"Quite a sight, ey?" Bulletpoint asks Crimson as they both lean on the edge of the basket, gazing off into the expanse that is Equestria. All sorts of terrain can be seen from their elevation, the grassy plains in the middle of the land, the desert at the far west, the ice-capped sierra up north, and the mountainous regions of both the east and south.

"Sure is. Easy to ignore the world's troubles up here."

"Heha, yeah, I feel that. Up 'n the sky, ain't nothin' to bother ya'. Been dyin' to live away from the ground. After my second contract's done with the Guard, got myself thinkin' about movin' to that place roight over thea," he points his hoof to a distant form floating in the sky.

"What is that?"

"City 'a Cloudsdale. Place is as ancient as Equestria itself. One'a the first settlements ever made by ponykind, 'n more specifically, the pegasi."

"Cloudsdale. You mean to tell me that there floatin' mass is a city."

"Yeh."

"Made of... clouds."

"Everythin' ponies do gonna shake you up?"

"Hope you'd forgive me, ponies take the laws of physics as suggestions. Ain't no way we could live in clouds back where I'm from. How do y'all keep from fallin' right through?"

"Ah it's simple, mate. Pegasus magic."

"... Yeah. That makes a whole lotta sense," Crimson mumbles sarcastically.

"Other ponies can stand on clouds too, given they have the right spell on 'em. Oi, Swirl?"

"What?" she responds unenthusiastically from across the basket.

"Would a cloudwalkin' spell work fer our lad 'ere?"

"It is not species-specific. Assuming he personally does not possess any nullifying properties or resistance to magic, it should work on him as any other creature."

"Right as," he grins at Crimson. "Next time we're off, how's a tour of my future retirement sound?"

"Like a swell idea. I'd stare up at the sky as a kid 'n dream of walkin' on clouds. Be great to entertain my younger self." Bulletpoint clicks his tongue through his teeth in acknowledgement. Crimson returns to gazing at the expanse, taking interest in the mythical rainbow that continuously beams on the far-north of Equestria. Despite no rain and reflected light, it remains prominent and gorgeous. "Didn't you say you used to live up north?"

"Yeh. Right ova thea," he points his hoof, exactly where Crimson was looking.

"That's the 'Neighagra' Falls right under that lightshow'a colors?"

"That it is. Me house was just to the right of it, behind all that forest you see. Fuckin' awful lit'le village, it was. Probably still is. When I was a lad, I'd wake up every mornin' 'n get pissed off at that rainbow. Was always there, bein' an attention-whore in the sky. Somethin' so beautiful lookin' down on the piss-poor rats-nest where I lived. Always thought it was just mockin' me, a big ol' 'Fuck you' from lady nature 'erself. ... Easier ta' admire it now. Sixteen years away from that hole let me get my head on straight."

"You did good fer yerself, B.P. Takes a real man to drag himself outta the dirt. There's a lot to be learned there. I'd even say you'd make a good role-model."

"Me? A role-model? A crack-shot wanka with a swearin' and a drinkin' problem?" he chuckles heartily. "Not in a million years, mate."

"Yer too harsh on yerself, friend. We've all got a few knacks. Used to have a real bad temper when I was young, but my sister helped me sort it all out. 'N just like you, hard liquor 'n I have a history. Well, had one, I'd like to say. Been workin' on it fer the past five years though. Havin' that beer with you a few days back was a milestone fer me. Can't remember the last time I've got to drinkin' 'n didn't go overboard."

"Keepin' sober, ey! Hehehaha! Nah mate, make the mistake of stickin' with me, you'll always have a fizzy in hoof. Add Essie in to the mix, you're gonna get yeself in some wiiiild rides, mate."

Strix giggles and nods. Just then a strike of realization hits her and she rises from sitting, trotting towards Bulletpoint. "Ooh, dude! We should totally throw Crimmy a double party!~"

Crimson furrows his brows. "A what?"

"Ey, ey. Now that ain't a bad idea, Essie. Show this bloke how'ta truly fly, know what'm sayin'? Oi, Swirl, fancy joinin' us?"

"I do not."

"Aww, c'mon!" Strix whines, "remember how much fun you had last time?"

"No."

"... Would you like to come, Banter?" Strix offers to him cautiously, mostly out of politeness rather than genuine alms.

"Nah. I'm good," he replies quickly, secretly relieving her.

"What about you, cap'n?" Bulletpoint smiles at Snowfall. "You, too, had quite a time last we got diggy. C'mon, you know you wanna~"

Snowfall shakes her head slowly, "I'll decline."

"Stick in the mud you are, cap'n."

"Not on purpose. Even if we get time off, we don't know if we'll have an emergency. I need myself AND my best ready and waiting at all times. Understood?"

