Headed by a Snake

As the dwarf went back to his drinking. Tycondrius was served his meal. The meat was cooked perfectly-- beautiful grill marks on the pork's outside, tender and juicy in. It was easily worth at least another compliment to the cook.

As for how good it was, Tycon had established certain expectations for Tyrion cuisine. He would enjoy his plate to his fullest extent... as long as its taste was superior to the dishes from Olea Garden.

It was a fine evening, filled with good food and pleasant, idle conversation. After the dwarf's initial surliness, the fellow became more agreeable as the night went on and the drinks continued to flow.

"I'm diff'rent from Ector..." The dwarf complained between ales, "He didn't have a choice, gettin' his loved ones taken from him. Sorry, Ec."

The cook, apparently named Ector, shrugged his shoulders, "It's in the past. The kid's right. As long as I'm livin', Orielle's lookin' down from the heavens and smiling."

The dwarf mussed up his greying hair and ran his stubby fingers through his thick beard, "That's what I'm saying, though... There's no one in the skies lookin' out for me. I mean... good for you and your Eternal Flame, cook... but she only smiles for you humans."

Ector chuckled to himself, "Mind your voice, Hark. We're still in public."

It was a punishable crime in the Holy Country to speak ill of the Eternal Flame or the Church. That Chef Ector was so lax about it spoke to his pragmatic nature. Not every human in Tyrion was blindly devoted to their national faith.

The dwarf shook his head, slow and deliberate... "I've done a lot of things I regret in my life."

Tycon took another deep pull from his ale before mulling over the thought... "Master Dwarf... what's to stop you from doing things to fix that regret?"

Regret had been a common topic in Invictus, as of late... in particular with Centurion Zenon struggling to do more than he possibly could... and then with Footman Victorius...

Bah. No, Tycon did not like that blonde buffoon. He was only concerned about Zenon's issues.

Hark the dwarf grimaced, his gaze drifting far away... "I've done... unforgivable things."

Tycon shared a look with Ector, who shook his head. With no more information, which to react to, Tycon was still left with annoyance... and perhaps a bit of alcohol impaired his judgment. He decided to challenge the dwarf's beliefs.

"Tss..." Tycon scoffed, "I've never met a dwarf who's given up so easily."

As expected, the dwarf's eyes opened wide... the flame of anger rousing up within him. Abruptly, however, the fellow's spirits seemed to... deflate. His posture slumped, curving his back as he stared hard into his drink.

"Yeah..." The dwarf admitted, "I'm a coward that's abandoned my craft."

Such. words... were a great. great taboo in Dwarven culture.

If Tycon was a dwarf... or if he was in the company of an allied dwarf... he would be honor-bound to physically assault Hark. From what he knew of dwarves... beating a man within ilms of death would force him to regain his confidence.

It was similar with humans, to a point... not that he knew-well what that point was.

Thankfully, he had no such inclinations. He was full on food and drink and did not want to jostle the contents of his stomach.

That he knew of the dwarf's shame did make him uneasy, though.

He'd offer some words. Words required very little effort.

"Master Dwarf..." Tycon wore a grave expression, "No matter how many mistakes you've made, the balance can always be restored."

Hark rolled his eyes, "The balance? You're bringing elf shite to the table, now, kid?"

"It's simple quantification, friend." Tycon narrowed his eyes, explaining his thoughts in a stern voice, "For every shite thing you've ever done, you look to fix it-- failing that, you do something beneficial to make up for it. If people didn't do that, there'd be no such things as underground Dwarven cities and clans that prosper for generations."

Tycon strongly believed in the collective good of people. If the denizens of the Realm did not work together for their mutual survival, then dragons might still exist.

The dwarf turned away, "You... you don't know the things I've done..."

Of course, Tycon wouldn't... nor did he care.

The dwarf made a mistake. Hark's stubbornness led to wallowing in ale and self-pity instead of trying to fight against the heavens and hells to do what he knew was right.

The meal was good... but he needed to leave that place, lest his frustrations get the best of him.

With Hark preoccupied with his own misery and Ector looking elsewhere, Tycon took the chance to slip away.

The dwarf would handle his bill.

...

⟬ A few suns later... ⟭

As a surprise to no one in Guild Letalis, Athena Vanzano and Parthenope Aldini dominated the juniors' bracket. Tycon was fairly certain that Sorina Capulet had cheered for them the loudest.

She cheered even louder than when Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, lost his match. The Ranger and his duo were battered and bruised by a Martialist with a staff. The Martialist's duo then lost in their next match... then that duo lost, after that.

Sorina used both her own funds and guild funds in her wagers. The profit would not be small.

Initially, the venue did not rate Athena highly... especially as she competed against highly favored teams trained by Military Houses and rookie adventurers from well-known Iron-Rank guilds.

Her odds in her earlier matches were low, while conversely, the payout was amusingly high. House Vanzano without Maximus of Ezyria was sorely underestimated... which worked quite well in Sorina's favor.

Tycon bet some of his personal coin, too. With his meager earnings, he was planning on covering drinks during dinner for their party... everyone that was of age, anyroad.

Hm. Zenon and Tanamar would have to win, though.

...Or maybe he'd just have the two of them walk back to Silva, so those that deserved it could enjoy themselves properly.