Headed by a Snake

O' Sol Invictus...

...how Constantine hated that name.

That... was the guild that the Holy Country entrusted to transport the Swords of the Elven Sovereign.

...It was also the guild led by the accursed Baron who f*cked his whore fiancee.

Coraline nodded lazily... her mind still fogged by magic, "He-- yeah... I think... I want to go to Whitehearth. The Swords of the Forgotten King... that's... where they're gonna be."

Archmage Constantine pursed his lips... and hid his clenched fists behind his back... "You found the swords, then..."

"Y... yes. I did."

The discovery of the swords changed everything.

He took a deep breath. As his raged cooled, his heart filled with a different kind of excitement.

Constantine twirled an inconsequential spell around his fingers, the subtle magic swirling around him and twisting his illusory expression into a gentle smile.

"You wish to go to the city of Whitehearth? Very well. I give you leave to do so."

Tracking Sol Invictus had been an oddly difficult task. As much disdain he had for its leader, Baron Tychon, he was a resourceful and thorough snake.

Sol Invictus was very good at dodging and disabling his spies... and so many casts of scrying magic were more likely to mired in thick fog or grant him a splitting headache rather than a discernible location.

As the guild departed Cersei's Rest via ship, Constantine had sent his retainers to intercept them, kill them, and recover their possessions. He'd even lent them a Dragon Artifact in order to help them secure it.

The bumbling pirates fell to an attack by swaths of undead... which was... ironic.

It was something that would have never happened if he had instead enlisted the help of his countrymen, instead of local blaggards. Sailors from the Sleeping Country encountered mad necromancers once a moon.

After that, Constantine had managed to track down the Sol Invictus Calculator and Flaming Rage Knight. They'd taken residence in the city of Archangel, precariously close to the Sapphire Tower.

Though he considered claiming those two, as well... they were merely human. While he kept a vigilant eye on their movements, they had yet to contact their guild leader... nor did they seem to have a clue to his whereabouts.

Coraline Heartsong... the girl protected by Bella Sapphira-- she had proven to be far more valuable than for just her three holes.

Her research had culminated into finding him the location of the swords.

The prophesied 'Elven Sovereign' was certain to appear... and in suns and weeks, rather than centuries.

"So uh..." Coraline tapped her foot anxiously, "Do I need to... fill out any paperwork... orrrr?"

"What are you waiting for?!" Constantine snapped-- the illusory magic keeping his expression together nearly breaking, "Get out of my sight!!"

"Stars and stones, don't have to tell me twice," The sarcastic elf girl rolled her eyes before wobbling towards the exit.

"Filthy, f*cking whore..." After Constantine heard the door close behind him, he walked over to his desk chair and retrieved his journal to record his findings.

The Elven Sovereign... According to the Dragon Prophet, Neerin Neelia, the Return of the Elves' so-called King... it was the return of their Elf God.

...And that god was trapped in mortal form.

That... was Constantine's target... his next conquest... his ultimate goal-- so close, he could almost taste it.

His heart began to race thinking about the things he'd do... and he took mental inventory of the tools of pleasure and pain he needed to prepare... the new spells he needed to perfect...

His plans, years in the making, would soon reach their fruition...

Constantine the Silver...

No... Konstantin Dunzis...

Soon... he would seduce... he would conquer... he would debase and defile an elf-- and not one so mundane as he'd sampled hundreds of times before.

He would f*ck a god.

...

⟬ The Eastern States, on the southwestern coast. ⟭

According to Captain Krysaos, the Neptune's Revenge had anchored off the coast of Thorne Bay. The ship had dipped noticeably deeper in the water by that time, but as a result of human engineering and ingenuity, had yet to tip over and sink.

Temporarily halting their voyage for repairs was a necessity.

Tycondrius considered accompanying King, the Elven Sovereign, to Whitehearth. However, that would leave Krysaos to fend for himself for an indeterminable length of time.

Such a decision would be in poor taste. The gentleman-Captain was an agreeable traveling companion... and would likely die in a series of unfortunate events if left to his own devices.

Considering his crew, it would either be combat-related... or... accidental in nature.