Bulletpoint nods with a smirk, "Course, cap'n. Loud 'n clear."

"B.P, I'm serious. I don't want you or Strix throwing any parties anytime soon."

"Ah nah, ye-ye!" his brows raise high. "Understood, understood!"

Snowfall sighs, knowing the possibilities full-well. She turns around and jumps up onto her hindlegs to peer off the basket towards the approaching mountain. "Helmets on, everypony. We're getting close."

At her command, the squad acquires their headgear. Bulletpoint, Banter, Strix, and Snowfall all plant solid steel helms with triangular openings, revealing their mouths, muzzles, and eyes. Swirl dons a tiara encrusted with three cobalt gems that gently glow once the piece rests on her head. Crimson only watches everyone complete their set, having no headgear of his own. Though he cares not for a helmet, he does wish he could get his stetson back.

"Hrr."

Snowfall turns her attention to Banter's disgruntled emission. She sees him acquiring a crossbow from one of the trunks he sat next to, taking a bolt with it and pulling back the retention string. "Banter, what are you doing?"

"Mmmh..." he hums as he rests the crossbow at the edge of the basket. He peers down the mounted scope and directs his aim... right at a griffon that is approaching them, along with a pack of seven more.

Everyone moves closer to Banter with heightened alertness. Crimson sees the mountain tops of the White Tail drawing near. He can see in the distance a camp surrounded by tall sturdy wooden pikes, and from that camp, griffons are flying towards their balloon. His brows furrow at their approach.

Banter puts his hoof inside the trigger-guard of the crossbow as the sights align on a griffon's forehead. He touches the trigger... applying the gentlest of pressure.

"Stand down, First Lieutenant," Snowfall rumbles harshly at him.

"... Mmh." After a moment, he abides his commanding officer's order. His soft pressure eases off the trigger, but he keeps his hoof inside the trigger-guard. He comes off of the scope and scowls at the approaching bodies.

Strix gasps when a griffon zooms by the basket, just barely missing it and the balloon above. Other griffons begin to repeat this movement, flying dangerously close to the balloon, gawking at it, but do not actually come into contact. While Strix looks around with concern, Crimson, Swirl, and Banter keep a gritting stare at the troops menacingly weaving around their balloon.

Snowfall appears the least-bit fazed by this interaction. She moves to take control of the burner again, easing the flame off and tugging on the ropes to control their slow descent towards the mountain. A clear patch near the east-end of the peak gives good room to stop. As she approaches her landing zone, the griffons that were gauging the balloon retreat and fly back towards the camp, leaving her team alone for the meantime. "Permission to acquire your weapons. Hopefully we don't have to use them."

"What was that, captain?" Strix asks worriedly. "They were just... flying around us!"

"Recon. Don't worry about it. If they wanted to take us down, they'd have tried to do it already."

The squad collects their utility belts from the trunk Banter took the crossbow from. Along with the belt, Strix acquires a sheathed sword, Snowfall a sheathed saber, and Swirl a hip-bag with scrolls. Bulletpoint reaches over and snatches the crossbow out of Banter's hooves, glaring at the stallion who took his weapon without permission, then reaches into the trunk to obtain a small dagger. Banter gawks back for a moment before rummaging through the trunk after Bulletpoint, pulling out an unassembled partisan. He screws one half of the staff to the bladed end, holding it pointed upward with his right arm once he puts it together.

Snowfall tosses a belt to Crimson after she gets hers on, seeing that he wasn't making an effort to get it himself. Crimson catches it and eyes it curiously, having not expected gear of his own. The belt contains several pouch compartments, consisting of two wrap bandages, an alcohol pad, some string, a hook, and a small amount of... some sort of substance. A purple liquid inside of a spray bottle. Crimson's expression hardens when it clicks. It's a compact unit of tranquilizing potion. At least it isn't being used against him this time.

He wraps it over his duster and clicks it together around his hips, right over the belt he already has on. It's big enough to fit comfortably at the last notch. Were his waist any bigger, it wouldn't have fit around him at all.

"Mm?" Snowfall hums questioningly as she holds up a sheathed sword for him. Crimson opens his hand in front of him, prompting her to toss it. He catches it and looks at it, scrutinizing it just as he did the belt. He isn't a technical expert in the design of blades, but he feels this weapon to be a little too light. Despite this, it has a sturdy feel and a decent length, maybe an inch or so less than a typical arming sword.

He follows suit to what he sees Snowfall and Strix do, attaching their sword at the hip by a notch on the utility belt. Once everyone is armed, Snowfall unhitches the basket door and pushes it open. She steps out with her team behind her, directing Strix to tie the balloon down to a nearby rock protrusion. The squad makes their way across the pebbled, uneven dirt terrain of the peak towards the fort.

