Headed by a Snake

⟬ Tree God's Forest Dungeon, former home of Ravidius Orion... nearly an entire bell later... ⟭

The blue-eyed, blue-haired buffoon known as Tarquin Wroe was quite open about his misgivings.

Finding the Moonwell Princess in the Tree God's Forest was comparable to finding a Gorgon with an intellectual mien...

--or... a woman willing to share her honest concerns without her gentleman caller turning to coercion or obsequity.

However, Tycondrius had Alana.

The Dungeon Core was ingrained in and attuned to the extensive woodlands.

Therefore, Wroe was wrong.

And stupid.

Alana's scan of the forest successfully returned a positive result.

Tycon assumed that the Dungeon Core's level allowed her to find Ophelia despite her anti-scrying necklace.

...Otherwise, it was no longer in her possession.

Did she discard it on her own? ...Was it taken from her by force? Either possibility implied a new slew of problems... and those would have to wait until the person in question was extricated from danger.

Alana detected the mana-signature of not one, but two Gold-Rank elves-- yet another ominous development. Both, however, were in close proximity... so at the very least, the destination of Sol Invictus remained the same.

As much as Tycon yearned to act... there was some time longer to wait.

Channeling his mana into Leomund's Ring, he and his companions walked the freshly-excavated Dungeon passageways... restlessly awaiting its conclusion.

"So there I was," Krysaos grumbled... "Me, a Thunder God, an angel, and a Prince... delving deep, deeeep down a Demon Lord's butthole."

"Wouldn't it be *up* the butthole?" Wroe narrowed his eyes into slits. The smirk he wore implied he was offering some sort of enlightenment.

"We are absolutely *not* traveling through a Demon Lord's anus, Sea God," The Thunder God retorted-- "Friend-Maedar, I insist you correct the Captain."

"As a minor correction," Tycon sighed, "Mister Wroe is also a Prince, his station even more illustrious than mine."

"Ya. Don't. Say?" Krysaos huffed.

Silence returned to the party of four... and it continued for some time.

The minutes and bells before an oncoming battle frayed the nerves of even veteran soldiers.

False fatigue tugged at Tycon's heart, a consequence of trying and failing to keep his adrenaline levels in check.

Doubts and regrets assaulted his mind, chipping away at his will... which he fortified with righteous fury.

Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus.

At the end of Alana's path would be a ⌈Gate⌋.

Through that, Sol Invictus would emerge a 600 yalm distance away from... wherever Alana discerned they needed to be.

The Dungeon Core was certainly a boon to their quest... and Tycon was eternally grateful to Ravidius for his gift.

It was somewhat regretful... but Tycon chose to decline his System's offer of binding Alana to his soul.

In the interim, he was only borrowing her power.

...Somesun in the future, perhaps, he would return for her.

Creating a Dungeon and the mundane problems that came with it was the privilege of a retired adventurer with nothing better to do.

The current Tycon had, not one, but several urgent tasks that needed to be dealt with sooner, rather than later.

Sensing the end of their journey drawing near, he broke the silence.

"Sol Invictus... are you prepared?"

"Huh. Never thought I'd hear that..." Krysaos mused, "Feels pretty good."

"Good to go, Boss," Wroe smiled happily. "I'd rather be somewhere else, but eh-- here I am."

To that, both Krysaos and the Thunder God glared at the fellow-- rather unkindly, at that.

"Wroe is present and will fight to the best of his ability," Tycon sighed. "Complaining is a right-- especially in our professions."

"I'm good, LT," Krysaos grinned. He was rotating the Thunder God's javelin in his left hand.

The coming battle would likely be on a scale sufficient to see its use.

Suddenly, he stopped-- and he was overtaken by laughter. "Hahaha! HAhaHAAA! Yo, LT!! Whaddya think our chances are-- coming out and finding we're on the mother*ckin' TRAP PATH?"

Tycon pursed his lips. "Logically, very little... The Trap Path only constitutes a tiny fraction of the Tree God's Forest."

"And if we're thinkin' not-so-logically?" Krysaos asked.

Tycon shut his eyes hard, trying not to curse aloud.

"...It's almost a certainty we will arrive at a destination disadvantageous to us," He said. "Prepare for the worst."

"I..." The Thunder God took a deep breath, "I believe I am recovered as best I can."

"You don't look so great, blondie," Krysaos said, more amused than concerned. "How many of those little paper things you end up making?"

The Shirtless God raised his head, his eyes sparking with electricity.

"Two and thirty," He declared proudly.

So... thirty-two.

The Thunder God had enchanted Divine Power into thirty-two paper amulets inscribed with various lightning spells as a base.

Thirty-two activations of spells ranging from Second-Circle to Fifth... it was enough to decimate the standing army of an entire nation, perhaps even causing them to rout and regroup.

...It was admittedly more than Tycon had asked for.

However, the Thunder God had no friends and desperately sought approval from the few peers he had.

And Tycon's approval, he had.

He accepted the bundle of amulets with both hands... "I pray you're still in good condition to fight?"

"Of course, friend-Maedar! With your blades and mine, let this be the sun that, I--"

A low thrum emanated from Tycon's hand, interrupting the Thunder God. The fiery glow of Leomund's Ring dimmed and its dancing patterns stilled.

The path had ended.

Suddenly, a blinding light burst forth from the forward wall. Just as quickly, the earth and rock crumbled away, leaving behind a blazing white ⌈Gate⌋ in the shape of a rectangular door.

Tycon put on a kind smile.

« Alana, my dear... you've done quite well. »

⟬ Alana bids farewell to the Ivory Prince. She promises to pray for his safe return. ⟭

...The response caught Tycon off guard-- but only for a moment.

There were more pressing matters at hand.

He turned to his companions and waved them forward, "Onward! Into the mouth of the bleeding hells!"

"eRRahhh!!" Wroe grunted as he tumbled through the white portal.

Krysaos leapt through next, "Blood and THUNDER!!"

And the Thunder God... hesitated.

As for why, Tycon did not have the time to ask.

He grabbed the Shirtless God by the bicep, "I'll watch your back. You watch mine. Now go."

With a brisk nod, the Thunder God stepped through the ⌈Gate⌋.

Spell scroll in hand, Tycon immediately followed suit...