A particularly irritable, thin-braided, charcoal-skinned dark elf crossed her arms as she glared at said gentleman.

"Ugh. Why can't you act like a proper, respectful human, Krysaos?" Imperia groaned, "You should learn from your servant."

The purple-haired Sea Witch, Mina, was levitating by King's side, where she was being regaled by the elf's stories of bravery and derring-do.

Though Tycon initially believed the young mermaid to be socially trapped, too shy to interrupt, the girl appeared... actually interested in the elf's fanciful boasting.

"Squeeze the saltwater outta your pantsu, girlie. I can be proper to women if I want to be," Krysaos shrugged, "but I gotta remind you-- you might as well be a guy with your chest as flat as it is."

"You..." Imperia's eyes turned to shock and she clenched her fists in anger...

"(You will rue the day you crossed me, human...)" --she added in Elven.

"What she say?" Krysaos glanced over to Tycon.

"Generic threat," Tycon shrugged.

"Did she actually say just that? 'Generic threat'?"

Mina drifted over, flipping her fin to swim through the air as if still underwater, "Chosen One! Esteemed Lady Imperia and Sir Tychon! The Elven Sovereign is ready to depart towards the Thorne settlement. How goes your preparations?"

"See?" Imperia sneered, "Proper, respectful speech, as the Maedar and I deserve. Thank you for your courtesy, Miss Servant."

"Of course, Lady," Mina inclined her head, "I am honored to fulfill the duties for which I have been created for, to serve philanthropist nobles and just kings."

"Fumu humu~" Imperia emitted a childish giggle as she placed her hands on her hips.

Mina was a weapon spirit, a sentience born of an ancient god-forged weapon, the Heart of the Ocean.

King... if Tycon hypothesized correctly, was a similar existence-- a human whose mind was dominated by an Elven weapon spirit, their body magically altered to fit their image.

Tycon considered informing the young elf that King may hold a higher regard for Mina than for her... but decided against it.

He had spent the past several suns building rapport with her-- mostly by feeding her. Their conversations, since, were amicable enough, save the occasional sarcastic response and contemptful glare.

...As it was likely the most respect she could muster, Tycon granted the young lady more leeway than if he were dealing with a more... socially intelligent child.

Imperia's frustrations, then, she directed to Krysaos... He was the only man on the Neptune's Revenge that would provide her adequate verbal retaliation.

Her insults towards the various Coral Boys would... thoroughly confuse them, be wholly ignored; or-- in the case of Petty Officer Bob, would find her unceremoniously thrown into the ocean.

As for Ishmael, it seemed that Imperia was... unsettled by the shadow's presence, perhaps having realized that the creature bore a resemblance to Tycon, himself.

Mana instilled in her movements, the dark elf dashed off towards King, "My king! Lord! My sovereign!!"

Her exuberance likely had to do with the fact that, the further away from the anchored ship, the more she regained her ability to utilize her mana freely.

The Elven Sovereign sat alone against the base of a tree, his eyes closed, his ivory blades resting in his lap.

Upon the young lady's approach, King opened a single eye.

"Sapling," He waved dismissively, "Why art thou not attending to the Maedar as I had commanded?"

"My lord..." Imperia puffed out her cheeks, "I was hoping to accompany... you? with... my tribesmen?"

"That will not be necessary," King frowned. "I, alone, will be enough. To reduce the time we remain ashore and to expedite our journey to Whitehearth, I have tasked our kin to remain here and assist with the repairs."

The girl's ears visibly drooped in disappointment... "I... I understand, my Lord..."

"Report to me, when the time has come to depart."

With his words marking the end of the conversation, King again shut his eyes and continued to meditate... and Imperia returned, her head bowed in defeat.

"Young lady," Tycon nodded. "Take heart. A disadvantaged battle does not mean the war is lost... so to speak."

"Sir Tycon," She grit her teeth, refusing to acknowledge Captain Krysaos and his shite-eating grin, "how much longer until we can go?"

"We can depart once the crew is assembled and the Captain gives them their orders," Tycon explained.

He could not give a definite answer.

Gathering the crew could take as little as five minutes... or another half-bell, depending more on luck rather than Petty Officer Bob's skill.