Headed by a Snake

It took a few bells for Dragan to catch up to the rest of the company.

"Welcome back, man," Lone greeted Dragan cordially. Over the past few days, it seemed the pair had grown more relaxed.

"Did you show them to the village?" Pale asked.

Dragan grinned, "Come onnnnn, Pale. Have I ever gotten lost before?"

Taree giggled, "You look like you get lost all the time!"

Dragan laughed, "Maybe that onnnne time in the markets. But no, we found our way. I'm sure they'll be fine."

Tycon pat Dragan on the arm, "You know, I could have shown them the way."

Dragan smirked, "I know, but I offered. You know I have a way with the ladies."

Tycon rolled his eyes, "Tss. Right. Good work, Dragan."

"Anytime, Boss."

"I kinda wanted to fight those bandits!" Taree sighed loudly, "Those losers didn't look all that strong!"

The silver-haired Martialist loved to fight. Tycon figured she wanted to prove herself. Her brother's recent death had inspired her to exhaust herself with training, throughout the sun. In the evenings, when the girl had time to herself-- that's when she went off to cry. The whelp probably thought no one knew.

"Right. And I really wanted to uh... cast spells." Pale glanced back at Tycon but immediately looked away.

The little shite had talent at casting elementary spells but had ironically horrid aim. Tycon couldn't understand it. The boy was fine with a bow, better with a javelin. If Tycon wasn't relying on him to watch over Taree's mental health, he'd have him go without sleep, relentlessly drilling for spell accuracy.

Tycon pushed Pale's head and lightly flicked Taree's forehead. They reacted with bright smiles. Tycon had no idea why they reacted that way every time he did so.

"Young man, young lady, one of the benefits to being strong is *not* having to fight," Tycon chided. "They feared your confidence. You are confident because you are strong. When the enemy fears you, it means you've already won."

The children seemed to be excited by the fact. Tycon didn't mind. Growth was good.

Lone seemed to fall into deeper thought at the notion...

Dragan laughed, "Don't worry. We'll probably get into a fight as soon as we get to town!"

Tycon wanted to argue, but it was better to remain vigilant. He decided to segue to another topic, "Pale, how are your magical studies progressing?"

The young boy in his oversized wizard hat and robe tensed up at Tycon's question, "Well-- I uh... Um. I learned a new spell?"

The last time Tycon and Pale had a discussion about magic, it concerned his haphazard casting back at the Royal Robe. It was not the first time the boy cried during intensive training. And if he got hit by a gods-damned lightning bolt in the back again, it wouldn't be the last.

Tycon forced a reassuring smile, "Oh? Did you perfect one of your scrolls, then?"

The boy still had a healthy variety of elementary and First-Circle spell scrolls. While he couldn't cast First-Circle spells without aid, and their effects were somewhat limited, his talent could easily place him in the top percentile of students at any magic academy in the Kingdom.

"R-right," Pale continued. "I can cast Prestidigitation without a focus now-- oh, specifically cleaning and removing rust and stains. I got a lot better after today's weapons and armor maintenance."

Taree hugged Pale's arm, spinning him around, "That's soooo cool, Pale!"

Lone pat Pale on the back, "Nice job, man!"

Tycon nodded, satisfied. Prestidigitation was one of the most useful Elementary level spells. It was also a complex spell with many facets to master, the spell able to eliminate dust and debris from gear, change the colors of a small item, change smells, flavor a canteen of water, and even conceal a small object for a short while-- among other effects. Mastering the spell well-prepared a mage for learning the complexities of higher Circle spells.

Pale took off his hat, his face blushing underneath his sandy-blonde hair, "Thanks, guys!"

Dragan was trying his best to stifle a laugh, "Kkkkkhhhh-- haha..."

Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Mister Dragan?"

The Titanblood burst out into heavy guffaws, "That means you can clean Lone's armor next time he pisses himself!!"

...

Port City Caractere.

The streets were paved with a white stone block, matching the nearby cliffs. The ocean mist stun at the eyes, seagulls flew around with their noisy bleatings, and the muted scent of rotting fish remained pervasive in the air.

"We have two goals," Tycon declared.

Guild Invictus naturally gathered around him to listen.

"First goal: Find an inn. Second goal: I need a shop where they fry fish. I'm in the mood for meaty-steak strips-- not the flaky or bony bits."

Dragan nodded, "Sounds good! And let's get some ale!"

Tycon agreed, "Yes, I believe a fruitier or a lighter ale pairs better with fish."

Taree and Lone both heartily agreed on a meal. Wolfbanger muttered something about going off on his own, but Dragan put his arm around the dog-boy and told him he'd at least have to share one meal with the guild.

Pale raised his hand, interrupting the merriment.

Tycon pointed, "Go ahead."

"Sir Tycon," Pale pursed his lips, "What about... Mister Wroe?"

The group grew silent as Tycon cleared his throat, "We have... three goals."

...

A sumptuous meal later, Tycon had arranged for two small rooms at an inn for their group of 6.

The inn's sign was a squat humanoid figure seated on a rectangular shape. As for the inn's name, Tycon didn't dare venture a guess.

He and Lone inhabited the 3-bed room, while Dragan went out for carousing and probably whoring. Tycon recalled how easily the Titanblood got along with Guard Captain Varen's men back in Nice. The oversized meathead was fine on his own.

"I certainly hope that bastard, Tarquin Wroe, hasn't gotten himself killed."

Tycon laid out his gear, performing cursory maintenance to the whistling of the port city's sharp evening winds. He lightly oiled the Shatterspike, his enchanted sword. He didn't use it much because of its heavier weight, but he refused to give it away because of its niche magical properties.

"Though knowing Wroe, his death wouldn't be entirely unexpected... Your thoughts on the matter, Lone?"

Tycon slowly turned to face Lone's bed. The man was fast asleep, still wearing his armor. His snoring was uncharacteristically gentle.

...The disgusting thing didn't even change out of his sweat-covered afternoon clothes.

Ugh.

Tycon rolled his shoulders and relaxed with a sigh. It had been a hard few suns. He'd scold him in the morning... And he'd make certain all of Invictus took baths before they continued their journey.

The stomping of leather boots cut through the evening's wailing winds. A clattering of hastened footsteps stopped in front of the door of their inn room.

Tycon reached over to grab his crossbow, quickly loading it with practiced hands. Who could be visiting? The time was just past dusk, good but not perfect for more clandestine affairs.

A heavy blow smashed the door in, knocking it off of its hinges. A tall dark-skinned man entered, wielding a two-handed warhammer, "Time to pay the piper, you little bitch!"