"Think they were expectin' visitors?" Bulletpoint inquires.

"They should," Snowfall responds. "We had Scribes send letters to this camp's lieutenant. The lack of reply meant either we were ignored or they didn't feel the need to respond. Whatever the case, we need what they have."

"Permission to unsheathe if these shit-birds get militant?" Banter requests.

"Leave your weapon at your side, Banter. Standing order."

Once the team arrives at the front gate, they are met with two griffons guarding either side. On the left is a tall, slender female griffon, and on the right is a bulky male griffon. They scan their squinted eyes across the team but end up gluing their eyes to the bipedal sore thumb.

"Hail from Canterlot. I am Captain Snowfall of the Equestrian Royal Guard Elite."

"Yeah, yeah, we know who you are..." the male griffon on the right side utters while glancing between her and Crimson. "So. That's him, huh?" Everyone in the squad turns with question towards the tall man at the back. "Big red-head human. Hangs with ponies. Lives in Canterlot. Fits the bill."

"You got somethin' for me, partner?" Crimson raises his left brow.

"At ease," Snowfall calls for his silence. Crimson abides and holds his tongue, letting Snowfall handle the rest of the interaction.

"Hoholy shit," the male griffon chortles, "he does talk. Now that is fucking crazy. Think you could show us a little bit of that... angel magic?" Crimson keeps his tired, stoic expression held without response. "... Whatever. It's probably all bullshit anyway. Now then," he returns his attention to Snowfall. "What business your kind got with us today?"

"We're here to offer a trade to your camp lieutenant. We believe she is in possession of an item that the Royal Consortium deems important and would like to propose an offer."

The two griffons look at each other briefly, exchanging mischievous grins. "Where do you got the money? We've gotta make sure you aren't bullshittin' us."

"As representatives of the Consortium, I assure you we're not committing perjury."

"How do we know you ain't?"

"The details enclosed in the letters sent to your lieutenant specify all necessary information. If she has any further questions, I will be glad to answer. To her."

"We should let them in," the slender female griffon calls to her partner in a quick, antsy voice. "Lieutenant was talking about this a few days ago... remember?"

"Yeah, but--" the female griffon cuts off her partner by lifting her clawed finger and shaking it. They gaze at each other quietly, silently confirming something to one another. The male griffon looks back to Snowfall. "Alright. You can talk to the lieutenant. But. You pick two from your little team here to meet her. The rest gotta wait outside the tent. Good?"

"Understood," Snowfall affirms.

The griffon looks up towards a nest that overlooks the front gate above him. He points a finger to the sky and twirls it once at a griffon stationed in the nest. The gate begins to rumble and roll open towards the left, allowing entry into the camp. As Snowfall and her team are about to enter, the griffon steps in front of her and grumbles, "Be on your best behavior... mmkay?"

Snowfall eyes him boredly... and after a tense second, the griffon steps aside, letting her proceed. The squad walks together through the camp, through the judgmental eyes of the griffons that move about and perform their duties. As they walk between all sorts of pitches and tents, there is a prominent ruckus happening near the center of the camp. While difficult to see from all the tents, stacks of crates and supplies, piles of wood and weapons obstructing the view, Crimson sees a high condensation of griffons all grouped around something. Looks like some sort of platform.

The lieutenant's larger, more extrusive tent draws near. Two male griffons stand at the front, driving their squinting eyes towards the squad as they approach. Snowfall halts before them, having her team follow suit. The griffons side-step towards each other to block the entryway to the tent as they run their eyes between the entire team.

"... Swirl, Banter, on me," Snowfall orders. "The rest of you, eyes and ears."

Crimson, Bulletpoint, and Strix all take a few steps back, leaving Banter and Swirl right behind Snowfall. The griffons bounce their eyes between the three closest to them before they side-step back to their original locations. Snowfall strides forward towards the tent flap with her two squadmates tailing close. They enter the lieutenant's tent, walking into a candle-lit room with a desk sat right in the middle. Crates of supplies and items are lined at the edges of the room, and a futon rests at the far end.

The lieutenant herself sits at the desk with two griffons guarding either side. She writes into parchment with a quill, and keeps doing so as she doesn't immediately acknowledge the ponies that entered her pavilion. She even dips the quill into an ink well once it runs dry to continue writing rather than look up.

Snowfall takes it upon herself to initiate the interaction by firmly calling, "Hail from Canterlot. I am Captain Snowfall of the Equestrian Royal Guard Elite. I assume you already know why we're here."

