A New Plan

Charles had warned him about the bandits. "You know, those thugs don't just operate on their own. They've probably got a backer. That's why no one's dealt with 'em yet. They've got protection."

Argon had laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "So what? I'll just kill the backer cunt too."

Charles shook his head, frustration wrinkling his forehead. "You're a goddamn moron. You think it's that easy? Those backers ain't some low-grade scum like you. They're the higher powers of Duskhaven. You fuck with them, you're digging your own grave."

Charles leaned closer, his voice falling to a growl. "Listen you greedy bastard, if you're so set on butting heads with these bandit shits for their loot, remember one fucking thing - no witnesses."

Argon raised an eyebrow at Charles's gruff advice. "No witnesses, huh?"

"Yeah, no goddamned witnesses," Charles reiterated, his gaze stern. "This isn't some moral crusade. It's a messy, brutal business. If some snooping ass catches wind that you're messing with the bandits and it gets back to their backer, they won't take kindly to it. You don't want to piss off the powers that be."

Argon considered Charles's words, the severity of the warning sinking in. "No witnesses," he agreed; the concept was solidifying in his mind. He'd not only have to dismantle the bandits but do it covertly. The stakes had just been raised. This wasn't just about getting rich; it was about surviving to spend his spoils.

"Still, I ain't scared of some shadowy fucks pulling strings from behind," Argon had retorted, his defiance as palpable as the aura around his artefact.

Charles ran a hand down his face, his frustration with Argon's cocky demeanour mounting. "Fuck, how you've managed to keep yourself alive until now is beyond me," he grumbled, his voice laced with irritation.

"Listen, you dumb shit," Charles growled. "Duskhaven ain't a playground. It's a fucking jungle. And in a jungle, there's always a bigger beast. You cross paths with it; you get eaten. Understand?"

Argon had only grunted in response, but he'd taken the warning to heart. He didn't really want to fuck with any of the higher echelons of Duskhaven, with unknown capabilities. He had a plan, though. And now, he had the means to see it through.

Charles eyed Argon, taking another pull from his pipe. "You might want a helping hand with these risky tasks you've got your heart set on, lad," he grumbled. "Get yourself a slave; let someone else take the hits. I'd suggest partnering with another adventurer but asking adventurers for help is risky. They're as likely to stab you in the back as they are to help. Nobody likes sharing rewards with a greenhorn."

Argon squirmed uncomfortably at the suggestion. He had been a lone wolf for so long; the idea of trusting someone, especially a slave, was unappealing. Yet, he understood the logic behind Charles's words. He was a novice in this world; having another pair of hands, even unwilling ones, could help him survive longer.

"Murdock," Charles interrupted Argon's thought process. "He's a slave trader, holds auctions every afternoon at sundown. Notorious fellow, but fair. Deals in quality slaves. You can't miss him. Burly man grey beard, eyes that seem like they're evaluating everything they land on, and always decked in flashy jewellery. A testament to his prosperous trade."

With their conversation drawing to a close, Argon offered Charles a gruff nod, the closest he got to showing appreciation. "Cheers, Charles," he said, his voice carrying a trace of uncharacteristic sincerity.

Charles, despite his earlier frustration, gave a small, knowing smile. He had seen enough of Argon to know that this was his way of saying 'thank you'. "Just don't get yourself killed," he replied, his gruff tone hiding a hint of concern.

Argon exited the store, stepping back into the bustling streets of Duskhaven. As he walked away, he couldn't help but appreciate the words of advice from Charles. Though they often argued and exchanged harsh words, Argon saw Charles as a mentor of sorts - a voice of reason in the chaotic world.

Light filtered into the streets of the Seric Merchant Area, and Argon found himself with time to kill before the slave auction at daybreak. The world around him was already in motion. Shopkeepers were opening their stores, and the first few patrons were beginning to trickle in, casting wary glances at his incongruous appearance amid the established hustle and bustle.

Taking slow, aimless steps, Argon meandered around the stalls and shops, his gaze lingering on the goods displayed. The kaleidoscope of items - from intricate jewellery to weathered maps and polished weapons - was a stark reminder of the variety of the people who called Duskhaven their home.

