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The Dragonlands are a total shithole and no one likes them. Apparently it's not polite to say that out loud, for some reason, even though it's hot, sharp and, an obvious shithole to everyone who isn't a dumb plutophile troglodyte who spends all day looking at volcanic crag while chewing on rocks. The griffon ruminated on this in the same way a child would pout about not getting chocolate. Half his tail was burned bare, and flicking in agitation. He'd originally been invited here to receive an award but apparently his recognition doesn't extended to all of these stone age hellions who'd set someone's tail on fire for politely asking for directions to the ceremony to crown him The Most Rancorous Puss-hound. He'd even showed him his invitation with a real foil seal from something called the Amazing Reprobate Syndrome Exemplars. With this many big words and shiny things on a letter to him, obviously he deserved respect and not having his tail set on fire. But it seems these lizard-pigeons appreciate someone of his class the class of Gyro Feather, the griffon who had beautiful tail-feathers oh wait they're ash now and how the great Gyro spins like a top when he tries to fly. (String of alien sounds) Gyro turned around to majestically squawk at whoever was trying to talk to him while he was so obviously brooding, but stopped when he realized he was staring directly into a crotch instead of a face. The dragon must have been three times his size, and just as wide. Under one arm he (she maybe, it was a little...tough to gauge) had what looked like a barrel. When the dragon slammed it down in front of Gyro his heart bravely leapt into his throat. That terrible blue harpy of a dragon who'd singed his tail was only eye-level, but this one was a behemoth. (Incomprehensible noises that defy reason), it said, as of those were words. Gyro caught himself staring at the scaled wall of flesh in entirely rational disbelief for what he was seeing. The dragon's dark red coloration just added to the illusion he was looking at some sort of brick shack instead of a somewhat goofy-looking meat-titan sat up in front of him like a dog rearing up on its rump. But also carrying a huge keg. "...What?," Gyro said slightly after his staring had become awkward, before he thought to try and take this opportunity to get better directions. "Hey, do you know where the-" he was cut off by the dragon gingerly slamming the dark barrel into the earth. (The sound a body snatcher makes you know the one), said the androgynous tower-of-flesh. With one claw they reached down to the supersized keg to pry off it's head. Gyro Feather immediately retched at the overpowering chemical scent of whatever this horrid concoction was. It smelled like carrion and claw polish and agony. The dragon seemed pleased with this reaction, judging from how they immediately laughed at him thunderously, as dragons do when they're being assholes, which is most of the time. Gyro attempted to scold the creatures but failed to do anything but wheeze while he adjusted to the new foulness in the air. The dark brown of the fluid was the final hint that put the pieces in place for him though, obviously this was some sort of retched liquor being offered to him. Maybe this lovely Sir/Madam dragon was a representative of the group that sent this letter and he was finally dew for his prize. He held up the letter as proudly as he could to something so huge and promptly wheezed as opening his mouth had allowed him to taste the painful fumes. (A solid five minutes of overlapping human screams), answered his new companion back, saying something Gyro was sure was exalting. The dragon poked a claw through the tiny paper and held it up to their face, squinting at. Gyro was already pretty tired of being in this Rocky hellhole before his butt was ignited, and he wasn't very keen on it now, but finally being recognized had lifted his mood significantly. With his tolerance for this tormenting place and the people who live in it refreshed, he was willing to accept his gift with grace to show off his grace, even if it smelled like wine made from carcasses. The dragon didn't take notice of Gyro Feather again until they heard the mixture of what sounded like a cat vomiting and a bird screeching. He'd barely taken a beakful of this brew, but he fully expected to die from it now as it tasted like glass knives. His dragon companion expressed his sympathy by falling onto their back and wallowing in cacophonous laughter. Gyro didn't really notice because he wasn't noticing much of anything anymore. He tried to blink but found it difficult to work both of his eyes in tandem. The first thing his suddenly dulled senses latched onto in reality was some thumping. Some seconds later he realized it was the dragon's tail wagging against the earth, or Maybe it was a giant red worm, that seemed reasonable now, for some reason. Wasn't he in giant worm land or something? Because they're assholes. The dragon stopped laughing suddenly when they felt something clamp on to their tail. (The sound time makes when it grinds your memory into sand.), Said the dragon, reasonably confused about what the weird purplish griffon was trying to achieve by pecking their tail. The tail lifted up and brought the griffon with it while he valiantly battled in his incredibly smashed mind. The dragon flicked his tail, and Gyro held on still, flopping against the scales and largely achieving nothing. The dragon was mildly stunned