Sanctum Librarius Zenon Skyreaper placed the enchanted Centurion helmet upon his head. Unlike mundane equipment, its metal remained cool, his vision remained uncompromised and his voice projected through its molded scowl.
He did not wear it often. While wearing it, he felt... detached when dealing with others. However, the situation called for his utmost professionalism.
He narrowed his eyes, not that anyone would be able to see it, "How many, Optio?"
"Over twenty at first glance, Centurion," The green-haired Decanus looked behind the wall, "They're peaceable enough-- though it looks like our villains have gained... a plaything."
Zenon felt hatred grip his heart as he stepped out from the wall, "While the enemies of the Flame still draw breath, there can be no peace."
"Of course. How could I forget?" Tycon shrugged as Zenon walked past, "Do as you will. I shall cover you."
Zenon nodded, his back turned to his Optio. That he had Brother-Tycon covering his back warmed his heart with pride and strengthened his will to do battle.
He was sworn to protect House Vanzano against any would-be attackers.
It was an oath he did not take lightly.
A tiny kitten cowered within the circle of sinners. Its orange fur was mangy, bitten by insects. It was thin... malnourished. Grown men spat at her, kicking, laughing. It made Zenon feel ashamed to be human.
Zenon crossed his forearms, allowing his bladed claws to touch. The satisfying spark got their attention, a precursor to a one-sided beating. He ran forward, the sanctified Tyrion steel of his metal boots smashing into the road, flinging up rocks. Several hundred librae of righteous fury sped towards those who dared disregard the sanctity of life.
Wisely, the thugs took several steps back, drawing their weapons. Zenon scooped the kitten up in his metal arms.
"Are you unhurt, child?" His voice echoed.
Zenon would rather have been saving a human, but a cat was fine, too. The tiny creature shivered in his large metal palms, but it was safe.
He kept his voice calm and low, warm and sincere, trying to calm the young kitten's nerves. He had no wish to intimidate the creature. The thugs around that he and Brother-Tycon would be facing were a different matter.
Zenon placed the kitten within a pouch on his waist, where it fit wonderfully. Focusing his mana, he allowed a silver glow to emit from the eyes of his helmet, "How many are you?"
"Huhuhu..." One of the thugs chuckled, a dangerous-looking rogue with dark, sunken eyes.
There were far too many of them and surrounding him in a half-circle... Zenon couldn't keep track of them all. How could so many sinners challenge the Church? Tyrion was united in its faith! He found the situation inconceivable.
"You're gonna find out, 'oh so holy one~'" The dark-eyed man mocked, his voice raspy and old. He raised a hand to his mouth, releasing a loud, piercing whistle.
Zenon heard movement from all around him... but even through his full-helmet, the wind brought clarity to his ears. He smirked, "Thirty-one."
The number brought a twitch to the dark-eyed man's mouth and his thugs grimaced in uncertainty. The dark-clothed forces of House Galanis were all around them... swordsmen emerging from alleyways, archers skulking about on rooftops opposite the Vanzano estate.
"So the altar-boy can count. Big deal." The dark-eyed man laughed, "You're outnumbered. Might as well give up, th' both o' ya."
"Indeed. The observation period is over," Zenon nodded. "Swing your sword, Brother-Tycon."
Zenon shoved his arms out to the left and right, one set of claws piercing a man's head, the other gutting a man and electrocuting his insides with a violent rush of mana. Tearing the bloodied blades out of the flesh of sinners, he crossed his arms and formed a series of gestures with his hands.
With that spell, his Optio would be protected. Once he sensed Tycon's sword, he could cast an enchantment on that, as well, to increase the speed and fury of his strikes.
"If you stay in the sphere, you'll be safe," He spoke aloud, flashing the most confident smile he could.
Oh, wait. He was still wearing his helmet. 'By the Flame, my people-skills suck.'
...
⟬ Several seconds earlier. ⟭
Tycondrius delayed the release of his ⌈Shadowfang Strike⌋ skill. With its movement-effect duration not-yet-expired, he had a few short seconds of magical stealth before he needed to appear.
The Centurion's judgment of thirty-one was... slightly off. There were thirty thugs, archers, warriors in dark clothing... but the one was different. Within the group, hidden by the crowd... was a single member of the Church.
pαпdα Йᴏνê|,сòМ ⟬ Bronze-Rank Human Inquisitor. ⟭
He even had a Church-specific class.
The middle-aged fellow wore a tall buckled hat and a dark expression. It was likely the Inquisitor was not informed that a Centurion and his Optio were working with House Vanzano.
It was possibly a precarious situation, but Tycon had a mind to ensure the gentleman's survival. He doubted the Church would care if he and Zenon slaughtered a hundred Tyrion citizens. A single Inqusitor, though, would be worth at least an eye-raise.
Tycon felt Zenon's ⌈Wind Barrier⌋ cover his form. It was an odd spell, sheathing his body in spinning winds that protected him from damage. Still, it was nice of him.
He hadn't brought his halberd, but he had his two Decani swords and the dagger on his back... What could he use that was particularly eye-catching? By his actions, he wished to immediately dissuade the Inquisitor from acting against them.
The noise of the ⌈Wind Barrier⌋'s speed, whirling about his form made it difficult to think.
...Oh. That would do nicely.
Tycon emerged from his stealth, grasping the neck of the thug closest to the old man. The wind barrier swirled about, bits of debris cutting into human flesh, sanding off the features of the man's face like a broad stroke of coarse sandpaper.
It was... more effective than Tycon had hoped, blood streaming down both his face and armor and that of his target's. He'd need a bath afterward.
"Good afternoon, Inquisitor," He spoke aloud, tossing a dead man aside.
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