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Prologue1,145 words
Out Of Options1,656 words
Setting Out1,826 words

Setting Out

Author’s note: This map (http://hlissner.deviantart.com/art/Equestria-and-beyond-rev-8-1-253465186), specifically the segment with Equestria and the Griffon Kingdoms, is the rough geography I’m using for the fic. Refer to it for a basic idea of the larger setting.

Whoo-hooo! New Chapter! Admittedly, not much happens here, but things will pick up, quick! Next chapter will spotlight how things are going in Equestria, and (hopefully) introduce our antagonist(s). Enjoy!

Kara experimentally flexed her wasplike wings, the gossamer catching the pink-orange glow of the rising sun, and giving off a low bzzzt as they sliced through the air. Idly, she gazed southward out the cave’s mouth, at the mountains and caves that dominated the Gryphon Kingdoms--and towards Equestria. It had only taken a week for her and Sark to prepare for their journey, but it had seemed an eternity. Leaving the Hive behind was bad enough--tenders only left when the colony went to find a new home, or to help scout for sources of emotion. To leave for hostile lands (Sark had refused to call Equestria anything but that) and break tradition so...it was terrifying simply for how unprecedented it was. And if the plan failed; if Celestia wouldn’t receive them, or even spare their lives...but, it had to be done. There was no other choice.

A dark chuckle came from the shadows. “Standing in the light may help with your musing, Tender Kara, but it also helps some enterprising scout or spy see you before you can disguise.” Kara flinched, but didn’t turn. She knew it was Sark; Chrysalis had ordered that they not be bothered before setting out.

Kara smirked, showing a fang. “Better to know the skies one will be flying in then blindly take off into the blue, Praetor,” she answered, sliding into a shadow as the big male sauntered next to her, his black crystal armor showing recent polish. A Tender speaking like that to a Praetor was unheard of even in this time of shattered traditions, but for them things were...different. Sark had always been an exacting perfectionist, and his meticulous standards had extended to bringing about the new broods. He seemed to think that his matings with Kara had produced the best and most younglings, so he had declared Kara an exemplary mate. Most of his “duties” during Hatching Seasons had been with her. Despite the hopes of naive gossipers, that hadn’t been out of any sort of affection; fraternization between the castes was taboo. Still, they had a sort of understanding that allowed for Kara to speak to him so directly.

Sark snorted and rolled his eyes. “It’s time to head out. I take it you’re ready?” It wasn’t a question so much as a challenge. Understanding between them or not, Sark was still first and foremost of the warrior caste, down to the brusque manner. As if on cue, four drones emerged behind him, looking haggard but strong.

“Cohort reportin’ fer duty, Boss,” one of the drones reported, sketching a salute. “Give the order, an’ we’ll get movin’.” Kara fought down a laugh at the drone’s behavior. He sounded like he came right off the streets of Manehatten, and his manner seemed to hold little regard for deference to his commander. Unusually for a drone, he wore...something like a helmet. It looked rugged enough--the metalwork of the dark grey steel was top quality--but the thing was just...wrong. It wasn’t fit for a Changeling’s head at all; the shape was too rounded. A hole had been crudely punched through the forehead for the drone’s horn, and the straps holding the whole assembly on his head looked scrounged together from random bits of fabric and leather.

Wait...it’s not even really a helmet! That’s a coalscuttle! This time, Kara couldn't hold back her laugh at the aloof drone’s improvised armor.

Sark shot her and the helmeted drone a glare, but quickly returned to his normal stoic demeanor. “As always your timing is flawless, Scrap. Even in times like this--” he waved a gauntleted hoof, somehow encompassing all the world--“I can count on you to be ready and reliable...” He gave a comically stoic sigh, “...and to show a lack of deference for protocol that borders on insubordination. I see you’ve conjured up yet another piece of unauthorized armor...I’m not even going to ask where you got that scuttle.” With a dignified snort, he addressed the group. “Enough. We set out immediately. Scrap, you will fly on Tender Kara’s wing. The rest of you are with me, standard formation. Disguise yourselves once we’re out of our territory; we’ll be in hostile lands, and this will be a long flight--a few days, at most.” He looked Scrap over again, steel-grey eyes narrowed in a cold, tight glare. “And this is...a ‘diplomatic’ outing. If any of you attack the Equestrains without provocation, or otherwise distress myself and Tender Kara’s attempts to sue for peace, there will be consequences. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Praetor!” The drones chorused. Even Scrap had gained some formality.

“In that case, set out!” They all took to the air and darted out of the cave, Sark and the three drones leading the way in a tight V-shape. They flew in near perfect sync; any changes in course by Sark were quickly mimicked by his comrades. Kara and Scrap followed behind them, in a much looser formation.

