⟬ Twenty-three minutes later... ⟭
"Oy!" A surly dwarf shouted, "If yer tryin' to cut in line, boy, then you got--"
ραпdα nᴏνɐ| сom Tycondrius dragged the Sword of Venom behind him, allowing its caustic enchantment to leave a sizzling trail in the road.
"--tta do what'cha gotta do." The dwarf bowed, "Go right on ahead, Sir~"
"My thanks, Master Dwarf," Tycon responded in a monotone voice.
Walking past the reasonable gentledwarf, he entered the double doors of the Moonwell Workshop.
"God of Thunder, Sky, and Storm!" He shouted, "God of Raging Torrents and the Crash of Hateful Waves!! I SUMMON THEE!!"
Tycon lowered his voice to a feral growl, "He who walks in the shadow of the moon... with blades kissed by her silver light... to me. Now."
The roar of thunder shook the two-story building, sending various artisans ducking for cover in a panic.
Three subsequent bolts of lightning struck the ground adjacent to Tycon... revealing the Thunder God, Captain Krysaos, and Tarquin Wroe.
The tall Daeva tilted his head upward, "What's up, Boss?"
The grizzled Sea Captain had his arms crossed over his chest, "Yo, LT. I uh... thought we were tryin' to keep a low profile?"
"How can we aid you, noble friend?" Said the lanky Thunder God.
Instead of responding right away, Tycon rested his acid-sputtering sword on his shoulder and summoned a Spell scroll from his ring.
He activated a ⌈Zone of Silence⌋, allowing him and his companions to speak privately, despite their public location.
...The scroll was expensive. The waste of coin further fueled Tycon's rage.
"Someone is working against us," He snarled. "Ophelia has been taken."
"Ya don't... say..." Krysaos sighed, shaking his head. "Well, shite. I got a down payment on an airship... but it'll still take some time to get it skyworthy."
"You don't say," Tycon shrugged. That much was to be expected. "Anyroad, good work, thus far."
He turned to the Shirtless God. For whatever reason, he found the fellow's presence less grating than usual.
"Thunder God, take us there immediately."
The Thunder God furrowed his thick blonde brows, "Where... is our destination, friend-Maedar?"
Tycon sighed... "Krysaos, what is the worst possible place for an Elven Princess to wander off to?"
Krysaos answered without hesitation, "The Salty Chub Brothel in the lower district."
"And the second-worst place?"
"Easy. The Tree God's--" ...As realization dawned on the Captain, his face contorted with disgust. "Oh, f*ck me... the Tree God's f*cking forest? Y'serious?"
Tycon took a breath in through his nostrils and nodded.
A pained expression crossed the Thunder God's face, "Even with thy memories to aid me, I cannot ⌈Thunder Teleport⌋ into a hostile god's domain."
"As close as possible, then," Tycon insisted. "We need to act quickly if we are to keep Ophelia alive."
"A noble quest," The Thunder God pounded a fist to his chest, "I will do what I can. I need one of you to recall a memorable location-- but outside the Tree God's sphere of influence."
Wroe shrugged haphazardly, "Aren't you overreacting, Boss? My ex can take care of herself."
...Tycon closed his eyes.
He had unconsciously undimmed his vision. If he wanted to again seal his bloodline ability, he would need to calm his emotions.
...It was difficult.
"Mister Wroe... you will aid us in this quest."
"Me and her, Boss-- we already ended it. Why should I--"
"Mister... Wroe..." Tycon repeated, "It... matters not."
He took a slow... deep breath. Despite his smoldering rage and his quickly ramping need to perform violence, he needed Wroe's power.
Tycon was about to delve into an enemy god's territory and defy their will. It was potentially the most dangerous quest he had undertaken, as of yet.
"Regardless of your feelings... Ophelia... to Sol Invictus is..."
...Tycon paused. No... that wasn't it.
"Ophelia," He continued, "is my friend. I would... I *will* risk my life on her behalf... I would expect as much from any of you."
The words he spoke... conflicted with what he *thought* he believed.
However... he spoke true.
Tycon upheld one personal tenet above all others: to repay his debts.
He owed Ophelia his loyalty, not for who she was to City-State Whitehearth-- not for who she was to Sol Invictus, but on account of their personal friendship.
The smile was gone from Krysaos' face... and he nodded with gravity, "We're with you, LT."
The Thunder God smiled softly before his eyes and blonde hair began to glow with divine power, "This... is how mortals should always act."
As for Wroe... he bit his lip and bowed his head, "Alright. I'll do what I can."
"Not GOOD ENOUGH!!" Tycon slammed his fist against a nearby wall. "I demand nothing less than your absolute BEST, Tarquin Wroe! In Quay's absence, *I* am Sol Invictus! And I. REFUSE. to leave. ANYONE. BEHIND!!"
He did not want to lose another.
Tamaki.
Maximus.
...Rena.
He had no idea when other people had become more important than himself.
...but he could no longer accept failing the people who relied on him.
"Uh... LT?" Krysaos said with a scrunched face, "Did you uh... make a new magic spell just now?"
The Captain's words shook Tycon out of his anger.
Turning to face the wall he had struck, white light shone faintly through the cracks.
...Leomund's Ring.
The magical patterns 'engraved' on its surface danced across it.
Tycon had inadvertently opened a ⌈Gate⌋... in the middle of Whitehearth's industrial district.
Its destination was obvious.
...If he could stabilize it, it was possible he could transport his party directly to Ravidius' Dungeon in the Tree God's Forest.
Considering the distance, however... the raw, Divine Mana of Krysaos or the Thunder God was suboptimal in linking the two locations.
He needed... mana of the proper affinity.
He let out a chuckle of self-derision. Such mana, Ophelia could provide in droves.
But failing that...
Tycon placed a hand on his chin.
It would be possible... with *their* help.
"Gentlemen... as quickly as we are able, I need to get in contact with Princess Sindal Highblade. The Elven houses of Whitehearth will come together to save one of their own."
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