@Aurus
Completely missed the character section before, so I've posted the character sheet there now.
@Muttonhawk
Sure!
Completely missed the character section before, so I've posted the character sheet there now.
@Muttonhawk
Sure!
xCRAZYxFACEx Member
The Sane
- Last Seen: 8 yrs ago
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 150 (0.04 / day)
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Username history
- xCRAZYxFACEx 10 yrs ago
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Most Recent Posts
Name: Anu'din
Race: Majin - A race of magical machines that have sentient thought and emotions.
Age: 135 years old
Appearance: A cursory glance shows that Anu'din is a machine, though he bears a heavy resemblance to a well built human male. He is 7 feet tall, and brass mixed with an unknown alloy covers most of his body in the form of heavy armor plating. The few places where the armor doesn't cover to allow mobility, one can see servos, gears, pistons, and other minutiae powering Anu'din. The machinery underneath is a dark grey. His left arm has a condensed shield attached to it that can unlock and form into a shield that can cover half of Anu'din's body. His right arm is blocky, seeming to be able to transform. He carries a sword on his hip. His face is a golden brass replica of a man's face, though when he speaks the mouth does not move. His eyes glow, almost seeming to burn, a bright yellow. A few dents riddle his body, evidence of battles prior.
Equipment: A highly enhanced, extremely durable sword and shield - though with no innate abilities of their own, except for the shield to collapse for travel. Anu'din's right arm transforms into a high pressure cannon of sorts, that can transform scrap metal into either small bolts or, given time, molten metal. Wears gloves that glow a slight blue, that can mitigate most non-magical forms of attack.
Abilities (Physical / Magical):
No magical abilities to speak of. Can fire bolts of metal from his arm, or molten metal if given time. Very knowledgeable about sword fighting, fencing, brawling, and grappling his foes. If given the opportunity, Anu'din likes to wrest an enemy's mundane weapon out of their hands, his enchanted gloves protecting him from most of the harm of doing so. Can compress his machinery, shrinking in size to about five and a half feet. Loses a great deal of mobility in doing so, but becomes nearly impossible to move, knock over, or generally strike down. Very lithe for his size, and very, very durable.
Curse Effects: Majin are normally able to regenerate their bodies by consuming metal and resting. Following the curse, their innate magic has been taken, and they can no longer regenerate as they once did. Though extremely durable, and capable of functioning with minimal rest and metal, the Majin cannot live forever. One day, they will take too much damage in battle and simply fall apart.
Affiliation: The Arcane Eye. Anu'din wishes nothing more than for his race to survive, as rare as they are. He helps the Arcane Eye, serving as a guard, a high risk laborer, and mathematician/logician.
Personality: An amiable fellow, but not one to express much emotion or trivial thoughts. He often speaks his mind in a clear, concise manner, and rationality is simply a part of who he is. Loyal to those he follows, his allies, and the few he can call friend.
Race: Majin - A race of magical machines that have sentient thought and emotions.
Age: 135 years old
Appearance: A cursory glance shows that Anu'din is a machine, though he bears a heavy resemblance to a well built human male. He is 7 feet tall, and brass mixed with an unknown alloy covers most of his body in the form of heavy armor plating. The few places where the armor doesn't cover to allow mobility, one can see servos, gears, pistons, and other minutiae powering Anu'din. The machinery underneath is a dark grey. His left arm has a condensed shield attached to it that can unlock and form into a shield that can cover half of Anu'din's body. His right arm is blocky, seeming to be able to transform. He carries a sword on his hip. His face is a golden brass replica of a man's face, though when he speaks the mouth does not move. His eyes glow, almost seeming to burn, a bright yellow. A few dents riddle his body, evidence of battles prior.
Equipment: A highly enhanced, extremely durable sword and shield - though with no innate abilities of their own, except for the shield to collapse for travel. Anu'din's right arm transforms into a high pressure cannon of sorts, that can transform scrap metal into either small bolts or, given time, molten metal. Wears gloves that glow a slight blue, that can mitigate most non-magical forms of attack.
Abilities (Physical / Magical):
No magical abilities to speak of. Can fire bolts of metal from his arm, or molten metal if given time. Very knowledgeable about sword fighting, fencing, brawling, and grappling his foes. If given the opportunity, Anu'din likes to wrest an enemy's mundane weapon out of their hands, his enchanted gloves protecting him from most of the harm of doing so. Can compress his machinery, shrinking in size to about five and a half feet. Loses a great deal of mobility in doing so, but becomes nearly impossible to move, knock over, or generally strike down. Very lithe for his size, and very, very durable.
Curse Effects: Majin are normally able to regenerate their bodies by consuming metal and resting. Following the curse, their innate magic has been taken, and they can no longer regenerate as they once did. Though extremely durable, and capable of functioning with minimal rest and metal, the Majin cannot live forever. One day, they will take too much damage in battle and simply fall apart.
Affiliation: The Arcane Eye. Anu'din wishes nothing more than for his race to survive, as rare as they are. He helps the Arcane Eye, serving as a guard, a high risk laborer, and mathematician/logician.
Personality: An amiable fellow, but not one to express much emotion or trivial thoughts. He often speaks his mind in a clear, concise manner, and rationality is simply a part of who he is. Loyal to those he follows, his allies, and the few he can call friend.
Name: Anu'din
Race: Majin - A race of magical machines that have sentient thought and emotions.
Appearance: A cursory glance shows that Anu'din is a machine, though he bears a heavy resemblance to a well built human male. He is 7 feet tall, and brass mixed with an unknown alloy covers most of his body in the form of heavy armor plating. The few places where the armor doesn't cover to allow mobility, one can see servos, gears, pistons, and other minutiae powering Anu'din. The machinery underneath is a dark grey. His left arm has a condensed shield attached to it that can unlock and form into a shield that can cover half of Anu'din's body. His right arm is blocky, seeming to be able to transform. He carries a sword on his hip. His face is a golden brass replica of a man's face, though when he speaks the mouth does not move. His eyes glow, almost seeming to burn, a bright yellow. A few dents riddle his body, evidence of battles prior.
Equipment: A highly enhanced, extremely durable sword and shield - though with no innate abilities of their own, except for the shield to collapse for travel. Anu'din's right arm transforms into a high pressure cannon of sorts, that can transform scrap metal into either small bolts or, given time, molten metal. Wears gloves that glow a slight blue, that can mitigate most non-magical forms of attack.
Abilities (Physical / Magical):
No magical abilities to speak of. Can fire bolts of metal from his arm, or molten metal if given time. Very knowledgeable about sword fighting, fencing, brawling, and grappling his foes. If given the opportunity, Anu'din likes to wrest an enemy's mundane weapon out of their hands, his enchanted gloves protecting him from most of the harm of doing so. Can compress his machinery, shrinking in size to about five and a half feet. Loses a great deal of mobility in doing so, but becomes nearly impossible to move, knock over, or generally strike down. Very lithe for his size, and very, very durable.
Curse Effects: Majin are normally able to regenerate their bodies by consuming metal and resting. Following the curse, their innate magic has been taken, and they can no longer regenerate as they once did. Though extremely durable, and capable of functioning with minimal rest and metal, the Majin cannot live forever. One day, they will take too much damage in battle and simply fall apart.
Affiliation: The Arcane Eye. Anu'din wishes nothing more than for his race to survive, as rare as they are. He helps the Arcane Eye, serving as a guard, a high risk laborer, and mathematician/logician.
