Headed by a Snake

Nevil didn't want any trouble. His main job as a militia guard was breaking up fights (with strong words) and holding a halberd (very menacingly). Anything he wasn't sure he could handle, he'd report to either Guard Captain Varen or the town's Adventurer's Guild.

He liked being a militia guard. He earned consistent pay on the first and fifteenth. With that, he could afford poultry and fresh vegetables.

His younger sister was getting married in a few weeks, so he was drinking less and saving money where he could. Weddings were expensive, after all. One of his coworkers offered him one of his night shifts to help. Old man Varen approved it after being informed of Nevil's financial situation. He was a good superior.

Nevil looked forward to a quiet evening, enjoying the company of his menacing halberd, his trusty lantern, the stars above, and the noisy crickets in the grass.

A young green-haired man ran out from behind a building as if his life depended on it. Skidding to a halt, the youth made a rapid 90-degree turn and began running towards him.

Nevil readjusted the buckle on his guard helmet and cleared his throat. The running youth was a mild threat to his worry-free evening... as it was his duty to confront the suspicious young individual-- or at the very least, have him stop running in the streets.

However, soon appearing behind the youth was a pale, blue-haired boy who easily closed the distance. They ran side by side, though the pale boy's movement resembled more of a magical glide than a run.

Nevil rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

When he looked once more, he'd found that a giant of a man ran with leaping strides behind the two of them. The red-headed behemoth wore a terrifying grin on his face, running comfortably while carrying a far-too-large greataxe on his shoulders.

Nevil decided he wanted nothing to do with whatever in the seven hells was going on.

He placed his lantern on the street and promptly power-walked into an alleyway, out of sight. He held his breath in worry... watching the peculiar trio run past. He listened carefully for their fading footsteps, only breathing a sigh of relief when they'd been well out of earshot.

Adventurers. Cold sweat covered the whole of Nevil's back. It was common knowledge in Nice that the more unique that adventurers appeared in dress and action, the more inherently dangerous they were. By that measure, any interaction with those three would have been more trouble than it was worth.

"Still, though… I wonder what they wanted…" Nevil spoke his worries aloud to a brick and mortar wall.

...Then wall rippled... like... something falling into a pond.

Nevil looked curiously on, as the bricks began to crack and crumble, revealing an inky blackness underneath. From the darkness, a white ooze-like visage of a dark-haired woman emerged, her pale skin, glossy as if made of wax. Bright red blood began to stream from her eyeless sockets, soaking into her unkempt black hair.

Nevil stared at his hands in the starlight and found that they too, were covered with blood.

Slick in his hands, stinking of iron... it couldn't have been anything else but blood.

He opened his mouth to scream, but found his throat had been closed tight.

And then he heard its voice.

Its voice spoke before him, behind him, with his own tongue, with that of the dead, and in languages that the living no longer knew.

"(WHaERRrreeee iSss tHaa ChhHiiiiIIIiiiiiLLLLDDDD?!?!)"

…

Blood-curdling screams rang out sporadically in the evening town.

"I found him, Boss." Wroe happily declared, gently gliding alongside Tycon, "I had to ask a few people, but I have a pretty good idea of where to find Bucket."

Tycon was clearly out of breath, no match for Wroe's or Dragan's constitution. He responded to the best of his ability using half-words and grunts, "Mhm. Ya. Yeah?"

The trio slowed down to a stop as Tycon struggled to catch his breath. Wroe continued, nonplussed, "A young child was seen earlier today being taken to the Baron's manor. Probably Bucket."

Dragan seemed to choke on air, placing his hands on his hips and bursting into unapologetic laughter, "The pedo guy? Bucket got captured by the PEDO GUY?!" He wiped tears out of his eyes, before continuing, "Haha! Yeaaaah. We have to save him, haha. That's-- that's terrible."

With what little energy Tycon had, he used it to glare daggers at Dragan, "If the Baron molests Bucket, I'm going to have you do the same to the Baron."

"Whaaat?!" Dragan looked both hurt and unwilling, "But Boss?!"

"Consider it motivation. Go back to the inn and get Barza-- and make sure he is armed with a decent weapon!"

"Alright, I'm on it," Dragan placed a hand over his chest. "Should I get the girl, too?"

"If you want. I'm going ahead to scout the manor."

"But Bossssss, you're gonna get to kill all the bad guys!" Dragan the Difficult feigned indignance.

Wroe smiled a smile too wide, "He's right, Boss. You can't have all the *fun.*"

Tycon stood up, sweating, breathing hard, and generally miserable, "First, I wish it known that I hate both of you."

Wroe offered a weak smile, "Yeahhhh... you've told us."

"We knew that, Boss," Dragan shrugged.

"And second, I don't plan on killing anyone. The Baron should have trained and armored troops." Tycon's voice dripped with annoyance, "Now. Go."

He watched the two respectively glide and bounce away as he finally was able to catch his breath. According to Sorina and company, the Baron wasn't well-liked in the town. If his business practices were poor, the Adventurer's Guild or whoever was in charge would likely look the other way if a conflict were to arise.

If Guild Invictus avoided slaughtering Baron Tavor's forces, any upper echelons would look upon his actions more favorably. Tycon was unsure if he could defeat the mass of armored guards bloodlessly, but he had no doubt that with his companions, Dragan and Wroe, the process would be more than plausible.

Tycon took in another deep breath of air.

« System, directions: Baron Tavor's manor. »

[Calculating route.]

A transparent, simplified map of the area displayed in front of Tycon. Empty night. The manor was the near-opposite direction of where he had been running.

Tycon moved his legs, adopting a steady jog, as he headed towards the noble's manor.