Go Back

Tycon stood rigidly in the central hall of the manor, glaring at the ostentatious wood and ivory grandfather clock.

Dong. Dong. Dong. The clock rung several times in sonorous brass clangs, signifying the midday bell.

He turned to face the crowd. In the right formation were servants, including housekeepers, botanists, stablehands, and half of the kitchen staff. In the center formation, the guards had formed strict and neat lines, a credit to Guard Captain Varen, who stood at their front. In the left formation was… Sorina, a former tavern wench; Dragan, a massive drunkard, still nursing a hangover; Bucket, a literal child; and Seldin Korr, a mercenary previously employed by Baron Tavor.

Tycon reintroduced himself, promised everyone continued pay and job security, and introduced a few somehow surprising rule changes. Notably, he explicitly forbade physical or verbal hazing, sexual harassment or assault, blackmail, as well as anything illegal. Offenders were to be tried and punished by either himself or the local Adventurer's Guild, who could act as a neutral party.

...All of the staff wore expressions of surprise at Tycon's attempt to guarantee basic human rights. The mumbles in the crowd seemed generally positive, so he decided not to worry about it. 

Tycon dismissed the servants and guards to resume their duties, ordering Captain Varen, Seldin Korr, and the members of Guild Invictus to stay behind.

Gathering the five of them, Tycon looked them over.

Guard Captain Varen had combed his beard and wore a faded military coat. The old man was still wide in shoulders and stood rigidly, despite his age. Thankfully, he had also yet to show signs of severe brain damage.

Seldin Korr wore business-casual: a long-sleeved crimson shirt and a light yellow cloth tied in an elegant pattern beneath her collar. She wore her dark-red hair up in a combat-ready bun and wore small, subtle pearl earrings. Her efforts were apparent in applying makeup, as her eyes were far less dark and puffy as when Tycon had seen her during the previous evening.

Bucket wore his shoes on the correct feet and wore his long-sleeve shirt the correct way.

Dragan, the big drunk bastard, was missing a shoe and-- when concerning his shirt, his left arm was through the same hole as his neck.

"Bucket," Tycon blinked several times at Dragan before shaking his head, "Go get Mister Wroe."

"Yes, Sir!" Bucket replied before running off.

"Dragan," Tycon pursed his lips, looking up at the larger man.

"Y-yeah, Boss-- *hic*"

"...Where are the others?"

"Well…" Dragan held his broad forehead, blinking overmuch at the bright sunlight streaming through the windows, "Horse said he'd be late. Haven't seen Tarquin or Barza. Lulu and Wolfbanger are missing."

"...Alright. Any ideas where Lulu and Wolfbanger are?"

"N-nah, Boss," Dragan began to look worryingly and increasingly sick, "M-maybe Horse knows?"

"Alright, you big lug, Sod off. We'll talk later. I'll ask Wroe when he comes around."

Dragan didn't argue. The double doors of the manor opened, and as Dragan stumbled out, an arrogant, if handsome chestnut-brown horse strode in.

Captain Varen shared a surprised look with Seldin Korr, "Miss Seldin… Is that a horse?"

The professional mercenary struggled to keep her surprise hidden, "...Y-yes, it appears to be so."

The horse clopped within a stride of Tycon, before shaking its dark mane as a show of arrogance.

"(I'm here, Snake.)"

Tycon placed both of his hands on his waist.

"(Why are you late, Horse?)"

Tycon didn't mince words with Horse.

"(Because I don't care about your rules, Snake,)" Horse looked down and sneered defiantly at Tycon.

Tycon shook his head, "(I believe I'm the one who ensures you get paid... or... fed, at least.)"

Horse bucked up in shock, neighing, "(OhhHhh, NoOoo! I've made a mistake!)"

Tycon glared at Horse, "(Now what do you have to say?)"

Horse knelt down the best it could, placing his head low to the ground, "(Please forgive me, Snake.)"

Seldin couldn't help but lean over to Sorina, "Is Sir Tycon talking to the horse? And is this normal?"

"At this point, Miss Seldin..." The brunette pursed her lips, "--I'm too afraid to ask."

Tycon patted the horse on the side of its neck.

"I forgive you, Horse. Now go back and eat your fill. We'll go out in a few days."

The horse neighed in response, "(Thank you, Snake.)" Then he turned around and clopped out the front doors, closing them politely, afterward.

Varen, Sorina, and Seldin watched the scene play out in its entirety.

Varen gave Sorina a deep, heartfelt smile, "Little Sorina, the Baron is amazing, isn't he? Are you two close?"

Sorina averted her gaze and smiled, "No, Uncle Varen. We only met the other day."

Varen gave a polite bow to Seldin, who was examining them both closely, "Ah, Miss Seldin. This is my brother's daughter, Sorina. She's your junior, now, so please treat her well."

"Please treat me well, Senior," Sorina gave a bow.

Seldin glanced disdainfully at the younger woman and coldly clicked her tongue before turning away.

After a moment of awkwardness, Varen patted Sorina's shoulder, "Miss Seldin has a rough exterior, but she is professional at her work. As a matter of fact, she's something of a local legend at the Adventurer's Guild."

