Force

With the dawn casting its golden light through the small window, Argon got out of bed, his muscular form imposing against the morning glow. He moved methodically, each action a part of a routine he had perfected over the weeks. First, he donned his black armour, the plates fitting snugly against his broad frame, turning him into an embodiment of night's fearsomeness.

Next, he reached for his notorious black Dayless sword, its matte surface devoid of any reflection. The weapon was an extension of himself - ruthless, relentless, and bathed in shadow. With the sword secured in its sheath at his side, he was the picture of a seasoned warrior, a man whose life was ruled by the sword and armour.

Descending the stairs, Argon headed towards the dining area where Brolan, his trusted right-hand man, was already seated. The familiar smell of breakfast wafted through the room, a comforting aroma that signalled the start of another day in their tumultuous life.

"Right, master," Brolan began, looking up from his plate. His gaze met Argon's, a silent understanding passing between them. "Is it time we check out that incursion from Silverthorne?"

"Yes, Brolan," Argon responded, sinking into his chair. He picked up his knife and fork, cutting into his breakfast as he considered his next words. Brolan looking up from his plate, continued, "After what you said the other day, I've realized you're right... it's fucking boring around here." He paused, a smirk playing on his lips as he added, "Even my girl isn't enough to dampen the lust for combat."

The conversation was a reflection of their relationship - straightforward, honest, and tinged with a thirst for action. Their shared love for battle, the adrenaline rush of combat, was a bond that had seen them through countless conflicts. With the prospect of an encounter with Silverthorne, the morning had suddenly taken on a thrilling promise, the monotony of their daily life disrupted by the prospect of an upcoming fight.

"Right," Argon began, his tone shifting from casual to a more focused one. "Let's do this intelligently though, no need for unnecessary casualties." He understood that the thrill of combat was a double-edged sword. One wrong move, and they could lose men - men whose skills and experience were vital to their survival.

He started listing his men. "Brom, Dael, Edrik, Garen, Ulf, Lark..." These were his core force, his trusted warriors, each one a force to be reckoned with. Their combined strength would serve as the backbone of their operation.

"We'll supplement that with some of the villagers," Argon continued, contemplating the available manpower. His gaze hardened as he spoke, his mind formulating strategies, considering variables.

"The Silverthorne group was described simply as small...which is unhelpful," he muttered, the vague information irking him. Without a precise count, they were shooting in the dark, a situation he wasn't fond of.

He leaned back in his chair, his breakfast forgotten as he looked at Brolan. "Whatever. Let's just bring the maximum amount of manpower we have." It was a sound plan, one that would prepare them for the worst-case scenario. Despite the thrill of combat, Argon was not a man to underestimate his opponents. He preferred to be over-prepared rather than caught off guard.

This decision, like every move Argon made, was a testament to his strategic mind and ruthless nature. Despite his craving for battle, he never lost sight of the larger picture - the survival and victory of his people. As the room echoed with his final orders, a new day of strategy and conflict dawned in the twilight of their existence.

With their strategy set, Argon and Brolan rose from their seats, their bodies moving in sync as they strode towards the house where the soldiers resided. Their figures cut imposing silhouettes against the dawn's early light, their presence enough to silence any morning chatter.

As they approached the soldiers' house, Argon's voice rang out, the commanding tone echoing off the buildings. "Brom!" he bellowed, his voice slicing through the morning stillness. "Bring all the villagers you've been training up over here! We're moving out. Expect trouble."

"Edrik, gather supplies for the journey."

His words hung in the air like an ominous premonition, causing a ripple of urgency to surge through the men. Doors were flung open, and soldiers scrambled out, their expressions hardening at Argon's announcement. The villagers, too, those who had been receiving training under Brom, hurried, overhearing the commotion, their faces reflecting a mixture of anxiety and resolve.

Within minutes, a sizable force had assembled before Argon and Brolan. Old men, young boys and his soldiers stood side by side, their collective determination radiating through the morning chill.

Argon's gaze scanned over them, a sense of grim satisfaction seeping into him. Though not all were seasoned warriors, the villagers had proven themselves to be quick learners, their will to protect their homes and loved ones fueling their newfound fighting spirit.

As they set out, the town of Twilight, usually serene in the early light, was bristling with anticipation. The upcoming confrontation with the Silverthorne group was a dark cloud on the horizon, promising a storm of conflict and chaos. But in Argon, they trusted his commanding presence and ruthless efficiency to serve as their guiding light in the twilight of uncertainty.

As the assembled ranks stood before him, Argon's gaze roved over them, assessing each individual. His eyes fell upon the villagers, a group of men and women who, until recently, had lived peaceful lives. Now, they held their weapons with grim determination, their expressions hardened by the reality of their situation.

