9 Kidnapping Khloe
Baron Zindo Tavor's manor was suitably opulent. Foreign rugs and tabards warmed the walkways and halls. Oversized paintings were expensively illuminated by magical ever-burning torches. Servants operated in a pretentious, orthodox, some would say archaic style. When the Baron came around, servants were expected to bow, walk quickly to a corner, and face away.
Servants. Furniture. Tools. Like any object, its greatest joy should come from being used by its owner.
Tycon thought it an asinine orthodoxy.
Very few servants walked the halls, with respect to the time in the evening. Only a single servant remained hard at work, a young female frantically scrubbed the floor in a lounge. The task would take far less time if the brush she was given hadn't been broken. Her uniform was quite new, and her face, even judging at a distance, was far too fresh.
All that together made her a perfect target for the repugnant scum of a lech that was Zindo Tavor.
"I'm sorry, Sir. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," The young maid's voice had a light, squeaky tone, like a mouse or mewling fox-pup.
She had encountered the Baron at a disadvantaged time. Perhaps, she had moved too slowly to adhere to the rules of the household. Or she could have moved too slowly in hiding herself. Even a single servant or guard was around would have provided a measure of protection.
She had none.
"Hahaha. Don't move, little girl. I have to welcome you to the household," Zindo licked his lips.
The Baron was an older man, a bit overweight from either age or from decadence. He wore a scummy mustache on his face, too thin to be any means of impressive. His greasy hair was either a poor style choice or an unfortunate medical condition. He may have been attractive some years ago, but the unwelcome lust in his voice and his unshy hands made him naught but the worst example of corrupt nobility.
"No, Sir, please don't," the girl bowed her head, petrified in fear.
An expensive ceramic vase happened to be within throwing distance of the two. Stained on it was a magnificent array of Rokugani warriors and wingless lizards or tentacle beasts-- Tycon didn't look closely.
With a little help, the vase tipped over, crashing upon the expensive treated-wood floor, shattering into thousands of pieces, and alerting the entire west wing of the manor.
The young woman "Eep!"ed out of the room in a clumsy run, not caring about the state of her disheveled clothing. The greasy Baron eyed the broken vase, cursing under his breath. Within minutes, three lightly armored knights and a sharp-eyed, but armorless woman made their way into the room. The Baron waved the knights away in an angry huff, leaving him and the woman alone.
Tall. Proud. Dark-haired and defiant. The woman had a split nose, a common injury from hand-to-hand brawls, and a clear scar across her face, leaving her with an eerie but exotic glass eye. The strict look on her face did not mark her as an 'easy' woman.
"The vase, Lord Tavor…" The woman had a soft, subservient voice.
"An unstable, cheap display, mercenary. Nevermind that," the fat man waved flippantly.
"Intruders?" She frowned.
"How ridiculous!" The Baron frenetically waved away the notion, "Intruders? Are you an idiot, Seldin?"
The woman narrowed her eyes. Tycon had the feeling that if she held a weapon, she'd have gutted her employer.
The Baron screamed his dissatisfaction, "We're not in the middle of the woods or some goblin-camp! You're not an adventurer anymore, you one-eyed wench. Just do as you're told and don't bother me with the frivolities."
The woman lightly bowed and spoke through gritted teeth, "I understand, Lord."
Pleased, the Baron approached her and reached out his hand. The woman glared. Tycon, in his hiding spot, involuntarily shivered. Even at the distance, the woman's glare had sent an icy chill down his serpentine spine.
Tycon made a mental note to remember her name. Seldin. Strong. Former adventurer, too.
« System, inquiry: Seldin's rank. »
[System response: Seldin is Iron-Rank.]
Tycon was glad the Baron lacked the prudence to search for an intruder. If he was found, he did not want to risk fighting the Seldin woman alone.
Seldin looked up from her bow, her functional eye peeking through her hair, a dark crimson in the ever-burning torchlight. Her voice was deeper, near a growl, "Is there anything else, Lord?"
The Baron had smoothly retracted his hands, placing them behind his back, as if she hadn't just glared a hundred daggers at him. "Ah, yes. The matter of... the boy?"
"In the dungeons." The woman grimaced in revulsion, "Will the Lord be... partaking, tonight?"
Tycon found it ominous, the way the woman used the word 'partaking.'
The Baron waved dismissively, as he turned to walk away, "Perhaps later. I have a strongly worded letter or two I must write to the Council. And the matter cannot wait!"
"Very well, my Lord."
Seldin resumed her bow as the Baron 'hmph'ed and withdrew. Afterward, she righted her posture and held her lower back, sighing.
Walking to the vase, she began to pick up the large shards, piling them to a corner.
She whispered to herself, "It's all for the pay, Korr. Do as you're told. It's all for the pay..."
Tycon, in his snake-form, slithered frantically away in the shadows. Seldin's speech began to devolve into mumbles and cursing. Had she cut herself on the sharp fragmented edges?
Only after slithering away for several minutes into an empty room's open door, did he begin to relax.
First, Tycon transformed from tiny-sized-snake back to regular-sized-human.
Being a snake was beginning to feel far too comfortable. He decided to spend most of his time in human form. He doubted the prejudices of the Realm would allow him an easy life as a literal snake.
Second, he locked the door from the inside. He was the only person inside the room and he wished for it to stay that way.
Third, he checked his gear.
During his transformations, he's found that his immediate effects would be magically stored. Post-transformation nudity would greatly reduce the versatility of his transformation.
It seemed that Bucket was safe at the moment.
Still, he was left with the problem of an Iron-Rank female and however-many additional guards...
Tycon pulled a chair from a desk and sat down.
He deliberated for a time... He could work to sabotage the Baron's forces... but it would perhaps be wiser to meet with his party. Anyroad, Dragan seemed to be the overly violent type and Wroe seemed the type to summon a babbling nightmare creature that couldn't differentiate between humanoids.
As he was about to stand, Tycon examined the 'desk' he was sitting beside. He noted the discerning look on his own face, staring at the sizeable and expensive mirror atop it.
A vanity table?
Tycon observed his surroundings, noting a stuffed plush doll, a number of 'cute' minimalistic clay sculptures, and several one-handed weapons-- the most unassuming of which radiated mana. On a mannequin rested a slim set of metal half-plate armor, held together by dozens of leather straps.
Tycon's voice took a tone of amusement, "Lady Seldin's room? How lucky~"
On the opposite side of the room, Tycon's eye caught a dainty triangle, hanging out of an intimate clothes drawer.
It was a brief moment that Tycon considered the matter.
No. No, that wasn't in his best interests.
Tycon shook his head of any inappropriate thoughts as he took out his boot dagger.
The Iron-Rank Seldin was an enemy.
With swift and practiced hands, Tycon cut a small incision on every single leather strap on Miss Seldin's fantastic half-plate armor. Without replacing the straps, the armor would be effectively useless.
'Why shouldn't I? A professional fighter used to wielding heavy armor would be far less threatening without it.'
With a resolute and deserving heart, he placed Seldin's fantastic magical sword on his waist.
'Why shouldn't I? A professional fighter with a magical blade would be a danger to me and my companions.'
Tycon hesitated before the final robbery. Eventually, he relented, taking Seldin's huggable, stuffed cat plush.
'Why shouldn't I? A professional fighter… Shouldn't have these cute things.'