The lieutenant finally stops writing. Her steely grey-blue eyes lift from the parchment to gaze at Snowfall. She slowly reaches for her rectangular reading glasses and removes them, placing them down on the desk. She sits up, directing her unreadable expression towards the captain. "Assumptions," she repeats with monotone. "Assumptions are dangerous, captain. A character of your position should know this."

"I'm not here to argue semantics, lieutenant, our business here is clear. We would like to propose an offer for the artifact under your possession."

"... Hmh," the lieutenant hums, looking back down to the parchment she was writing in. "Yes, well... I'm afraid that there is a... problem with your request."

‎

‎

Crimson, Strix, and Bulletpoint stand next to each other quietly, keeping their senses heightened. The commotion occurring not too far off at the center of the camp demands Crimson's attention repeatedly. He assumes that this single faded-green tent blocking his view is the only thing stopping him from getting a view, so he decides to break formation to walk around it.

"Oi. Mate." Bulletpoint calls as he and Strix see Crimson walk off.

He doesn't take more than a few steps before he hears a voice bellow over Bulletpoint's, "Hey!" One of the griffons guarding the entrance flap hollers at him. "Where're you going?"

"Curious about the turbulence goin' on," Crimson replies simply.

"Oh, that?" the griffon snickers. "The talking human's a curious one. Well, hey, if you wanna go check it out... go right ahead." Crimson's brows raise in surprise at the generous yet mildly unsettling demeanor of the griffon's tone. As he turns to walk again, he is verbally halted once more. "But, he's watching your ass," the griffon says as he grabs his guarding partner by the back of the neck and shoves him forward towards Crimson. The mishandled griffon grunts and furrows his browline in annoyance. "You two ponies stay right here though. Can't have you all wandering around the camp now."

Crimson looks towards Bulletpoint and Strix, taking in some approving glances from them. Strix takes a few steps closer to Crimson, calling him in for a whisper. He ducks his ear close to her muzzle. "If you find anything out, like... make sure you tell us."

"And mate," Bulletpoint calls gravely. It definitely takes Crimson by surprise seeing this specific stallion fix up with a heart of conviction. "If anythin' goes down, you don't fight. You come back. Don't care what, don't care who, you come right back. 'M I clear?" Crimson stares back at him with pure sobriety and nods twice. "... Right as," his activated attitude slowly restores to its usual self.

Crimson turns his attention to the bitter griffon having to lead him, letting him move on. This griffon walks with burning agitation, leading Crimson past the tent, now presented with a dirt path that leads towards the center of the camp. Turns out that the single green tent wasn't the only thing blocking them from the show.

"Fucking asshole," the griffon whispers once out of earshot and line of sight.

"Hn, you can say that again. He threw you at me like a mutt."

"Now you know the world's gone to shit when the magic talking human's got a better grasp on the fundamentals of respect than my own kind. Yeah, believe it or fucking not, I've been dealing with this shit for a while now, all because of a mission that I 'failed' to complete. Not only was it not my fault everything went to tartarus, but thanks to me and my sister, we're still fucking alive and we came back with something."

"The hell happened?"

"... It's a long story, I'm not getting into it right now."

"Understood. So this hazin' shit's sorta yer punishment?"

"No. Getting deranked was my punishment. Now that I'm at the ass-end of the chain of command, I'm a prime target for shit-flinging. Can't do a damn thing about it because nearly everyone else here is my 'superior.'"

Crimson puts his hands in his duster pockets, feeling the sword bounce against his hip as he walks. "If this place is that bad, why don't you scram on outta here?"

"Don't--!" He stops and snaps towards Crimson, forcing him to halt as well. He turns his eyes around himself for a moment. "... Don't say that so loud. Get us both into fucking trouble. ... Hrgh, you think I haven't tried? I don't know how they do it, I don't know how they keep catching us, but they do."

"'Us?' Reckon you mean yer previously mentioned sister?"

"You got it. ... Pretty smart for a human. Guess I shouldn't be surprised, all things considered. You were the talk of the camp for an entire week a while ago."

"I'll try to take that as a compliment. I'm surprised I'm known outside'a Canterlot. Now you got me wonderin' how much of Equestria knows. Word's spreadin' mighty quick."

"You're 'surprised?'" The griffon raises his claw, palm out, as if narrating a headline, "Extraterrestrial angel human slays dragon single-handedly." He drops his claw back down, raising his browline to Crimson.

"Now how in the hell do y'all know about that?"

"Like you said, word travels quick. You tell one set of ears, it'll wind up in ten more. Those ten? A hundred. A hundred?" Crimson sighs and rubs his forehead, acquiring a metallic taste in his mouth at the lack of privacy he now suffers. "Only reason these griffons haven't tried anything crazy on you today is that you're working for pony royalty. As much as they like to look tough, they're not gonna do shit against the crowns. My advice? Stick with them. Stay away from gangs if you can help it."

