Headed by a Snake

...Tycondrius furrowed his brows.

He had almost forgotten he was speaking to a god.

"Hades! Why is that a question?!" Tycon snapped. "You are the most proficient expert on death and the dead across the Realms-- all of the Realms!"

The orc turned his body away... then half-turned his head to look back in a dramatic fashion.

"Tycon... this blue-haired kid-- he's still alive."

"...Tss, very well."

Tycon lowered his head... accepting in his heart that every one of his closest companions were shameless louts.

Admittedly... he felt he was probably similar.

Wroe placed his head into his hands... and he started to cry...

"She's... the most beautiful... being... to ever exist," He sobbed.

"Pff, yeah," Hades shook his head, "I've heard that before."

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder..." Tycon twisted his lips to the side-- "so to speak."

"Nah, man," Hades grinned. "When you were with Jibril-- aha... it was f*ckin' cringe."

"It was in the past, Brother-Hades," Tycon glared.

Wroe's heaving sobs grew louder.

"She has... many... MANY pale hannnds..." He wheezed-- as if he had forgotten how to breathe properly... "and... and the most... *loving* embrace..."

"The... f*ck?" Hades furrowed his brows.

"Ah..." Tycon lifted his chin and nodded slowly, "Unfortunately... now, I understand."

Tarquin Wroe had a convoluted history... something unfortunately common in the lives of young nobles.

Real name Landris Wyndham, Wroe's family claimed the historic Wyndham lineage.

The Wyndham family were made of kings, conquerors, and mass-murderers. They claimed their authority originated from the heavens... and that the Daeva bloodline was so pronounced in Wroe, himself, it might have been true.

Some thousands of years prior, those Wyndhams established their rule over a majority of the known Realm.

Subsequently, Wroe had a legitimate claim to a continental monarchy-- according to traditions easily ignored.

His parents were mundane persons. Neither was particularly gifted with mana-sense. The strength in whichever-parent's bloodline mattered was fully dormant.

They were respectable geologists and leaders in their field-- successful enough to raise a single child without issue,

The results of their research with arcane crystals and metal compounds earned them the slightly mocking titles: the 'King and Queen of Arcanite.'

It was a surprise to no one that they suffered a fate similar to that of the Wyndham monarchs of old.

They were killed-- assassinated.

They had coin, status, and their son was a potential political threat. Worst of all, they were a party with few or no debts or loyalties.

House Moonwell took in the young Wroe... and over the course of the next decade, they dismantled the families and organizations behind his parents' murders.

--assuming the latter were nonfictional entities, to begin with.

The Moonwells played the heroes, selfless and just. Granted, whether intended or not, their vengeful campaign also raised their status amongst their 'honorable' allies.

From there, Landris Wyndham became Tarquin Wroe.

He was sent to different save-havens across the Realm... for 'protection' most likely.

Wroe was a boy without a royal name, yet with enough backing that he was untouchable.

--and loathed for it.

He did earn a great deal of benefits, in particular, tutelage from highly respected arts and science instructors... and a series of expert swordmasters of varying backgrounds.

Yet the cost of his vague background was a life of negative prejudice, strict punishments, and a distinct lack of luxuries one might expect a Prince to be granted.

When House Moonwell and their allies finally took control of Whitehearth, Wroe was betrothed to one of his many childhood friends, a tomboyish brat named Ophelia.

Wroe knew what he was, of course. He was a figurehead, his blood as a Wyndham lending credibility to whatever cause House Moonwell deemed fit.

But... despite Ophelia's (assumedly benevolent) wishes for Wroe to grow into his role, gaming the Eastern States' political circles to regain power for himself... the Arcanite Prince did otherwise.

He went to the Free Nation to join Tycondrius-- or rather, to join Prince Quies of House Morninglord and his band of upstart noble fools.

He grew stronger, utilizing his swordsmanship in the Holy Country's arenas. He fought alongside nobles more interested in brutal martial contests than the carefully crafted wordplay and measuring of egos common to 'higher' courts.

Among his allies, he counted:

Dragan-- or rather, Prince Drogahan, son of the Merchant King of the Free Nation's City of Vralkek.

Prince Zuko, High Prince of the Legendary Phoenix sect.

Bella Sapphira, granddaughter of Archmage Tyche.

Horse, descendant of the Godbeast known as Arion.

Wolfbanger, youngest pup of Packlord Blackwolf. (Their family's naming conventions were rather... lazy.)

Gobsuke, the eldest Goblin Prince of his generation.

Lucifer...

...Tycon didn't know who she was, exactly, but she was well-known both to the Gatekeepers and various powers in the seven hells and eleven heavens.

Then, of course, there was himself... Tycondrius, the Maedar Prince of the Free Nation's City of Charm.

He was questionably more important than any of the aforementioned-- save Dragan and Quay, perhaps.

And he was more handsome than any of the other gentlemen-- save for Gobsuke... and that from what he understood of attractiveness in goblin society.

(Wroe was passably attractive... but Tycon was confident that he'd grown more handsome over the past couple of years.)

Training and fighting under the banner of Sol Invictus... Tarquin Wroe developed his physique to the peak of human excellence, his reflexes enough to fight rabid beasts and mad gorgons, and his sword technique enough to challenge the best of any nation.

He was a man capable of being the centerpiece attraction in any mundane gladiator guild.

Sol Invictus was not one of those.

In Sol Invictus, Tarquin Wroe was not treated as the descendant of Kings he was.

He was, for all intents and purposes, a human... the weakest combatant on a roster filled with night-invincible, mana-empowered monsters.

Then... somewhere along the journey, the Arcanite Prince began to hear voices.

They were whispers from beyond... from a god or goddess that only he could hear.

They promised him strength... of forbidden power beyond the ken of mortals to wield.

Tycon advised him to accept it... to make a pact, so that at least he could garner some benefit.

Contracts are sacred, honored by most gods and powers similar. Granted, Wroe risked his mortal soul and more-- but there was always a price to pay for anything worthwhile.

",