Snap Freeze cursed, looking on as the situation in Muddy Hooves deteriorated. His cultists were found out, the bomb going off in the tavern immediately drawing the attention of the town’s Hoplite guards. The cultists planted outside of the tavern weren’t sure what to do, and Snap had made the decision to try and hold off the guards, hoping Xerihan and Ricket wouldn’t escape in time. Instead, the two gryphons had slipped away, even as Snap approached the tavern and kept watch. The sheer number of ghosts were keeping the Hoplites more or less grounded, but the Stormwing forces stationed in the town were more than capable of taking out the less experienced revelers and townies that comprised the bulk of Snap Freeze’s troop. When tracking down and apprehending Xerihan and Ricket no longer seemed viable, and the fight had fallen apart sufficiently, Snap Freeze ordered the retreat. This was one thing he had planned for, and he was rewarded for it. Four different flares of different colors were fired from a distance outside the walls of the town, drawing the attention of Stormwing and Cultists alike. The Cultists knew the true color for the rallying point; all they needed to do was scatter and make their way to the point. The Stormwing troops, however, did not know which way the cultists were truly retreating. Moreover, they didn’t have the pony-power to search each and every point, not without opening the town to even more attacks or slowing down the recovery effort. In short, Snap Freeze managed to pull back the majority of the cultists that had survived the battle. They retreated, quickly leaving the town and the Hoplites behind. The troop had regrouped hours later, and Snap ordered the group to be split into several, so as to better avoid Stormwing detection in case they sent out scouting parties. Pouring over the maps, Snap Freeze tried to anticipate the gryphons’ next move. [i]We have scouts positioned north of Muddy Hooves, so we will know if they head there. They will almost certainly not be heading towards the Greyfeathers encampment; I can pull those ghosts back to the troop. That leaves heading south or into Everfree. Heading south means approaching several Alicorns, the large energy blast from ealrier, and crossing open ground with little cover. Sending scouts there should be more than enough to catch them traversing the fields. And for Everfree…[/i] Snap Freeze scowled beneath his mask. [i]I can’t risk having the troop head into the forest. The wildlings will have the advantage there, and we won’t be able to slip past them. That means relying on communication between whatever Cult moles we already have in place. And that’s the most likely place they’ve gone, too, so the pursuit is off for the time being. Damn.[/i] Snap Freeze relayed his orders to the ghosts, sending out scouts while pulling others back to the formation. His plan was to skirt the Everfree, heading north to Greenwatch to both acquire new cultists and scout around for any sign of the gryphons. His orders finished, he reflected on the situation and how he had let Xerihan and Ricket slip away. His thoughts bled with frustration. [i]The bastard didn’t care if he hurt Ricket. He threw the bomb in a crowded scene in order to create confusion, killing innocents and disrupting my Jesters enough in order to escape unscathed. Damn it.[/i] Snap Freeze’s mind was set. Next time, he wouldn’t give Xerihan a chance to talk, even if Snap felt confident with his plan. Kill the traitor and bring him back; that’s all that mattered. He wouldn’t fail again. ---- Somewhere in Froggy Bottom Bog, Xerihan laid Ricket down against a tree. His friend had a fever, and the wounds in his shoulder and waist were not trivial. Quick bandages and pressure had stopped the bleeding for a time, but Xerihan couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to give his friend proper treatment, though he didn’t have the tools or the knowledge to provide it. Ricket grunted, holding his paws against the wounds defensively. “Errgh… this stings. What… what happened back there, Xeri? There was an explosion… but…” Xerihan sighed, pulling out cloth from his bag and tearing it up into makeshift bandages. “There were at least four Jesters surrounding you, Ricket. The lute player and three in the crowd. I wouldn’t have been able to help you in time, so I risked using a bomb. We got out of there alive, but some of the shrapnel hit you. I think it’s lodged inside, I don’t see any exit wounds…” Ricket glanced down, looking at the blood-soaked rags currently covering his wounds. “Peachy,” he groaned. Xerihan simply ignored his friend’s remark and set about replacing the rags. “This’ll hurt a bit, just relax if you can,” he said, before removing the rag on the shoulder and wrapping the bandage around tightly. Ricket hissed in pain, tensing up automatically. Xerihan finished applying the first piece of cloth, tying it up so it wouldn’t move. Satisfied with his work, he repeated the task for Ricket’s wounded waist. A couple minutes after he started, and Xerihan had replaced his friend’s bandages with something that would hold better. “Ready?” he asked Ricket. His friend nodded wordlessly, still in pain. Xerihan pulled Ricket up so that he was standing, then made him lean against Xeri’s body. He pulled Ricket up, and together they rested in one of the swampy trees in the bog. The long, flowing leaves formed a perfect camouflage, and their blessing made them appear near invisible. They would be safe for the night, and Ricket needed the rest. ---- That night, Xerihan felt his pulse against his body, as something tight and constricting threatened to suffocate and bury him. He tried to move, to breath, to shout - nothing. He