Headed By A Snake

This wouldn"t have been as troublesome if just his pupils were colored. The entire sclera of his eyes were a mottled and cracked yellowish gold and his pupils were black elliptical slits.

Tycon groaned in realization-- He had the eyes of a nocturnal predator, hence the excellent night vision. He also induced that the shape of his pupils also improved his horizontal peripheral vision.

Was he... some kind of humanoid snake... Or a reptile...? Tycon"s initial shock had worn off and had been replaced with annoyance.

« System, inquiry: What is... my species? »

[System response: Host"s species is medusa.]

Tycon took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. Every creature he had seen thus far had been human. Being non-human would greatly hinder his ability to move about freely.

« System, inquiry: Is there a way to make my eyes look human? »

[System response: Medusae are capable of repressing their supernatural ocular abilities so as to not affect allies and their young. Medusa society refers to this as "dimming."]

Tycon grumbled in frustration as he stared into the washbowl and tried to control the muscles in his eyes.

…

Ignoring the protests of his empty belly, Tycon only emerged from his room half-bell later. By then, he was thoroughly confident in dimming his vision and just as confident that he could eat an entire grilled haunch of a moderately-sized non-sentient.

Upon exiting his room, he strolled downstairs and through a loud cacophony of people, all patrons of the dining hall. A colorful bard fiddled a festive tune while she danced on a stage, armored men argued over a deck of cards, and a short-haired waitress skillfully dodged a pair of running children, while balancing a tray of frothy mugs.

Everyone in the dining hall was human. Tycon felt relieved. Learning to dim his vision in order to hide amongst the humans was not time spent wasted.

Tycon observed that smaller weapons, like swords and daggers, were openly worn by the armored men and women. A number of heavier weapons: crossbows, halberds, a needlessly large greataxe, were checked in by the inn"s entrance, locked in a keyed metal cage.

He scoffed inwardly at the unwieldy greataxe. The monstrosity likely belonged to a skilless braggart. It was far from likely that a man was both strong and large enough to put the axe to any use.

Mentally filing away the sights, sounds, and smells, he returned his attention to the quest he held of utmost importance: To fill his mouth with delicious sustenance.

As he maneuvered his way through the tables, he noticed a number of unfriendly gazes upon him-- his vision and senses were excellent, even though his eyes were dimmed.

« System, inquiry: What is the highest power level in the dining hall? »

[System response: The highest power level in the dining hall is a Level 15--]

« System, change setting: Use the Metallic Ranking system. »

[Understood. The highest power level in the dining hall is Bronze.]

Tycon didn"t care to learn the System"s complicated measurements, so he changed its settings to match what he knew. Bronze was a relatively weak metal. Iron was stronger than that. He didn"t remember much else about the system, but it seemed self-explanatory.

With the highest power level being only Bronze, Tycon returned the hostile stares, grinning fearlessly. If there was any danger to be had in the dining hall, it was from him.

The many pairs of staring eyes turned away, averting their eyes when they were caught.
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"Even humans must obey the rule of the strong," Tycon mused, finally finding an empty table seat. "The powerful rule without contest and the weak avert their eyes in shame."

Ever attentive, the waitress arrived at Tycon"s side almost immediately. "h.e.l.lo, my name is Sorina, and I"ll be your wench today!"

She was a human woman of marriageable age, with neat, short hair. She might have been pretty. Tycon didn"t particularly care.

"Good eve, Sorina. I"d like a meat dish and two ales."

"Coming right up, sir."

Trouble came to the table as the waitress left.

A rough-looking young man sat at Tycon"s table, the bridge of his nose marred by a scar. He placed one of his boots on the opposite side of the table and leaned on his knee. Three light-armored, nasty-looking thugs backed him from behind. With a scowl, the man raised his voice, "You messin" with my girl, boy?"

Tycon sighed in annoyance, "And here comes a local hero, here to defend Miss Sorina"s honor... Perhaps I am incredibly handsome? ...I certainly hope it"s not because I look easy to bully. How inconvenient..."

Tycon couldn"t help but look at the man and his companions with pity. They did not look very strong.

"Your name?" Tycon asked with a sigh, a helpless expression upon his face.

The mercenary paused momentarily in confusion before resuming his boisterous act, "The name"s Barza!! Of the Shadowdark Wolves! Remember my name, villainous sc-"

Tycon held up a single finger, interrupting Barza"s pa.s.sionate speech. "Very well, Mister Barza." He confidently gazed into the man"s eyes, "No. I was not, in fact, "messing" with Miss Sorina."

"Well... It LOOKED LIKE Y--"

"If you wish to challenge me to a duel, do so now, Mister Barza," Tycon offered with a hint of impatience.

"OU… YOU-- Wait, what?"

The ruffian furrowed his eyes in disbelief. Tycon"s proposition had clearly caught him unaware. The arrogant glares of his companions turned to confusion as they lost their confidence. They glanced to each other, unsure of how to proceed.

Humans don"t expect conflict. It"s a strange hypocrisy.

Tycon spoke clearly and with measured words, hoping he could make even the most foolish of them understand. Neither Barza nor his men would meet Tycon"s gaze, "Mister Barza, I haven"t had a decent meal in what feels like several suns. Please forgive me, as I"m in a very, very poor mood."

Tycon sucked in air through his teeth, exceedingly annoyed. He had strongly considered gutting the man on the spot-- he was certain he could maim and kill the lot of them. But he worried that the resulting ha.s.sle would deny him his promised meal.

"Now unless you have business with someone far above your station or are willing to die without a complete corpse, I suggest you... Tycon bared his teeth, his voice carrying a tinge of threat, "--Find a different table."

Barza, the cowardly looking man audibly gulped, while his lackey companions looked around the dining hall-- perhaps for other open tables.

"I"m not so easy to bully, worthless trash." Tycon thought.

"I just want a decent meal! I WILL have one, even if I have to murder 4 men in a dining hall entirely filled with armed adventurers!" Tycon gnashed his teeth from the indignancy.

Though Tycon did not want conflict, he did not fear it. Beneath the table, he quietly released the catch on the sword he wore. A single strike was all he needed, as long as his opponents were merely human.

But before Tycon could draw his blade-- the shadow of a giant that fell upon the table.

The biggest man in the dining hall had approached from behind Barza and his three, 3 heads taller than any of them. Barza and his goons looked like children in comparison.

"Hey, Boss! Finally up?" the red-headed giant spoke with a booming voice and waved informally.

With a jovial smile, the giant sat at the table, the bench loudly creaking beneath his weight. He looked over and with a meaty finger, pushed Barza"s boot off of the table.