Headed by a Snake

"Kobolds?! PAH!" Schritt spat, "And YOU... you REALLY think that some... piecemeal-armored DOGS can be the end-all solution to your problems, GIRL?!"

The man stopped abruptly... a slow grin stretching the length of his face.

"I'll have you know... that I hired the Stonelords to cordon off the area! That's right! Sol Invictus is done for! DEAD! That's YOU, bArOnNn tYcONn! And that's your FILTHY pirate companion, too!!"

Tycondrius pursed his lips, his gaze absentmindedly drifting away.

Schritt was absolutely incensed. But... whatever reasons he had, Tycon was sure it had little to do with him.

His obstinance, however, was chipping away at Tycon's patience.

The Realm was ending soon. His death and the death of all people were nigh.

...If he were to slice the rude fellow's throat open, it wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of Realm events.

But at the same time, the notion of it was... tiresome.

Thus, Tycon opted for soft words instead of hard steel.

"Perhaps we can discuss our issues, Sir?" He offered, "I fear this... aggression of yours may be somewhat misplaced."

"STONELORDS!!" Schritt shouted, "Murder this man!!!!"

A nearby window pane slid open. The elongated and horn-ed head of a stone-skinned grotesque peeked in.

He was a sizeable fellow-- if his head was a proper gauge for the rest of him. He wasn't as large as the silent metal-clad giant at the table... but it was implied that he was one of several.

"(A lovely evening to you fine ladies and gentlemen,)" It said in the light and airy language of the Free Nation. "(I see the Ivory Prince has arrived-- and the years have been kind. Greetings and salutations, Sir.)"

"Ah, good evening," Tycon waved. "(Honor and glory to your clan, friend.)"

"(Aye. And to yours, your lordship.)"

Several seconds passed-- enough time that it became obvious that Stonelord-based murdering was likely *not* going to occur.

"What's the catch this time?" Natalya asked.

"...Would you like the full explanation, my dear," Tycon offered, "or one neatly summarized?"

"Something in the middle."

Tycon sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"The Stonelords are a Warband from the Free Nations, led by Caerwyn the Abyssal. Currently, they are part of a coalition led by my sister, War Princess Cass."

"(Ivory Prince, me and the lads have been keeping an eye out for trouble. There's been nothing-- nothing really. There are two Gorgons, though-- and they say they know you? Said something about Kasydon?)"

"I refuse to acknowledge knowing any Gorgons," Tycon replied curtly.

"You... Hah... hahah..."

Carlton Schritt was crouched over, his hands covering his face, "You've bought off my men... you've... you've defeated my mercenaries... and you-- you've TRICKED ME into paying TOP COIN only for me to be BACKSTABBED BY MONSTERS!!!"

"Ack-shu-uhlllyyyy," Sorina waved from where she stood at the door, "I did most, if not all of that. I'm the monster. Me."

"You..." Schritt clutched at his chest, snarling like a scared dog, "you've taken what I held... most dear."

Tycon frowned. Was Schritt referring to the whiskey? It was certainly expensive.

Thus... it was reasonable if he would ask for compensation.

However, Natalya would have to share some of the blame. She drank most of it...

"I know what you're thinking, Snake," Natalya frowned. "It's something stupid. And wrong."

Tycon tilted his lips to the side, "I was just thinking that this is your fault."

"I can't help being the most desirable bachelorette in the Realm."

Tycon tilted his head. What did that have to do with their current situation?

"Natalya--"

"ENOUGH!!!" Schritt roared. He began to gather a thick cloud of oppressive mana as he placed his hand on his sword hilt.

"I!!! AM!!! STILL!!! A GOLD-RANK--"

Corpse.

Schritt was a Gold-Rank Corpse.

While Tycon was distracted, Korr had recovered from her previously fainted state and... faster than anyone could or cared to react, had murdered Schritt.

An enchanted blackblade had been skewered through the man's chest. At about the same time, Korr's gauntleted hand gripped the man's neck so hard, one of his eyes popped out of its sockets.

The acrid stench of burnt fabric layered with charred meat filled the meeting hall.

No one present said a word.

...Neither did anyone look particularly surprised.

"Really, Korr?" Tycon chided.

"[I did not kill him,]" The young lady insisted. "[I maimed him.]"

...If that was the case, Korr had miscalculated.

Tycon was close enough to Schritt that he was able to sense the man's vital functions.

He was no longer breathing. His heart was beating faster, but its strength waned.

Soon, it would slow-- then stop entirely.

