Headed by a Snake

⟬ Several moons later. ⟭

Tycondrius leaned over the bow of the Endurance. The airship had recently lifted off from the air docks at Cersei's Rest and they were en route to Rixus.

Below, the Dawnbringer was stomping across the Basilica grounds, going from building to building and peering into the various windows. Tycon could imagine the shrieks of surprise from the various Tyrion faithful.

The High Oracle was the only person in Tyrion capable of piloting the 60-fulm tall suit of armor. She was searching for something.

And that something was probably on his airship.

Tycon turned to a conspicuous-looking barrel, "Pale... did you remember to tell Troia that you were leaving?"

The boy peeked out, the barrel lid resting atop his head, "Um. I... forgot to?"

Tycon granted his young companion a polite smile, "Are you well young man? You're not feeling nauseous, are you?"

The boy was visibly... pale-- as if he were sick. While sailing on the high seas, he had been strongly affected by motion sickness, and Tycon feared he'd suffer similarly on an aircraft.

"Just a little tired, Boss, that's all," Barrel-Pale sighed. "I'm happy to be flying. Usually, I just have to run."

Tycon leaned in and examined the boy's eyes, "Light mana fatigue. Get some rest and I'll wake you for dinner."

"Nn. Aye aye, Sir," Pale withdrew back into his hiding spot, the barrel lid lodging into place.

After ensuring that the barrel had a breathing hole, Tycon returned to watching the havoc hundreds of fulms below.

Lone leaned over, close enough to whisper, "Did Sasha cry when you left, Boss?"

Tycon glared at him, lightly pushing the Ranger back to a respectable distance, "Don't be absurd."

She did. It almost made Tycon not want to leave.

However, she still had her schooling... and Tycon had plenty to do, elsewhere.

"Absurd..." A blonde gentleman muttered, sitting cross-legged atop Pale's barrel and brooding, "What would you know about being absurd?"

Tycon furrowed his brows. What did that mean? Was that something he was supposed to respond to?

He looked over to the man on his opposite side... and tried to remember just where he'd seen him prior. Taking a brief moment to review his System's notes, he identified him as Lone's former arena partner.

⟬ Edge, Iron-Rank Human Dark Lurker. ⟭

"Mister Edge. You look... spiky," Tycon smiled.

Besides the roguish gentleman's hair, Tycon struggled to find something about him to compliment.

"Forgive me, Young Master," Edge dramatically threw his hood on and pulled it down, "I no longer go by that name."

"Hey, Edge," Lone waved. "Wanna go play spades below deck?"

Edge visibly winced as if he was hurt-- and nearly fell off of his seat, "I *said*... I don't go by that name, anymore."

"Oh," Lone raised an eyebrow, "Did you decide on a new name yet?"

"...Nah," The blonde fellow sighed. "You got any ideas, man?"

Tycon rolled his eyes. He had a strong suspicion that Lone's friend was an idiot, just like he was.

"Sorry. Don't have any," Lone shook his head. "Oh, Edge, this is my other friend, Pale."

"You're friends with a barrel?" Edge frowned.

"Kinda. And this is my Boss, Sir Tycon."

"Oh, yeah I remember--" Edge fell off the barrel fully, but quickly got to his feet, "Wait! Y-you're the current leader of Sol Invictus?"

Tycon grimaced, taking in a deep breath. Having just recently left a tearful and slightly spoiled daughter, his tolerance for disrespect had fallen dangerously low.

"...I am," He groaned, pursing his lips. "What of it?"

"Can... I join your guild?" Edge wrung his hands nervously.

Oh.

That was fine.

"Mister Lone, will you vouch for this gentleman's character?"

"Yeah," Lone nodded. "He's a good person-- really skilled... he's a good Rogue but not... a *good* Rogue, though?"

"Thank you for being honest," Tycon scoffed.

The Lone Shadowdark was many things: a Ranger, a fool, and a known attractant for pubic lice... but he was not a liar.

"Lone..." Edge crossed his arms, "That was kinda criminal of you, guy."

Tycon turned his back to the railing, using it to rest his elbows, "I accept."

From what he'd seen of the Rogue fighting the Caeruleum arenas, he was an average combatant. He wasn't particularly strong, nor was he grossly incompetent.

Most of their duo team's effectiveness came from the reckless-- if effective, synergy he had with Lone. That, by itself, would make Edge a tolerable addition to Guild Letalis' combat line.

Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Are you aware of our current mission, Mister Edge?"

"Wait, what?" Edge's eyes widened in disbelief, "That easy?"