"You trust me, friend, I'm the last bastard in the world that's ever gonna get stuck with a gang."

"Good," the griffon smiles slightly, looking Crimson in the eyes. "... You know, I think I might like you. Not that you asked, but... name's Fawl, by the way."

"Crimson. And, uh, try'n keep that name to yerself. Don't want everyone to know everythin' about me." Fawl gives an acknowledging nod. "Now, back to what we were sayin' earlier, with you tryin' to, uh... y'know," he leans in and mumbles, "skidaddle outta here. How's it they keep sniffin' you out?"

"Told you, we don't fucking know. We..." he sighs, lowering his voice, "we always made sure to cover our tracks and keep our plans quiet. We've tried escaping two times now, both ended in disaster. Next time we're caught leaving the camp without the lieutenant's permission, what you're about to witness is gonna happen to us." Crimson's expression falls with dubiety. Fawl rolls his eyes and keeps walking, "Come see for your fucking self. And try not to talk."

Crimson is led to the center of the camp past one last cluster of tents. He is presented with a spacious clearing with a crowd of griffons gathered around a hardwood stage built directly in the middle. He realizes quickly that this is no stage for plays, but for execution. Three griffons are set on this long elevated platform, standing over trapdoors with nooses being tied around their necks by their own kind. Their wings are bound to their sides, their front claws bound behind their backs, forcing them to stand on their lion-like hindlegs. These prisoners have a mix of expressions, two of them look hateful and intense, while another is quaking.

Crimson returns his attention to Fawl, seeing that he is still walking. He continues to follow him, ignoring the critical eyes he's drawing by being so close to the pack of griffons awaiting their spectacle. Fortunately, these griffons seem too far up their own asses to even acknowledge his existence farther than a quick gawking. Whether they stare at him because he's an abnormal human or because he's apart of the Royal Guard Elite is another question. He reckons it's a mix of both.

Fawl stops at the far left of the pack, leaning forward to whisper near a female griffon's ear. The female griffon turns herself when she catches sight of Crimson, her expression gleams in wonder.

"It's you!" she calls with her grainy, high-pitched voice, just above a whisper.

"Howdy," Crimson replies at equal volume. "Fawl's sister, I reckon?"

She nods quickly. "Tawl! That's me!"

"Pleasure to meet you--"

Fawl runs his claws at his neck repeatedly, causing Crimson to stop. He glances around himself quickly, affirming his suspicion that other griffons are actively watching them interact. He looks towards the stage with narrowing eyes, driving Tawl and Crimson to follow suit.

"Now!" calls a male speaking griffon who is coming up onto the stage. He stands with a high chin, a soft expression, and a decorated scimitar hanging off his hip. "We are gathered here for the second time this month. Yes. The second time this month. Our station, the White Tail West Watch, has stained the pride of the Featherline once again. We are ALL tarnished together, for the mistakes of one... are the mistakes of all. Whether superiors could not keep their wings in line, or a wing's misguided tribute leads to a series of unfortunate events..." he slowly turns to face the three captives gripped by the hangman's knot, "... or a sacred trust is shattered in the name of defiance." The prisoners stare back at him, churning under the pressure of his startlingly calm expression. "And for these mistakes, we must atone. We must give back what we took from the Featherlines." He turns back to face the crowd again. "Here before you, three wayward souls stand present. Undeniably confused in their ways. Today, they will atone for their mistakes. For tarnishing the very flag they swore oath to."

The crowd riles up in indignation towards the prisoners. Their berating shouts are only silenced by the griffon speaking on the stage after he raises an opened claw.

"I feel as you all do," he places his right claw on his chest. "It is truly a wistful feeling for our own to contrive against us." He turns to face the prisoners again, turning both his head and his eyes to look at each of them individually. The prisoner on the farthest left is gritting angrily at him, the prisoner in the middle is stern and critical, and the prisoner on the right is still sobbing uncontrollably. "Raylash Wind. Einker Chain. And Yoko Laila. You three have been condemned to death for treason. May your next life serve with greater purpose... than the one you thew away today."

"Nu-no! P-Please!" the sobbing prisoner Yoko cries. "Please! I'm sorry! It was a mistake! It was always a mistake, a-and I see that now! I-I'll give my life for the Featherlines! I'll do anything! Please give me a second chance!" The crowd of griffons begins to boo and scowl harshly, causing her to whimper further. "I'm so sor-ry-he-heee!"

