//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: Hegira: Eternal Delta // by Guardian_Gryphon //------------------------------// Earth Calendar: 2117 Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact) Fourth Month, Third Day, Celestial Calendar 'Seedy.' That was the first word Stanley Carradan could think of to describe the establishment. The floors were oaken planks, stained with countless spills and worn so smooth by the passage of paws, claws, and hooves, that multiple inches of the original surfacing had been lost. The walls, mostly comprised of the unfinished inner side of the logs that made up the structure, were illumined only by the guttering light of a few ill-placed and poorly maintained plant oil lamps. The class of person that made up the majority of the patronage more or less mirrored the disheveled aesthetic of the structure. As a result, the smell of garlic, unwashed fur, sizzling meat, and alcohol permeated the space, tinged at times with the faintest whiff of Poison Joke smoke. To top it off, the ale was rough, strong, and terribly bitter. Carradan smiled, and mumbled, "My kind-'a bar." The salmon toned Pegasus ruffled his wings, and blew a wisp of teal mane from his face. Reporter's instinct kept his gaze moving, never once settling, as he strode slowly to the bar counter. By the time he had arrived, he had sized up every single one of his fellow patrons. Here a down-on-his-luck Diamond Dog Vulpine miner, there an irritated Minotaur mercenary. In the back corner, a small pack of Diamond Dog Trolls who looked lost in macabre conversation, judging by the wicked grins on their grimy muzzles. That left a few more assorted Trolls, one of whom was seated on the stool beside the one Carradan was opting for, and finally a Buffalo who looked to be drunk well beyond the ken of rationality, or even basic motor control. Carradan offered the inebriated creature a small smile as he passed, "Hi. How ya doin." There was no response, beyond a small sound that might have been a hiccup. He ensconced his flank on the stool next to the Troll, and fished a pair of five-bit coins from his saddle bags, "Ale if'n you please, and lotsa salt cubes to go with it." Wordlessly the barkeep, a grizzled looking male Zebra, scooped up the golden discs from the stone surface, and turned to the taps. Carradan glanced sideways at his neighbor. The Troll looked to be young; Just barely into his adult phase, which likely placed him in the lowly station of kappa, or lambda in his pack. With interest Carradan noted the plethora of overturned glasses and mugs surrounding the young Diamond Dog. Most Trolls in this region were miners, or part-time mercenaries. They certainly did not make enough, on average, for a lowly kappa to indulge in such a profusion of pleasurable beverages. Casting another carefully timed glance as the barkeep returned with his ale, and a small dish of salt cubes, Carradan noted that the kappa bore a similar shoulder tattoo to the pack of Trolls he had seen in the corner on his way in. That, combined with the Troll's unusual display of recent monetary gains, meant he was the reason Carradan was there. The Pegasus smiled into his ale glass as he took a deep draught. He had faced plenty of trouble in the course of his life, but he was a firm believer that a touch of proverbial liquid courage was an indispensable advantage for such occasions. He took an exploratory nibble of his first salt cube, then offered his compatriot patron a deliberate sideways smile, "Had a good run eh?" The Troll belched loudly, slammed down another empty glass, and nodded with a lopsided grin. The gesture exposed several ugly yellow teeth, and Carradan had to brace himself to keep from recoiling at the creature's abhorrent breath. The Pegasus forced himself to keep grinning, and raised his mug with a hoof, "Well here's to uncommon success then eh?" The Troll snatched a mug from the Zebra's muzzle as he passed, and slammed it into Carradan's proffered toast with such force that the reporter feared both glasses would shatter. Stan took a reserved sip from his mug. The Troll, on the other hoof, bolted down his entire mug in a single swift draught, slamming the vessel back into the bar with such force that the base of the glass did indeed chip. Carradan spent several moments indulging in his first salt cube, then made another attempt to invigorate the conversation, "So... Struck good mining prospects then? I thought all the good gems had been pulled out o' these mines a while back." The Troll grunted, "Gems no'fing. Mining stupid job here. We gerr paid ten times as much as dem