...Ultimately, that disagreeable fellow was not necessary to the meeting.

"I know I shouldn't speak ill of the dead," Natalya crossed her arms... "but that guy was really dumb to underestimate you, Tycon, of all people."

Tycon breathed a sigh through his nostrils,  "Korr, go with the Stonelords and... dispose of... that."

The dark-armored woman tilted her head, "[He's not dead, though.]"

"Just go."

Korr grabbed the body by the ankle, then departed via window.

"Boss," Sorina coughed. "That guy was speaking on behalf of City-State Whitehearth."

"...Go to House Highblade. Inform them that the presence of Princess Sindal is required."

"Ehhh?" Sorina tilted her head, "Wouldn't... it be past her bedtime?"

"...Just go."

"Got it, Boss."

The merchant-girl limped away... leaving Tycon with the awkward crowd.

"(Ivory Prince-- Sir, good Sir... as a hypothetical, if me and the lads were to eat--)"

"Dis-MISSED!!!" Tycon yelled.

The Stonelord left immediately, shutting the window from whence he came.

Anyroad...

Natalya looked upset but concerned. Bella looked bored. At least Admiral Chantal looked amused.

And the armored fellow...

Hm.

It was a good sign that he had yet to leave.

"...Now that that's out of the way, let us discuss the end of the Realm and what we're going to do about it."

...

Tycondrius did not particularly care for round meeting tables.

Regular, rectangular tables had a seating arrangement decided by common etiquette. It was rather simple to understand, whether importance was dictated by billet and rank or, at least, by age.

After Tycon took his seat, Archbishop Natalya Crucis peeled herself off of his arm and sat to his immediate left.

Immediately after, a heavy chair scraped along the tile... a chair that Tycon was not sure existed, before then.

The armored-fellow seemed insistent on sitting to his right.

"Hey, switch spots with me, big guy," Chantal said sweetly. "I'd like to sit next to my Lieutenant."

The suit of armor responded confidently, without meeting her gaze.

"The honor of Nemaya Strana demands I take my seat by Sol Invictus."

"Whaaaat?" Chantal crossed her arms. Whether it was intentional or not, she accentuated the size of her bust, which was at about the armored fellow's eye level. "You're a gentleman, right? You'll respect the sincere wishes of a lady, won't you?"

"Really, Chantal?" Bella sighed. "Is there a word in Alizeaun for 'double standards?'"

"My deepest apologies, Admiral," The armored man said. "But I must first respect the wishes of the Frozen Queen."

"Hm, alright." Chantal shook her head. "Hey, Crucis. Move over."

Natalya lunged for Tycon's arm-- which he dodged out of reflex.

Not to be stopped, however, Natalya then slowly and purposefully reached over, taking hold of his wrist. Then she pulled him close, wrapping both arms around his elbow.

"I refuse," She said.

"The Lieutenant works for me, Priestess," Chantal grinned, "I can order him to my side, y'know. I was just tryin' to be polite-- since he's your couch-slut, and all."

"There is a *war* to be had, Princess De la Croix," Natalya yelped.

"--not a Princess, darling," Chantal sang.

"Whatever you are!!"

Tycon cleared his throat, "Natalya, Chantal's rank is Fleet Admi--"

"Shut up, couch-slut!"

"V-very well."

Natalya pointed accusingly, "And what can the Magic Kingdom's military offer, hm? To only send a Naval Officer? Do you even *know* what we're supposed to be fighting!?"

"Don't know, don't really care," Chantal shrugged. "But it probably bleeds, doesn't it?"

"Some of them do, I suppose," Tycon muttered.

"7. thousand. men and women. loyal to the Flame!" Natalya said as she slammed her fists on the table, "Loyal to HUMANITY! That's how many people the Empire of Tyrion will commit to the war effort!"

She turned to Tycon and winked, "Oh, and I have a new guild you might be interested in. They're called Guild Letalis-- all elites... and all loyal to yours truly."

"I've heard of them," Tycon nodded.

He had handpicked the leadership of Guild Letalis Serpentis, himself... but Natalya didn't need to know that.

"10,800!" Chantal declared, "And that includes King Adal's Phantom Knight Corps, the Silverwing Griffon Riders-- oh, and every single Royal Marine chewed up and sh*t out by the training depot at Port San Canis."

Tycon nodded. It seemed that the wise King Adal saw it prudent to volunteer his best forces.

...also, his Phantom Knights and Griffon Riders had excellent reputations.

",