The speaking griffon's calm stare turns to sympathy. He slowly walks towards Yoko, standing at her front. He reaches forward and gently wipes forming tears from her right eye while he gazes into it. "... You had beautiful eyes, Yoko. Green and glimmering as the mildew grass in a Spring morning. Though a mere squad member, you had so much potential. You followed orders to a T, and your willingness to press against difficult odds was always admirable. You were a gift to us... and I truly believe you will become better."

"R-Really!?" she cries through a sob.

"You will. I know you will. Do not tarnish your next opportunity... on the other side." He smiles at her as he reaches for the lever at her side.

"... Hwait... no... no! No-no-no!" Jck-clink! "HE-AHK! AAHK! HAAHK!" Yoko's hindlegs kick wildly as she is suspended from her neck by the constricting rope. Purposefully left without enough drop-froce to instantly kill her, she hangs alive, and her body wiggles left and right in her pure desperation. The platform's assembly was instrumented for this particular suffering.

The speaking griffon watches her struggle for a moment... then nonchalantly walks to the next prisoner. They exchange stares for a silent moment. "... Nothing to say for yourself, Einker?"

"Shut up and get this over with," he grumbles aggressively.

"... You always were fearless. One of the best frontline combatants I had the pleasure to stand alongside with. It doesn't surprise me you are so willing to take your rebirth with courage. A most earnest farewell." He reaches to the lever and pulls it, springing the trap from under Einker. He falls through and is jolted at his trachea, but hardly fights or croaks. He keeps his chin tucked and hangs quietly. With a proud smile, the speaking griffon turns to walk to the last prisoner. "... And Raylash."

"Good afternoon, Second Lieutenant," he replies with sarcasm.

"Indeed, a very good afternoon. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, a gentle breeze in the air, not too hot and not too cold... a perfect afternoon. Tell me, Raylash... why would one of the West Watch's highest ranking troops commit such... treachery? A priceless relic to be preserved and studied... stolen? Stolen and then given right into the claws of our enemy? Why?"

"Why?" Raylash cackles. "Reasons, Second Lieutenant, reasons. Reasons that I feel are far beyond your limited scope of ideologies. Had I the time or will to explain it to you, I would waste my breath. The Sleeping Talons... they have a certain knack for knowing things, getting into things... planting a seed where the soil is more fertile." His wicked grin turns to a questioning grimace when the speaking griffon offers no rebuttal, he only stares in a curious silence. "... Why the eyes, Second Lieutenant?"

"I am only thinking... how you and I are very alike. It is a shame that you chose this path. You could have become something great. Perhaps, something even greater than yourself. Than all of us. Many eyes were watching you, rooting for your progress... now, those same eyes gaze down upon you with disdain. But, it matters not now. This is the direction in which the marble of life chose to trundle. There is no sense in lingering on the past." He reaches for the lever, giving Raylash one last glance. "Do know that your attempts at secrecy are for naught."

"Hehehe. I highly doubt that, Second Lieutenant. --GHK! HIK!" The trapdoor under him gives way when the lever is pulled. His body autonomously struggles against the asphyxiation, flinching and twisting with vanity.

The speaking griffon steps back and watches the three prisoners hang. Yoko is still writhing, eyes bloodshot and tearing, saliva running from the corners of her beak, but the slow greying of her irises speaks impending freedom. Einker is motionless, save for gentle kinetic energy of his suspension turning him left and right. It's difficult to tell whether he's dead or not... and if he isn't, he will be soon enough. Raylash only just started his path to liberation, but he fits perfectly, being the last to die as the leader of this miscreant team.

The speaking griffon hardly even realized the crowd behind him had started cheering wildly, celebrating this public execution. His hearing ceases to drown them out, and instead embraces them with a satisfied smile.

Tawl looks to Crimson, seeing the serious expression on his front. He watches the dangling prisoners as they suffer a slow, uncomfortable death. He already knows that this world is some sort of wayward parallel existence to his own, but being witness to this practice again only affirms it.

A strange calm fills the air. The cheering crowds are drowned away, the clanking of metal and stomping of the dirt is muted to silent thumps. He feels a soothing breeze touch his face, one that he finds... unpleasant.

"SHIT!"

Crimson and the siblings, along with every other griffon in the crowd, look towards the sudden cry of distress. It came from the front gate of the camp, hidden from sight by the mass of tents.

"PROCEDURE SIX! WE HAVE INCOMING!" the griffon at the gate watch tower yells. "THEY'RE FUCKING EVERYWHERE!"

"Procedure six?" Tawl and Fawl both repeat.