silly miners." Carradan cocked his head, turning on his reporter's charm at maximum, feigning curiosity worthy of an Oscar, "So... Ahhh... What'd a Pegasus like me have to do to find work like *that* in these parts?" The Troll grunted a second time, and gestured to the Zebra, who glared, but acquiesced when he noticed the goose-egg sized ruby clasped in the Diamond Dog's paw. "I not 'fink you cut out for dat sort of work little Pony. Go back to cloud-bucking or some'fing." Stan took a deliberately large gulp of his ale, and let out his own belch, "Well what if I *was* cut out for somethin' that pays a bit better than weather work?" The response came with a snort, "Well 'den I still f'ink..." the Troll paused to hiccup loudly, "...F'ink you stupid for asking. Little Pony wouldn't like our employers. Not the kind of work 'er majesty is appro'fing of." Carradan allowed the conversation to lull temporarily, and finished his first salt cube. He cast a surreptitious glance over one shoulder, and noted that the Trolls in the back of the room had ceased their raucous conversation, and were now murmuring in low voices, their gaze firmly fixed on their wayward Kappa... And the Pegasus beside him. Stan turned casually back to the bar, and sighed. He was running out of time and options. "So what if I didn't much care for her majesty's approval?" The Troll glared, "Den we still wouldn't tell you who we work for. Not Little Pony's business. Go back to cloud bucking." Carradan squinted his eyes shut in a mixture of frustration and trepidation, murmuring rapidly under his breath. He inhaled deeply, then tossed a hoof around the Troll's shoulder. He could feel the creature's muscle stiffen; Steel cords pulled taut, driven by unimaginable power. The Pegasus leaned in conspiratorially, "Listen brother... I didn't come all the way out here to the seedy-flank, grimy-plot underbelly of these dreary mountains, just to spend my time hauling gems for miners. I came here to score. You know something I wanna know and brother? I always get what I want... You savvy?" The response took on a menacing undertone, and Carradan could feel the vibrations of a deep-throated growl welling up through the canine, "Little Pony is goink to take his prissy pink hoof off. Nao." Carradan sighed, and removed the offending limb, bowing his head in apparent sullen defeat, "Pal..." The Diamond Dog looked up just in time for Carradan's hoof to connect with his muzzle, driven by all the force the Pegasus could muster. The blow had been unexpected, and the Diamond Dog was more than slightly drunk. The Troll flew backwards, head smashing into the bar with a loud crack, and rebounding into the Buffalo beside him, causing the latter to spill his ale all over the pair. Carradan swiftly downed the last of his ale, "...Nobody calls me pink. You get me fuzzball?" The Pegasus hopped down from the stool, and marched forward to the tangle that was the Troll and the inebriated Buffalo, "Now. Let's talk about who you work for shall---" Carradan was interrupted by a shuffling sound. He turned to see the other member of the pack, all ten of them, clustered around him. The last of his truncated sentence came out as a squeak, "...we?" The Alpha stepped forward. He was clearly the Alpha judging by his expensive steel armor plating, large well polished war axe, hulking build, and commanding demeanor. His voice was like iron against a sharpening stone, "Little Pegasus was foolish. To attack one Dog is to attack the Pack. And Pink Pony is all alone." Carradan stiffened, then cocked his head, this time in genuine curiosity, "Whatever gave you the idea I was alone?" A slight whistle caused the Alpha to begin to turn his head. But as soon as the motion had begun, it was reversed with a resounding 'THUNK!' The Alpha's head twisted completely in the opposite direction, teeth and blood-soaked fur flying from his collapsed jaw. The offending seventy pound, iron cored, steel plated Morningstar was withdrawn, pulling all eyes towards its owner. A fierce looking golden Gryphon with brown markings around his eyes. He calmly stepped forward and offered the bloodied Alpha a deadpan glance, "As I recall, he told you not to call him pink." The Gryphon offered the Pegasus a nod, "Stanley." "Varan. Fancy meeting you here." Varan nodded once at the Kappa, who had finally struggled to his paws, "Get anything from him?" Carradan shook his head, "Drunk, stubborn, stupid... And suffering a wicked case of halitosis, let me tell you." Varan nodded, "Ah. Then this will have to proceed the simpler way." The Gryphon raised his Morningstar, and glanced at the