Headed By A Snake

"Servants. Furniture. Tools. Like any object, its greatest joy should come from being used by its owner..." Tycon thought. "What an asinine orthodoxy."

Very few servants walked the halls, with respect to the time in the evening. Only a single servant remained hard at work, a young female, frantically scrubbed the floor in a lounge. The task would take far less time if the brush she was given hadn"t been broken. Her uniform was quite new, and her face, even judging at a distance, was far too fresh. If she was of marriageable age, it was only just.

All that together made her a perfect target for the repugnant sc.u.m of a lech that was Zindo Tavor.

"I"m sorry, Sir. I"m sorry. I"m so sorry," The young maid"s voice had a light, squeaky tone, much like a mouse or mewling fox-pup.

She had encountered the Baron at a disadvantaged time. Perhaps, she had moved too slowly to adhere to the rules of the household. Or she could have moved too slowly in hiding herself. And it seemed she was not afforded the protection of a more senior servant. Even a single servant or guard was around would have provided a measure of protection.

She had none.

"Hahaha. Don"t move, little girl. I have to welcome you to the household," Zindo licked his lips.

"No, Sir, please don"t," the girl bowed her head, petrified in fear.

The Baron was an older man, a bit overweight from either age or from decadence. He wore a sc.u.mmy mustache on his face, too thin to be any means of impressive. His overly greasy hair was either a poor style choice or an unfortunate condition. He may have been attractive some years ago, but the unwelcome l.u.s.t in his voice and his unshy hands made him naught but the epitome of sc.u.m.

Within throwing distance, however, happened to be an expensive ceramic vase, stained with a magnificent array of Rokugani warriors and dragons or tentacle beasts-- whatever was on it wasn"t important. What was important was that the entire west wing of the manor could hear it as, with a little help, it tipped over, cras.h.i.+ng upon the expensive treated wood floor and shattered into thousands of pieces.

The young woman "Eep!"ed on out of the room in a clumsy run, not caring about the state of her disheveled clothing. The greasy Baron narrowed his eyes at the broken vase, cursing under his breath. Within minutes, three lightly armored knights and a sharp-eyed, but armorless woman made their way into the room. The Baron waved the knights away in a huff, leaving him and the woman alone.

Tall. Proud. Dark-haired and defiant. The woman had a split nose, a common injury from hand-to-hand brawls, and a clear scar across her face, leaving her with an eerie gla.s.s eye. The strict look on her face did not mark her as an "easy" woman.

"The vase, Lord Tavor…"

"An unstable, cheap display, mercenary. Nevermind that," the fat man waved flippantly.

"Shall we search the house for intruders?"

"How ridiculous!" The Baron angrily waved away the notion, "Intruders? Are you an idiot, Seldin?"

The woman narrowed her eyes. If she had held a weapon, she"d be gripping its hilt. Or perhaps she"d have accidentally gutted the man.

The Baron continued, "We"re not in the middle of the woods or some goblin or whatever camp. You"re not an adventurer anymore, you one-eyed wench. Just do as you"re told and don"t bother me with the frivolities."

The woman lightly bowed and through gritted teeth, she managed, "I understand, Lord."

Pleased, the Baron approached her and reached out his hand. The woman glared. Tycon, in his hiding spot, involuntarily s.h.i.+vered. The woman"s glare had sent an icy chill down his serpentine spine.

Tycon made a mental note to remember her name. Seldin. Strong. Former adventurer, too.

« System, inquiry: Seldin"s power level. »

[System response: Seldin is Iron-Rank.]

Tycon was glad the Baron lacked the prudence to search for an intruder. If he was found, he did not want to risk fighting the Seldin woman alone.

Seldin looked up from her bow, her functional eye peeking through her hair, a dark crimson in the ever-burning torchlight. Her voice was deeper, near a growl, "Is there anything else, Lord?"

The Baron had smoothly retracted his hands, placing them behind his back, as if she hadn"t just glared a hundred daggers at him. "Ah, yes. The matter of... The boy?"

"In the dungeon, Lord. Will my Lord be... partaking, tonight?" The woman asked with disgust in her voice.

Tycon did not very much like the way the woman used the word "partaking."

The Baron waved dismissively, as he turned to walk away, "Perhaps later. I have a strongly worded letter or two I must write to the Council. And the matter cannot wait!"

"Very well, my Lord. Have a good evening."

Seldin resumed her bow as the Baron "hmph"ed and withdrew. Afterwards, she righted her posture and held her lower back, sighing.

Walking to the vase, she began to pick up the large shards, piling them to a corner.

"It"s all for the pay, Korr. Just do as you"re told. It"s all for the pay..."

Tycon slithered frantically away in the shadows, as Seldin"s speech began to devolve into curses. Had she cut herself on the vase shards?

"Move, move, move! Gotta go fast!" Tycon inwardly urged.

Only after slithering several minutes away and into an empty room"s open door, did he begin to relax.

First, Tycon transformed from tiny-sized-snake back to regular-sized-human.

Being a snake was beginning to feel far too comfortable. He decided to spend most of his time in human form... He doubted the prejudices of the continent would allow him an easy life as a literal snake.

Second, he locked the door from the inside. He was the only person inside the room and he wished for it to stay that way.

Third, he checked his gear.

During his transformations, he"s found that his immediate effects would be magically stored. Post-transformation nudity would greatly reduce the versatility of his transformation.

It seemed that Bucket was safe at the moment. But with an Iron-Rank and however-many Bronze-Rank guards...

Tycon pulled a chair from a desk and sat down.

He deliberated for a time over planning, before deciding it would be best to meet with his party before Dragan did something overly violent or Wroe summoned a babbling nightmare creature.

As he was about to stand, Tycon examined the "desk" he was sitting beside. He noted the discerning look on his own face, staring at the sizeable and expensive mirror atop it.

It was... a vanity table?

Tycon observed his surroundings, noting a stuffed plush doll, a number of "cute" minimalistic clay sculptures, and several one-handed weapons-- the most una.s.suming of which, radiated mana. On a mannequin rested a slim set of metal half-plate armor, held together by dozens of leather straps.

Tycon"s voice took a tone of amus.e.m.e.nt, "Lady Seldin"s room? How lucky~"

On the opposite side of the room, Tycon"s eye caught a dainty triangle, hanging out of an intimate clothes drawer.

It was a brief moment that Tycon considered the matter.

He decided against it.

"No. No, that isn"t me," Tycon insisted in his mind.

Tycon shook his head of any inappropriate thoughts as he took out his boot dagger.

"But Miss Seldin is an enemy…"
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With swift and practiced hands, Tycon cut a small incision on every single leather strap on Miss Seldin"s fantastic half-plate armor. Without replacing the straps, the armor would be effectively useless.

"Why shouldn"t I? A professional fighter used to wielding heavy armor would be far less threatening without it."

And with a resolute and deserving heart, he placed Miss Seldin"s fantastic magical sword on his waist.

"Why shouldn"t I? A professional fighter with a magical blade would be a danger to me and my companions."

Tycon hesitated before the final robbery. But eventually, he relented before taking Seldin"s huggable, stuffed cat plush.

"Why shouldn"t I? A professional fighter… Shouldn"t have these cute things."