Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius had been running low on his stores of alcohol, but it seemed permissible to whet his thirst with a skin of Tyrion wine.

It would be easy enough to replace it with better. It was only a few suns travel to the Elven-controlled city of Whitehearth... and a short walk to an Elven fortress.

He looked over to his companion.

The defeated elf was named Notaku, and they sat together upon his fallen Divine Armor, Many-Big-Guns.

Tycon found no fault in the respectable warrior.  Over the years, he'd found he got along well with near anyone who shared his profession.

He lifted the wine skin towards him, "Drink."

Notaku glanced over, but shook his head, "(I do not drink wine.)"

Tycon narrowed his eyes, "(Growling-Bear, did I not defeat you in single combat only minutes earlier?)"

The Elven warrior grew quiet, averting his gaze.

Tycon leaned forward, pushing the wine-skin closer, "Drink the damn wine."

Those defeated were honorbound to submit to the victor's demands... especially a reasonable one. It was an unspoken rule.

As a testament to his honor, Notaku took the skin, lifted his mask, and took a slow, steady pull.

"...(It is bitter.)"

"Tss, it is." Tycon scoffed and took it back.

He was tempted to clarify if the elf was referring to his loss or to the drink... but that would have been rude.

⊰ drink? ⊱

A four-winged orb of fire spun around the two of them, the curious fire elemental, Beatrice.

"No, little one," Tycon frowned. "I'll get you some fruit juice when we return you to your summoner. This... is..."

...A drink for adults? No, that would not dissuade her.

Beatrice was likely older than both Tycon and Notaku combined... but her mental age was akin to a small child. In that respect, she was similar to Tycon's daughter Sasarame-- when he first adopted her, anyroad.

Giving strong alcohol to a small child was irresponsible.

He gave the fire orb a stern face as he returned the wine to his spatial ring, "You won't like it. It's bitter."

...The fire elemental flitted a short distance away, no longer interested.

⊰ hate bitter ⊱

The three of them turned their attention to a massive deluge of sand, coming from the direction of the rocky hills. Ever the exhibitionist, the Elven Ancient who called himself King casually kept his balance as he stood at its zenith.

Earlier in the sun, King had discovered that they faced a tribe of elves. He insisted on seeking the Prince or Princess in charge while Tycon volunteered to rescue whatever humans were in danger.

The Ancient had displayed a high mastery of wind magic. Silt and sand, not so much.

It seemed the enemy Earth Mage was at least powerful enough to force him away.

Tycon charged his finger with mana and began to draw a spell circle in the air, "(Growling-Bear, lend me some of your spirit.) I'm going to talk to that dolt over there."

"(That is... magic of the Whisperwinds...)" The dark-haired elf frowned... "(Who... are you, Warrior Tycondrius?)"

"I did not *steal* the secrets of House Whisperwind, if that's what you are implying," Tycon rolled his eyes, "(The winds whisper in the east, the same as from the west.)"

Notaku nodded as he held his palm out towards the hastily drawn spell formation, "(I am honored to be granted mercy by a Shaman of such great power.)"

Tycon pursed his lips... "Thank you."

He was tempted to correct the fellow, as his affinity with magic was quite poor... but it was more trouble than it was worth. Compliments are best taken gracefully.

With the various spell circles powered, Tycon spoke aloud, the gentle breeze carrying his voice, "Friend-Elf, do you require assistance?"

King, kept steady atop the high wave as it began to fall, "Nay, Friend-Maedar. This King shall deal with this disobedient Sapling forthwith."

"(He speaks with such arrogance)..." Notaku frowned in displeasure-- but then his eyes suddenly widened in shock-- "(That is... an Ancient!?)"

"(Those are the words he speaks,)" Tycon shrugged apathetically.

As Tycon begrudgingly accepted that 'King' was stronger than the current-him, it would have been appropriate for the two of them to face the challenge together.

He had a sneaking suspicion, however, that the fellow was not disadvantaged... and not only because of his callous rejection of Tycon's offer.

...which was fine.

Tycon didn't particularly feel like helping him, anyroad.

He turned to Notaku to speak of something else, "(Growling-Bear, do you understand the common tongue?)"

The elf inclined his head... "(My ineptitude brings me great shame.)"

Tycon waved dismissively, "(Do not be concerned. I will provide translation, if necessary.)"

King strode forward, twirling his blades as if he was a child with long sticks, while casually stretching his arms and rotating his shoulders.

A sharpened rock formation burst from the sand at his back, even taller than the wave of sand from earlier. The Ancient didn't even turn around.

The top end of the rock exploded violently, revealing a small, dark-haired Elven woman. She wore a scowl on her face and heavy chains on her forearms ending with vicious daggers that she held in her hands.

She leaned forward, looking down, like an Empress observing her lands, "Hear me, Ancient. I am Yanaba! Chieftain of the Ebon Mask Tribe!!"

⟬ Yanaba, Gold-Rank Earthsong Dervish. ⟭

The woman's mask was lifted and her features hinted at a relation to Notaku.

Tycon pursed his lips, "(That is...)"

"(Chieftain Meets-The-Enemy is my elder sister,)" Notaku nodded. "(She has led our tribe for the past six centuries.)"

That meant that Yanaba was an Ancient, as well... or perhaps it would be more appropriate to call her a half-step Ancient...

"(She... does not look her age,)" Tycon remarked.

"(Our tribe often trades with the Moonwells for their lotions and creams.)"

Tycon raised an eyebrow, "(That would make a good gift for some of the female members of my...) err-- (tribe.)"

Notaku spoke an odd Elven dialect, so Tycon had to choose his words with careful thought to be understood.

"(It is a coveted item, rarely gifted to outsiders,)" Notaku explained impassively.

"That's fine," Tycon replied casually. "(I shall speak to the Arcanite Princess directly. Is their Chieftain still Princess Ophelia?)"

Notaku tilted his head... "(You... know of the Moonwell Princess?)"

"I do," Tycon nodded. "Her... hm. What's the Elven word for fiancee? (Her lawful mate is one of my Chiefs.)"

"(I see...)"

Notaku nodded slowly... though Tycon wondered if the fellow actually understood.