The gong struck two times, echoing through the desert camps. The entire ground was the shining diamonds of tan and brown, stretching from hills to dunes to mountains of glistening sand. Fifteen tents spread out by three in rows of five. Their slim silky entrances were whipped away and pinned to the top, revealing two stallions in each tent drowsily pouring out like a sputtering faucet.
They were all dressed in black and purple robes, wrapped two slim layers over a deck of padded armors and sheaths. The gong struck again, the apparent desert guards reaching back into their tents and pacing back out, back to their former spots. They lifted a two-piece cloth to their heads, wrapping it around their snouts, tying it around their necks.
They moved the second piece and expanded it to their chin to their jaw joint, then proceeded to wrap it around their head, and expand the top to cover the back of their head, where they proceeded to tie it at the nape, just above the previous one.
Some remained inside their tents, returning out with jewels decking across their masks, or gems hanging off their charcoal and black robes, miscolored cloth being thrown around their being, along with extra armor plates for those who don't think it's never too safe.
The camp was surrounded by a wall of sandstone, with composite bowstallions on the top, staring out into the seemingly endless sea of sand. Each five hooves, the wall jutted out a square to protect the soldiers from incoming artillery or incoming archer fire. Each wall block had a tower with a good amount of archers and spearstallions inside there. Either drinking on their off shift and playing cards or enjoying music they create on the walls or with anything that could make a sound that matched what they wanted.
There was one sand-covered gate on their western side, where one well-built brown stallion with silk robes, a dagger's sheath, and a small necklace of jewels donning his neck. The jewel stallion rode on a War Beast, or as the researchers dub it the 'Giant Scorpion.'
It was the usual scorpion, but enhanced by a hundred sizes, it's stinger capable of slashing thirty soldiers in half with just a light flick, it's claws could pierce the flesh of a Giant Ant in a snap. It's armor was what made it the Kingdom's pride and signature emblem on their flag - it's shimmering armor of violet and crimson swirling together in unison as the sun danced on it, the reflection giving a beautiful sight.
The set of black robed stallions bowed immediately at the sight of such a figure, as well as a certain Changeling. The Changeling, donning the same black robes as his comrades rows down, his robed face as well, with sangria eyes with two noticeable pupils. His fangs were revealed from the hood, a sliver of an opening, and like his comrades, they pop out and gleam a vigorous ivory and red. The Changeling's scimitar was sheathed under his left side, the hilt only revealed for combat. A backup broadsword lay on his right side, as well as a spitting tube of wood on his chest with some erroding darts below it on his sternum.
"Altaïr, it's the Prince!" The pony next to Altaïr grunted hastily, bowing low. Seeing the soon-to-be lord approach, Altaïr took a bow, dipping his head, barely missing the sands that danced infront of his wide eyes.
"Rise, my personal guard!" The Prince bellowed, adjusting the War Scorpion's position as his guards simultaneously rose to their idle stance as they stared at one another across from each other.
"King Jericho has ordered out us to arrive in the Equestrian lands to seek more than the usual trade alliance that has existed for hundreds of years. He asks for a defensive pact against Griffonia and the Free Pony Reign! Pack your carts with materials to eat, drink, and to sharpen your blades. They will surely get dull! We may meet ambushing Griffons or FPRs, or the random wildlife of Equestria! Some of you will die! We leave in five minutes, get going!" The Prince barked, the thirty guards of his letting out a sharp, loud grunt before packing their things.
Altaïr pulled a one-eighty-degree turn and began to rip the spikes that held the tent off. His tent partner, Luchien, a male tan earth pony, decked in the same outfit with green eyes, but different jewels spread across his outfit. Luchien stared off at Altaïr, who was silently working on getting rid of the tent's supports. "Hey, Altaïr," Luchien started, grabbing the cart on the side of their tent with a hoof and pulling to the front, "what do you think of this?"
Altaïr perked his head up, staring over with a clear voice, obvious he isn't of Equestrian bloodlines. "What is it that you mean of this mission, Luchien?"
"Do you not think of this mission as a bit daring?" Luchien asked. He reached inside the tent, digging all of the contents out and laying it on the cart, keeping his eyes on Altaïr for a possible reaction.
Altaïr sat for a second, before staring off into the blue skies that had puffy clouds spreading across like dots.
He broke his trance, staring at Luchien before shaking his head, "No. It's a mission that the royals ask, no, order us to do without hesitation or question. I will complete this mission alive, even under the pressures."
Luchien frowned, his eyes narrowing a bit before softening and returning to their wide and vivid height. "Yes, that is true."
Altaïr plucked the first spike out, tossing it into the cart before moving onto the second one. A portion of the tent collapsed, leaving Luchien's outline, a clear frown through the silk draping over his mouth. He paced back out, placing the wine jug, and five water jugs and strapping them with the food and weapon/armor maintenance items in the corner of the cart.
Tink!
The second spike popped out, the entire left half of the tent collapsing, thankfully there was nothing under it but a rug that Luchien will collect last. Ducking a hoof under the tent's corner, Altaïr lifted it just a bit to swipe the two goldbags that were his and Luchien's. Altaïr turned to the right and took three steps before sitting down and working on the third spike.
Luchien was loading the last of the items before Altaïr stashed their gold, the tent spikes, and the tent in the last remaining spot of the cart. They were about five seconds ahead of everyone when they moved their mouth robes and placed the two leather straps in their mouths, the straps tightened on two wooden bars on their sides connected to the front of the cart, where the back wheels would help drag it across the desert.
The Prince came back out, waiting for his guards. As soon as the clock chimed a couple miles away from them, which echoed through the great city, he twisted his head in the direction of the incoming noise. He snapped his head back forwards, to his expectant gaze, five rows of three, fifteen carts all perfectly aligned with their carriers being perfectly still and at attention.
"By the King Jericho, and I, Prince Sulan, MARCH!" Sulan croaked, turning the War Scorpion around and walking off, his soldiers following him. Traversing through the straight road, with each of the outside soldier's flanks surrounded by columns of box-like sandstone buildings with drapes of a War Scorpion's armor colors for a flag hanging off the buildings. The roads were outlined by spectating fillies and colts, mares and stallions who were in awe.
The sandy spires that reigned high in the sky overwatched the Sassinad Guards, their tops draped with the flag of the Sassinads. On some rooftops, usual archer-guards patrolled the tops, stealing a glance in the alleys and then at the main attraction. Just barely in the horizon, the sturdy sandstone gates awaited their arrival, and just to their right in the towering castle, was King Jericho overwatching the entire event with his two personal guards.
His eyes weren't the usual.
Not the compassionate, fair, and strict eyes that were of a true King of the Sands.
They were of a corrupt sorcerer's madness. A purple aura of vapor trailing around him, a split show of gray fur and black flowing hair and red eyes. "Yes.. keep walking to your imminent dooms.." Jericho said, a smile treading on his lips.
