As I was saying, it’s a lovely day by all counts. There’s no rain or anything, which is always a plus. It started out as any old regular morning- with sleep. See, my… flock-pride, I suppose you humans might call it, well, we were just chillin’ as we do. Lounging around on well-sunned rocks, flitting between trees, testing our aerial skills… You know, normal stuff. See? We griffins are a chill bunch, we have no desire to hunt demigods. None at all. There’s far too much celestial bronze involved in that venture. Waaaay too much. See, contrary to popular belief, we didn’t really enjoy exploding into dust. At least I didn’t. It’s not very fun. Remind me to tell them that.

Alright so we’re just a flock-pride minding our own business, when these other monsters show up. Now we griffins, we’re not usually ones for guests. They normally start complaining at the lack of variety in our meals, or our lack of… well, all of the modern luxuries. And the ancient ones, thinking about it. But we’re polite people, so we’re wary, sure, but we go and say Hi. They say Hi to us as well, and it all seemed quite civil if I do say so myself.

The problems really started when it turned out the other monsters had a bunch of arrows, swords, spears, sickles, and really just a whole range of pointy sharp things. It was roundabout this point that we, the griffins, started to take offence. I can’t be the only one who thinks it’s rude to thank your hosts with death and murder now, can I?
As you can imagine, all of these dangerous objects… weren’t particularly fun. Scratch that, they weren’t fun whatsoever. They were painful. I had been with the main flock at the start of the attack- there were about twenty of us in total. I watched as my kin dropped like nails from the sky, barely able to lift themselves to their feet before the monsters slid their sharp blades into their throats.

But of course I’m sure you’re all dying to know how I fared. In all honestly? I was lucky. Shot only twice, I managed to drag my sorry feathers away from my home, flying when I could. I left behind me a trail of drying blood and black feathers, and a storm of dust. All that remained of my kin.

The shot to my shoulder had been the most annoying. It hindered my ability to fly, sending sharp daggers of pain down my wings every few hours or so, all the while oozing blood. By the time I crash landed just a mile or so from the base of Half-Blood Hill, the blood flow had become more of a gush as the wound slowly opened itself further.
I don’t really know why I thought the Half-bloods would help me. I think I may have been just a tad delirious. Either way, here I am.


The dragon, awakening from its slumber around the base of the pine tree, spat fire in my face as I collapsed before it. I rolled onto my back, looking up at the tree’s limbs- noting the fleece on the lowest branch. With a groan I reached behind my back with my left hand, covering my fingers in my own blood. Which, might I add, was starting to stain the ground in a rather lovely shade of crimson. With trembling hands, I wrote four letters on my right arm.


Maybe they would understand that.

I blacked out.

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