Personality: An amiable fellow, but not one to express much emotion or trivial thoughts. He often speaks his mind in a clear, concise manner, and rationality is simply a part of who he is. Loyal to those he follows, his allies, and the few he can call friend.
(Hopefully this is a good character? Sorry I changed my mind on the character I thought of. If anything needs to be changed or edited, feel free to say so.)
Race: Majin - A race of magical machines that have sentient thought and emotions.
Appearance: A cursory glance shows that Anu'din is a machine, though he bears a heavy resemblance to a well built human male. He is 7 feet tall, and brass mixed with an unknown alloy covers most of his body in the form of heavy armor plating. The few places where the armor doesn't cover to allow mobility, one can see servos, gears, pistons, and other minutiae powering Anu'din. The machinery underneath is a dark grey. His left arm has a condensed shield attached to it that can unlock and form into a shield that can cover half of Anu'din's body. His right arm is blocky, seeming to be able to transform. He carries a sword on his hip. His face is a golden brass replica of a man's face, though when he speaks the mouth does not move. His eyes glow, almost seeming to burn, a bright yellow. A few dents riddle his body, evidence of battles prior.
Equipment: A highly enhanced, extremely durable sword and shield - though with no innate abilities of their own, except for the shield to collapse for travel. Anu'din's right arm transforms into a high pressure cannon of sorts, that can transform scrap metal into either small bolts or, given time, molten metal. Wears gloves that glow a slight blue, that can mitigate most non-magical forms of attack.
Abilities (Physical / Magical):
No magical abilities to speak of. Can fire bolts of metal from his arm, or molten metal if given time. Very knowledgeable about sword fighting, fencing, brawling, and grappling his foes. If given the opportunity, Anu'din likes to wrest an enemy's mundane weapon out of their hands, his enchanted gloves protecting him from most of the harm of doing so. Can compress his machinery, shrinking in size to about five and a half feet. Loses a great deal of mobility in doing so, but becomes nearly impossible to move, knock over, or generally strike down. Very lithe for his size, and very, very durable.
Curse Effects: Majin are normally able to regenerate their bodies by consuming metal and resting. Following the curse, their innate magic has been taken, and they can no longer regenerate as they once did. Though extremely durable, and capable of functioning with minimal rest and metal, the Majin cannot live forever. One day, they will take too much damage in battle and simply fall apart.
Affiliation: The Arcane Eye. Anu'din wishes nothing more than for his race to survive, as rare as they are. He helps the Arcane Eye, serving as a guard, a high risk laborer, and mathematician/logician.
Personality: An amiable fellow, but not one to express much emotion or trivial thoughts. He often speaks his mind in a clear, concise manner, and rationality is simply a part of who he is. Loyal to those he follows, his allies, and the few he can call friend.
(Hopefully this is a good character? Sorry I changed my mind on the character I thought of. If anything needs to be changed or edited, feel free to say so.)
I guess I'd be moderately interested. Can't say for sure if I'd be able to play (irl and all that), but I'd like to keep an eye on this.
Any word on how the game would play out? Freeform writing? Rules and numbers?
Or perhaps... ouija board combat? (I jest)
Also, thinking of a lizardfolk/naga kind of race.
Any word on how the game would play out? Freeform writing? Rules and numbers?
Or perhaps... ouija board combat? (I jest)
Also, thinking of a lizardfolk/naga kind of race.
Xerihan backed his head up reflexively when Amaretto brought his sword to bear, but otherwise the griffon didn’t move. “Hello to you too, unicorn,” Xerihan replied bemusedly. Once Amaretto had sheathed his sword, the griffon turned his attention back to Thea.
“I’ve come back from up north. The short of it is I’ve few places left to go, and I figured I should make good on my promise to help and provide information. Speaking of, the abilities you gave me - they were extraordinarily useful. Thank you.”
“I did not so much give you abilities as I allowed you to simply do better at hiding and sensing than usually,” Theá noted, lazily changing her posture. “But that aside, you have information? Of which kind, and who—or what—is it about?”
As she spoke Amaretto walked over to the window, eyes trained on the horizon, and pretending to not care for the newcomer. Even then, his ears struggling to not turn towards Xerihan and Theá was enough to know that he was listening.
“Well, as I said, I went north, back to my family. I helped my father, one of the nobles and clan leaders in the Griffon Kingdoms, in exchange for protection from the Cult,” Xerihan replied crisply. “Ricket and I mostly spied on the other clans, but there were a few kidnappings and assassinations. All to help my father position himself for a political takeover. He had enough allies and followers to heavily influence the next assembly of nobles, which is in a few days. That was when he abandoned me; he gave me six hours to leave before the guards would attack me. He had no more use for me.”
“So your cock of a father threw you out after he got what he wanted. Is that what I’m hearing?” Amaretto asked, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder. “Doesn’t sound like much of a father, if you ask me.” He turned back to watching the horizon. “Parents should take care of their bloody children, not use them for their own gains.”
Theá—having watched Amaretto speak with some interest—turned back to Xerihan. “I must agree with Amaretto on this. For what it’s worth, you have my sympathies. But from what you’re telling me, the one you call Father is taking over the Gryphon Government for himself, and have thrown you out now that he has what he wants.” She went silent for a time, then, eyes cast towards the ceiling as she thought. After about a minute’s silence she finally spoke up again. “You mentioned Ricket. I remember him. What happened?”
“He’s dead,” Xerihan answered detachedly. “Killed by Snap Freeze. After which I killed Snap Freeze in turn. And now that I’ve broken both the mental link and killed one of the Cult’s best assassins, I doubt the Cult will spend many more resources trying to track me down. And if they do, it won’t be nearly as troublesome as Snap Freeze.”
Walking to one of the beds, Xerihan leaned against it and sighed deeply. He stared through the wall. “About the griffon kingdoms… it’s not all bad news.” His gaze returned to Thea. “If you’re unaware, nearly every clan has spies in all the other clans. It’s part and parcel of the culture. Before I left, I… killed my father’s last heir. And my father is old; I doubt he could sire another child. With no heirs, his power will be suspect at best. I’d wager it will be enough to destabilize his position.” The griffon shrugged. “I did what I could to stop him. Hopefully he won’t be able to bear the griffon kingdoms against Equestria, or whatever schemes he has in mind.”
“Even if he did,” Theá answered grimly, though with a smile almost audible in her voice, “he would find himself faced with a foe he could not possible match.”
“I’m sure the Gryphons will be scared to death by a Cocker Spaniel threatening them with divine retribution… With luck they’ll laugh themselves to death.”
Rather than honour him with a response, Theá settled for a baleful glare that didn’t really have the intended purpose of drilling a hole through Amaretto’s skull. She kept it up for all of three seconds before she decided that Xerihan was more worthy of her attention. “At any rate, if you say that the Gryphon Kingdoms are of no threat, then I will trust you. For now, however, I believe your wounds should be tended to. Amaretto, your bandages.”
Bandages were fetched, and water was carried in from the bathroom in a small basin, heated up by Amaretto’s cobalt flames. He offered no protest at any point, obviously respecting the alicorn a great deal, in spite of his sarcastic comments and jokes. “Show me your paw,” he demanded, a rag for cleaning held in his magic beside a fresh roll of bandages.
