Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius worked with Januarius in the past... back when they both fought under the banner of the Bannok of Kasydon's Brazen Guard Collective.

Along with the late Karodin of Emberhold, the leader of Guild Metal Wolf advocated falling under Tycon's command to combat the traps and hostile dead in the Lower Halls of the Dead Serpent.

"Decanus Januarius," Tycon nodded to the man in the metal wolf helmet... taking particular note of the condition of his left forearm, "Is that your best impression of Commander Bannok?"

Januarius cradled what remained of his arm. Hints of dried blood marred the bandages.

He said nothing.

If the state of Guild Metal Wolf could be assumed from the state of their leader, then Coraline was right to send Beatrice to seek Tycon's assistance. Concerning Januarius' labored breathing and the way his body trembled, it was also likely that he'd taken fever.

The man would at least recover to better than Bannok. The former leader of the Brazen Guard had his strong arm severed near the shoulder.

"Are you an idiot?!" A woman by the wolf's side yelled, "or are you just blind?!"

Tycon narrowed his eyes... shocked into speechlessness.

It was... baffling. He was standing over a bleeding elf, his face in the stone, probably missing half of his teeth. Further, the Commander of the Keep patiently observed while standing at his right. Two dazed and horrified Highblades half-hid behind her, trying not to be noticed.

Yet... a seemingly random human woman dared to raise her voice to him? And to insult him?

He casually glanced at her rank.

Optio.

It seemed her title had gone to her head. Tycon wondered the importance of that head remaining attached to her neck.

"Janu-ARIUS," The woman continued to speak, even as he approached her, "--is a Centurion! And WHO in the seven hells are--"

**PAP**

Tycon backhanded the Optio across the face.

She staggered backwards, stunned. Her cheek began to swell and she glared back with unrestrained fury-- "You... how DARE YOU!!"

Lunging forward, the woman swung with her right fist-- so slow it was pitiable.

Tycon nonchalantly caught the strike, painfully rotated her wrist outward, then raised his opposite hand to break her arm.

"Tactician," Januarius cleared his throat, "I'll take care of Optio Phaedra."

"Please," Tycon nodded before forcefully shoving the woman away.

Her back struck the corner of the walls' crenellations and she writhed in pain, spouting a string of particularly colorful curses in the Tyrion old language.

"Januarius," Tycon turned to the Metal Wolf, "Do you care that I mistook your rank?"

"You here to help, Tychon?"

"I am."

"Then no," The wolf inclined his head.

Tycon enjoyed working with reasonable people like Januarius.

"I... I object, Centurion!!" The hurt Optio seethed as she stumbled to her feet, "Whoever this man is, we can't trust him!"

The wolf's gaze did not leave Tycon's as he responded, "Phaedra, this the Tactician of Sol Invictus."

"Oho~" Tycon allowed himself a light chuckle, his frustrations slightly alleviated. That was a title of his he had not volunteered. It was also his most renowned, "So you've found out."

"Aye," The Centurion nodded... "It hurts a bit, though... having two life debts to the same person."

"I'll ensure you live long enough to repay me," Tycon smirked.

"Invictus? SOL Invictus?!" Optio Phaedra shook her head, still scowling. "Titles don't mean anything here."

Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin slits. The woman was... literally just arguing over what rank her superior was.

Teneca, an elf from what was arguably the most arrogant and haughty Elven family, came to reason on her own.

The toothless elf, still twitching on the floor, had been *made* to see reason.

Some people... just wanted to find fault in others, regardless of the logic.

⊰ burn? ⊱

And some, it seemed... just wanted the world around them to burn.

Tycon paused for a moment to issue a command to his companion fire elemental.

« Little one, if that... woman takes two steps toward us, leave nothing left but ash. »

⊰ yes ⊱

Fortunately for the Optio, she didn't step past her Centurion, "And what can YOU do, then?! A single Tactician without an army?"

"You're in luck, Optio Phaedra," Tycon took a breath and straightened his posture. "High Oracle Troia, herself, has assigned me to a mission of import in Whitehearth. As the chosen instrument of Tyrion's will, I am more than capable of providing assistance to her troubled people... Glory to the Eternal Flame."

The wolf-helmed Centurion nodded sagely, "Glory to the Eternal Flame."

...The confirmation was a relief. Tycon was aware he had a naturally sarcastic voice.

"There you have it, Phaedra," Januarius crossed his good arm over his chest. "If you won't trust my judgment, then you can trust the High Oracle's."

"You..." Phaedra ground her teeth indignantly, "There's dozens-- if not hundreds of elves hidden in rocks and crevices of this accursed place! And how many men do you have?"

"Myself and one other," Tycon replied honestly.

He walked over to the opposite side of the wall, looking at the inside of the keep. There he saw what remained of Guild Metal Wolf.

There were more injured Munifices than not... and had not enough shields and pila for what remained of the century.

Worse than missing equipment was the absence of hope and conviction. They looked broken... their hearts defeated long ago.

They were useless to him.

There was, however, a half-wrecked Divine Armor in their midst.

That would be enough.

"You're Flame-f*cking ridiculous, Mister Tychon," Phaedra sneered. "Are you trying to tell me that TWO members of your so-called *Sol Invictus* can defeat hundreds of hostile elves? And on *their* homeground!?"

"Of *course* not, Miss Phaedra," Tycon scoffed, turning towards her, "That's absurd..."

He grinned at her, allowing a modicum of his Gold-Rank aura to seep through. As expected, she-- as well as every Highblade in his vicinity, flinched at the sudden display of power.

Only the cross-armed Januarius remained unaffected, "If the two of you cannot change our fate, Tactician..."

"You misunderstand, Centurion," Tycon chuckled, "I, alone, will be enough."