Outside the Ashlands

The quiet of the woods was suddenly interrupted by the loud droning of buzzing changeling wings.

"Where is she? I know they went in this direction!" Tarsus growled out as his eyes scanned the horizon. His compound eyes finally locked on the small glow of a distant campfire. The changeling couldn't help but grin to himself, dragging his tongue across his fangs.

"I see our prey." The soldier said, pointing in the direction of the fire with the tip of his saber. "Capture the knight, and kill the noble. With the money we are going to get from this, we will be able to afford dozens of slaves from Klugetown. We're never going hungry again!"

The other changelings whooped and hissed as they descended to the ground. The dark undergrowth kept them hidden, but it wasn't enough.

The group shapeshifted, giving themselves brown and dark green carapaces, blending in with the woods. Their eyes became those of cats to better see, and avoid detection. Glowing compound eyes were bad for stealth some times.

The squad of five stealthily snaked through the bushes and tall grass with cat-like grace, their tip toeing hooves making no noise as they slowly stalked towards their prey.

One among them, a lesser ranked assassin named Grub, suddenly stopped in his tracks and sniffed the air. He smelt something. Something terrible. He knew it just from the emotions he smelt on the air. Death was approaching.

His eyes started to dart in every direction as he dropped his disguise in a sudden panic. None of the others smelt it.
His leader and pack mates turned to him and growled. "What are you doing Grub?" Tarsus demanded quietly.

"I'm out." He hissed back, turning tail and running off into the woods.

"Get back here!" Tarsus growled before another put a hoof on his shoulder.

"Don't lose track of the mission. We will deal with him later." Ephem, Tarsus's second in command, replied, gesturing back to the clearing, which was close now. So very close.

Tarsus narrowed his eyes, nodding back to Ephem. The joy of the kill was close now. This would all pay off. It was Grub's loss, not his.

The pack reached the edge of the clearing seconds later. The darkness of the forest was defined by the light of the fire which shone throughout the dense cluster of trees and bushes surrounding the open area of the clearing. The changelings kept themselves pressed against the large trunks in the shadows, or snugly within bushes just out of sight.

Their target was curled up asleep near the fire as a rather tall gryphon in plate armor stood over her, pacing back and forth near the fire, watching every which way for any form of threat. He was cautious and paranoid, two traits which gryphon warriors were well known for.

They weren't like ponies, those gryphons. Ponies were overly trusting and friendly. Easy to trick. Gryphons on the other hand were always looking around for any kind of threat who would steal from them. Any individual who would swindle or rob them.

Perks of being naturally greedy, Tarsus supposed.

"Careful, this knight is fairly skilled. Grub and I are still pretty sore from the thrashing he gave us." Ephrem whispered as the gryphon suddenly sat down, his back towards them. Tarsus barely heard him unbuckle something from his belt.

"Good thing we never fight fair." Tarsus grinned as he turned to the other two changelings in the group. "Erop, Tera. You and Ephem rush the knight. I will go for the target."

The changelings nodded as they turned back to the camp, blissfully unaware of the distant pair of eyes locked on them with murderous intent.

"Go!" Tarsus hissed as the four of them broke cover and rushed their targets.

Garen suddenly spun around and fired a flintlock pistol with a loud bang which awoke Galatea with a jump. The noble rose her head in time to see the bullet strike one of the changelings rushing them in the shoulder, piercing through the leather brigandine it wore.

Cyan blood shot forth from the wound as the changeling dropped to the dirt of the forest floor. Two of the others rushed the knight, prompting Garen to bring his longsword to bear. The gryphon raised his sword and parried a sabre strike from a changeling, before pivoting back on his paws and forcing the bug away.

The second attacker didn't have time to strike as Garen elbowed them in the face and sent them careening away.

"Run, my lady!" Garen shouted as a third changeling closed in on the juvenile gryphon.

Galatea scrambled to her feet and ran as fast as she could. She only made it a few steps before she was suddenly tackled from behind.

She landed on her back as she stared up at the Chrysalasi vagabond. The changeling licked their lips as it raised a dagger into the air.

Galatea's face was suddenly covered in some kind of liquid after a loud snap. Galatea turned away shaking it out of her eyes. She looked up at the changeling nervously.

Said changeling was now missing a foreleg. He confusedly blinked in shocked. He barely had time to look up, before, with another snap, his body slumped off of Galatea.

Garen blocked another strike from the first attacker. He was about to counter when the changeling suddenly gasped. All three of the assassins in front of him took fearful steps back. Dread covering every inch of their chitinous faces.

Garen was confused. They seemed completely fine with fighting him just seconds earlier. What had caused this sudden shift from bravado to fright?

He raised his sword ready to block any strike they might send at him as he slowly turned his head behind him. What he saw made him spin around almost instantaneously and take a step back, his eyes widened in shock.

Standing over Galatea was a sight he hoped he would never see in his long life.

It was tall, twice the size of the average pony or changeling, and it was coated in a suit of cyan armor.

A horn emerged from it's helmeted head, which showed no emotion past a black visor which reflected the changelings and Garen perfectly. Alongside the horn were two mandible like antlers which glowed an eerie, ghostly shade of blue. A platinum white halberd floated in the air behind it, the blade's tip black and coated in blue blood.

It was the greatest breed of soldier, belonging to the most powerful of the three changeling factions.

A Pharate of the Pharynxi.

Garen took a few shaky steps backwards, before turning away from the Chrysalasi and booking it towards Galatea. He picked the right time too, as the Pharates suddenly rushed forwards.

Getting between a Pharate and their prey was one of the surest ways to die.

One of the changelings raised a pistol and fired it at the Pharate, but the bullet easily bounced off of his light armor, not even leaving a scratch.

In a second, the Pharate closed the gap and cleaved clean through the changeling that fired at him, cutting them in half with his halberd like it was nothing. A second barely had time to scream before the hoof of the larger warrior shot out and caved in its exoskeleton head.

The Pharate slowly turned to the last changeling. The one Garen had shot earlier.

"No no no! Please! Have mercy!" The changeling cried out, begging for it's life.

The Pharate didn't reply as it flourished its halberd, slowly stalking after the remaining target. It's slow stride bridging the gap between the two, even as the wounded changeling attempted to escape.

The Pharynxi elite slowly rose the tip of his halberd and pressed it against the back of the remaining assassin's head. A dark metallic chuckle emanating from it's helmet.

A cyan beam of magical energy shot forth from the tip and went clean through the remaining changeling's head.

"Wh-what is that?" Galatea asked.

"That… that is death." Garen replied with narrowed eyes.