Cracking a small grin, Xerihan gladly complied, though not before snarking, “S’long as you promise not to stick me.” Then he remembered a relatively important fact: “Uh, wait. I think the bone was broken.” He paused, then grimaced “Just don’t be too rough.”
“Can’t promise that,” Amaretto replied, his tone even more grim than Theá’s from before. Not to mention as close to uncaring as possible. The dirty and torn bandages already wrapped around the wound were undone, careful as to not cause unnecessary pain, and promptly burned into nothingness by the same cobalt flames.
Then the rag was applied, wiping away caked blood and washing the bound, undoubtedly causing quite a bit of pain. “You know, I could sterilize the wound if you want,” Amaretto said as he continued his work. “I’d burn the blood vessels and remove any dead flesh to avoid infections. It’ll hurt like hell, but at least you wouldn’t risk dying from infections.” He soaked the rag in the water, washing the blood off of it, and then returned it to the wound. “What do you say?”
Xerihan groaned, but he agreed. “Just be quick about it,” he added. “And don’t heat up the metal if possible”. To distract himself, he turned back to Thea. “I’ll admit Thea, I was skeptical when the hare led me here. What have you been doing that you’re in this small town?”
I should probably warn him that it’s hellfire, hot enough to burn through a Changeling’s chitin… Bah. He’ll survive. Amaretto lit his horn, starting to summon a small which he concentrated on making as hot as he could.
Meanwhile, Theá had turned to Xerihan, looking thoughtful as she thought over his question. “I cannot answer you in any way but this: I do what I am. As of now, only Amaretto,” she nodded towards the stallion who was in the process of hovering the coin-sized—and incredibly hot— flame closer to the wound, “knows of my doings here. On a side note, you may want me to hold you down.” A green shimmer of magic surrounded Xerihan, holding him down as well as casting a filter across him, muting almost all sounding within a small area around him. She knew he would scream. For his part, Xerihan stared at her dumbfoundedly.
The flame touched the Gryphon’s flesh, instantly bringing forth the smell of burnt flesh as blood boiled at its touch and vaporized, blood vessels closing, and infections annihilated. He kept it up for another few seconds, making sure that all of it was cleanly burnt away before he extinguished it. “And now for setting the bone… Sorry mate.” He grabbed hold of the two parts of the broken bone with his magic and, with a powerful yank, set it straight. He figured it probably caused another small fraction seeing as it had partially grown together already, but breaking that up was a necessary evil.
He then went about bandaging the wound and applying a splint to keep the leg straight, Theá dispelling the sound bubble and releasing her grip on Xerihan.
Xerihan had managed to not scream during the disinfection, but when Amaretto set the bone he couldn’t help himself. “GrrrraaAAAAHHHHH!!!”. A second passed where Xerihan simply lay there. Then he looked up, and his mood had turned acidic.
“That’s one of the things I miss about being a noble’s son,” he growled. Once he was bandaged, the griffon hastily pulled away from Amaretto and nursed his paw. “Proper medical care. And I’d appreciate it if you gave me prior warning, for future reference!” he snapped. Forcibly calming himself, Xerihan sat down on the bed opposite Thea. “Well then… it sounds like you’re keeping things close to your chest. Do you need help? Or rather, do you even want it? I have little else to do, you know.”
Amaretto seemed uncaring at best in regards to the acidic tone, a raised eyebrow being the only reaction. “Warning you would not have eased the pain,” he said. “If anything it would just have made you tense up and made the pain worse. I did what I was asked, and I did it quickly and efficiently. Your leg will heal and be good to walk on in a few months’ time.” He stood up and went about cleaning up whatever blood there was, and discarding the, now dirty, water.
Theá stood up on the bed, stretching like any dog would before laying down again. “What I need right now is not help, but rather information. In your state, however, I doubt you would be of much use. You may, however, be able to tell me something. Tell me, did you ever encounter a unicorn doctor by the name of Silver Scalpel?”
“Silver Scalpel?” Xerihan perked an eyebrow. “I don’t believe I’ve heard that name before. Why do you ask?”
“For reasons that are my own. As I mentioned before, I do what I am.”
“Anything else?” Amaretto asked, closing the door to the bathroom behind him. “Chick’s cleaned up, dirty bandages thrown out and what not.”
Theá shook her head, ears flapping about. “That’ll be all for now.”
“I’ll go down to get a pint, then. Send a bug after me if you need me.”
“I will. Now,” Theá turned back to Xerihan. “You said you know nothing of him? Hmm… Is there anything else you discovered in the past two weeks that might be worth mentioning?”
Xerihan shrugged, unsure as to what would be useful. “Well, there were miscellaneous things I learned about the nobles up north. Griffon politics, nothing you’d be terribly interested in, I suspect. I managed to find a zebra in the Everfree that brewed me a potion to permanently sever my mental connection to the Laughing Mare, as well as the psychological addiction she had me bound under. I reconnected with a colleague, a young stallion that specializes in disguises. You know about the family of travelling ponies I encountered a few weeks back, as unfortunate as that was. Doctor Charred passed Ricket and myself as we left Trottingham, and before that was when I fell out with the Cult and ran.” Xerihan tapped a claw against his chin, his head tilted in thought. “Nothing else springs to mind, I’m afraid.”
Sighing, Theá rested her head on her paws, contemplative. “You are right that the squabbles of nobility are of no concern to an Immortal. As for the rest of it, I’m glad you are rid of your addictions and whatever else ailed your mind… If nothing else, I suggest you sleep. You’ll need your strength.”
Tenderly moving his paw, Xerihan nodded in agreement. “As good a plan as any. Good night, Thea.” Nothing else needed to be said. Picking up his bag, Xerihan opened the door and turned into the hallway, then closed the door behind him.
Fifteen minutes later, he had paid for a room in the same inn, and had tucked away his few meager possessions. Settling into the bed and trying to ignore the pain in his right paw, Xerihan could only wonder at what his next step would be.
“I’ve come back from up north. The short of it is I’ve few places left to go, and I figured I should make good on my promise to help and provide information. Speaking of, the abilities you gave me - they were extraordinarily useful. Thank you.”
“I did not so much give you abilities as I allowed you to simply do better at hiding and sensing than usually,” Theá noted, lazily changing her posture. “But that aside, you have information? Of which kind, and who—or what—is it about?”
As she spoke Amaretto walked over to the window, eyes trained on the horizon, and pretending to not care for the newcomer. Even then, his ears struggling to not turn towards Xerihan and Theá was enough to know that he was listening.
“Well, as I said, I went north, back to my family. I helped my father, one of the nobles and clan leaders in the Griffon Kingdoms, in exchange for protection from the Cult,” Xerihan replied crisply. “Ricket and I mostly spied on the other clans, but there were a few kidnappings and assassinations. All to help my father position himself for a political takeover. He had enough allies and followers to heavily influence the next assembly of nobles, which is in a few days. That was when he abandoned me; he gave me six hours to leave before the guards would attack me. He had no more use for me.”
“So your cock of a father threw you out after he got what he wanted. Is that what I’m hearing?” Amaretto asked, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder. “Doesn’t sound like much of a father, if you ask me.” He turned back to watching the horizon. “Parents should take care of their bloody children, not use them for their own gains.”
Theá—having watched Amaretto speak with some interest—turned back to Xerihan. “I must agree with Amaretto on this. For what it’s worth, you have my sympathies. But from what you’re telling me, the one you call Father is taking over the Gryphon Government for himself, and have thrown you out now that he has what he wants.” She went silent for a time, then, eyes cast towards the ceiling as she thought. After about a minute’s silence she finally spoke up again. “You mentioned Ricket. I remember him. What happened?”
