Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius looked away, trying to think of how he'd word his response.

« System, display: Information on Mister Lone. »

⟬ System Response: Lone Shadowdark, Bronze-Rank Human Ranger. ⟭

Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, hadn't ranked up, at all... He *did* class-change, which... which was nice. That was the goal of him going off, training in the woods as he volunteered several moons prior.

Lone's original class was Ruffian, a low-tier class. Tycon took great pains in training his martial senses-- the original goal being to change his class to Fighter, a standard-tier class.

...When he did get the class-change... it was to Warrior... another low-tier class.

Then he found out that the gentleman had a good sense for tracking, wielded two weapons ambidextrously and with finesse, and even had an Iron Wolf companion named... something stupid.

Tycon figured he'd have a greater affinity increasing rank in the standard-tiered Ranger class. All of those traits, Rangers were known for.

...Though not the stupid-naming one. That just made Lone unique.

Lone stared at his hands, "I practiced with my bow every sun, me and... me and my wolf, Tres Leches."

Oh, right. That was the name of his wolf. It was a sentient magical hammer made out of Dark Iron that transformed into a wolf. It did look rather handsome with a coat packed with sharp metal spikes. Lone had mistakenly thought the name meant 'Three Moons.'

It wasn't the case.

Lone looked so... proud, though. He had his longbow strapped to his back, a hunting knife on his waist, animal teeth and claws decorated his gear and clothing. He looked the part of a storied Ranger who lived off of the land.

Tycon... as the current leader of Sol Invictus wanted nothing more than to increase the young man's power, guiding him towards that goal as best he could. However... he knew if he told his friend that he did not in fact rank up... such a setback would hurt the young man's fragile-as-glass ego.

He was trying, ever so hard. He needed to be encouraged-- shown that his hard work was... not as useless as it actually was. Even a single step in a journey across the Realm was forward.

Tycon reached over the wooden tavern table and grasped Lone's shoulders with both arms, "I'm very proud to have a loyal and hard-working Ranger in Sol Invictus."

Lone grinned, beaming with pride, "An Iron-Rank Ranger."

"But a Ranger, nonetheless," Tycon felt his mouth twitch but prayed Lone would not notice it.

...

The meal was more than satisfactory and it cost none of Tycon's personal savings. He recalled an old aphorism that free food tasted the best.

Or was that for stolen food?

Besides the coin looted from the ruffians, the remaining coin was from looting the Rhodoks. The greedy-- no, the financially sound Krakhammer dwarves took most of the spoils.

"This... this pleaaasesss.... my palate," Isidor whispered. His humanoid form was hidden away by his heavy cloak, so as to not alarm the humans. "Tell me.... of its... composition."

Tycon smiled weakly, "Meat, vegetable oil, salt, and... black peppercorns."

The ingredients were simple... but it was fire-roasted properly to a crisp exterior-- with the contrast giving the sense that the juices were 'sealed' inside. Further, Tycon went into the kitchens himself, to specifically point out the cuts of beef he wished for.

It seemed to have been considered rude... but it ensured the quality of their party's meal, so was worth the effort.

"Black peppercorns..." Isidor held his steak by the bone and took another ravenous bite, revealing pointed teeth in his maw, "The magic the humannnssss wield... It has... progressed much."

Tycon frowned. He would have Isidor accompany him for a few suns longer. If only that impressed him, the cuisine of the Holy Country had far more to offer.

The white-hooded Sasha quietly and unobtrusively nibbled on a large meatball, perfect to fill the young lady's small stomach. She ate even less in her natural form, but as a Bronze-Rank Oracle, it was best she remained in a humanoid body. She had gained access to her dark elf form relatively recently... and interestingly enough, she was far better at using it than Isidor was using his.

Blood, meat juice, and ale were slathered all over Isidor's chin and onto his clothing. It was... shameful. Isidor would certainly be the "older" brother, having lived for several decades, while Sasarame had lived for... less than five?

Tycon took a dinner napkin and dabbed some tomato sauce off of Sasha's chin.

At least Lone would be a proper gentleman. He was a human, after all.

He looked over... and again, his hopes were dashed against the rocks. The figurative skull of said hope was cracked open, its figurative pink brains, strewn about, and was picked by record-breakingly large figurative carrion birds.

The young glutton was savaging his meal, his face and clothing covered by sauces, butter and bread crumbs, and... tears?

He had thought grilled cheese sandwiches would be a relatively neat meal.

Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Mister Lone... Please."

Lone wiped his eyes and took a long, noisy pull from his nose, breathing in a hearty glob of snot, "I'm-- I'm sorry, Boss. I've just... This is the best meal I've had in moons."

He was a Ranger. His skill at archery was more than well enough, he had seen it. His hunting skills should have been excellent. His cooking skills... must have been decent enough to feed himself, at least.

...Though Tycon was aware that Lone was lacking in that area. The man couldn't even melt butter properly.

Tycon was curious as to why Lone had no questions about Isidor's strange appearance. It seemed he was preoccupied in taking care of himself-- which was fine. It was proper to celebrate their reunification.

The meal finished in good time and wine was poured. Even without Tycon specifically requesting it, Sasha's wine was heavily watered down to little better than grape juice. It was the custom in the Holy Country, for serving wine to non-adult, young persons.

Tycon leaned over to catch Lone's attention, "I tasked you to reach out to the Archbishop. Did you receive my message?"

Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, swirled his wooden winecup, hesitant, "Y-yeah... I met with that girl."

Tycon raised an eyebrow.

Was there an issue with the harpy messenger that Virgilia Darkfeather sent?