Headed by a Snake

The cloaked and hooded elf unbound one of their two long, straight swords from their waist.

Tycondrius narrowed his eyes at the action. Only a single sword?

Lone's previous four fights were all done bare-handed-- bloody fistfights that raised the crowd's energy the more either party suffered and swelled.

Now he'd face an edged weapon. Tycon hoped he wouldn't die too quickly for him to heal. It would be somewhat of a waste of all his prior training.

The elf then unsheathed their sword, wielding that in their right and the empty scabbard in the left-- an improvised blunted weapon.

"Felinus, First-Ranger of the Brazen Guard," The elf introduced himself with a male name.

Tycon was inwardly thankful for it. Because of the elf's light voice, he struggled to discern their-- err... his gender.

Lone grinned. The blood running down his nose and a cut from a swelling wound on his forehead made him look especially wild and reckless, "The Lone Shadowdark, Legendary Ranger of Sol Invictus."

It was a proper one-on-one challenge. Tycon could not intervene unless he incurred the ire of everyone in the tavern. He might have made folly of adventurers' pride earlier, but that same pride would ensure Lone and that Felinus fellow would have a 'fair' fight, without outside interference.

But concerning that 'fairness'... Measuring Devices were uncommon and pricey in the Realm. Further, skills emulating their effect were almost nonexistent. It was likely that only Tycon knew the strength disparity between the two combatants.

"That's a pretty bold statement," Felinus chuckled lightly. "To say you belong to the storied Ezyrian guild, Sol Invictus."

Lone smirked, still painfully unaware of the danger he was in, "But it's true."

"It's ridiculous, that's what it is." The elf shook his head, "And then you'll tell me that you were trained by Quies, himself."

Lone's smirk widened into a mad (but clueless) grin, "Never heard of her."

Tycon grimaced. Quies, or 'Quay', as the members of Sol Invictus referred to him, was the previous leader of guild Sol Invictus. He was also the single father of one of their guild's strongest combatants, the half-elf boy, Pale.

Tycon required the assistance of Sol Invictus Oracle Sasarame, to delve into his previous self's memories... and learning his guild's past was one of the more important periods of history he sought to learn.

Sol Invictus popularized themselves as the strongest gladiator guild in the Holy Country many years prior, undefeatable. They were celebrated as heroes... human heroes. But in truth, their roster was entirely made of men and women with Outsider blood. It was a fact only known in rumors... and one that directly related to the guild's quiet disappearance.

Dragan Ashlord, the fiery-haired axe-wielding Berserker (actually a Magic Warrior-- or a Swordmage, as the class was properly called) was a near 9-fulm tall Titanblood. His ruthlessness and arrogance were unquestionably masculine and drew in a majority of the guild's popularity from coliseum-goers thirsty for blood.

Lulu was a beautiful and unapologetic platinum-blonde seductress who took to the field wearing close-fitting robes and wielding a parasol. Her spells littered the battlefield with magical traps and in close combat, she defended herself with Gold-Rank mana coursing through her seemingly flimsy weapon. She was also literally a demon.

Tarquin Wroe-- nicknamed the Prince of Arcanite, armed Sol Invictus with weapons and gear that far surpassed that of the other gladiatorial teams. Further, he was a fantastic duelist, trained in Nemayan swordsmanship. He was a Daeva--angelic blood coursed through his veins. With fluffy feather-down blue hair and 'enchanting, ocean-deep eyes', he was arguably the 'prettiest' person in Sol Invictus.

Quay was a stereotypical blonde elf, skilled in the Elven blade dance-- that annoying, generally-useless blade dance that elves needed to practice for 80 or 100 years before they grew somewhat proficient at it. But proficient, he was.

Then there were others: Levi Wolfrider, the Weretouched; Indrazeal Zuko, the Phoenix-blood; Bella Sapphira the Witch... Gobsuke the Goblin.

Horse.

And of course, there was himself, the shadow-leader of their guild.

Sol Invictus was headed by a snake.

"I see..." The elf narrowed his eyes. He brandished his held blade and scabbard, a smooth and subtle motion indicative of Elven blademastery, "So you say you're a Ranger? Show me."

"Pshhh" Lone scoffed, "You say YOU'RE a Ranger?! Show ME!!"

...Tycon had never considered tact or... persuasiveness as part of Lone's skillset.

Felinus tossed his sword... up, and it spun in the air. The Elven Ranger performed a graceful pirouette, and a sliver of steel rushed towards Lone.

It was too fast for Tycon to react to at the distance. Had the shot been aimed at Lone's eyes or neck, the human would have taken a grievous injury.

Lone raised an eyebrow, smirking pompously, "Was that it?"

Seven hells, the young man was good at acting.

Blood dripped down a fresh cut on his cheek.

The adventurer standing nearest to the elf also had a knife missing from their chest bandolier. They hadn't even noticed it was taken, staring at the opposite side of the tavern. A dart-board behind Lone had a throwing knife embedded in it-- not quite at the board's center, but close enough to prove a point.

Lone didn't look impressed. Tycon figured it was because the young man didn't see the dartboard. Or feel the cut on his face.

The elf caught his blade before it hit the ground, rotating his wrist in a flashy flourish.

Tycon considered just leaving... but that would have been rude to his friend, death-sentence or not.

Lone chuckled to an unspoken joke that only he found funny as he drew a sword with his main hand... a beautifully crafted, simple blade.

⟬ Shatterspike. Second-Circle Magical Longsword. Deals increased damage to weapons and objects. ⟭

The weapon also cleaved wonderfully through flesh. The Gold-Rank elf would not be able to take a mana-powered strike from that weapon... Tycon doubted they would be fool enough to allow themselves to feel its bite, but Lone did have a minuscule chance at victory.

Lone's second weapon, the Dark Iron wolf-headed mace, he allowed to fall onto the tavern floor, its weight cracking the wooden planks.

"Howl, Tres Leches," He whispered.

The weapon began to glow with a violent crimson mana, twisting upon itself, expanding, and forming into a four-legged wolf. It growled, frothing with weapon-oil at the mouth... baring sharpened metal teeth that could bite through armor. Its metal coat gleamed in the tavern light, rough and spiked, and its eyes glowed red with bloodlust.

"Oh?" Felinus mused, "So you *are* a Ranger."

The elf did not appear intimidated, even with Lone's display of enchanted weaponry.

Tycon stealthily counted the coins in his wallet. Was it too late to bet on Felinus?