“He’s dead,” Xerihan answered detachedly. “Killed by Snap Freeze. After which I killed Snap Freeze in turn. And now that I’ve broken both the mental link and killed one of the Cult’s best assassins, I doubt the Cult will spend many more resources trying to track me down. And if they do, it won’t be nearly as troublesome as Snap Freeze.”
Walking to one of the beds, Xerihan leaned against it and sighed deeply. He stared through the wall. “About the griffon kingdoms… it’s not all bad news.” His gaze returned to Thea. “If you’re unaware, nearly every clan has spies in all the other clans. It’s part and parcel of the culture. Before I left, I… killed my father’s last heir. And my father is old; I doubt he could sire another child. With no heirs, his power will be suspect at best. I’d wager it will be enough to destabilize his position.” The griffon shrugged. “I did what I could to stop him. Hopefully he won’t be able to bear the griffon kingdoms against Equestria, or whatever schemes he has in mind.”
“Even if he did,” Theá answered grimly, though with a smile almost audible in her voice, “he would find himself faced with a foe he could not possible match.”
“I’m sure the Gryphons will be scared to death by a Cocker Spaniel threatening them with divine retribution… With luck they’ll laugh themselves to death.”
Rather than honour him with a response, Theá settled for a baleful glare that didn’t really have the intended purpose of drilling a hole through Amaretto’s skull. She kept it up for all of three seconds before she decided that Xerihan was more worthy of her attention. “At any rate, if you say that the Gryphon Kingdoms are of no threat, then I will trust you. For now, however, I believe your wounds should be tended to. Amaretto, your bandages.”
Bandages were fetched, and water was carried in from the bathroom in a small basin, heated up by Amaretto’s cobalt flames. He offered no protest at any point, obviously respecting the alicorn a great deal, in spite of his sarcastic comments and jokes. “Show me your paw,” he demanded, a rag for cleaning held in his magic beside a fresh roll of bandages.
Cracking a small grin, Xerihan gladly complied, though not before snarking, “S’long as you promise not to stick me.” Then he remembered a relatively important fact: “Uh, wait. I think the bone was broken.” He paused, then grimaced “Just don’t be too rough.”
“Can’t promise that,” Amaretto replied, his tone even more grim than Theá’s from before. Not to mention as close to uncaring as possible. The dirty and torn bandages already wrapped around the wound were undone, careful as to not cause unnecessary pain, and promptly burned into nothingness by the same cobalt flames.
Then the rag was applied, wiping away caked blood and washing the bound, undoubtedly causing quite a bit of pain. “You know, I could sterilize the wound if you want,” Amaretto said as he continued his work. “I’d burn the blood vessels and remove any dead flesh to avoid infections. It’ll hurt like hell, but at least you wouldn’t risk dying from infections.” He soaked the rag in the water, washing the blood off of it, and then returned it to the wound. “What do you say?”
Xerihan groaned, but he agreed. “Just be quick about it,” he added. “And don’t heat up the metal if possible”. To distract himself, he turned back to Thea. “I’ll admit Thea, I was skeptical when the hare led me here. What have you been doing that you’re in this small town?”
I should probably warn him that it’s hellfire, hot enough to burn through a Changeling’s chitin… Bah. He’ll survive. Amaretto lit his horn, starting to summon a small which he concentrated on making as hot as he could.
Meanwhile, Theá had turned to Xerihan, looking thoughtful as she thought over his question. “I cannot answer you in any way but this: I do what I am. As of now, only Amaretto,” she nodded towards the stallion who was in the process of hovering the coin-sized—and incredibly hot— flame closer to the wound, “knows of my doings here. On a side note, you may want me to hold you down.” A green shimmer of magic surrounded Xerihan, holding him down as well as casting a filter across him, muting almost all sounding within a small area around him. She knew he would scream. For his part, Xerihan stared at her dumbfoundedly.
The flame touched the Gryphon’s flesh, instantly bringing forth the smell of burnt flesh as blood boiled at its touch and vaporized, blood vessels closing, and infections annihilated. He kept it up for another few seconds, making sure that all of it was cleanly burnt away before he extinguished it. “And now for setting the bone… Sorry mate.” He grabbed hold of the two parts of the broken bone with his magic and, with a powerful yank, set it straight. He figured it probably caused another small fraction seeing as it had partially grown together already, but breaking that up was a necessary evil.
He then went about bandaging the wound and applying a splint to keep the leg straight, Theá dispelling the sound bubble and releasing her grip on Xerihan.
Xerihan had managed to not scream during the disinfection, but when Amaretto set the bone he couldn’t help himself. “GrrrraaAAAAHHHHH!!!”. A second passed where Xerihan simply lay there. Then he looked up, and his mood had turned acidic.
“That’s one of the things I miss about being a noble’s son,” he growled. Once he was bandaged, the griffon hastily pulled away from Amaretto and nursed his paw. “Proper medical care. And I’d appreciate it if you gave me prior warning, for future reference!” he snapped. Forcibly calming himself, Xerihan sat down on the bed opposite Thea. “Well then… it sounds like you’re keeping things close to your chest. Do you need help? Or rather, do you even want it? I have little else to do, you know.”
Amaretto seemed uncaring at best in regards to the acidic tone, a raised eyebrow being the only reaction. “Warning you would not have eased the pain,” he said. “If anything it would just have made you tense up and made the pain worse. I did what I was asked, and I did it quickly and efficiently. Your leg will heal and be good to walk on in a few months’ time.” He stood up and went about cleaning up whatever blood there was, and discarding the, now dirty, water.
Theá stood up on the bed, stretching like any dog would before laying down again. “What I need right now is not help, but rather information. In your state, however, I doubt you would be of much use. You may, however, be able to tell me something. Tell me, did you ever encounter a unicorn doctor by the name of Silver Scalpel?”
“Silver Scalpel?” Xerihan perked an eyebrow. “I don’t believe I’ve heard that name before. Why do you ask?”
“For reasons that are my own. As I mentioned before, I do what I am.”
“Anything else?” Amaretto asked, closing the door to the bathroom behind him. “Chick’s cleaned up, dirty bandages thrown out and what not.”
Theá shook her head, ears flapping about. “That’ll be all for now.”
“I’ll go down to get a pint, then. Send a bug after me if you need me.”
“I will. Now,” Theá turned back to Xerihan. “You said you know nothing of him? Hmm… Is there anything else you discovered in the past two weeks that might be worth mentioning?”
Xerihan shrugged, unsure as to what would be useful. “Well, there were miscellaneous things I learned about the nobles up north. Griffon politics, nothing you’d be terribly interested in, I suspect. I managed to find a zebra in the Everfree that brewed me a potion to permanently sever my mental connection to the Laughing Mare, as well as the psychological addiction she had me bound under. I reconnected with a colleague, a young stallion that specializes in disguises. You know about the family of travelling ponies I encountered a few weeks back, as unfortunate as that was. Doctor Charred passed Ricket and myself as we left Trottingham, and before that was when I fell out with the Cult and ran.” Xerihan tapped a claw against his chin, his head tilted in thought. “Nothing else springs to mind, I’m afraid.”