"Should it not be?" Tycon frowned.

Though a bit presumptuous, he doubted that the Rogue could pass a written evaluation.

"Well..." Edge rubbed the back of his hooded head, "You guys kinda have a reputation as a... legendary arena guild?"

"Worry not," Tycon chuckled. "I'll assign you a practical test before sun's end."

"I... alright," The Rogue nodded with shining eyes, "So what's the deal, Boss-man?"

Tycon steadied his emotions and hardened his gaze, "We're engineering an attack on a Snake Cult bastion in Ezyria. We have a few hundred insurgents-- a number of them within the city proper... and the attack will take place within six moons."

Lone furrowed his brows as if he'd understood something.

"The Snake Cult, huh?" Edge whistled. "It'll feel good fighting for the good guys, this time around. Fair but without mercy! Just like the Church teaches, yeah?"

"Don't be mistaken, Mister Edge," Tycon shook his head at the youth's optimism. "Our reasons are just and honorable-- as the Church teaches. However, it would be folly to wage a 'fair' war against a city known for its gladiatorial arenas and populated by 25,000 people."

"Well... alright," Edge nodded hesitantly. "I suppose I can work with that."

Tycon flicked his wrist and stealthily passed the Rogue three crossbow bolts.

Edge quietly hid them away in a pouch, the subtle movement indicative of expert skill.

He kept his voice low, but a novice's uncertainty shone in his eyes... "These what I think they are?"

"Avoid skin contact with the poison," Tycon warned. "Mister Lone, have you identified them?"

Lone kept his voice muffled behind his hand, "The bearded guy with a sword sheath on his right side and the woman wearing green-- she just walked off, though."

Edge narrowed his gaze, "What're you guys talkin' about?"

Tycon merely smiled and changed the topic. Slowly, the passengers on the deck left to pursue more interesting sights. Harder to justify their reason for loitering, the Snake Cultists hidden among them also withdrew.

Once Tycon was sure it was safe to do so, he continued his explanation to the Rogue.

"The Snake Cult is everywhere, it seems," He shrugged. "I want their spies dead, Mister Edge. I advise piercing the neck to hasten the poison's travel through the bloodstream."

The blonde Rogue grimaced... but nodded, "Boss... you gave me three?"

"Adult gentleman," Tycon replied. "Brown gambeson, grey cloak."

Lone had carelessly overlooked the third target, as he relied overmuch on his eyes. The grey-cloaked man was a Bronze-Rank warrior who radiated hostile intent towards him, which did not wane until he descended belowdecks. Snake Cultist or not, Tycon would have that man in agonizing pain, choking to death on his own blood.

It was very well possible that he was innocent-- merely jealous of Tycon's handsome face.

He decided not to alert Edge to that fact.

"I'll take care of it," The Rogue nodded. "Still... we only got a few hundred against a big city like that?"

Tycon patted the young man on the shoulder, "The Snake Cultists will be reporting to their leadership... that we are a fraction of our number, that there are a multitude of spies in the city to hunt, and that they have several moons to prepare."

Edge's eyes widened in realization, "You mean..."

"We're sieging the city as soon as we arrive."

...

⟬ Thousands of malms away, a few weeks later. ⟭

"No, really, Agathe," Ptolema forced herself to smile. It made her scarred cheeks ache terribly. "I'm happy for you."

"I'm so sorry, Leader," Agathe bowed her head. "I was... I was just excited. I didn't mean..."

"By the Flame, Agathe," Ptolema rolled her eyes. "I said it was fine!"

"But Leader..."

"Just stop with the 'Leader'," Ptolema sighed... "Guild Snowy Village disbanded moons ago."

It was still a sensitive topic for her... having a guild... trying to make it work for years... then being forced to disband.

For the longest time, guild Snowy Village was part of the Brazen Guard Collective, a loose confederacy of adventuring companies that took on A and S-Rank quests.

Then... after a shitestorm of a Dungeon, it turned out that nearly the entire higher echelon of the Collective was actually part of the Snake Cult.

Ptolema nearly lost her mind when she found out. She and her husband had been working with them for so long that it hurt... so, so much to be betrayed like that.

It also meant... because of the selfish actions of a few, she and everyone else in the Collective could be labeled guilty of heresy by association.

She disbanded her guild without a second thought. It was the best thing she could do to protect herself-- and to protect her allies.

That was in the past. And it would stay in the past.

"Immunes Agathe," Ptolema leaned over her planning table, "You will refer to me as Scarmother Talon."