circle of growling, shuffling Diamond Dogs. Patrons were quickly vacating the tavern, and those who weren't, mostly Diamond Dogs themselves, were slowly taking up supporting positions behind the Trolls. "Which of you would like to go first?" The Beta turned from helping the Alpha to his paws, and strode directly up to Varan, glaring into the flaming seas of his golden eyes with an unusual lack of trepidation, "Gryphon would be wise to leave little Pony to us, and go. We might even let Gryphon keep his wings." Varan nodded, "You first then. Excellent." The Diamond Dog raised his weapon, a vicious looking pole-arm, to block an expected blow from Varan. But it never came. Instead there was a soft 'whoosh' followed by a wet 'THWOK.' The Beta stood in confusion for several seconds, before managing to cross his eyes and get a glance at the huge arrow buried firmly between his occipital lobes. Wordlessly, he keeled over backwards, dead before he hit the floor. Stan sighed and gestured with a hoof, "He should have worn a helmet." "At least this way he has both eyes intact for the funeral." The owner of the new voice stepped calmly down the stairs at the back of the room, moving on two legs as Gryphons were sometimes wont to do. The fiery red avian had a large sword at his back, gleaming sleek armor on his body, and carried a huge compound bow. He had already nocked another arrow to the wound-steel cables. His voice was even and measured, with a small hint of amused deadpan coloring the inflections, "Hello. I'm Fyrenn. I'd very much like for you mangy, mongrel, stinky, unwashed, gem-snorting curs to take a few steps back, and let my brother and his friend get what they need from your Kappa." Fyrenn pulled the arrow slightly more taut, creating a menacing twang in the bow's strings, "We are *not* interested in taking no for an answer. And I have a powerful urge to shoot something else, so I will *not* be disappointed if you want to test your luck." The Alpha, finally having regained some balance, roared and lunged at Varan, axe descending like a glittering arc of chain lightning. Varan smoothly stepped aside, moving so fast that only Fyrenn's eyes could even register the change immediately. The Alpha's Axe crashed into the bar, splitting the stone surface neatly in half, and leaving him well exposed to Stan, who laid into his ribcage with both hooves. The blow left the canine stunned more than long enough for Varan's Morningstar to find its target once more. As the weapon came away, it was made abundantly clear that the first blow had been a mere warning; The most obvious sign being the fact that half of the now-dead Troll's skull came away with the blood-soaked mace. Fyrenn grinned manically, "Alright then." Without further warning he loosed his arrow into the pause that followed, felling an opportunistic Vulpine who had been fingering a set of wicked looking throwing knives. The arrow was like the starting flag of a race. All hell quite promptly broke loose. The Creaking Pines Tavern, despite its run-down aesthetic, was well placed and frequently did good business. Situated at the juncture of four major roads and mountain passes, several of which led to mines, and one of which led to a railroad station, it was the last example of civilization one would encounter travelling North-East of the Equestrian Nation. The next closest substitute for 'civilization' came when one arrived at the outskirts of the Diamond Dog mining settlements of the region. The area had a reputation for being rough; It rained, snowed, sleeted, or fogged more days of the year than it was clear, by a margin of five to one. The Diamond Dog mining clans had fallen to dirty tactics to secure the dwindling gold and gem reserves of the mountains, the Gryphons to the east occasionally stepped in if anything became too violent, and even the Changelings occasionally took mines by surprise to get at stores of crystals. There was no law, short of the might a pack could leverage, or the swift and harsh instant justice marauding Gryphons often visited upon murderers, thieves, abusers, and Changelings when they randomly swept through. Named for the pine logs it was built from, and the many surrounding trees of the self-same species, the Tavern had remained a fixture of the crossroads for nigh on a century. The typical fog-laden silence of the paddock laid out before the building was abruptly shattered. A hulking Diamond Dog, entangled with a drunken buffalo, came careening through the front window. The pair tumbled head over hooves and paws, glittering shards of glass spiraling through the air around them. The rest