Sighing, Theá rested her head on her paws, contemplative. “You are right that the squabbles of nobility are of no concern to an Immortal. As for the rest of it, I’m glad you are rid of your addictions and whatever else ailed your mind… If nothing else, I suggest you sleep. You’ll need your strength.”
Tenderly moving his paw, Xerihan nodded in agreement. “As good a plan as any. Good night, Thea.” Nothing else needed to be said. Picking up his bag, Xerihan opened the door and turned into the hallway, then closed the door behind him.
Fifteen minutes later, he had paid for a room in the same inn, and had tucked away his few meager possessions. Settling into the bed and trying to ignore the pain in his right paw, Xerihan could only wonder at what his next step would be.
"Hey... don't worry about it. We both knew this could happen. Give 'em hell, Xeri..."
"Finish it, you damn traitor! JUST KILL ME!!"
As the sun rose over the Northern Mountains, a horrible wail of despair echoed from an imposing manor. Guards were roused, rooms were checked. The demand for justice gripped the entire area, but the culprit had vanished hours before. The weakening bond of a family was broken, with no heirs left to claim the Duke's seat.
Xerihan limped into the town of Woodswatch, sporting a small bag and a ragged cloak that had seen better days. Following a small ghostly hare, he hobbled up to the edge of town. He paused, tracking the hare's path into a small tavern. Absentmindedly, he tugged at the straps keeping his face wrap taught with his good paw. "No reward without risk..." he murmured to himself. The griffon stepped forth.
Passing through the tavern door, Xerihan caught a glimpse of the hare by the stairs. He followed, drops of blood left behind with every step. His right paw was poorly bandaged, and a cursory inspection would show the bone had been broken and was in the process of healing. Xerihan limped up the stairs. Arriving at a closed door, the hare stepped through to his objective. The griffon swallowed; no turning back now. He gripped the handle and turned.
Stepping into the room, Xerihan could see two occupants: a large unicorn and a dog. The hare wouldn't have led him astray, and he recalled an odd meeting in a moonlit forest clearing.
Xerihan set his bag down, staring at the pup. "It has been a while, Thea."
"Finish it, you damn traitor! JUST KILL ME!!"
As the sun rose over the Northern Mountains, a horrible wail of despair echoed from an imposing manor. Guards were roused, rooms were checked. The demand for justice gripped the entire area, but the culprit had vanished hours before. The weakening bond of a family was broken, with no heirs left to claim the Duke's seat.
Xerihan limped into the town of Woodswatch, sporting a small bag and a ragged cloak that had seen better days. Following a small ghostly hare, he hobbled up to the edge of town. He paused, tracking the hare's path into a small tavern. Absentmindedly, he tugged at the straps keeping his face wrap taught with his good paw. "No reward without risk..." he murmured to himself. The griffon stepped forth.
Passing through the tavern door, Xerihan caught a glimpse of the hare by the stairs. He followed, drops of blood left behind with every step. His right paw was poorly bandaged, and a cursory inspection would show the bone had been broken and was in the process of healing. Xerihan limped up the stairs. Arriving at a closed door, the hare stepped through to his objective. The griffon swallowed; no turning back now. He gripped the handle and turned.
Stepping into the room, Xerihan could see two occupants: a large unicorn and a dog. The hare wouldn't have led him astray, and he recalled an odd meeting in a moonlit forest clearing.
Xerihan set his bag down, staring at the pup. "It has been a while, Thea."
So... is this still open? If it is, I'd love to join!
In
Retrying and old idea, Peace Keepers (supernatural/mythos inspired RP, more details inside)
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
Definitely interested. I was thinking something along the lines of a person whose body is a vessel for a shade. His personal arc could deal with removing the ambiguously malevolent shade, and how he'd do so without dying. That's a very rough sketch of it, hope to see this start up!
Xerihan smacked his lips, regarding the wildling carefully. The stallion certainly had the same physique and colors as Bourder, though his hair was longer and all of his markings and clothing practically yelled, “Wildling!” Even worse, his voice didn’t sound quite like he recalled it. His heart was thumping in his ears.
Remember, Bourder was a master at disguising himself… this might very well be him.
Steeling his resolve and hoping he wasn’t making the situation worse, Xerihan said, “Okay then. Well, my name is Xerihan. Um…”
He didn’t know what else to say, and Tranquil picked up on this. “So you, some wanton beggar, come barging into my house, looking for a stallion that looks like me. Tell me, who are you really?”
Xerihan grimaced. “Just a gryphon looking for an old friend.” He didn’t reveal anything else. When Tranquil took a step forward with his dagger out, Xerihan stepped back.
The wildling huffed. “Typical. Remove your hood, before I cut you down.”
Xerihan, not wanting to start a conflict unless absolutely necessary, did so. Tranquil appeared unamused by the wrappings covering his face, but a glint in his eye betrayed his thoughts. “That’s…No. Your wrappings, too. Now.” When Xerihan didn’t immediately respond, the wildling took another step forward, prompting the gryphon to grunt and step back. “I’m waiting,” Tranquil Roar demanded.
Debating whether the whole situation was worth the effort, Xerihan carefully undid his head wrap. When the bronze of the melted mask came through, Tranquil’s hoof fell.
Xerihan just glared at the young wildling. “Satisfied?” he asked bitterly. Tranquil nodded, but then changed his mind. “No. Show me your talons. Both of them. I need to know.”
He needs to know, huh… I see where this is going. Brat.
The assassin pulled off his gloves, showing the stallion his prosthetic claws. With that, Tranquil Roar sighed and released a breath of relief. His dagger was sheathed and he scoffed happily. “Well I’ll be. The Guidon of Joy, in my own humble abode. What a surprise…” Tranquil stepped forward, holding out a hoof. “It’s been a few years, Xerihan.”
The gryphon glared at the wildling, pulling his gloves on before returning the hoof shake. “Likewise. Though I wasn’t expecting to be grilled by you. I thought I recognized you, but - well, you pull a convincing act, Bourder,” he grudgingly admitted.
Bourder des Colloques smirked, stepping back. “And I wasn’t expecting you to act like such a pushover. I thought it would be any second before you tackled me and demanded that I stop acting like a paranoid hermit.”
Xerihan shrugged, leaning against the wall easily. Internally, his heart slowed its pace, and he calmed down. “Can’t be too hasty, not when I’m in the middle of the Everfree. Oh, about that - what was with the act? You don’t recognize me?” He paused, then looked over Bourder’s tribal outfit and war paint. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be one to talk - look at you, gone all native!” he chuckled, pointing at Bourder’s get-up.
Bourder shrugged, shutting the still-open door. “It’s what I do best, Xerihan. And how was I supposed to recognize you? Covered in a cloak and rags, gloves for your claws, and no Jester clothing to boot? You’re lucky I didn’t immediately string you up for walking in!” Xerihan raised his right eyebrow, as if to say, ‘Oh really?’ Bourder caught himself. “Well, lucky for us both, at any rate.”
Xerihan shook his head, looking off to the side. “Right… but seriously.” The assassin caught Bourder’s eye and pierced his gaze easily. “I think you know why I’m here. Don’t you?”
The brown stallion nodded slowly, carefully weighing his words. “Yes. You’re wanted by the Cult. I even got a message from a giggling ghost, saying you’re to be killed or captured on sight.” He vaguely pointed at the mask attached to Xerihan’s face. “I’m guessing that might have something to do with it?”