“You’re wonderin’ how I got my helmet, aren’t ya?” Scrap asked suddenly, startling Kara. As he spoke, he flew a series of slow, lazy corkscrews around her, still managing to stay on course with Sark’s formation. The sun reflected hazily off his ersatz helmet at the top of his loops. “And it’d be a safe bet to say that you’re puzzlin’ over why Sark hasn’t clipped my wings and thrown me offa the biggest mountain he can find, right?” He reached the top of another loop, then suddenly broke hard to the right and went into a sudden dive--almost straight into Kara. Kara let out a strangled curse--this drone is insane!--and made to dodge...but then, Scrap suddenly jinked right, and with a quick flip-twist motion, he leveled out beside her. He showed no sign of exertion whatever, and his face betrayed no anxiety, as if he pulled maneuvers like that all the time. “So, are you curious, n’ all? About the helmet and such?”

Kara gave the the helmeted drone a long, wide-eyed look. Was this the aloof, borderline-insubordinate drone from just this morning? “...Yes,” she answered. That was incredible flying! Where did he learn to do that?

Ahead, they heard Sark shouting over the wind. Some of the words were whipped away, but Kara managed to catch “stop showboating” and “egg-addled nitwit”. Sark snickered and rolled in the air, still managing to keep pace with the others. “As you can probably see, I’ve got a knack for flyin’ in ‘un-con-vent-ional’ ways--and he likes that much about me, at least; knows I could be a real devil in a fight--and I have, lemme tell you! Can’t fight what you don’t expect, after all,” he finished, giving her a lopsided grin. “As for the helmet: no big story there, just snatched it offa some griffon a while back--swiped it right outta his tent when he was sleepin!”

The sun was higher in the sky now, and pinks and oranges in the sky were giving way to blue. The mountains and canyons below were slowly coming alive as creatures rose from their slumber. “Tent? Was the griffon alone...out here?” Kara waved a hoof at the scene below--beautiful as they were, these lands were mostly empty: ignored by the always-squabbling Griffon Kingdoms for richer lands--and kept that way by the Hive’s so-called “allies”, until the Queen’s defeat.

Scrap snorted. “Yeah, he was alone. One a’ those caravans that ‘did business’ with the Hive ‘til we weren’t useful to ‘em anymore.” His face twisted into a scowl...then a smirk. “So, I figured swiping this”--he tapped a hoof against the helmet--”was fair play.” His head suddenly snapped up, blue compound eyes locking onto Sark’s flight. “Boss is about to fly low; looks like we’re in griffon country for real now.” They dove after the Praetor’s flight (Scrap ignored Sark’s complaints about “showboating”, foregoing just angling downwards for rolling over and diving after them, shifting to the form of a white bird mid-maneuver. His helmet assumed the likeness of a bushel of grey feathers.) Kara followed him down, likewise changing her form. By the time the flight had leveled off, now coasting through a rocky valley, there was no sign of Changelings. Only seven nondescript white birds soaring through the rocks and trees and mountains.

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Not that they went unnoticed.

A stocky, grimy-looking griffon perched high in a tree, talons digging into the branch. His yellow eyes glinted as he watched seven Changelings shift to the forms of birds and dive out of sight. “Bad time for a pleasure flight, bugs,” he chuckled. What were those little freaks thinking, flying around like this? Their overgrown ant colony was in shambles, so their so-called Queen (what was the wench’s name, Chryssy or something?) would need all the help she could scrounge together--”Wait a minute. The bugs are heading straight south; right towards pony country.” News of the Changeling attack on the pony capital was still coming in. The little freaks wouldn’t dare send another force there, not after the curb-stomping they’d been given. The gaggle he had seen was too small for that, anyway. “If they aren’t attacking, then what....” Slowly, realization dawned. The griffon didn’t laugh, so much as give a series of harsh, ugly squawks.

Yellow eyes flashing with malice, he lept from the branch and spread his muddy brown-grey wings, taking to the sky. If the bugs were desperate enough to go crawling to the ponies for help, then they were truly finished--and not a good “ally” any more. His laughter boiled up again as he flew off. “You bugs have been really generous to us, but it looks like our little ‘partnership’ is up.” The monologue came on a whim, interspersed with the girffon’s laughter. “Nothing personal, but we can’t let word get out that we worked with ya. And you're just not useful any more, either--can't have that!” He instinctively flexed his talons. “So, you have to disappear, permanently. Nothing personal, just good business!” His cackles continued as he soared away.

Where to go first...Ah, there’s always Fireholm. Yeah, best excuse the Diamond Dogs have for a city. Better hit the tavern first; I LOVE those Changeling eggs!

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