of the fight followed swiftly; Fyrenn, Varan and Stan driven before a horde of furious Trolls, and a few assorted supporting Lupines and Vulpines. The latter were less concerned with the slight the friends had paid to the Troll pack, and more interested in simply taking out their vindictive racial hatred for Gryphons and their kith. Most Lupines and Vulpines were actually on good terms with the avians, but more than a few of the loners, and less reputable small packs, resented the forceful administration of justice the winged guardians were fond of dispensing. Stan, being almost as brittle of bone as the Gryphons, and not as muscularly strong as an Earth Pony, helped himself to the added dimension their air afforded him. He adopted his usual strategy; Wait for Varan to distract a pair of enemies, then abruptly assault one from the rear by flying high, then stooping at his maximum speed and impacting hooves first. Since he was a Pegasus, that velocity approached Mach 1.5 in a magic rich environ, and Carradan was a stocky example of his species. The impact would, if it didn't instantly kill or maim the target, keep it busy while the Gryphon eliminated the second hostile. Varan, for his part, was a terrifying whirling dervish of high-impact lethality. His wings also afforded him access to the sky, but in exchange for lower straight line speeds his Gryphic agility was several orders of magnitude higher than a Pegasus. Combined with the rate at which his avian brain could process events, and the incredible muscular flexibility of Gryphons, he could deal death with precise blows, to indefensible areas, at a high rate of speed, while dodging multiple incoming strikes. Fyrenn was similarly engaged, but in an even faster style, using hidden blades in his bow as close-in melee weapons to support his claws, squeezing off longer range shots whenever he had an opening, and dancing upward out of enemies' ranges as soon as they rounded on him. In the three years since his Conversion, Fyrenn had learned a great deal about Gryphic combat disciplines. His position as a Knight placed him firmly within the Alarians; Warriors equipped with light, foldable bows and the more oft favored long-sword, but over time he had been picking up Sagittarian techniques too, learning to wield arbalests and shorter blades. Despite the Gryphons' obvious prowess, which far outstripped the blunt, untrained, flailing style of the Diamond Dogs, the battle was slowly beginning to turn against them. Diamond Dogs, though slow and inflexible, were incredibly tough creatures. And the Trolls alone outnumbered the friends by over four to one. Fyrenn dodged a particularly fierce blow, and twirled the lower end of his bow, the hidden blade snapping out and finding a path thru a weakness in the offending Lupine's armor. The blow didn't immediately kill the Diamond Dog, but it bought Fyrenn the time to spin the weapon in reverse and bury the second blade in the canine's skull. The Gryphon ducked under an incoming pole-arm, leaving his bow behind temporarily, and gutted the offender with his bare claws. His opponents were making rookie mistakes, but the sheer profusion of them was beginning to wear on him. He spun up and over the newly made carcass, and drew his sword. As much as he loved the unconventional modifications his bow afforded, Fyrenn felt most at-home with a sword in his claws when fighting at close range. He flipped, sliced an enemy's head open with the tip of the weapon, rolled, and came down hard with his wings flared, knocking back two assailants who were pressing hard on Varan's defenses, even as his brother called out to him. "We can not sustain this indefinitely." Fyrenn shrugged, "If we have to retreat, then we have to. We can always snipe for a bit." As if somehow in response to the words, a pair of Trolls wheeled a large contraption out the doors of the tavern, and began locking wooden struts into place. Fyrenn recognized it as a badly made, but still lethal copy of a Gryphic weapon. A repeating heavy arbalest. Stan shouted out from above, "I take it that's a bad sign?" Varan grunted as he cleaved an offending Troll's arm off, "That is an understatement." Both Gryphons took to the air quickly, dodging and weaving like mad creatures as the pair of Trolls worked the fast-fire weapon, trying desperately to get up enough fire rate with the hand-cranked repeater mechanism to present a threat to their more nimble foes. While Varan held back, and tried to draw fire away from Carradan, Fyrenn dove straight for the weapon at an oblique angle. He cannoned into the crank operator, taking her by surprise