Xerihan nodded. “I botched an important assassination badly. Got most of my squad killed, and I was almost blinded when my mask started to melt. Hurt like a bitch.”
“I imagine,” Bourder replied tonelessly. “So why come here? You know I’m still Cult, and you’re not much safer here than anywhere else in Equestria. Hell, we shouldn’t even be talking right now. So why?” he asked again.
“Because I’m leaving Equestria, Bourder,” Xerihan replied, his voice unwavering. He grabbed his rags and began applying them to his face. “And I know how you really feel about the Cult. Don’t pretend you forgot how you were stationed here.”
Bourder rolled his eyes, but still he nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I remember. You put me here so the priests wouldn’t catch on how about I wanted to defect. I still do, in fact. So what of it?”
“Like I said: I’m leaving. But I need help. Like you said, you want to leave and return to Prance. I’m already on the run. If we do this right, we can both break free and leave this forsaken country behind.”
Bourder widened his eyes, then shook his head disbelievingly. “Xerihan, you know how unlikely it is.” He leaned in, whispering, “I mean, there’s probably a ghost outside right now, listening to us. Do you really think you can do this?”
Xerihan nodded confidently, finishing up his face wrapping. “Of course. I know how they operate better than anyone. Which means they probably are listening right now, and that you won’t be able to talk your way out of this even if you do try and turn me in. You already have your answer, don’t you?” he finished, a smile growing on his covered features.
Bourder’s face turned acidic, angered by the gryphon’s analysis. Then he snorted, relenting. “Fine, you got me. But I hope you’ve got something planned other than ‘run like hell’, because we won’t get too far otherwise.”
Xerihan held up his paws and nodded placatingly, an easy smile on his face. “Of course. We’ll need someone to remove our spiritual ties, someone that’s good at internal remedies. As for the Cult, I already have a group of them on my tail. But I don’t think they’ll follow me here, at least not the group I saw. We should only need to worry about small groups and whatever spies they’ve already put into place. Can we work around that?”
Bourder tilted his head in thought. “Yeah, that sounds doable. I know someone in Tree Top Towers, a zebra that’s good with potions. Should we leave now, while the getting’s good?”
The gryphon shook his head. “No, actually I need a healer before anything else. Remember Ricket?” Bourder nodded, silently affirming he remembered. “Well, he was injured when he and I left Muddy Hooves. We’ve been on the run together, and he needs medical aid. Is there a healer in the camp, one we can trust? The sooner he gets treatment the better.”
“Yes,” the stallion said. “A unicorn by the name of Autrice. She’s the healer for the local camp. She might still be awake. Grab Ricket and follow me, and try not to draw attention to yourselves.”
Nothing else needed to be said. Bourder waited for Xerihan to bring down Ricket, who was struggling to stay conscious, and together they walked through the darkened camp. At that late hour, few others were awake, and so the walk to the medical tent was uneventful. Bourder stopped them outside of the entrance.
“Just stay calm, let me do most of the talking. She doesn’t need to suspect anything,” Bourder whispered to Xerihan, who nodded.
Bourder held open the tent’s flap for Xerihan and Ricket, and after a moment they were all inside. Autrice was inside. She was a unicorn, a teal coat accentuated by a bobbed yellow mane. It suited her well, from what Xerihan could tell. The mare was busy putting away herbs and poultices, and hadn’t noticed the trio enter the tent. Bourder coughed, then said, “Autrice? Got some time?”
Autrice turned around expectantly - a large grin on her face, Xerihan noticed - then dropped her smile when she saw the gryphons. Xerihan absently wondered what she must have thought seeing such a trio.
The unicorn finally found her voice. “...Tranquil? Who are these, um… fine gentlemen?”
Bourder smiled guiltily before saying, “They’re old friends of mine, and one of them’s been injured pretty badly. Think you can do me a favor? Please?” he asked.
Autrice sighed, then her demeanor changed. Whereas before she had been showing emotions readily, her face turned stone cold and her voice became sharp and professional. “Of course. Set him on the counter there, let me get the supplies.”
The unicorn began rummaging through the closet and bins again, while Xerihan set Ricket down onto the counter the unicorn had specified. Autrice called from over her shoulder, “What are his injuries and how did he get them?”
Bourder furrowed his eyebrows, unsure. “Um, Xerihan?”
“Right,” Xerihan replied. “He has two injuries, one in his shoulder and the other near his waist. It was shrapnel from a bomb. It’s been a little over a day now.”
Autrice grunted, tugging her supplies behind her with magic. “Okay then. So you’re Xerihan, and this is…” she prompted.
“His name is Ricket. And it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Xerihan said.
Autrice nodded and set to work, peering over Ricket who was now completely unconscious. She felt his forehead. “Definitely a fever. Which means he might have an infection…” she unrolled the bandages around his waist. “Nothing too bad here, and -” she unrolled the bandages around his shoulder, and she grimaced. “Yup. An infection, fortunately pretty small. Let’s see…” the mare began working on Ricket, applying different mixed herbs and using a small knife to cut away dead skin.
Xerihan and Bourder watched, both silent. After a minute, Autrice sighed and looked over to them. “Look, can you two do something else? You’re breathing over my shoulder and it’s not helping. Just go outside the door and talk or something. Please?” she asked.
Bourder nodded in understanding. “Of course. Come on, Xerihan.”
The two walked outside, and they sat on the ground a few feet away from the tent. They stared dumbly out into the forest of the camp.
Xerihan broke the silence. “So… a unicorn, huh? I always thought you were more of a pegasus kind of guy.”
Bourder dropped his head and sighed, though he still couldn't help but chuckle. “Oh, shut it.”
The gryphon shrugged, grinning. “Hey, just saying, haha!” His smile gradually faded, though, and before long he somberly asked, “Were you actually planning on following through? Because you know you can’t.”
The brown stallion grunted, not meeting Xerihan’s eyes. “Of course. It’s all supposed to be an act. It’s just a way to find more information and use it against them. Right?”
He still refused to look at Xerihan, who grunted, “And yet I’m getting the feeling it’s more personal than that. You already told me you don’t agree with ‘Them’, so why are you really doing it? For yourself?”
Bourder shrugged. “No. Maybe? I don’t know… I’ve never had to deal with something like this, you know? I’m just hoping it doesn’t end badly,” he said, voice dwindling to nothing.
Xerihan frowned, clacking his gloved claws against one another. “We’re in the middle of a war, Bourder. Of course it isn’t going to end well. And killing someone is one thing - it’s impersonal. You might not like it, but you can deal with it. But pursuing someone romantically? That’s involving far too many emotions to be healthy. And in our position, we can’t risk that.” When Bourder didn’t respond, Xerihan shrugged again. “I won’t tell you what to do. If we’re going to leave together, it’s going to be as equals. But I’m trusting you to make the right choice here. Don’t mess up our chances.”
The earth pony finally looked at Xerihan. His eyes were sunken, defeated. “I understand,” he replied numbly.
Thirty minutes later, Autrice popped her head out of the shack’s door. “Hey, your friend’s ready. He isn’t awake yet, but he’s stable. Get in here.”
Xerihan and Bourder, both laying on the ground, stiffly stood up and made their way in. Autrice held the door open for them. Inside, Ricket was now laying on a bed, bandages wrapped around his injuries and his face much more peaceful.