Sorina looked more disappointed than angry, "I understand, Uncle."

…

While the three were talking, Bucket had returned.

"He wasn't in his room, Sir."

"How odd." Tycon pondered, "Wait-- don't tell me..."

Tarquin Wroe stumbled through a side door. Black ink spilled from his eyes, wide open, pupils shrunken and shaking. A preternatural grin plastered his face, and the corners of his mouth were cracked and bleeding. His cloak and armor were gone. The man wore no tunic or shoes, just torn, ragged trousers. Overlapping carvings of elaborate sigils adorned his chest in blood-- depictions of hands and eyes, more hands, and more eyes.

"She... she carves them... line... line by line..."

Tycon moved immediately, "Bucket, wait here."

"Um. Okay."

Tycon shoved Wroe back into the hall he had emerged from.

"Mister Wroe, what did you see?" Tycon asked calmly.

"T-tycon.. She--- she... She was so beautiful..."

Wroe's sobs grew louder, black ink streaming down his face and hands. As the ink fell upon the floor, the drops fanned out like spiderwebs.

"Yeah, so?" Tycon badgered, "Did you make a pact?"

"She reached out her hands... her long... white... PaaALe HAaaAAANDDSSS…"

Wroe's voice began to change, gaining an intimidating twin echo. He no longer stood up, floating several ilms above the floor. Outside, clouds blotted out the sun, and lightning and thunder shook the manor. Wroe raised his arms to praise whatever entity held him.

"BEHOLDER OF MY HEART AND MIND... in YouR MaNYY BEAUTEOUS HANDS AND EYES!"

A hundred hands spilled from the shadows, from the ceiling, from the cracks in the floors, bleeding from the glass windows-- and they embraced him. Eyes were birthed from the dried paint, from the wood of the doors, made of bleeding flesh and trying to focus their vision on something just out of vision.

The door behind Tycon opened and Captain Varen stuck his head out.

"Sir Tycon, is everything alr-- arr..ahh.... Wha... whaaa--?"

Captain Varen lost his words as he saw the floating nightmare. Blood began to drip from the old man's nose as he stared, his mouth agape at the screaming cultist.

"THE FORGER OF BLADES OF STARLIGHT! OF BLACK MOONS OF ETERNAL UNREST! I EXALT THEE! MY GODDESS OF THE WELL!"

Lightning struck in the outside courtyard. Several razor-sharp, 6-fulm-tall, ivory-colored swords burst from the dirt, standing upright. 

Tycon glanced outside, pursing his lips, "Never seen that before."

"Nothing to worry about, Captain." Tycon placed a finger on Captain Varen's forehead and gently pushed him back behind the door, closing it firmly once his head was cleared.

Tycon turned back to the floating Wroe.

"THE THOUSAND DREAMS ARE BUT FORFEIT!!! THE ONE DEVOURER BUT SATED!!!" Wroe sobbed in great wails, "THE TWELVE AND THIRTEEN FLAMES BUT COLD HUSKS OF--"

Tycon held out an open palm to Wroe, questioningly, "But... did you make a pact?"

Wroe uncovered his face, revealing empty eye sockets, thick black globs of ink, achingly churning out slow, falling smoke.

"DON'T YOU SEE, BROTHER??!" Wroe cried. "ALL BEND TO HER!! MY QUEEEEEN!! I COULD NOT--"

"Go back," Tycon said simply.

The nightmarish-faced Wroe opened his mouth in confusion, "Huh?"

Tycon tightly grabbed ahold of Wroe's ankle. Putting all of his weight into it, he pulled Wroe down and slammed him into the tile floor with an abrupt crack. Almost instantaneously, the clouds withdrew, and with them, the shadows. The black ink that stained the floor receded, rushing back into Wroe's open mouth.

Tycon leaned to the side to look at Wroe-- the back of his head had sunk a few ilms into the cracked tile.

"You... you good, Wroe?"

No response.

"Wroe?"

"Y-yeah. I'm good, Boss."

"You... uh... need me to--"

"No, I'm fine, Boss."

Tycon glanced out of a nearby window. The gigantic sword statues outside the manor remained.

How peculiar...

"Your ah… chest? Are you bleeding?"

"Nah… Wait-- Yep. Yeah. I'm bleeding."

"Where are you… going after this?"

"Dungeon."

"Well, I like your spirit. But go ahead and have a maid clean out your wounds with soap and water and get bandaged up before you go back."

"A-alright, Boss... Hey, uh... Boss?"

"Yes, Mister Wroe?"

"Can I just... wait here for... just a few minutes?"

"Yes, that will be fine. I need that pact made by close-of-business, today, please."

"...Can do, Boss."

The fallen Wroe lifted one of his forearms, raising a thumb from a closed fist.

Tycon re-entered the great hall, shutting the door behind him, ignoring the nearby, fainted Guard Captain Varen. Bucket and the two women looked to him with concern.

"Nothing to worry about," Tycon smiled. "Now, where were we?"