Headed by a Snake

So there was a martial tournament in the trade city of Caeruleum? That wasn't too far from Silva. It would be a suitable goal for Athena and the others to work towards. Having both a goal and a deadline would improve the efficacy of their training.

"Ohh?" Tycondrius raised an eyebrow, "What can you tell me about that, young lady?"

The young Popoto kicked her legs whimsically in her chair, "Oh, I've been to the arena, but I didn't watch any of the fighting. I don't really like to see people get hurt."

Tycon's mouth twitched... "Why did... you go then?"

The young lady bared her tiny teeth in a grin, "They have um... a horse grooming competition?"

Tycon crossed his arms and nodded. He could use that, as well. He had two very capable stallions that he could arm and armor to fight against other horses... or compete in whatever types of contests they held.

Horse had access to the skills ⌈Heavy Slam⌋, ’High Horsepower⌋, and ⌈Double Kick⌋... He could reasonably teach him ⌈Giga Impact⌋ as a trump card by the time the tournament came around.

Jeremy was not naturally as strong, but in traveling with Sol Invictus, he would certainly outclass at least half of his opponents.

Hm... Would the competition test for illegal drugs? Tycon was not 100% certain that both of Sol Invictus' horses would qualify, if so.

Sensing the footsteps approaching the room, Tycon crossed over to the door to the servant's quarters. He allowed Seldin Korr time to knock before opening it.

The Raging Flame Knight, Korr, had changed into more comfortable clothing from earlier in the sun. She wore a comfortable tunic and trousers, with her long, flame-colored hair hiding her scarred eye.

Tycon was more used to her in casual dress and met her gaze with a smile, "Good evening, Korr. Come in, I was just--"

"Who...?" Korr's eye narrowed suspiciously as she sniffed the air.

Tycon pursed his lips as he gestured for Korr to enter, "This is Popoto Potata Pota, a member of the Courier's Guild."

"H-hello!" Potata greeted. She hurriedly placed her box meal onto the desk, stood atop her chair seat, and bowed politely.

Immediately, Korr's gaze softened... "Oh."

The uniformed Popoto looked nervously to Korr, "Should I... leave, Sir Tycon? I don't want to be a bother."

The young lady's polite consideration warmed Tycon's heart, "Nonsense. I'll be writing another missive soon... and I insist you at least remain until you finish your meal."

Tycon kept the door open as, soon after, the miserable Sorina Capulet trudged into the room. Seeming to match her nauseated tempo, her Armor Cube magically rotated around her head in a wobbly fashion.

"I don't know what makes me more sick, Boss..." She groaned, "Mister Greer's balance books or Olea Garden-- Oh, a member of the Courier's Guild?"

Tycon nodded, "This is Popoto Potata Pota."

"H-hi," The young Popoto twisted her lips to the side, bowing again.

"Nice to meet you, Popoto Potata Pota," Sorina greeted, lightly inclining her head, her Armor Cube matching her movement.

"Popoto Potata Pota..." Korr whispered as she sat upon one of the beds and hugged a pillow, "Cute..."

Potata pursed her lips, looking wronged, "Can... can you guys stop saying my name like that? Please?"

Tycon and the other members of Sol Invictus immediately apologized.

...

⟬ Several suns prior, in a cell in the maximum security prison, Turrim Orientem. ⟭

Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark crossed his muscled arms as he reclined back in his chair and kicked his dirty feet up onto the nearby table.

"The letter is to be addressed to Sir Tycon of Sol Invictus," He explained.

The wizened old scribe with the grey beard nodded as he penned the missive's header. It was a good beard, but Lone had gotten used to having his beard trimmed or going clean-shaven like the other members of Sol Invictus.

Lone idly scratched at the edges of the scar on his cheek, thinking about what exactly to put into his missive... "Tell him... that I'm safe. I led a dungeon group into the sewers... where we took care of a massive rat problem."

The scribe scratched more words onto the parchment... "How many rats were there, Lord Ranger?"

Lone pursed his lips, "Just one. It was massive."

The old man's mouth twitched, "I... see."

"Well, there were more parts of the dungeon, too. Maybe I should start from the beginn--"

The cell door burst open as a young man entered with an arrogant grin, "Lone Shadowdark! You Flame-taken criminal! I knew I'd find you here."

Lone furrowed his eyebrows as he took his feet off the table and leaned forward... "Well, yeah. I live here. Cell assignments don't really change, Kleitos."

"Sword!!" Kleitos shrieked as three of his goons filed in after him, each much larger and more impressive-looking than their lanky noble charge.

One of them handed Kleitos a sword, which he unsheathed, throwing the scabbard away, "I've had enough of your shite-talking, kid!"

"What the hells did you say?" Lone stood up, offended to the core, "I'm definitely older than you are!"

Kleitos bared his teeth in an annoyed scowl, "How about I put a few new cuts on your ugly face?"

Lone narrowed his eyes as he circled to his opponent's left, "How about you give me a sword? Then I can put a few new cuts on YOUR ugly MOM!"

Yeah. Got 'em.

The scribe trembled in fear as he retreated to the relative safety of the corner of the room, "G-guards?! Where are the guards!?"

"Hahaha! Shut up, scribe," Kleitos cackled. "I've paid off those corrupt bastards. There'll be no one here to save you, Shadowdark."

"Well, that goes two ways," Lone cracked his neck from side to side... The pressure was enough, as Kleitos' three men hesitated to step forward. Everyone knew what he was capable of in the prison dungeon. It was why everyone called him the Lord Ranger.

Lone grinned, trying to look as crazy as possible, "--the easy way and the hard way."

"What?" Kleitos furrowed his brows.

Lone pursed his lips. He was trying to say something impressive, but it came out wrong... Yeah. It was definitely wrong.

"Nevermind. Let's just fight."