“I removed the shrapnel and treated the infection. With some bed rest and time, he’ll make a full recovery,” Autrice said, once again putting away her medical equipment. “So, I’m guessing you boys are going to hang around for a few days? Or maybe more?”
Xerihan and Bourder exchanged a glance. Xerihan answered, “I’m afraid not. My friend and I can’t stay. So, if you’ll excuse us…” Xerihan walked over to Ricket and, with care, hoisted his friend onto his back.
When Autrice saw what Xerihan was doing, her eyes widened and she ran over. “No! Don’t do that, he needs rest-!” she tried to drag Ricket off of Xerihan’s back, but was stopped Bourder. She blinked and looked at Bourder in confusion. “Tranquil? What are you doing? You know he can’t leave!”
Bourder frowned, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, Autrice, but they really must go. I’m actually going with them, to make sure nothing happens. I’ll be back soon, okay?”
Autrice gawked at Bourder, her mouth agape in shock. She looked at Xerihan, who was already at the door and ready to leave. “But, there’s a raid soon-”
“And it’s in two weeks, Autrice,” Bourder cut her off. “I am definitely going to be back before then.”
“Bou- um, Tranquil, we need to go. Now,” Xerihan insisted, one paw holding the door open.
Bourder sighed and looked at the ceiling in exasperation. “I’m sorry, Autrice, truly, but we need to go. I’ll see you soon.” He tried to pull away, but Autrice held him back. He looked back in bemusement. “Um, Autrice, we really need to go.”
What he got was hard stare from the unicorn. “If you two are leaving now, you’re just going to kill your friend there. I’m going with you.”
“Autrice-” Bourder tried to argue.
“No. I’m going with you. End of argument.”
Bourder looked at Xerihan, who merely shrugged. “I don’t care either way, Tranquil. She can go if she wants to.”
Despite Bourder’s evident dissatisfaction, the three of them plus Ricket all left the small medical shack. Traveling in the dark of night, the small group set off south towards Tree-Top Towers.
Remember, Bourder was a master at disguising himself… this might very well be him.
Steeling his resolve and hoping he wasn’t making the situation worse, Xerihan said, “Okay then. Well, my name is Xerihan. Um…”
He didn’t know what else to say, and Tranquil picked up on this. “So you, some wanton beggar, come barging into my house, looking for a stallion that looks like me. Tell me, who are you really?”
Xerihan grimaced. “Just a gryphon looking for an old friend.” He didn’t reveal anything else. When Tranquil took a step forward with his dagger out, Xerihan stepped back.
The wildling huffed. “Typical. Remove your hood, before I cut you down.”
Xerihan, not wanting to start a conflict unless absolutely necessary, did so. Tranquil appeared unamused by the wrappings covering his face, but a glint in his eye betrayed his thoughts. “That’s…No. Your wrappings, too. Now.” When Xerihan didn’t immediately respond, the wildling took another step forward, prompting the gryphon to grunt and step back. “I’m waiting,” Tranquil Roar demanded.
Debating whether the whole situation was worth the effort, Xerihan carefully undid his head wrap. When the bronze of the melted mask came through, Tranquil’s hoof fell.
Xerihan just glared at the young wildling. “Satisfied?” he asked bitterly. Tranquil nodded, but then changed his mind. “No. Show me your talons. Both of them. I need to know.”
He needs to know, huh… I see where this is going. Brat.
The assassin pulled off his gloves, showing the stallion his prosthetic claws. With that, Tranquil Roar sighed and released a breath of relief. His dagger was sheathed and he scoffed happily. “Well I’ll be. The Guidon of Joy, in my own humble abode. What a surprise…” Tranquil stepped forward, holding out a hoof. “It’s been a few years, Xerihan.”
The gryphon glared at the wildling, pulling his gloves on before returning the hoof shake. “Likewise. Though I wasn’t expecting to be grilled by you. I thought I recognized you, but - well, you pull a convincing act, Bourder,” he grudgingly admitted.
Bourder des Colloques smirked, stepping back. “And I wasn’t expecting you to act like such a pushover. I thought it would be any second before you tackled me and demanded that I stop acting like a paranoid hermit.”
Xerihan shrugged, leaning against the wall easily. Internally, his heart slowed its pace, and he calmed down. “Can’t be too hasty, not when I’m in the middle of the Everfree. Oh, about that - what was with the act? You don’t recognize me?” He paused, then looked over Bourder’s tribal outfit and war paint. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be one to talk - look at you, gone all native!” he chuckled, pointing at Bourder’s get-up.
Bourder shrugged, shutting the still-open door. “It’s what I do best, Xerihan. And how was I supposed to recognize you? Covered in a cloak and rags, gloves for your claws, and no Jester clothing to boot? You’re lucky I didn’t immediately string you up for walking in!” Xerihan raised his right eyebrow, as if to say, ‘Oh really?’ Bourder caught himself. “Well, lucky for us both, at any rate.”
Xerihan shook his head, looking off to the side. “Right… but seriously.” The assassin caught Bourder’s eye and pierced his gaze easily. “I think you know why I’m here. Don’t you?”
The brown stallion nodded slowly, carefully weighing his words. “Yes. You’re wanted by the Cult. I even got a message from a giggling ghost, saying you’re to be killed or captured on sight.” He vaguely pointed at the mask attached to Xerihan’s face. “I’m guessing that might have something to do with it?”
Xerihan nodded. “I botched an important assassination badly. Got most of my squad killed, and I was almost blinded when my mask started to melt. Hurt like a bitch.”
“I imagine,” Bourder replied tonelessly. “So why come here? You know I’m still Cult, and you’re not much safer here than anywhere else in Equestria. Hell, we shouldn’t even be talking right now. So why?” he asked again.
“Because I’m leaving Equestria, Bourder,” Xerihan replied, his voice unwavering. He grabbed his rags and began applying them to his face. “And I know how you really feel about the Cult. Don’t pretend you forgot how you were stationed here.”
Bourder rolled his eyes, but still he nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I remember. You put me here so the priests wouldn’t catch on how about I wanted to defect. I still do, in fact. So what of it?”
“Like I said: I’m leaving. But I need help. Like you said, you want to leave and return to Prance. I’m already on the run. If we do this right, we can both break free and leave this forsaken country behind.”
Bourder widened his eyes, then shook his head disbelievingly. “Xerihan, you know how unlikely it is.” He leaned in, whispering, “I mean, there’s probably a ghost outside right now, listening to us. Do you really think you can do this?”
Xerihan nodded confidently, finishing up his face wrapping. “Of course. I know how they operate better than anyone. Which means they probably are listening right now, and that you won’t be able to talk your way out of this even if you do try and turn me in. You already have your answer, don’t you?” he finished, a smile growing on his covered features.
Bourder’s face turned acidic, angered by the gryphon’s analysis. Then he snorted, relenting. “Fine, you got me. But I hope you’ve got something planned other than ‘run like hell’, because we won’t get too far otherwise.”
Xerihan held up his paws and nodded placatingly, an easy smile on his face. “Of course. We’ll need someone to remove our spiritual ties, someone that’s good at internal remedies. As for the Cult, I already have a group of them on my tail. But I don’t think they’ll follow me here, at least not the group I saw. We should only need to worry about small groups and whatever spies they’ve already put into place. Can we work around that?”
Bourder tilted his head in thought. “Yeah, that sounds doable. I know someone in Tree Top Towers, a zebra that’s good with potions. Should we leave now, while the getting’s good?”
