IV.
Once outside, Typhon was immediately thrust into the midst of a battle that had devolved into little more than a messy, desperate brawl. Men were screaming, being stabbed, carved into scraps or brutally punched to death in droves, all across the once peaceful courtyard.
Scanning the area, Typhon beamed when his eyes fell upon his father.
Baraba was sitting on his horse, under the shade of a tree far-removed from the heat of the raging battle. Every now and then, he would take a sip from his flask. Swallow it down. Then bark an order at the nearest man he saw slacking, whether they be ally or foe.
Keeping his head down to avoid flying arrows, Typhon merrily wove his way through the death-filled courtyard to meet with him.
"Dad! Dad! Look at what I found!"
Baraba frowned as he approached. "What's with the funny hat?"
Typhon smiled sheepishly. "It's kind of a long story..."