when Gyro gave a mildly stunning battle cry that he was sure sounded manly and brave, but surely not like a finch having a stroke. Gyro then swallowed the tip of the dragon's tail, then suddenly another half meter of tail, then half a meter again. (Margaret Thatcher's most popular speech), the dragon said calmly while flailing it's tail around to shake the mad kitten off of them. The tail knocked the Keg over when it smashed the griffon into it, then knocked over several progressively larger rocks in the same fashion. Gyro didn't notice as he stayed the king of worms, the Lord of cave-dwellers who don't appreciate fineries. Only moments had passed in Gyros totally justified drunken fury before the tip of his companions tail touched his stomach acid, and the dragon noticed. Scales that we're untouched by magma flows couldn't resist the chemical assault and fell away to bare flesh inside Gyro. A moment more had passed before the whole tail had been swallowed. The rest of the dragon continued to flail, however. Gyro's victory needed to be total, however. Luckily he couldn't feel anything, so the dragon's attempts to beat him off against crag went unnoticed. Inside the birdcat the smaller bones of the tail had already been exposed and began to fall away to dissolve away to nothing. Feeling this, the dragon was inspired to fly away. The dragon failed to fly away, dew to it's shifted center of gravity and somewhat agonizing feeling of being digested alive, but got enough height for the fall onto their face to be very painful. Gyro wisely and accidentally used his moment to suddenly engulf the rest of the dragon's lower half at once. (The sound a dragon makes when it's genitals are splashed with acid), said the dragon, whose genitals were splashed with acid. Gyro's volume doubles a few times over suddenly didn't seem to bother him much as he attempted to continue his valorous crusade against his drunken hallucinations. The somewhat more sober dragon attempted to dragon themselves out of Gyro and quickly discovered that wasn't very feasible, as half of their body was suddenly significantly less structurally sound than it had been earlier, and was threatening to stay behind. Inside the crazed gryphon the dragon's tail had already largely been reduced, so the rest of the dragon wasn't faring any better inside his stomach. The thickness added time to the digestion, but not protection. Scales fell away to skin, that fell to flesh, that fell to bone. The tail being out of the way give the digestive fluids a headstart on the dragon's spinal column, quickly making things more difficult for the unfortunately creature, like breathing Gyro found it easier to meander his way up the rest of the dragon once they weren't feeling much up to struggling anymore. Their abdominal cavity had split, dumping their vitals directly into the slurry that used to be half a dragon. Their heart and lungs proved to be significantly less tough than their hide. Gyro didn't stop, however, not until he'd anaconda-ed his way over what was left of their back, then down their neck, then over their head. Sixteen hours later Gyro Feather woke up from his raging black out. He tried to stand and quickly discovered his legs weren't reached the ground because he was filled with a truly, truly outrageous amount of... something. If it was some fantasy, it didn't seem to be fading as he came around. He was stuck on top of it all, and no one else seems to be with him as he looked around. He remembered getting his tail burned but then- His thoughts were interrupted by an explosion somewhere and sudden pain. He looked around expecting to see blood or shrapnel and found it, but not where he expected. His butt was erupting like a poop-based mount vesuvius as literal tons of digested dragon worked its way out of him all at once. His belly scrapped across the loose gravel under him as the force built into thrust, converting him from a gryphon to an ass-powered rocket sled. He opened his beak to scream, but instead of agonized bird/cat howls what came out was the indigestibles. The dragon's stomach was full of half digested lithic paste, which to the gryphon wasn't of much use, so, as birds do he was going to expel it violently from his face. Usually this wouldn't be an issue, but when the stomach you've eaten had hundreds of pounds of minerals in it the waste becomes more challenging to remove than any old hair ball. The mud-like waste from his beak was being launched with a force to rivel a fire hose, bringing his forward moment to a halt. In his Panic he tried to look for help, but by turning his head the gryphon had made everything worse for himself. Blasting out the back and also to his left quickly changed his direction from being propelled just forward to being propelled forward while turning right, and this new momentum quickly took hold. Soon Gyro was spinning like a terrible top, turning the dragon lands Into a high-velocity shithole while he skid from boulder to boulder, bouncing like the world's most flu-ridden hockey puck. Soon he'd have to be close to empty, he figured. He had no idea why this was happening but surely he could also have so much poop to propel him around at the land speed record. But he was wrong. Gyro was never seen again, possibly having literally shit himself directly into a volcano, or assaulted by more dragons for possibly spraying poop and melty gem-goo on literally everything. To this day, accidentally shitting yourself in public is colloquially referred to as "gyro-scoping".