122 Levi’s Loyalty

The morning sun came peacefully upon Port City Caractere and for Guild Invictus.

Tycon had sent word ahead via the Courier's Guild to Fleet Admiral Chantal. The response was relatively prompt and the meeting was scheduled a couple of suns later, allowing Invictus some leisure time.

The young half-elf, Pale volunteered to collect information and go about the city with Kimura Taree. Those two were Tycon's best bet at finding any information about the whereabouts of the still-missing Tarquin Wroe.

Tycon highly doubted the man had gotten himself killed... not silently, anyroad. The blue-haired angel-blood had a strange penchant for manifesting eldritch and magical effects general chaos wherever he went. Tycon hadn't yet heard any rumors of the sort.

Dragan took Lone gallivanting. Tycon expected nothing from them. Hopefully, Lone had learned his lesson and wouldn't contract a new sexual disease by sun's end. And hopefully they didn't find their way into a cell without proper adult supervision.

Tycon put on his dark-hooded cloak and met up with Mister Levi Wolfrider.

"So... Mister Levi."

The dog-wolf boy perked his white, pointed ears up, "Yes, Boss?"

Tycon desperately wanted to ask him whether he was a dog or a wolf? Tycon somehow knew that it would be rude to ask. It was not an inquiry the System could answer.

The young weretouched boy seemed... skittish. Tycon didn't want to damage his reputation with the boy (any more than it already was.) He decided to ask safe, socially acceptable questions.

"What do you do... for fun?" Tycon inquired.

Levi fidgeted, touching his forefingers together, "Sometimes I... steal from children."

"Ohhhh." Tycon forced a smile, "I see."

Is that what people do for fun in the Kingdom? Tycon began to panic internally. He had nothing in common with this boy.

Tycon's mouth twitched, "We're going... shopping."

"Boss, should I... bring a sack?" Levi tilted his head, allowing a floppy ear to fall.

What? Tycon wondered why Levi was classed as a Warden instead of a Thief.

"...No. I'd... actually prefer if you kept your hands to yourself while we're here."

...

Wolfbanger sniffed the air, "Trouble ahead, boss."

Tycon furrowed his brows, "I don't smell anything. How do you know that?"

The wolf-dog-boy scritched behind his ears, "I dunno, Boss. I just know, alright?"

Frowning, Tycon still pulled his sword out of its catch in case he needed to draw it. Similarly, Levi took his greathammer off of his back and heaved its unbalanced weight over his shoulder.

...Tycon needed to get him a different, more sensible weapon.

The pair turned the corner. One alley further would get them to the mercantile district. There was a woman in a bright red skirt with her back to a wall, surrounded by 3 rough-looking gentlemen. Long, bright, orange-red hair, she was dressed in a conical witch's hat and a functional set of leather armor.

"Come on there, girl. We can show you around the town." "Yeah, you can trust us." "How 'bout we show you to an inn, hurr hurr." --Tycon didn't hear anything particularly interesting or new from the ruffians.

« System, basic information. »

[System response: Bronze-Rank Sea Witch...]

Tycon listened as the System listed off their rankings and classes... Only the woman was a Metal Ranker-- which also meant that Tycon didn't need to trouble himself.

He approached, fully intent on walking past the group. He really didn't want to trouble himself in Caractere. The port city was run by Fleet Admiral Chantal, herself. She and her men kept order and held the power of lawful execution. Challenging her was not in Tycon's best interests.

Unfortunately, he got a better look at the red-headed woman's face. She wore a dark cloth over her eyes; the woman was blind. More troubling still, the woman was looking directly at him.

"Och, I'm sorry, boys." The Sea Witch rested a hand on her hip, her red skirt flaring to the side. "It's been fun tearin' the tartan, but I've gotta get tae. Me knights-in-shining 'ave come ta pick me oup."

What was she playing at? Was Sea Witch not a combat class? Or did she not want to get her hands dirty? ...Anyroad, it looked to be a low-risk project that could render at least some direction on their shopping trip.

"Um, we don't know her," Levi whelped.

Tycon glared at the dog-wolf, causing his ears to droop.

He considered using his status as a baron of the Kingdom... but if Fleet Admiral Chantal heard he was oppressing the commonfolk, it might affect her view. Military and nobility tended to clash, especially in the Kingdom, where old families still held high stations. He could call the guard... like a tool. Or he could just be himself.

"Good morning, gentlemen." Tycon stepped forward, "Kindly fuck the hells off."

The woman's jaw dropped, "Ehehe... He's jooking. Such a kidder, these friends'a mine."

The ruffians shared a look before they tacitly agreed to draw their cutlasses and daggers, facing off against Tycon.

Tycon grinned, "I suppose I can give you until the count of 3 until my guard dog tears your throats out."

Tycon snapped his fingers.

[Commander's Strike failed. Target ally out of range.]

...Tycon slowly turned his head, scanning the alley wall behind him. He found junk and trash debris, but no Weretouched boy. Where in the seven hells was Wolfbanger?

Tycon's mouth twitched as looked down the alley from whence they came-- that pup of a bitch had run off!!

Tycon ducked a swing of a thug's cutlass. As he fumbled for his sword, he took a big boot to the chest, crashing him into a wood-rotten crate.

'Empty night! That cur!' Tycon yelled internally. He finally got his sword free from its sheath.

"Sod it all," Tycon muttered as he un-dimmed his vision. Mottled gold eyes and vertical pupils stared at his attackers.

[Vexing Gaze activated.]

One man fell to his knees, scratching at his neck, struggling for air.

The second man-- ah, it didn't matter. Tycon swiped his dark iron sword across the tip of the second man's neck.

The third man's face was bright red and he had dropped his cutlass in a panic. Tycon accurately stabbed that man in the throat.

Two down, one to-- The first man tackled Tycon, and the two crashed to the ground. Ugh. Tycon felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. He had been stabbed. How annoying.

Tycon grabbed the end of his sword with his left hand. With both hands, he forced the blade forward into the man's throat. The man died gurgling blood.

"Yer madder 'an a box of frogs! 'Ave you offed the lot of them?!" The blind Sea Witch yelled, rather unfairly.

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Tycon struggled to his feet. Taking the dagger out of his gut and tossing it aside, he held his hand over the wound. He bowed ostentatiously.

"I, Tycon, your shining knight, has arrived," Tycon proclaimed, his words dripping with sarcasm.

The Sea Witch scoffed with a hand to her mouth, "Well met, Sir Tycon. Nae how 'bout we git lively bafore we git snared rapid by the guard."