Headed by a Snake

⟬ Flashback. At the walled gates of the Green Corn Tower, twenty minutes prior. ⟭

⊰ hey ⊱

⊰ listen ⊱

"More complaints, Miss Beatrice?" Tycondrius groaned.

⊰ hurry ⊱

"Little one, the three of us have been *hurrying* for the past couple suns," He scolded. "You may have not have noticed, but normal people cannot *fly*."

Even in the fire elemental's normal form, she was not limited by gravity. She flitted around his head to convey her frustration, her current form being a fiery orb held aloft by four wispy wings.

It was probably supposed to be 'cute.'

Tycon only found the whirling fire orb to be a bother.

Beatrice seemed... weary, forced to reduce her size to conserve her mana. Were it not for her being spurred on by hope and anxious freneticism, Tycon feared she'd... faint-- or whatever the elemental equivalent was.

He hoped it would not come to that. He'd have to carry her... and he was not keen on reducing a good pair of thick leather gloves to char.

⊰ friend . to rescue ⊱

Tycon sighed and shook his head, "I *know*, child. Have faith that I am moving as fast as is reasonable."

A Elven guard peered over the walls, between the crenellations. House Highblade was known for their swordsmen and blademasters. The enchanted sword strapped the elf's back marked him as a Blade Dancer of at least practical skill.

"Green Corn Keep is currently closed to outsiders!" He shouted.

Tycon narrowed his eyes. He needed to get in. If a particular person died on account of his slow pace, then a certain fire elemental would surely annoy him to death.

He could forgive the slight. It stemmed from ignorance.

He was wearing a loose, long-sleeved white shirt and well-worn trousers that he'd run in for the past few suns. It provided comfort under the warm desert sun, but provided no hint to his identity.

To expedite the process... even at great risk to himself, Tycon decided to reveal his full name and status.

He straightened his back and raised his voice, "My name is Tycondrius of Charm, and I request to speak to--"

"House Charm?!" The elf sneered, "House Highblade does NOT recognize the families of the *Beast Kingdoms* as nobility!"

The fellow turned around, assumedly to gloat to one or more of his companions, "(Can you believe the arrogance of this Irvhir?)"

Tycon groaned and massaged the bridge of his nose, "So that's how it's going to be? Very well. ⌈Shadowfang⌋."

Quickly focusing his mana, he silently leapt upward, running up the last few feet of the adobe walls. Grabbing the top edge, he smoothly vaulted atop it.

He faced a small team of two elves and a half-elf-- the latter two standing stunned, their mouths agape.

"(Is it not amusing?)" The first guard laughed... "(You two, where are your eyes--)"

Tycon gripped the back of the man's head with his palm, "Good morning, gentlemen. I am a Prince of my people and. will. be--

"res-PECTED!!" He slammed the elf into the wooden floor, compromising its integrity by making an extensive web of cracks.

"AS!!!" He stomped his boot down on the elf's face.

"SSSSUCH!!" He drew his short sword and pointed it at the half-elf's neck, the higher-ranked guard between the two remaining.

"I... I uh..." The half-elf stuttered as he carefully raised his hand to salute, "G-good morning, Prince."

"Yes, good morning," Tycon muttered, rendering a quick sword salute before re-sheathing the blade, "Now, if I could trouble you two noble and highly *intelligent* warriors of House Highblade, I'd like to be shown to--"

"And who in the SEVEN HELLS do you think you are?!?"

A small cadre of armed soldiers, led by a lithe half-elf woman was approaching. The woman looked furious-- not that Tycon could be bothered to care.

"You've hurt my men!" She screamed, "and you just expect me to--"

Tycon held up his hand to interrupt her. He was being rude, but he sought to mitigate as much wasted-time as he could afford.

⊰ burn? ⊱

After all, if his requests were not acceded, Beatrice was prepared to bake every elf, human, and all-between in the adobe fortress.

He mentally sent reassurance to the child, hoping she'd be obedient.

« Do not do that. I am still in control. »

⊰ . . . hurry ⊱

He spoke after making a quick assessment of the half-Elven female Officer... "Lieutenant, my name is Tycon--"

"I don't give a single shite what your name--"

Tycon shot his hand forward, placing his palm over her mouth, applying pressure to her cheek bones until he was certain she was in pain.

"--Awarded the rank of Duplicarius in the Tyrion Army, commissioned Lieutenant in the Alizeaun Navy reserves, sworn brother of Whitehearth's Arcanite Prince, and-- to throw in the only title you probably care for, friend to House Highblade."

He released her... but repositioned his hand on the hilt of his sword. Every second that passed chipped away at his patience. He mentally weighed the flaws and benefits to slaughtering every guard in the keep just to save a single person.

"Will you... deny me, Lieutenant?" Tycon glared.

A drop of blood trailed down the half-Elven Lieutenant's scowling lips... "By whose authority, in House Highblade?"

Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Lord Arod."

The woman's body stiffened up... and her hands slowly, almost imperceptibly began to lower towards the two blades on her waist, "My father is dead."

"I," Tycon gestured towards himself, "was one of the three responsible for bringing his murderers to justice."

The Lieutenant's hands stopped... She closed her eyes and loosed a weary sigh, "I see..."

When she opened her eyes again, her gaze had a different look... not quite one of reverence, but certainly with more respect than prior, "My name is Teneca... Teneca of House Highblade."

"You can thank me later, Miss Teneca," Tycon rolled his eyes. "Now, concerning Guild Metal Wolf, I ask that you take me to--"

"Tactician Tychon!"

Tycon grit his teeth. He hated being interrupted. But thankfully, the owner of the interrupting voice was the gentleman he was currently searching for.