Special Ability

Barza had fainted.

Again.

Tycon raised a palm upward, incredulous, "Mister Wroe, you've made a bloody mess."

The Daeva shrugged as if the sequence of events were natural. They were not.

"I'll get the mop, then?"

The golden-eyed youth nodded, pursing his lips, "Yes, please do."

The angelic-faced boy was a bit taller than Tycon. A sturdy metal breastplate guarded his chest, and adventurer's leathers covered the other vital parts. Wroe also wore a straight blade on his side, its hilt shiny and ornate. 

...Much nicer than Tycon's own. 

Most impressive about the fellow was his aptitude at wielding the bucket and mop.

Wroe swept his fair blue hair aside and worked the blooded stone floor with an almost-glowing smile.

Tycon did not consider himself a good judge of attractiveness. However, he held a deep suspicion that this boy was, in fact, prettier than he was.

The System saw fit to display the boy's name, transparent, above his head: Tarquin Wroe. Its color was green, denoting he was an ally. Whether it was from Wroe's subservient demeanor or from the fact that the gentleman called him 'Boss', Tycon felt comfortable ordering him around.

This was all in consideration of the fact that at Wroe's command, dozens of ghostly spectral hands would emerge from a ceiling to crunch on human flesh.

Tycon somehow doubted that that was the strangest thing he'd ever seen.

"Mister Wroe, have you found any new information?" Tycon prayed that this party member would be more informative than Dragan or the horse.

"Yes, I have, Boss. The local power around town is a Baron of House Tavor. He lives in a manor at the town's outskirts."

"Common knowledge, thus far. I pray you have more," Tycon didn't actually know that information, but he prodded Wroe on.

The angel laughed at Tycon's annoyance, still mopping systematically, "Lots of bad stuff. Extortion. Blackmail. Child abduction."

"Lots of guards?"

"Yep."

"Is he wealthy?"

"Yep."

Tycon hesitated, "Would it be... Hm, how do I phrase this... Do you think the group would be, uh... averse? To killing the Baron and say... Everyone inside the manor?"

"Hmmmm" Wroe rested on the mop handle, "I'd rather not kill *everyone.* But I doubt that anyone else in Guild Invictus would have a problem with it."

Tycon nodded in thought. It seemed that he led a group of psychopaths.

...He decided that he would as he pleased without thinking too much on it. He looked away from Wroe, at Barza's snoring and unconscious form.

Wroe followed Tycon's gaze and gasped with a realization, "What are we going to do about that Barza-guy, Boss? Can we trust him?"

Tycon shrugged as he took a damp cloth to his bloodied boots, "I'm sure he's fine. I have a trick-- a special ability, if you will. If I stare at someone for long enough, I'll eventually get the answer I want."

…

Near half-a-bell had passed before Barza woke up, smelling of vomit and... a stable.

"Where… where am I?" he focused his vision, recognizing the distinct golden eyes that haunted his nightmares. 

"Ah, so you've awoken, Mister Barza."

Tycon passed Barza a flask of water and indicated that he sit up and drink.

"Sir Tycondrius. I… Apologize."

Tycon merely smiled silently in response. An ice-cold shiver ran down the length of Barza's spine. The taller man with the blue hair, Mister Wroe, stood nearby with a cruel smirk on his lips. 

Barza desperately wanted to dismiss the entire evening as a fleeting dream. Blood was no longer splattered on the walls. Strange ghost-hands no longer dangled from the ceiling. But... he still reeked of urine. The taste of vomit was still fresh in his mouth. He could tell that blood was mopped up from the hard floor and a bit of straw had been scattered where he remembered his companions had been piled up.

But the worst evidence he could not deny was the neatly collected pile of swords, daggers, and other effects from Denman, Kevand, and the other Wolves. 

Barza bowed deeply in front of Tycon, "I... I vow never to let tonight's events leave my lips."

As a response, Tycon continued smiling, only raising an eyebrow. The pressure from the silence was oppressive enough to make Barza's chest feel tight. His heart pounded painfully and he struggled to breathe. The cold evening chill had transformed into an impossibly frozen wasteland of regret.

Barza fell to his knees with a painful bang and pressed his head to the freshly-mopped, pine-scented stone. He gulped in vomit-flavored fear as he fumbled to find the words, "I... Barza Keith... would serve the lord Baron, if he would... have me."

Barza looked up fearfully, to see the noble's reaction. Tycon nodded lightly, lifting Barza's mood sky-high. This was his chance to never be poor again! "I don't even have to be paid much, my lord, I can just--"

Tycon's eyes narrowed into a threatening glare. Barza's heart fell into the deepest depths of his stomach and the corners of his eyes stung with the threat of tears. He was going to cry in front of his new employer.

"I'll even work without pay, my lord! I don't need it!"

A cunning smile had returned to Tycon's face, "Very well. Welcome to Guild Invictus, Mister Barza."

Wroe turned away, trying to suppress his laughter.