Every now and then, a particularly animated haggling session caught his attention, the vibrant exchange a testament to the importance of a shrewd business sense in this mercantile hub. He could only imagine the stories behind each transaction, the interwoven threads of ambition, need, and survival that painted the picture of this thriving commercial landscape.

Argon had been wandering through the bustling merchant area when he noticed a sign for real estate services. The sign led him to a modest office, where a middle-aged woman named Delilah managed the affairs.

Delilah was a portly woman with a sharp nose and sharper eyes. Her greying hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and her fingers were adorned with several shining rings, marking her as successful in her trade.

"Looking for a roof, are you?" Delilah asked, her eyes examining Argon, sizing him up.

"Yeah," Argon replied gruffly, nodding once. "Somewhere to keep my head down."

Delilah chuckled, her jewellery clinking with the movement. "In the Merchant area, I presume? That's the only place where renting is safe, everything outside is not fit for living. You wouldn't want to squat in the slums."

Argon grunted in agreement. He had spent his initial days in Duskhaven in the slums, squatting in abandoned homes. He was keen to move up in the world.

The woman flicked through a thick ledger, flipping past several pages before finally pausing. "Well, we have plenty of options. There are some prime locations in the City Centre, with stunning views of the market square. Those go for about five gold a month. Then there's the residential district, a quaint little neighborhood. Houses there cost around three gold a month."

Argon shook his head. "Too steep."

She looked at him for a moment, her sharp gaze seeming to evaluate him before she turned another page in her ledger. "Alright, then there's this one. It's a small apartment in the Lower District. Not the best neighborhood, but it's safe and it's within the Merchant area. It's just 50 silvers a month."

Argon grunted, a sound of affirmation. It was within his budget, and he didn't need anything fancy.

"Great," Delilah said, her business-like demeanour returning. "You'll have to pay two months rent upfront. That's standard procedure."

Argon complied, reaching into his pouch to retrieve the necessary coinage. He handed the 100 silver coins to Delilah, who counted them meticulously before nodding.

"Perfect. Welcome to your new home, sir," she said, a hint of sarcasm evident in her tone.

With the keys to his new place jingling in his pocket, Argon left the office, his mind filled with thoughts of the tasks ahead. He now had a place to rest, a place to plan, a place he could call his own. This was just another step on his journey. But for now, it was enough.

Slowly but surely, the sky grew lighter. The rich aroma of baked goods and brewing tea began to waft through the air, mingling with the musk of leather and steel from the nearby smithies. Argon found himself drawn to a modest food stall selling fresh pastries. He purchased a couple, relishing the flaky crust and warm filling as he continued his stroll.

Wandering through the Seric Merchant Area, Argon's eyes were constantly on the lookout for artefacts. He knew their worth now and the potential power they could hold. Unfortunately, his search was proving fruitless. Most of the merchants in this area dealt with standard goods - common armour, weapons, potions, or basic household necessities.

The few shops that stocked scavenged ruin finds were of interest, and Argon did spend some time perusing their cluttered shelves and messy displays. They were filled with interesting relics - chipped ancient coins, faded maps, remnants of old weaponry, and curiosities whose purpose was a mystery. Yet, he had no feeling indicative of an artefact.

Asking the shopkeepers who may sell them yielded no results either. Most just shrugged and told him they had no idea what he was talking about. A couple admitted to having seen such items before, but they were very rare and got snapped up quickly by wealthy buyers or the Seric.

Disappointed but not deterred, Argon continued his search. He knew it was a long shot, but the idea of finding another artefact, especially one that might be more potent, was too enticing to ignore. His foray into the shops of scavenged finds did not yield any artefacts, but it was a reminder of the vast expanse of the unknown world that lay beyond Duskhaven. With each mystery item he picked up, each ancient relic he turned over in his hands, Argon felt a mix of excitement and trepidation. His adventure was just beginning.

Throughout his aimless wandering, Argon's thoughts returned to his upcoming visit to the slave auction. It was an uncomfortable necessity, a decision born from the harsh reality of his circumstances. But he was determined to make the most out of the situation, to ensure that his investment would aid him in the daunting tasks that lay ahead.