Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius looked over to the tent entrance, "Warrior Cillian is..."

"He's from the Free Nation," Zenon answered. "He's acting as an assistant to Quartermaster Sorina."

"Ah, very well," Tycon nodded. "One of Prince Dragan's men from Vralkek, then..."

The command tent was built for Tyrion humans of regulation height.

Zenon Skyreaper was not that, towering over Tycon at over 6-fulms tall. Thus, he had to watch his head in many Tyrion structures, the command tent included.

From the shadowy outline of Warrior Cillian outside, however, he stood two heads taller than the Librarian. He was a Titanblood, like Dragan-- and admittedly was of only average height.

"Permission to enter granted, Warrior!" Tycon called out.

Cillian crouched down dramatically, nearly having to crawl in, "Good evening, gent..."

The large, but youthful man hesitated... and with a broad grimace, he stared at the tent corner.

The horrified Assassin stared back.

Slowly... carefully... the Assassin began reaching for their weapon-- a dagger of some sort. Suddenly, their hands grasped at their throat, as if trying to pry away an unseen force. The fellow began to loudly choke, trying to gasp for air.

In a frenzied panic, the Titanblood drew his longsword, nearly taking out the tent's supports, "A-assassin!! There's an Assassin!!"

The cloaked figure dropped to their knees, subsequently collapsing face-first on the tent flooring. Cillian, hurriedly-- if not calmly, stabbed his sword into their back.

"What the-- what the HELLS is going on?!" He shouted.

Zenon had his palm outstretched, undoubtedly the reason behind the Assassin's violent death, "You'd think that someone would come in, with all the noise he's making."

"Not necessarily," Tycon smiled politely, "If an actual skirmish occurred within the command tent... as both you and I are present, any additional combatants would be needlessly risking their lives."

"...Fair," Zenon nodded, sipping at his wine.

"Mister Cillian," Tycon smirked. "You've made a mess."

The Titanblood immediately began to babble, "I... I did what? I... he--"

"After your report, I'll have you clean that up. It's only fair, no?"

"But I... I... h-wha?"

Zenon cleared his throat, "Report."

"I... I... right," Cillian stood as tall as the tent ceiling allowed... though he kept glancing at the Assassin's corpse as he spoke...

"The uh... the Dark Iron armor has been distributed to the first six companies."

"How did the testing go?"

"The fire resistance proves effective against Prince Droghan's Fire Slimes, within a certain radius, Ivory Prince," Cillian said with furrowed brows.

"Very well," Tycon nodded. "And the siege weaponry?"

"The Iredar engineers have elected to build catapults instead of trebuchets-- and the fire-resistant enchantments have been tested with the slimes... However..."

The young Titanblood's face twisted in hesitation.

"Your Prince has chosen you as his representative, has he not?" Tycon rolled his eyes. "Honor his name by speaking with confidence."

"I... I hear you, Ivory Prince," Cillian gulped, but nodded vigorously. "The Iredar are wondering when we're planning on moving the siege weaponry into position? For uh... calibration? They said."

"Don't bother," Tycon waved dismissively. "We have a Calculator. She'll be responsible for the catapult placement. Inform the Iredar to set the catapults to similar standards, to ease adjustment en masse."

"...Oh," Cillian placed a meaty hand on the back of his thick neck. "Makes sense."

"Thank you, Warrior Cillian," Tycon nodded. "Send the next representative in, if you would."

...

Tycon met with more of the various leaders allied to Guild Letalis. The leader of the fat raccoon gang reported that they'd been terrorizing various guard houses. The Spider-Breeder matriarch reported on her kin, who took it upon themselves to haunt the city's dark alleyways. The elven couple reported their confidence in the synergy between their gryphons and Guild Letalis' second company.

Next to enter the command tent was a large, grey-furred wolf. On its four legs, its ears reached Tycon's chest, and it was approximately as tall as Zenon, measured lengthwise.

The wolf's name was Tres Leches... and over the past several moons, he'd gained a more wolf-like form, though his coat was still as impenetrable as Dark Iron.

"(Good evening. Tres Leches, reporting as ordered,)" The wolf lifted his head, baring his neck.

It was how wolves saluted.

"At ease, Tres Leches," Tycon pursed his lips, glancing around the gentle-wolf... "Where is your Ranger?"

"(In the sweet embrace of a death-like sleep, sir,)" The wolf yawned.

"Dereliction of duty, then? Perhaps I should dock his pay," Tycon offered, "Perhaps I'll divert some of his wages to you."

"(No, it's fine,)" The wolf shook his head, a very human-like behavior. "(He feeds me.)"

"He does... what?" Tycon frowned. "What do you eat?"

"(Mana, mostly.)"

"...Seems like a very sad way to live your life."

"(I've sampled my handler's cooking,)" The wolf looked up with a solemn gaze, "(Death is preferable.)"

Tycon summoned a container venison jerky out of his spatial ring, opening it and passing a serving to Zenon, "Give him this."

"What?" Zenon looked at the meat incredulously, "D-does he bite?"

"Of course, he bites," Tycon furrowed his eyebrows. "I'd imagine he'd be far less effective as a combatant, if he did not."

That was a stupid question.

"That... ah, nevermind," The Librarian shook his head and offered the gift to Tres Leches. "Nice wolf... good wolf... don't bite my hand off, please."

The wolf snatched it up in its entirety, chewing... judging... "(I'd like to be paid in food, if acceptable.)"

"Granted," Tycon chuckled. "And how has your personal development been?"

"(I've learned a few Skills...)" Tres Leches' tail began to wag happily, "(I'm confident in using ⌈Tackle⌋ attack, ⌈Flamethrower⌋, and ⌈Crunch⌋.)"

"That will do," Tycon slowly nodded.

The first Skill was somewhat weak and the second generally required a higher level of mana to be effective. Thankfully, the third was an excellent and effective mana-empowered physical attack.

"(I've been having a lot of trouble learning ⌈Giga Drain⌋, though...)"

Tycon furrowed his brows... ⌈Giga Drain⌋? That was a Skill almost exclusively used by Druids-- either by Classes that had a Primal power source or had a high affinity for vampiric magic.

Teaching it to Tres Leches was a waste of time and energy.

"Who... who has been training you?" He asked.

"(Sorina has,)" The wolf tilted his head, his tail motionless, "(Tycon... is there something wrong?)"

Tycon took in a deep, haggard breath... "Bring her to me. Immediately."

",