317 Class Unknown, Rank Unknown (1/2)
”(Different, yes.)” Tycondrius mulled over the thought, ”(--but I believe my 'faction' is one neutral to yours.)”
Sol Invictus was a faction to itself. It wasn't one known to the Snake Cult, but in implying he had a backer, Tycon would retain his social importance in the conversation.
”(Neutral?)” The Inquisitor scoffed and shook his head, ”(Is there truly such a thing? Hah.)”
Tycon shrugged, ”(I believe it the most appropriate term.)”
”Fair...”
The old man paused, placing a hand upon his chin and scrutinizing Tycon's armored and blood-covered form... ”(I sense a kinship in you, Decanus. Why is that?)”
”(I believe because we are both practical gentlemen,)” Tycon smiled politely.
”Hmph, indeed,” The Inquisitor narrowed his eyes, ”And will you be visiting House Galanis after this?”
”Likely,” Tycon nodded.
He wasn't afraid of retribution from the house of thieves. He wanted to kill the lot of them and take their coin.
”('Tis a shame...)” The old man released a heavy sigh, ”(I had a few... toys cultivated there. There was an elf, you see...)”
”(--Inquisitor, I must apologize,)” Tycon interrupted, smiling with chagrin, ”(With my current circumstances-- notably my Centurion... I doubt I will be able to recover your... items.)”
There would be no substantial gain, financial or social, in recovering the man's slaves... assuming that's what he was referring to. And if there was, Tycon would be hard-pressed to do so, on account of his morality. The concept of unjust slavery did not sit well with him.
”(How unfortunate...” The veteran frowned, ”Well... do as you must. You will not be seeing of me again, Decanus.)”
”Oh, before you go...” Tycon held out an open palm.
He wanted something of the Inquisitor. He wasn't certain what he'd be receiving... but as he had implicitly saved the old degenerate's life, he was certain he'd get something of worth.
”Right,” The old man groaned. From a small pouch, the Inquisitor produced a stylized silver coin and placed it into Tycon's hand.
Emblazoned onto the metal was a snake skull on a backdrop of flames. It was a favor of the Snake Cult.
”(You do know what that is?)” The old man raised an eyebrow.
Tycon could feel killing intent practically oozing from the old man. But just that much? He didn't even flinch.
To ensure the Inquisitor's trust, Tycon spoke his response in Parseltongue, the language of serpents, Yuan-Ti, and Medusae, ”[(Be well on your travels,] Inquisitor.)”
”(Be well on my travels, indeed. Not something I hear often.)” The old man scoffed, turning on his heel, ”Fair travels to you, as well, Decanus.”
...
With the Centurion still cleaning, Tycon sat down next to the injured cat. He removed a half-ration of jerky he had been saving and chewed on it absentmindedly.
”(Mind if I... have some of that?)” The cat meowed. ”(I'm dyin', here.)”
Tycon glanced over. The orange-furred cat seemed not long for life, dragging its hind legs as it clawed forward.
It didn't look like it ate much. He tore off a (small) piece of his jerky and held it towards the dying creature, ”Sure thing.”
”(Holy shite, you can understand me?)” The cat looked up, the pain in its eyes turning to surprise.
Tycon narrowed his eyes.