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Despite the chill of the mountain air, the body heat in the infirmary tent was warm enough to lift Tycondrius\' spirits. It was an unintended benefit in him offering to help.

As soon as he and Zenon had arrived at the infirmary tents, they were immediately assigned work. There was always something or someone to be moved, injured to be calmed, bandages to be wrapped, and, as a matter of course, human byproducts to clean.

While the other medical personnel bemoaned their circumstances or idly griped about the tedium of their mundane duties, Tycon and Zenon performed as requested.

The work was somewhat inglorious. It was thankless.

It was necessary.

Anyroad, Tycon preferred doing just about anything over returning to the Stormbrand camp.

Besides the comfortable environment, there was an additional unintended benefit. The lead medic seemed to have dropped her guard around him.

"Flame have mercy," Ariadne declared, sitting down on a foldable travel chair. "I thought we\'d *never* be finished."

⟬ Ariadne, Gold-Rank Elven Priestess. Brazen Guard Caster Lead. ⟭

"Thank you for your hard work, Lady Ariadne," Tycon smiled politely. "You are undoubtedly the most skilled healer I\'ve had the pleasure of working with."

"Well, aren\'t you precious?" The Priestess had produced a paper fan, which she unfolded and used to cool herself, "Thank you, hon, but I must look a fright! I\'m sweatin\' like a hooker attendin\' a Church service..."

Tycon pursed his lips, trying to understand what exactly the woman was trying to say. She was perspiring, yes. What was a... hooker? It was obviously slang for something else. And how did that relate to the Church of the Eternal Flame?

Ariadne eyed him, top to bottom, "Y\'know, Mister Tactician, I was wrong about you. When I heard you was one o\' them Stormbrands, I reckoned you\'d be lower than a snake in the grass."

"Lady Ariadne..." Tycon frowned, "Snakes are very handsome creatures."

"I do declare!" Ariadne covered her mouth with her fan as she laughed, "It was a figure of speech, darlin! Don\'t get\'cher knickers in a knot!"

...That was probably a figure of speech too.

Ariadne was a woman from the Eastern States and had the speech mannerisms to match. Similar to how her dyed blonde hair contrasted against her bronze skin, intricate silvery runes covered her bare arms-- likely continuing beneath her healer\'s robes. The tattoos were common to the \'Dark Elves\' of that region, so that was unsurprising.

Notably, there was a non-magical iron ring on the woman\'s finger, engraved in the Old Tyrion Language.

\'I love you too little,\' It read.

It was probably supposed to be romantic. The wearing of a wedding band was a Tyrion custom, marking Ariadne\'s fidelity to a single partner.

It was a human custom.

Xenophobia aside, Tycon found it curious, as Ariadne was a full-blooded elf and had a lifespan five times the length of a human.

"Somethin\' catch your eye, hon?" The Priestess grinned, holding out her hand and showing off her ring. "Sorry, darlin\'! Little ol\' Aria\'s already taken!"

Tycon was caught staring... He was caught in an awkward social position where he felt obligated to say something polite, "Congratulations?"

Thankfully, the Gold-Rank Priestess did not look bothered, "Thanks! Ah\'ve been married to Bannok fer ten years now!"

"Ah, to Brother-Bannok," Tycon nodded.

He had deemed Bannok as an intelligent gentleman. Though there were obvious difficulties to an elf-human pairing. Tycon would not question it out of respect for the Brazen Guard\'s leader.

Also, he had witnessed the Priestess\' professionalism and skill in the healing arts. She was good. Very good. With Lady Ariadne at his side, Bannok\'s actual lifespan was probably double that of a normal human\'s.

"Ah heard about what you said to him!!" Ariadne clapped her hands together, "Real sweet of you, Mister Tactician. Mah husband doesn\'t like ta make friends, and he\'s real appreciative of ya-- even if he won\'t say it straight."

Tycon chuckled to himself, "Your husband has earned my respect with his professionalism and valor."

"By the Flame," Ariadne gasped, again hiding her lips with her fan, "Are you tryin\' ta seduce my darling-husband, Mister Tactician?"

"Why?" Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Is that... snake-like behavior, Lady Ariadne?"

"Oh, jus\' Aria\'s fine~" The Priestess sang, "And I will admit you\'re a very handsome snake."

Tycon couldn\'t tell if he was being insulted or not. Lady Aria remained in good spirits, though, so he decided not to question it. Building rapport with a Gold-Rank healer could only be advantageous to him.

"What\'s this I\'m hearing \'bout snakes?" Bannok entered the tent, his voice markedly annoyed. His brows were furrowed and he looked to Ariadne for an answer. He didn\'t look... upset. Wary, perhaps? Suspicious.

Ariadne rolled her eyes, "You\'ll have to forgive my husband, Mister Tactician. He doesn\'t care a lick for snakes."

"I gathered." Tycon nodded, "Though somewhat unfair to the noble and majestic reptile, I\'m assuming the prejudice has to do with the Snake Cult."

The human\'s distaste for snakes was... misplaced. Tycon would not take offense for it.

Hatred runs deep.

Bannok took a seat beside his wife and let out a deep, reminiscing sigh... Tycon and Aria waited patiently for him to speak.

"Sorry, you two," Bannok forced a wry smile, "It still pisses me off, thinkin\' that those cultist bastards are still out there, hidin\' in their holes."

"I also have no love for the Snake Cult, Brother-Bannok." Tycon smiled politely. "In fact, I\'ve directly participated in killing two of their Warlocks."

Tycon had witnessed the brain matter of one Warlock spilled upon the wooden floor. Another, he had witnessed being drowned by acidic bile. It was a fair assumption to believe that one was dead, as well.

The bald veteran took another deep sigh before adopting a wicked smirk, "I knew I liked you, Brother-Tycon. Kehe... but two? Two\'s rookie numbers."

Tycon shrugged, "Then I shall strive to increase the number if the opportunity presents itself."

"Haha! Well said!" Bannok\'s laughter resounded through the cloth of the tent.