Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius' mood had been abysmal since debarking the Neptune's Revenge. As time went on, maintaining his professional veneer had become... a challenge.

He spent a breath to recover his composure. Thankfully, the guard didn't seem to mind.

Re-assuming his forced smile, Tycon spoke as calmly as he was able.

"Noble friend of House Moonwell, I've a request. Is it possible... for you to summon Mister Everett of House Leafspring?"

During his last visit, Tycon had spoken amicably with the half-elf.

"Mister Leafspring?" Frowned the second guard.

"Ah, I 'member that guy!" The first guard exclaimed. "Looked a bit pale last I saw him... You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would'ja, Sir?"

"Shut up, you," The second guard scolded before turning back to Tycon, "Leafspring... he don't work here no more."

That was unfortunate... but within expectations. Leafspring's ability to socialize while observing customs and courtesies was top-notch. His talents were beyond that of his station under Ophelia.

Still, Tycon had a final (still peaceable) card to reveal.

"If that's the case, please summon Miss Roxane of House Dewdrop. She will meet with me."

Ophelia's personal guard would recognize him.

Most likely, she'd be of the accusatory sort and call him a snake-- as if that would offend him.

Then, they'd fight. As a matter of course, he'd dominate her in one-on-one combat. He'd make a public display of apologizing to Ophelia for breaking so many of her servant's limbs. And finally, the Arcanite Princess would forgive him, if begrudgingly.

"Ah, Roxy... she's... indisposed," The older guard said, his tone softer than earlier.

Tycon furrowed his brows.

Roxane? Indisposed?

That was highly unlikely.

Tycon placed a hand upon his chin, resting his elbow on the opposite arm.

It was strange.

There must have been a deeper reason as to why he was being rebuffed.

...Did the guards need to be bribed? Was that expected behavior in the Eastern States?

Tycon didn't want to spend coin on something so absurd. He'd rather use blackmail or coercion over bribery.

...He quietly weighed the benefits and detriments of using violence.

Regardless of the locale and its social customs, violence was always effective. Its quantity and quality determined the degree of success.

...Alas, he decided against it.

Ophelia was an ally of Sol Invictus... and Tycon was personally against crippling and killing Unranked guards.

Tycon took another deep breath and observed his surroundings. Dozens of merchants and well-dressed personages lined up behind him or milled about on the sidelines. All were equally frustrated by their lack of access to the Enclave.

So many of them...

"Is there... an event going on?" Tycon asked.

Was there a festival of some kind, coming up? A collaborative building project? ...A scandal amongst whatever passed as nobility in the States?

"Nah," The first guard yawned as he picked his nose. "There was a uh... incident the other sun. Terrorist attack or some shite. That's why--"

Ah. That was the reason. Tycon had heard enough.

Calmly reaching forward, he wrapped his palm around the whelpling's face and gently pushed him aside.

"Hey!" The second guard yelled, "You can't go in there!"

"I advise against trying to stop me," Tycon groaned as he walked past, "You aren't paid enough to risk your lives."

He was certain of it. They couldn't even afford proper haircuts.

Leaving behind stunned silence, he navigated the Enclave-proper. It was a simple task, as he was able to refer to its floor plan as painstakingly recorded by his System.

Pushing open the double doors, he strode into the main hall.

"Ophelia!!" He shouted, "I've come to--"

--sympathize with you, on account of the impotent buffoon that was your fiancee.

Tycon held his words, observing the state of the hall.

It was dark... which was neither a problem for him nor its Elven inhabitants. The fluorescent lichen on the ceiling and walls were... far less abundant than he remembered.

The guards inside the Enclave were far different than out.

They were elves, which came to no surprise... but they did not wear the insignia of House Moonwell.

Sunset Wolf.

Four-Wing Pegasus.

Northern Star.

From what Tycon knew, they were smaller houses.

There were two members of House Whisperwind... one of the more influential houses. They inclined their heads upon meeting Tycon's gaze.

He nodded lightly in acknowledgment.

House Shadowstrider was present. An Elven Martialist observed him calmly.

Tycon allowed it. As a Gold-Rank, he had nothing to fear.

...The Martialist, too, inclined their head.

There were no elves from House Spider Crab. Krysaos and the Thunder God could be trusted to act without supervision.

All present were gathered around three Iron-Rank Priests (or Priestesses?) from House Winsome Rose.

They were burning sticks of cedar and chanting in unison. Each carried holy symbols of their patron goddess-- the Innocent Goddess, if Tycon's memory served.

It was... a purification rite.

...What was occurring in the Moonwell Enclave was no ordinary event.

Ordinary events were not closed to the public.

Ordinary events did not call for the various representatives to be armed in their wargear.

Tycon furrowed his brows.

What in the seven hells had happened?

"Please return, dear guest," An Elven woman said as she approached. "If it is a meeting you seek with the Arcanite Princess, that will not be possible this sun."

⟬ Stern Elf, Iron-Rank Blademaster. ⟭

She stood in his path, her hand resting on the hilt of one of her two swords.

The subtle threat was not lost on him.

He did not respond immediately. That she was first to speak signified that she had some status amongst her peers.

She wore a thin, metallic shirt underneath her tabard. Despite the weak light, Tycon recognized the material of the comprising small rings.

It was mithril.

The mere shirt was as resistant to cuts as steel plate.

Two curved blades hung from her waist, each emanating colored light-- one blue, the other green.

A necklace rested over her armor, the embellishment in the shape of a shield... a defensive item.

Two iron bands were clasped to her biceps-- those likely enchanted with offensive attributes.

Most importantly... on her collar was the insignia of two stylized swords.

She belonged to one of the families of House Highblade. By the quality of her equipment, Tycon found it safe to assume she was a Princess of some import.

Alas... she was young.

According to her facial structure and build, she was scarcely older than Coraline.

Was she strong-willed, well-spoken, and disciplined for her age?

...Or was she the best House Highblade could send at short notice?