saw pink dust float from above, and the force kept his eyes open. The dust settled down, and Xerihan’s eyes burned. The entity that was restraining Xerihan turned him over, and once he had cleared the burning dust from his eyes he saw what was below. Hundreds of bodies, all dead and decaying, lay below. They shifted and moved as a whole, like a grotesque organism. A hole opened in the mass of dead bodies, and Xerihan was lowered into the hole. Horror and dread filled him, and he squirmed and screamed and did everything he could to escape the horde of bodies. He didn’t escape, and he was gradually pushed against the bodies and forced into the hole. He settled in, and the force let go. Xerihan couldn’t escape at that point, and he felt himself sink farther and farther into the mass of bodies, what little light there was above fading into darkness. He heard a voice. [i][b]Welcome, my child.[/i][/b] Xerihan vomited. ---- When Xerihan woke up, his body was shaking, a cold sweat had broken out, and his headache had returned worse than before. Looking over, he saw that Ricket had yet to wake up. Sighing, Xerihan forced himself to relax. Minutes passed before he was ready to face the day and leave his troublesome dreams behind. “Ricket?” he finally spoke. The soldier didn’t budge. “Ricket, are you up?” Xerihan asked again. When his friend again failed to respond, Xerihan shook him awake, disturbing Ricket’s slumber. “Er, whuz, the matter, ‘M sleepin’...” Ricket mumbled. The other gryphon was not amused. “Ricket, wake up,” Xerihan insisted, shaking his friend again forcefully. This time Ricket was fully awakened, though his voice was cracked and weak. “Ugh… Xeri, I’m awake, I’m awake. Stop buggering me… damn… I don’t feel good.” Ricket eventually sat up, one of his talons gently covering his waist. Xerihan sighed. He disliked seeing his friend, an accomplished soldier, laid down so low, and by Xerihan’s own claw to boot. The assassin peered out to the expanse of Froggy Bottom Bog, looking for any movement. When he found none, he could only assume there was nothing waiting for them. “Ready to get going, Ricket?” he asked, not willing to elaborate more on what he was thinking. Ricket grunted, managing to stand on his own. “Yeah, I’m ready. But I think I’m getting a fever. The sooner we leave here, the better.” With little else needing to be said, Xerihan helped Ricket glide down from the tree, and they set off eastward. Hours passed, and the gryphons had passed through the bog with relative ease. They had needed to avoid the occasional cockatrice and manticore, but their blessing had enabled them to sneak past the deadly creatures. Once inside the forest, all that was left was to head to the wildling camp. A while back, they had seen the exceedingly tall trees that marked one of the only major cities that the Everfree possessed, Tree-Top Towers. Xerihan readily avoided the site, knowing it would have a large presence of Cultists. Instead he aimed to his right, walking towards the wildling camp. A full day had been spent travelling, and Ricket’s condition was slowly spiraling downward. Night had fallen when they finally reached the outskirts of the cam. They avoided patrols with careful movement and skillful hiding, augmented by their heightened senses and muffled steps. Resting atop one of the trees that overlooked the camp, Xerihan let Ricket rest while he searched for his target. He was looking for one particular pony, and he kept his eyes vigilant. He watched the wildlings and other Everfree forces converse and otherwise go about their business below. Thirty minutes passed, and then Xerihan caught sight of him. It was an earth pony, like he knew he would be, and his coat was a dark brown with a lanky, black mane. Treading back over, he wakened Ricket, who was instantly roused from his sleep but was still drowsy. “I found him,” whispered Xerihan. Ricket nodded, wordlessly standing up with Xerihan’s help. The two followed the earth pony as quietly as they could, gliding from tree to tree as they followed him. Eventually, they came upon a small shack with no windows and only one door. The earth pony walked in, closing the door behind him. Xerihan laid Ricket back against the tree they were in. “I’m going to check in and make sure things are alright. Stay awake, okay?” he asked of Ricket. Ricket nodded, not taking the effort to talk. This concerned Xerihan; “Ricket, stay awake, you hear me?” he insisted. This time, Ricket softly replied, “Yes, I won’t doze off. Just hurry…” Satisfied, Xerihan stepped back to the edge of the branch. Making sure no one was nearby or looking, he silently glided back to the ground. He poised himself in front of the door, listening for movement. He heard none. Taking a risk, he opened the door and stepped inside. “Bourder?” he whispered. Strangely, there was almost no light inside the shack. Only a handful of candles inside were lit. “Bourder?” Xerihan asked again, his voice louder. “What do you want?” said a voice off to the right and behind. Xerihan instinctively jumped forward and to the left, distancing himself from the unexpected voice. Peering back, he saw the earth pony from before step out of a niche in the wall, daggers at the ready. Xerihan huffed. “You’re Bourder, aren't you? I’m looking for him.” Doubt started to creep inside of Xerihan’s mind; he wondered if he had made a mistake in coming here. Maybe Bourder was no longer located in this camp; maybe this stallion wasn’t actually him. He readied himself, unsure if he would have to fight or potentially run for his life. The stallion cocked his head, his features passive and unreadable. “I’m afraid I don’t know whom you’re talking about. My name is Tranquil Roar.”