and plunging his sword all the way through the neck joint of her armor. As she fell, he reached out with his free claw and snagged his bow from the Lupine carcass he had left it in. He tossed his sword skyward, swiftly yanked an arrow from the quiver, nocked, fired, then twirled the bow into the chest of the arbalest's operator just as the arrow impacted an enemy across the paddock. By the time the next Troll had arrived to assault him, the sword was already on its return trip. Fyrenn neatly caught the weapon, and began using it in tandem with his bow, to throw his enemies off balance. Unfortunately his tactic had drawn the attention of *all* the remaining enemies, and they had abandoned pursuit of Varan and Stanley, to focus entirely on the red Gryphon. Fyrenn decided to break out every weapon in his arsenal. Every Gryphon Knight's armor was made uniquely to their specifications. Fyrenn had insisted on the addition of spring-loaded hidden blades in the greaves, gauntlets, and wing-joint guards. As he struck, or defended with the plates, the lethal serrated edges would pop out and sever limbs, bisect arteries, and damage armor. At first, the presence of the seemingly invisible killing force gave his foes pause. But they rapidly learned which parts of the armor were lethal, and began to adapt. Gryphic armor was designed for maximum agility. While it was excellent protection given its light nature, it simply could not compare to heavy armor in terms of sheer deflection, and left many areas unprotected. As four particularly meaty Trolls closed in, and a pair of Vulpines took over the arbalest, Fyrenn began to feel nervous. That was when the first quarrel appeared in the nearest Troll's throat. The fracas continued for several seconds unabated, until the Diamond Dog's compatriots finally noticed the three inch thick, two foot long, solid steel projectile buried in their Beta's throat. All motion ceased. All eyes turned. On the roof of the tavern, Into the golden light of the sunset, stepped a black and white speckled Gryphon. A black and white speckled Gryphon wielding a massive Sagittar Arbalest, with a fresh quarrel already in the trough. The Gryphon shouted, his powerful throat sending the sound loudly and clearly through his yellow beak, "Attention ass-hoels! You are all at my mercy. I can hit a speck the size of the head of a pin, at five miles out and two miles up. I can reload this weapon in the time it takes you mongrels to blink. And these are solid steel armor-piercing quarrels with flaring tips that will rip your organs to shreds. Go back inside and lie down on the floor, or I will blow new holes in every single one of your little skulls." For an incredibly tense moment, no one spoke and no one moved. Fyrenn had just begun to think that they would have to kill every last one of their foes indeed, when the first Troll sullenly broke ranks, and obediently moved back into the Tavern. The action was like the opening of a floodgate; The anger-fueled blood-rage of the canines melted just as quickly as it had arisen. It was backed only by fury, no real courage. Seeing the carcasses of their fallen packmates, they had abruptly lost the desire to value valor above discretion. Fyrenn smirked, and sheathed his sword, carefully collapsing his bow as Carradan and Varan rejoined him. Stan glared up at the speckled Gryphon on the roof good naturedly, "Kephic! What the flamin' buckin' HELL were you doin'? Stopping for coffee?" Kephic calmly glided down to join his brothers, and the Pegasus, "I was... Detained by a party of re-enforcements." He paused and glanced between Varan and Fyrenn, smiling, "There are no more reinforcements. In case anyone was curious." Fyrenn chuckled, "And for reference, brother, its 'assholes' not 'ass-hoels.' Holes like holes in the ground, not hoels like hoes with an l. If you're going to swear in Terran, do it properly." Varan shook his head and rolled his eyes, "Semantics aside; We still need to acquire what we came here for." Kephic groaned, "I suppose we'll have to search this stinking lot then?" Carradan grinned wickedly, "Nope. I got what we came for right here." The Pegasus deftly withdrew a small dirty piece of cloth from the joint between his left wing and shoulder. He tossed it to Fyrenn, who unfolded it, and snorted in amusement, "How did you get this?" "Pulled it off the Kappa during the start of the scrum. That was the whole point." Varan glared, "Why did you not say anything after you had secured it?" "Would it have mattered?" Kephic chuckled, "Excellent point. Is it all there?" Fyrenn nodded, and held up the small, ill proportioned