"Alright, great!" Krysaos clenched his fist, "Now-- jus' tell me what I gotta do!"
Tycon placed his hand on his chin in thought.
Whatever was going through the LT's head was pure, unfiltered, calculative genius.
"Your magic casting is mediocre... but your mastery in the basics of White Raven swordsmanship will at least save you from complete embarrassment..."
Or not.
Krysaos narrowed his gaze, "You kiddin' me, guy?"
Tycon pursed his lips, "I make it a point not to jest concerning potentially deadly situations."
...Yeah, that made sense. It also made Krysaos' butthole clench up a bit.
"I uh... LT..." Krysaos scratched his head... "about me winnin'... that's not... impossible, right?"
"Would you like the truth or a cleverly disguised lie?"
"The truth, please."
"No."
"I'll take constructive criticism for five-hundred."
Tycon's eyes twitched-- but then he shook his head with a sigh.