"What does that mean?" Crimson asks hurriedly. His dilating eyes focus above him as he catches a small glint in the sky. "... Get down!" he shouts as he raises his forearm up, standing above the siblings with his legs shoulder-width apart. His eyes begin to sheen with energy as a golden shield forms into reality, just in time to absorb the barrage of iron-tipped arrows littering the camp from every angle. Tawl and Fawl gasp with caught breath, ogling up at the man who saved them.

The griffons from the crowd aren't as fortunate, with many suffering the hail of death. Cries of agony ring as flesh is pierced by the alacritous projectiles. Blood quickly drips from their punctures, moistening the dry dirt of the camp.

"... Herhk, yohrk--"

The speaking griffon who stands mortified on the stage, miraculously unscathed from the barrage, turns quickly after hearing an active croak come from Raylash.

"... You-hk... eheh." With the few remnants of his consciousness, he smiles mockingly... then dies.

"You... you foolish worm!" the speaking griffon clamors. He turns back to face the rest of the camp, witnessing the power of the station severed in one fell swoop. Over a dozen troops lie dying or dead from their wounds, and the remaining Featherline troops are all scampering to acquire their gear and weapons. He fails to catch sight of the human that had displayed his indescribable power, leaving only himself and his quelled strength. Judging from the amount of arrows that rained down upon them, the numbers that lie beyond the wooden posts are too great to overcome. But, with a grit of ire and determination, he draws his scimitar from his sheathe and points to the grey and yellow flag that flaps in the midday breeze above the camp. He bellows to the Featherlines around him, "UNDER THIS FLAG WE FIGHT! FOR THIS FLAG, WE DIE! FEATHERLINES, CHAAARGE!" And in response, he receives warring shouts from his troops.

From around the wooden borders of the camp, countless Sleeping Talon troops emerge simultaneously, effectively surrounding the camp from all sides. These griffons, dressed in dark blue, form-fitting attire, all aim their crossbows into the camp as one unit. But, with a rallying cry from the Featherline strength, they take into the sky with arms of their own and press two attacks on opposites sides, splitting the Sleeping Talon focus. Featherline troops are shot as they ascend, costing them further numbers, but the gap in per-unit combat effectiveness is presented clearly when they body their oppressor.

The aerial exchange begins, bodies and blood begin to fall from the sky, staining the mountain of White Tail.

‎

‎

"I see," Snowfall mutters sorely. "How long ago did this happen?"

"Yesterday morning," the lieutenant replies. "Featherline patrols were fast enough to catch the act, but not nearly fast enough to suppress the exchange. As far as this station is concerned, the artifact is adrift and forfeit."

"No possible leads?"

"An entire day of excruciating physical punishment against the perpetrators yielded no information. Because of numerous security breaches demanding strict attention, we decided to cut our losses. The prisoners are being executed as we speak and we will not postpone it for any reason. Apart from these prisoners, there is no information about the artifact's whereabouts. I will now firmly declare that we have no further business."

Snowfall's expression hardens, "I believe we still have much more to talk about. I understand your hesitancy to cooperate with the Consortium, but this relic cannot be lost."

"What is it about this relic that you seek? Mm? Its power? The ability to manipulate time?"

"The use of the artifact is for the research team to determine."

The lieutenant stares upwards boredly. "Then I will ease your campaign. The artifact arrived into this station broken. Whatever properties it held, it no longer possess them after its destruction."

The expression of all three ponies quickly turn with ire. Snowfall purses her lip in thought, formulating an after action report on the relic in her head. All information previously given is now obsolete, their objective returns to an absence without lead, and worse yet, destroyed.

"SHIT!"

At the same time, everyone in the lieutenant's tent turns around at the sound of a loud yell. And another. Then chaos. The two griffons at the lieutenant's side draw their scimitars and walk towards the tent flap. One of the griffon guards reaches for the tent flap and peers out... "... FUCK!" he shouts as he and his mate bounce back into the tent. The roof is suddenly pelted by a number of arrows, none penetrating the thick felt, but coming deathly close. "LIEUTENANT, YOU NEED TO EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY!"

The tent flap is pushed open when Bulletpoint and Strix dash in, eyes dilated and hearts racing. Bulletpoint has an arrow stuck on the backside of his armor, fortunate that it did not penetrate. "FUCKIN' A!" he calls as he looks back at himself, seeing the projectile lodged in his plate. He then looks back at the panting Strix, placing his hooves all over her body as he pats her down. "You 'lright, Essie!? You good!?"

"Thanks to you! You literally saved my butt, B.P!"

"Ye, well, me armour's the real hero 'ere!"

"Hey!" Banter shouts at them, gripping his partisan tighter, "the fuck's going on out there?"

"No idea, mate! But I do know that we've got a bloke out thea still!"