map, "The rendezvous is marked. Dumb mutt probably couldn't remember it without the map." Varan smiled, a terrifying expression, "So where are we going?" Fyrenn pointed to a small 'x' on the fabric, "West." As he unfurled his wings, Carradan cocked his head, "And when we get there?" Kephic clapped the Pegasus on the back, and spread his own flight appendages, "We do what we do best. Wreck everything in sight." Celestia hesitated. She had knocked once already, and she did not wish to disturb her sister if she was asleep. Despite Luna's attempts to hide the signs, Celestia knew she had not been getting as much rest as she needed. The Solar Monarch was about to depart, and find some other use for her free half-hour, when the doors finally opened. Luna looked fairly rested on first glance, but closer inspection revealed small, nigh imperceptible signs of exhaustion. Celestia had to work to keep her expression normal. She wanted to engulf her sister in both wings and rock her to sleep. But Luna was too proud for that. She had begun to feel coddled recently, and desperately desired to be trusted as an equal. So Celestia trusted her, opting to give her support in a more subtle fashion. "Still up at this hour?" Celestia stepped slowly into her sister's office, eyes carefully ranging over each item in the room for clues to Luna's state of mind. Luna nodded and returned to her desk. Her horn flared, and magical aura surrounded a pen, and several sheafs of paper, as she returned to the previous subject of her attention, "It is no small thing for you to make one of these trips sister. Especially at a time like this. There is much preparatory work to be done." Celestia sighed as she stepped to the window, noting by its covering of dust that the telescope her sibling was normally so fond of had not been touched for weeks, "Unfortunately it is times like this when my presence is most needed on Earth. Many lives are being endangered by the childish politics that seem to have taken over of late, and those who still side with us need all the leverage on public opinion that they can muster." "I understand..." Luna's pen scratched away at the reed-parchment, walnut ink flowing from the quill's tip at a voluminous rate, "I was simply noting that the circumstances here bear equal concern." "Which is why I think this is for the best," Celestia ambled over to the desk, and waited until her sister set down her writing implements, "You are better suited to issues of war, political strife, and the gathering of intelligence than I am. I have no doubt you sense the coming storm even more keenly than I do." Luna rose from her haunches, and stared absently out the window, "War *will* come to us. Make no mistake. I sense the stirrings as surely as the changing of the seasons." Celestia stiffened, ever-so-slightly, and raised an eyebrow, "War? Outright?" The Lunar ruler continued unabated, shuffling papers and taking notes as she went, not even stopping to look up, "Diamond Dog mercenaries, emboldened by an anonymous sponsor, press against the Gryphons' southern borders. Large contingents of Changeling Drones have been purportedly seen in the north-east mountain passes..." Luna finally paused, and locked eyes with her older sister, "And rumors speak of darker things further to the north. Whispers of a faceless, nameless terror that slowly encroaches on warmer climes each night, moving under cover of darkness. The same terror which we already know to be absolutely real, not mere ghost stories for the frightening of foals. The world is poised upon the brink. Conflict is inevitable." "All the more reason for you to be left in charge. With the separation of the barrier, anyone appealing your decisions to me will face difficulties. I can ensure such stalling moves could be made even more trying for any party interested in contradicting your judgement." Celestia did her best to convey reassurance in her expression, and tone, as she continued, "I have little love of war and its vulgarities. But I believe I have the wisdom to not only know when I am ill suited to a task, but to know when to apportion it to one better suited to it. You will do far better things for our Little Ponies than I ever could in this crisis." "Art thou sure they sentimentality hast not got the better of thee?" There was just enough of a playful trill to the words, and the tiniest hint of an upward curl to Luna's muzzle, to convey the humor. Celestia turned to face the balcony, smiling. The golden radiance of her sun bathed her fur in a comforting warm light. She closed her eyes and murmured softly. "Aye. Sentimental tho we be."