Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius decided to not wade into the carnage. He had a unique helmet, but the armor he wore was still distinctly Tyrion.

Everything was on fire. The dwarves seemed to be having a great time. Stephanos was crying. The fat raccoon gang was looting. The single cave troll was, terrified, caught between two burning blazes of Rhodok tents.

What was that one doing here, anyroad? He didn't have to come. He was obviously not a combatant.

Tycon sighed, "Virgilia, go... go save that guy. "

"Yes, commander," The harpy shook her blankets off before flying up into the star-filled sky.

A deep and gorgeous voice cut through the battlefield, a sweet, wondrous song about smiles, a spring morning, and a new beginning... sung in a fluent Dwarven tongue. Diamantia Krakhammer swung a two-handed hammer, breaking a human's thigh and pulverizing the bones that should have been protected by the meat of it. Then, she whirled her weapon around her head and smashed it against the human's temple.

All that, and her timing as she sang was uninterrupted. It was pleasing to hear.

"Sister DIAAAA!!!" Stephanos yelled, "You should join us for SINGING NIGHT!!!"

"GRARWRREEAAAARRRGHH!!!" Dwarf Chieftain Thrumondi seemed to go into a berserk rage... perhaps related to the bull-centaur's casual invitation. With his axe held overhead, he smashed into a shield wall of humans by his thrice-damned self, slashing and headbutting, bashing and chopping. All that, while taking cuts and stabs from sword and spear.

With that kind of recklessness, armor was useless. Was the dwarf relying on prayer to survive?

Tycon frowned. They'd win without his help, but his battlefield presence would prevent a severe injury or two.

He stepped forward, "Master Dwarf! Is that the best you can do?!"

...

After the battle, the mountain factions gathered the bodies... or whatever was left of them. The time it took was doubled due to having to gather partially-eaten body parts and petrified stone crumblings. The fat raccoon gang's gluttonous nature and the Gold-Rank Idiot's ⌈Petrification Breath⌋ were to blame for that. Tycon made them do most of the work.

There were thirty-seven dead humans. His own forces suffered zero casualties.

Tycon's mission was complete.

"What shall we do with the bodies, Commander?" Virgilia asked.

Tycon placed a finger against his chin in thought, "In order to avoid magical scrying, anything that can't be consumed by this time tomorrow, I want gone-- destroyed or burnt, preferably."

Siren Virgilia bowed her torso and tilted her head several degrees too far, "We can just toss them off the cliffs, your lordship."

Tycon rolled his eyes, "Don't be lazy, young lady. That would likely create undead for whomever to deal with next."

"But it won't be... our problem~" Virgilia sang sweetly, nuzzling her head of dark raven hair against Tycon's shoulder.

"I want the bodies gone. You have an entire sun to do so," Tycon rolled his eyes, "The particulars will be up to you."

Virgilia revealed her too-wide grin, "It shall be done, Commander."

...

⟬ The following morning. ⟭

Tycondrius reviewed the parchments holding Sasha's cumulative test results. It tested her reading skills at an advanced level, local history, and general history of the Realm.

It was a far more 'modern' collection of knowledge than he had, himself.

There was a section, too, on... basic human interactions....

'When a human asks you how you are doing, how do you respond?'

Tycon glared at the parchment. That was one of the easier questions.

'How do you politely say no to an invitation?'

Seven hells... Tycon put the paper down, looking at the... almost regal elven couple.

"Lord Ithilrandir, Lady Elacrai," He addressed them with respect. "I thank you for your assistance in this endeavor."

The two lowered their heads politely, with Lady Elacrai speaking, "I was a University teacher at Delacour, prior to moving east and have served as a private tutor for several households for over three centuries."

The elven couple lived peaceably among the Mountain Factions, helping when they... felt like it.

The capricious and whimsical nature of the elves made them... unreliable, to be polite. They likely treated Sasarame as an anomaly and teaching her was something new, to break up the monotony of... whatever elves do.

The male elf spoke in a flowing, graceful song, but deep and masculine voice, "Sasarame performs well in archery. Had we not known better, we would have guessed she was a pure-blooded elf."

Tycon nodded, "My thanks, Lord Ithilrandir. I will relay the message to her."

The elf tilted his head, "She is aware."

Ithilrandir blinked slowly as he observed Tycon. The sclera of his eyes were pure black, marking his bloodline as far more pure than that of most elves. Tycon knew not to demand anything of him-- only to request.

"Prince Tycon," The elf began.

Tycon looked up, trying to hide the surprise in his face. There was something else? A hole in his gut formed, worrying about what sort of developmental problem his daughter had.

"... The winds whisper that you are versed in the elven art of the Blade Dance," The elf closed his eyes and tilted his head downward in... what appeared to be high regard for the subject.

Oh. That was fine, then.

It was a blasphemous statement, a trap. As isolated as this couple was from their kin, Tycon doubted the words of any adult elf were meant to be answered with unfiltered honesty.

The correct response was to be annoyingly humble and borderline obeisant. Tycon gave the Elven Ranger what he wished, denying his own skill and praising the elves, wishing only to emulate their... grace and... uh...

Tycon spoke with colorful... long words, most of which, he did not put forth the effort to memorize. He had his System open a reference document for long, impressive words, and he peppered his statements with them out at random-- sporadically.

The elves were satisfied. Tycon learned some new words. Sasha was miserable... but educated. Everything was fine.

...

The Titan Snake sought Tycondrius shortly before it was time to depart the mountains.

"I'd like..... to speak with youuu... of something, Brother-Tyconnnn..."

"Empty night, Brother-Isidor," Tycon twisted his face in a grimace so set, his cheeks hurt. "Don't tell me you're having second thoughts."

"No... no.... Maybe.... But anyroad," Isidor tasted the air with his forked tongue as he hesitated... "It's about... Ssssssasha..."