Snowfall shifts her furrowed eyes across Strix and Bulletpoint. "... Where's Crimson?"

"He-- ah, he--" Bulletpoint stammers as he tries to explain with as little damage as possible.

"He broke formation and wandered off," Snowfall assumes sharply. Bulletpoint nods. "Celestia help him." She turns to the bemused female griffon, "Give me a sitrep, lieutenant."

"It appears we're being raided," the lieutenant replies simply. She looks upwards to the ceiling, gauging the arrows that poke through. "By the Sleeping Talons no less. It was foolish of me to have not realized our security was far beyond compromised."

Snowfall sighs and adjusts her helmet, "They picked a really great time to do this."

"Captain," Banter begins, "we finally permission to unsheathe?-- Hn?"

The tent flap is blown apart as a tall mass breaks in. The two griffon guards and Banter draw their weapons at it. The three of them look up to meet the hazel eyes of the man who holds two other griffons in his arms.

"He has prisoners!" one of the guards calls.

"No he fucking doesn't, jackass," Fawl grumbles.

"Put your damn weapon down, Banter," Snowfall utters in annoyance. Banter huffs loudly in frustration and returns his partisan to his side.

The guards look in confusion as Crimson lets both of them down. Tawl immediately looks up towards him, eyes glimmering in adore.

Crimson promptly meets the terribly unimpressed stare of Snowfall. "You and I are going to have a talk later," she rumbles. "What's the status out there? Has the perimeter been breached?"

"Not yet, I reckon they're gonna ready another of them hailstorms. Ain't gonna lie to you Snowfall, shit's gettin' fucked out there. They got us outnumbered 'n outgunned. I ain't sure we can fight what they're dishin' out without leavin' in a casket."

"To make matters worse!" Fawl continues, "Half of our camp was struck down by that first barrage! If they're setting up another, there's no fucking way we're gonna survive! Shit's not getting fucked, we ARE fucked!"

"Lieutenant!" the same griffon guard as before calls again, "you have to evacuate! Now! We'll hold them off as long as we can!" With these words, both griffon guards dash out of the tent and into the ring of death.

The lieutenant blinks slowly, listening close to the sounds of war breaking out just outside her tent. She looks down at the parchment she was writing in for a moment before she decides to roll it up. She moves to acquire a hip-bag from the left side of her desk and she gets it on quickly. She pulls her chair back and reaches down, taking the handle to a trapdoor that lies right under the desk. She opens it and stands back up, glancing towards the members of the Elite squad. "It would be an irremovable stain on the Featherline flag if pony blood was shed here. I advise you all to move quickly."

Without hesitation, Snowfall takes the lead and moves around the desk. She sees that this hidden passage has a ladder that climbs down to a dark hole, barely visible from the candlelight that illuminates the tent. She turns around, heading flank first down the ladder. Strix moves after, then Swirl, following Banter, Bulletpoint, and finally Crimson. As Crimson moves to take the ladder down, Tawl and Fawl follow him to make the descent.

"And where do you think you're going?" the lieutenant hums coldly at the siblings. Tawl and Fawl both ogle back at her in fear. Crimson halts his descent, looking up at the interaction.

"Crims'n!" Bulletpoint calls from below, "what'dya waitin' for, mate?"

Crimson climbs back up the ladder and stands before the lieutenant. He fixes her with a stern glare as he states, "They're with me."

"... Treason, is it?"

"Not when the team you're switchin' to has the same enemy."

"... Tawl, Fawl," the lieutenant eyes them without interest. "Let me be very clear. The moment you descend down this ladder, you will be condemned. You will be attacked and killed by Featherline troops on sight."

Fawl's intimidated stature slowly hardens for anger. "So I run back out there, without a weapon, and die for a cause I don't give a fuck about, OR, I die to the same cause that has made my life worthless? Yeah, I think I'm fine with those conditions, Silvershade."

"Do not call me by my name."

"Or what? File me for insubordination? Fuck you, and fuck the Featherlines." Fawl marches around the desk, passing both Crimson and the lieutenant as he descends down the ladder. Tawl follows quickly, clenching her beak tightly at her brother's act of defiance.

Once the siblings make it down, Crimson smiles firmly at the lieutenant and raises his hand to the trapdoor. "After you, Silvershade."

The lieutenant plasters her unamused eyes at Crimson with little emotion. She turns away with the same carelessness and begins her descent down the ladder. After everyone makes it down, Crimson moves to the ladder, grabbing the desk chair by its leg and yanking it towards him so it looks less disturbed. He closes the hatch on his way down, leaving the lieutenant's office empty and unassuming.

Next Chapter: Prepositional Phrases Estimated time remaining: 22 Hours, 14 Minutes