Headed by a Snake

Splotches of crimson stained the tile at the center of the ritual room. Skulls of man, beast, and beast-man were piled up artfully around the room in strategic positions. Eighty-eight dusk red candles, standing upon skulls and candelabras added well to the room's ominous atmosphere. At the room's center, a sacrificial altar glowed eerily, illuminating a four-layered magic circle carved into the stone. Sigils, glyphs, and additional magic circles were drawn on the floor tiles in a thick chalky substance as an added layer of arcane protection.

Baron Zindo Tavor's superbly decorated ritual room was damning evidence in support of the man's incarceration. A fresh corpse had even been recently removed from the stone table, perhaps but a few bells prior. Flies buzzed lazily about a pool of blood that had yet to be cleaned at the table's edge. Not everyone was as skilled with cleaning as Invictus Guild's Tarquin Wroe.

Tycon crossed his arms and leaned back against the door frame, a deep frustration still set into his face and brow.

"Here we are, Mister Wroe."

Wroe looked around at the room's decor in wonder and awe.

"Very well, Sir Tycon. Shall I get the mop and bucket?"

"While tempting, Mister Wroe, no. Instead, I'd like you to…"

Tycon stopped mid-sentence.

...How does one attain a Warlock pact, anyroad? He silently consulted his System but was unable to get a meaningful answer.

Tycon stuck out his chest, feigning confidence, "Well, Mister Wroe. I'd like you to, uh... stay here for a time."

Wroe tilted his head, smiling helplessly, "Boss… what am I supposed to be doing?"

Tycon had no idea. He decided to be mysterious and hope for the best. It would solidify his status as 'always having a plan' and 'always expecting the best from his guild members.' Tycon tried to hide any signs of uncertainty on his face by assuming a 'more annoyed than usual' expression.

"I believe you'll understand, and... soon. It should just... click." Tycon snapped his fingers to make a point, "--like that."

Wroe nodded steadily, "So... I'll just get it? Like--"

He snapped his fingers.

The sound of the snap echoed a dozen times, growing deeper and deeper in octave, before rapidly multiplying. The dungeon room's eighty-eight candles lit simultaneously, burning dim, grey and purple flames. Streams of wispy ink, dripped like water from the stone ceilings, burning colder than ice when exposed to the skin. Whispers from tens of speakers speaking a dozen languages filled Tycon's mind. More distressing still was that most of the languages, he could recognize, but he could not at all identify from whence he did.

"Like… that…?" Wroe finished his sentence.

Tycon promptly turned on a heel, took two steps forward, and silently shut the double doors behind him-- the voices had stopped immediately.

He barred the doors from the outside, for good measure.

That they could bar from outside the ritual room was an uncommonly well thought out safety precaution.

Tycon then spent another 10 minutes pushing heavy torture equipment from a nearby room to barricade the door.

"I didn't think I'd be able to make use of these things, so soon. How fortunate."

…

A maid knocked on the door when morning came. Tycon had slept well-- too well, in fact. Opening the door, a young woman in the Kingdom's orthodox maid attire bowed deeply at the waist. Her light-brown hair was worn in two long pigtails that reached the floor as she bowed low.

"Good morning, my lord. Will you be having breakfast in the hall or in your room, today?"

Tycon peeked outside the door, seeing a wheeled food cart that had been brought from the kitchens. Tycon glanced behind him, noting the high sun in the windows.

"What time is it?" Tycon frowned.

"11:00, my lord," the maid replied, not lifting her head and keeping to her strict bow.

Tycon rolled his eyes. He placed a finger on the woman's chin and gently lifted her face so their eyes met. Tycon noticed the teenage girl's eyes drifted a bit too long on Tycon's chest. His nightgown was unbuttoned.

"Young lady, I am not like your previous employer. I would have you meet my eyes, as one human being to another."

The girl's face took on a deep red blush, righting her posture, but still averting her gaze, "Y-yes, my lord."

Tycon breathed in and let out a deep sigh. Though it was a hassle to do the right thing, it was better than being annoyed by the currently accepted behaviors.

"Name?" Tycon demanded.

"C-collette, lord."

"A rather odd name… Coca-Colette, is it?" Tycon smirked.

"No, my lord, it's--"

The blushing girl looked up in surprise, her gaze meeting his. She stared into the young noble's deep golden eyes and lost her words. Tycon granted the young woman a pleased, if amused, smile.

"Very good, Miss Collette. I'm glad you could follow my instructions."

"Of course, my lord…" the young girl returned a shy smile.

A few other (mostly female) servants had heard the exchange and began to not-so-stealthily sneak peeks at their new, very-handsome, young lord.

Tycon noticed, of course, and decided to raise his voice to make a point.

"Baron Zindo Tavor is a boorish and crude imitation of a proper noble and has served to be a poor precedent. It is his fault, and not yours, that the servants of this estate show such poor promise. As young men and women working as servants for House Charm, you will learn cooking, housework, as well as finance and etiquette. I want all of you to learn well, in order to follow your dreams-- to be a sought-after housewife if you wish, or to be a self-sufficient gentleman or lady, otherwise."

The announcement sent the servants into an uproar.

"The new noble isn't a gross, ugly pervert!" "I hated bowing to that raunchy sleazebag, Zindo." --Some of the idle conversations were passably interesting.

"I-I… I need to learn how to cook and do housework, so I can marry my boyfriend!" --Collette, herself, had an admirable goal.

"M-maybe I can be Lord Tycon's wife!" "...Lord Tycon's too pretty of a man to be interested in girls, maybe I have a chance!" --Tycon decided to fire those people if he could ever match their voices to their names.

"Is Lord Tycon abandoning us?" "I've been serving House Tavor for 22 years!"

Tycon raised a hand to quiet the gathered crowd, "These are my best wishes, ladies and gentlemen. Of course, House Charm will always accept honorable individuals willing to serve. Whether you choose to serve for four years or forty, I wish for you all to learn, to work, to serve-- to better yourselves, for your own future."

Tycon received a round of applause, to which he smiled and waved politely.

As the crowd dispersed, Tycon stopped the young lady he made an example out of, "Miss Collette?"

The twin-tailed Collette gasped in surprise, "Y-yes, what is it, my lord?"

Tycon let out a good-natured sigh and gave a defeated smile. He motioned towards the food cart, still in front of his room.

"May I ask what's for breakfast?"