The gryphon shook his head. “No, actually I need a healer before anything else. Remember Ricket?” Bourder nodded, silently affirming he remembered. “Well, he was injured when he and I left Muddy Hooves. We’ve been on the run together, and he needs medical aid. Is there a healer in the camp, one we can trust? The sooner he gets treatment the better.”
“Yes,” the stallion said. “A unicorn by the name of Autrice. She’s the healer for the local camp. She might still be awake. Grab Ricket and follow me, and try not to draw attention to yourselves.”
Nothing else needed to be said. Bourder waited for Xerihan to bring down Ricket, who was struggling to stay conscious, and together they walked through the darkened camp. At that late hour, few others were awake, and so the walk to the medical tent was uneventful. Bourder stopped them outside of the entrance.
“Just stay calm, let me do most of the talking. She doesn’t need to suspect anything,” Bourder whispered to Xerihan, who nodded.
Bourder held open the tent’s flap for Xerihan and Ricket, and after a moment they were all inside. Autrice was inside. She was a unicorn, a teal coat accentuated by a bobbed yellow mane. It suited her well, from what Xerihan could tell. The mare was busy putting away herbs and poultices, and hadn’t noticed the trio enter the tent. Bourder coughed, then said, “Autrice? Got some time?”
Autrice turned around expectantly - a large grin on her face, Xerihan noticed - then dropped her smile when she saw the gryphons. Xerihan absently wondered what she must have thought seeing such a trio.
The unicorn finally found her voice. “...Tranquil? Who are these, um… fine gentlemen?”
Bourder smiled guiltily before saying, “They’re old friends of mine, and one of them’s been injured pretty badly. Think you can do me a favor? Please?” he asked.
Autrice sighed, then her demeanor changed. Whereas before she had been showing emotions readily, her face turned stone cold and her voice became sharp and professional. “Of course. Set him on the counter there, let me get the supplies.”
The unicorn began rummaging through the closet and bins again, while Xerihan set Ricket down onto the counter the unicorn had specified. Autrice called from over her shoulder, “What are his injuries and how did he get them?”
Bourder furrowed his eyebrows, unsure. “Um, Xerihan?”
“Right,” Xerihan replied. “He has two injuries, one in his shoulder and the other near his waist. It was shrapnel from a bomb. It’s been a little over a day now.”
Autrice grunted, tugging her supplies behind her with magic. “Okay then. So you’re Xerihan, and this is…” she prompted.
“His name is Ricket. And it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Xerihan said.
Autrice nodded and set to work, peering over Ricket who was now completely unconscious. She felt his forehead. “Definitely a fever. Which means he might have an infection…” she unrolled the bandages around his waist. “Nothing too bad here, and -” she unrolled the bandages around his shoulder, and she grimaced. “Yup. An infection, fortunately pretty small. Let’s see…” the mare began working on Ricket, applying different mixed herbs and using a small knife to cut away dead skin.
Xerihan and Bourder watched, both silent. After a minute, Autrice sighed and looked over to them. “Look, can you two do something else? You’re breathing over my shoulder and it’s not helping. Just go outside the door and talk or something. Please?” she asked.
Bourder nodded in understanding. “Of course. Come on, Xerihan.”
The two walked outside, and they sat on the ground a few feet away from the tent. They stared dumbly out into the forest of the camp.
Xerihan broke the silence. “So… a unicorn, huh? I always thought you were more of a pegasus kind of guy.”
Bourder dropped his head and sighed, though he still couldn't help but chuckle. “Oh, shut it.”
The gryphon shrugged, grinning. “Hey, just saying, haha!” His smile gradually faded, though, and before long he somberly asked, “Were you actually planning on following through? Because you know you can’t.”
The brown stallion grunted, not meeting Xerihan’s eyes. “Of course. It’s all supposed to be an act. It’s just a way to find more information and use it against them. Right?”
He still refused to look at Xerihan, who grunted, “And yet I’m getting the feeling it’s more personal than that. You already told me you don’t agree with ‘Them’, so why are you really doing it? For yourself?”
Bourder shrugged. “No. Maybe? I don’t know… I’ve never had to deal with something like this, you know? I’m just hoping it doesn’t end badly,” he said, voice dwindling to nothing.
Xerihan frowned, clacking his gloved claws against one another. “We’re in the middle of a war, Bourder. Of course it isn’t going to end well. And killing someone is one thing - it’s impersonal. You might not like it, but you can deal with it. But pursuing someone romantically? That’s involving far too many emotions to be healthy. And in our position, we can’t risk that.” When Bourder didn’t respond, Xerihan shrugged again. “I won’t tell you what to do. If we’re going to leave together, it’s going to be as equals. But I’m trusting you to make the right choice here. Don’t mess up our chances.”
The earth pony finally looked at Xerihan. His eyes were sunken, defeated. “I understand,” he replied numbly.
Thirty minutes later, Autrice popped her head out of the shack’s door. “Hey, your friend’s ready. He isn’t awake yet, but he’s stable. Get in here.”
Xerihan and Bourder, both laying on the ground, stiffly stood up and made their way in. Autrice held the door open for them. Inside, Ricket was now laying on a bed, bandages wrapped around his injuries and his face much more peaceful.
“I removed the shrapnel and treated the infection. With some bed rest and time, he’ll make a full recovery,” Autrice said, once again putting away her medical equipment. “So, I’m guessing you boys are going to hang around for a few days? Or maybe more?”
Xerihan and Bourder exchanged a glance. Xerihan answered, “I’m afraid not. My friend and I can’t stay. So, if you’ll excuse us…” Xerihan walked over to Ricket and, with care, hoisted his friend onto his back.
When Autrice saw what Xerihan was doing, her eyes widened and she ran over. “No! Don’t do that, he needs rest-!” she tried to drag Ricket off of Xerihan’s back, but was stopped Bourder. She blinked and looked at Bourder in confusion. “Tranquil? What are you doing? You know he can’t leave!”
Bourder frowned, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, Autrice, but they really must go. I’m actually going with them, to make sure nothing happens. I’ll be back soon, okay?”
Autrice gawked at Bourder, her mouth agape in shock. She looked at Xerihan, who was already at the door and ready to leave. “But, there’s a raid soon-”
“And it’s in two weeks, Autrice,” Bourder cut her off. “I am definitely going to be back before then.”
“Bou- um, Tranquil, we need to go. Now,” Xerihan insisted, one paw holding the door open.
Bourder sighed and looked at the ceiling in exasperation. “I’m sorry, Autrice, truly, but we need to go. I’ll see you soon.” He tried to pull away, but Autrice held him back. He looked back in bemusement. “Um, Autrice, we really need to go.”
What he got was hard stare from the unicorn. “If you two are leaving now, you’re just going to kill your friend there. I’m going with you.”
“Autrice-” Bourder tried to argue.
“No. I’m going with you. End of argument.”
Bourder looked at Xerihan, who merely shrugged. “I don’t care either way, Tranquil. She can go if she wants to.”
Despite Bourder’s evident dissatisfaction, the three of them plus Ricket all left the small medical shack. Traveling in the dark of night, the small group set off south towards Tree-Top Towers.
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.
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…
Snap Freeze scowled beneath his mask. 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.
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.
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.
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.
Welcome, my child.
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.”
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.
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…
Snap Freeze scowled beneath his mask. 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.
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.
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.
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.
Welcome, my child.
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.”
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