Headed by a Snake

"Welcome back, Boss!" Sorina greeted Tycondrius upon entering the tent.

She strode in arrogantly, sitting in the seat Zenon had vacated since the kobolds carted him off to the infirmary.

"Not to be rude, young lady," Tycon twisted his lips to the side... "but what took you so long?"

Calculator Sorina Capulet leaned back, crossing her legs. Though she was dressed in her black Letalis armor, it differed in that she also wore enchanted brass gauntlets that went up to her elbows. Added to her gear was a flowing royal blue sash... probably to mark her as important.

Unlike the others... she didn't look or seem particularly stronger. He hoped that at least her Armor Cube-- her enchanted gauntlets, had been improved upon over the past several moons.

She shrugged while loosing an uncouth yawn, "The kobolds kept asking about calibrating the catapults."

The young woman had been busy for most of the sun, coordinating various facets of the coming battle. She wouldn't be participating in the assault, so Tycon directed her to work without rest until they departed.

"Granted," Tycon sighed... "Have you received word from the rest of Invictus?"

"Yep," Sorina stretched and leaned over the table, "Mister Dragan said he was busy. Somethin' about revolting ogres."

...So the ogres were revolting. Perhaps that had something to do with the ogre mage emissary that Dragan killed several moons prior.

"Understood," Tycon pursed his lips, nodding. "I've already met Mister Cillian..."

"He complains a lot for his size, doesn't he?" Sorina mused. "I mean-- how hard can herding Fire Slimes be?"

Tycon elected not to answer her, deciding to change the topic instead, "Anyone else?"

Sorina grabbed a wooden doll off of her waist, one-fulm-tall. Jamming her hand down its throat, she retrieved a sealed envelope and slid it across the planning table, "From Mister Wroe."

"Thank you," Tycon opened the missive but turned his attention to Sorina and her spatial... item, "Mister Boxtholomaeus, have you been well?"

"Yessir," The doll responded quietly. "Any... any orders for me?"

"I think I'll have you accompany the riflemen to carry ammunition and Khyber crystals. They'll be far less susceptible to... accidents as long as you carry them."

"I... I obey your will, Ivory Prince," Boxtholomaeus whispered.

Sorina leaned over the table on her elbows, resting her chin on her palms, "What's the letter say, Boss?"

Tycon skimmed over its contents once more before taking a moment to summarize it... "This is an official letter from the city of Whitehearth in the Eastern States."

"So... not from Wroe, himself?"

"Correct. They're requesting assistance from Sol Invictus... though the details are vague."

"Do we care?" Sorina grinned mischievously.

"It can wait," Tycon admitted...

He tapped the planning table in deliberation... Should he ask? It wouldn't hurt to...

"One more thing, Sorina."

"Ara ara~" The young lady perked up, "Were you wondering about Korr?"

Seldin Korr? Tycon furrowed his brows. Why would he be worried about her? There was nothing in the reports implying anything was amiss.

"I was not. I was wondering if there had been any developments concerning one of Guild Letalis' members... Miss Doe."

"Oh..." Sorina crossed her arms, "Her..."

Her face was twisted in... disappointment? "You two were pretty close, huh?"

"I'd like to think so," Tycon nodded. "Is she well?"

Sorina smiled-- a bit forcefully, "You should ask her, yourself. I received an accountability report for the Guild Letalis main body, maybe half-a-bell ago. Everyone's arrived: Sergeant Salt, Raphael of Cannes, Maeva Leserre-- oh, and even her brother, Emilien."

Tycon considered meeting with his lover... but decided it would be unwise.

He shook his head, "No, they need their rest. We attack a bell before dawn-- a time fast approaching."

"CoMMANDer TYCHONNN!!!" An idiotic voice bellowed from outside the tent.

⟬ Stephanos, Gold-Rank Gorgon Idiot. ⟭

"Stephanos!!" Tycon yelled back, "Quiet down and get in here!"

A massive, metal bull-head peeked into the tent, easily the size of Tycon's entire torso.

It was Stephanos... the Fierce Knight.

In full, he was a two-tonze, four-legged, bull-centaur-beast made of metal. While he had arrogance in excess, the gods saw fit for him to suffer a severe deficit in brainpower.

"Good evening, Commander," The buffoon tried his best to whisper.

The volume was still at the level of a normal person's screaming death rattle.

It was probably the best Tycon was going to get.

"What do you want, Brother-Stephanos?" Tycon groaned.

"I wanted... uh... y'know..." The bull grinned, "Request an honorable duel?"

"With me, I'm assuming?"

Stephanos, the Fierce Knight, nodded egregiously.

"After the siege," Tycon rolled his eyes.

"You don't look busy now, Commander?" The Idiot pouted.

Tycon grimaced, trying to think of a plausible excuse. He was fairly certain he could beat Stephanos in a one-on-one duel using his curved blade techniques... but it would be such an incredible hassle.

He didn't want to hear Stephanos sniffling and sobbing all sun.

The bull-centaur would find something to cry about after losing. The most obvious would be complaining about some type of inequality, he'd take issue with.

Tycon adopted a wide grimace. Concerning his recent surge in strength, Stephanos might even attempt to take credit for it... crying tears of 'pride.'

"So come on!" Stephanos sneered, "Let's get craAAAAHHHHWWW???!!"

Thankfully, a powerful magic spell interrupted the bull. His eyes grew wide and he was forcibly ejected from the tent. A loud, prolonged, 'moo' reverberated throughout the camp.

Out of the tent flap, Tycon spied the massive gorgon's body colliding against a large rock... where he became encased in frost and ice.

A lithe teenager in white armor stepped into the command tent. Her frost-blue hair was cut short and neat, but was still feminine... and she wore an expression of extreme displeasure.

⟬ Athena Vanzano, Iron-Rank Human Frostblade. ⟭

It was most impressive. Though the young lady was still Iron-Rank, she had solidified her abilities enough to defeat the Gold-Rank Gorgon Idiot with a single spell.

Further, the temperature within the command tent had dropped painfully low. Sorina began to rub her arms, her teeth chattering.

Tycon nodded, keeping his calm... and doing his best to ignore the desire to shiver like his Calculator.

"Miss Athena. You look well."

The young lady shot back a literally icy glare, the mana in it chilling and numbing his face.

"Not in the mood, Sir Tycon," Athena growled. "I challenge you to trial by combat."