Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius raised an eyebrow. He found Krysaos' challenge... peculiar.

...His gaze drifted from the Captain to the Thunder God. He appeared to be deep in thought.

As of recent, that one had proved to be somewhat useful. Perhaps... his opinion on the current matter would hold value?

"This is... quite the conundrum," The shirtless man muttered.

It was... a weak thought that added nothing to the conversation.

Tycon was disappointed... yet unsurprised. Comments similar were the reason he ignored that fellow more often than not.

"Harsh, you say..." He mused, "I recall your former reputation, Brother-Captain... a man known for *keelhauling* his crewmen at first offense."

"Okay, you f*ckin' got me," Krysaos shrugged, not repentant in the least. "But still!! Insubordination gets punished with a f*cking WHIP, Tycon-- not a bolt to the f*ckin' dome!"

The man was ridiculous. 'Insubordination' was quite different from 'disobeying a lawful order.'

"I once *had* a blade-whip, Krysaos," Tycon seethed. "It was my favorite sword. And. you. f*cking. broke it."

"Ughhh," Krysaos groaned, "I meant, like... a non-lethal whip, guy."

Tycon took a deep breath through his nose, "I assure you, dear *Captain* that, in my hands, any martial weapon is capable of lethality... in excess."

"Alright, whateverrrrr," Krysaos groaned.

He and the Thunder God stepped inside the room, the latter closing the door.

However, Krysaos stepped forward, standing between Tycon and the party's pitiful Warlock.

"Per military law-- Wroe gets a rebuttal, yeah?"

"...You are correct," Said as he unconsciously rolled his eyes.

Wroe crossed his arms and bit his upper lip... "I've got nothing to do with Ophelia, anymore... If she won't let me talk to her then I shouldn't have to beg for an audience."

Tycon took a breath to gather his thoughts... "I would have *preferred* you reconcile with one of Sol Invictus' more powerful allies. However, that was not your mission. Your *mission*, Mister Wroe, was to retrieve a scrying item for pursuing the Ancient-- or have you forgotten?"

Krysaos cut his palm down, stopping Tycon from continuing, "No, it makes sense. Y'can't force a girl to talk to ya. But hey, Wroe... didn't you have some sort of relationship with the Whitehearth Princess, before?"

He did. They were officially engaged.

To Tycon's knowledge, that had yet to be annulled.

News of the broken engagement would come to public eye. It was inevitable.

The Arcanite Princess... the highest power in City-State Whitehearth.

Landris Wyndham... the most pure-blooded descendant of the Wyndham royal line.

Both would come under heavy criticism... by the hateful, by the jealous... by those with evil in their hearts and nothing better to do.

Wroe did not care for his public reputation. He had cast it away when he joined Sol Invictus.

Thus... Ophelia would suffer alone.

Despite all her achievements... her enemies would seize the ability to attack her character.

Her fidelity would be called into question... her fertility... perhaps even her skill at performing whatever society deemed to be 'wifely duties.'

Tycon could not imagine the full extent of it. There was no limit to the creative cruelty of human society.

Eventually, the rumors would culminate into a troublesome question:

'Can a woman of such character be trusted to run a City-State?'

Tycon sighed and shook his head.

Besides the certain downfall of Ophelia's reputation... a worrisome fact remained.

She loved her fiancee.

His... betrayal would be a devastating blow to her psyche and self-confidence.

For the brief period afterward... Ophelia's actions held both unpredictability and danger.please visit pαпᵈα-:)ɴᴏᴠᴇ1.co)m

pαndα noνɐ1,сoМ However, as her friend, Tycon hoped she would avoid any doing something... regrettable.

Wroe clenched his fist, "My only love... is Erza Aerzin."

...Because the Tarquin Wroe he knew was not worth Ophelia's troubles.

"Thy first love," The Thunder God boomed, "should be to your fellow man. And next, to thy sworn duty."

"Bro," Krysaos frowned. "What kind of..."

"Please, Thunder God," Tycon loosed a heavy sigh. "Refrain from flirting with your fellow party members."

The Thunder God's cheeks turned burning red and he turned away, "I meant-- in general! Humanity and the like should be-- bah! I'm not-- I don't--"

"LT," Krysaos coughed. "If Wroe doesn't wanna talk to the girl, that's fine. I'll do it-- or shite, you're probably better than me, with the kind of birds you talk up."

"Sea God," The Thunder God interjected, "Disobedience to orders must be punished. As a leader of men, surely you agree."

Tycon groaned aloud, plopping down into his desk chair. Both gentlemen were correct.

Admittedly... trying to murder his long-time companion was an overreaction.

That man was not worth the effort.

"Wroe, how do you plead?"

"Boss... I'm sorr--"

Tycon held his hand out, cutting off Wroe's words...

"Be advised... An apology of any sort is an admission of guilt."

Wroe audibly gulped down his saliva before nodding quietly...

"Boss... I told Ophelia that I love someone else. Our relationship is over. Erza Aerzin is the only one for me."

Tycon massaged his temples. Wroe's relationship was complicated. Mere words were not enough to break such a contract.

He recalled Ophelia's Oath... and the pact engraved on her engagement ring.

In trusting the wrong man, she had doomed herself to a cruel fate.

When Tycon opened his eyes, he saw Krysaos standing in front of him, staring patiently.

"Whaddya say, LT?" He asked, "You got a girl, too."

Tycon took in a breath.

He did.

...Elle.

...He cared for her greatly.

--it was enough to call it love.

Recalling thoughts of her, Tycon could easily see a bit of himself in Wroe's fanaticism... as well as his flagrant rejection of Ophelia.

It was... unfortunate.

Regardless of that girl's business acumen, her cleverness, and her loyalty... and regardless of the tribulations she would suffer as a result of Wroe's selfish infidelity... that man loved someone else.

That fact would not change.

Tycon sighed in defeat... "In the morning... we shall seek out a proficient Scryer in the commercial district. Failing that, I will go to the Moonwell Enclave to request an audience... and I'll speak to Ophelia, myself."

"Before or after breakfast?" Krysaos asked.

"How dare you," Tycon glared. "Afterwards, of course."

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