"I'll be leaving two of you villagers to guard the place," Argon announced, his voice carrying across the quiet morning. His eyes scanned the group before settling on Eldrin. The boy looked back at him, a fire in his eyes that Argon found intriguing, even admirable. But he had a promise to keep. "Boy, you're here so I guess you made your decision... but I'll be leaving you out of respect for your mother."

"No, my lord, I can fight. I'll listen to your orders," Eldrin protested, his voice shaking with a mix of eagerness and defiance.

Argon frowned, his gaze turning icy. "No, that was an order, you fuck. Don't talk back." His rebuke was harsh. Eldrin had the spirit to fight under him, something that Argon was confused about.

His gaze then landed on an elderly man, Jory, whose body was bent from years of labour but whose spirit was still unbowed. "You two will stay and guard the place while we're gone." His order was met with silent nods from both Eldrin and Jory, their expressions solemn.

As the rest of the group made final preparations to move out, Argon watched the two guardians of their home, their roles no less important than those heading into combat. Their strength would not be measured in sword strikes or spears thrown but in their resilience and unwavering vigilance. Despite the looming threat of conflict, they remained unyielding pillars in the twilight of chaos.

Now, Argon's fighting force was assembled, ready to take on the impending threat from Silverthorne. Argon himself and Brolan sat atop their horses, their commanding presences elevated even further by their steeds. They were the leaders, the ones to follow into the heat of battle.

Behind them, their trusted soldiers Brom, Dael, Edrik, Garen, Ulf, and Lark stood ready. These men had been with Argon through countless conflicts, their skills honed and tempered by the fires of battle. They were the backbone of his force, their presence a testament to Argon's strength and leadership.

The final part of the force was made up of twelve villagers. They were conscripts, ordinary folk thrown into the path of conflict. Their weapons, recently provided by Baron Eldrige, gleamed in the morning light, symbols of their new roles as defenders. Eldon, Perrin, Boyd, Wyn, Nyle, Kester, Tormund, Cale, Soren, Orin, Rafe, and Bram, middle-aged men and young boys who once ploughed fields, and tended to livestock, now stood as soldiers.

Despite the mixed skill and experience of the group, there was a palpable sense of unity amongst them. Their resolve was fueled by the desire to protect their homes, their loved ones, and their way of life. Every eye was steely with resolve, and every posture radiated readiness.

"Dael," Argon called out, turning his attention to one of his seasoned soldiers. "You were good with directions last time. Do you know the way to Goldenfield?" The question hung in the air, a test of Dael's memory and knowledge of the region.

Dael's eyes narrowed slightly in concentration. After a moment, he nodded, his gaze meeting Argons confidently. "It's roughly south of Blackwood," he replied, gesturing vaguely in the direction. "It's probably the closest territory to Silverthorne."

Argon considered this information, his gaze following Dael's pointed direction. "Good enough. Lead the way," he commanded, the firmness in his voice cutting through the morning chill. His order was met with an immediate nod from Dael, who spurred his horse forward to take the lead.

The group shifted, adjusting to Dael's new position at the front. Their horses' hooves echoed against the ground, the sound of a rhythmic heartbeat that seemed to pulse with their shared anticipation. As they began their journey towards Goldenfield, the rising sun cast long shadows across the path, a silent herald of the challenges that lay ahead.

Argon watched Dael lead, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. There was a weight in the air, a heaviness that seemed to reflect their collective tension. But despite the uncertainty of what lay ahead, Argon felt a sense of grim satisfaction. They were on the move, they were prepared, and, most importantly, they were together. No matter what they faced in Goldenfield, they would face it as a united front.

Argon surveyed the force he had assembled, his chest swelling with pride. Each individual, whether they were seasoned warrior or village conscripts, was essential to the success of their mission. They were a ragtag team, but they were his team. He'd come from the slums of Duskhaven. And with that, Argon's force moved out, embarking on the path that would lead them to their inevitable confrontation with the group from Silverthorne.

For three long days and nights, Argon's force journeyed across the diverse landscape. The path was arduous, the tension palpable, yet the group moved with unyielding determination, driven by a shared goal and a silent promise to protect their home.

Their path brought them close to Horntide; Argon would've liked to stop off if it weren't for time constraints. The cheerful chatter and the vibrant colours were a stark contrast to the solemnity of their mission. Argon's group passed it like a shadow, a dark wisp against the backdrop of the lively town, their seriousness casting a silent pall over the merry noises.

Next, their journey led them past Ashbourne. Known for its towering ash trees and thick forests, Ashbourne was a tranquil and secluded place. The thick canopy of leaves filtered the sunlight into gentle rays that painted the forest floor in a mesmerizing pattern. However, the enchanting beauty of the place was lost on Argon's force, their minds occupied with the looming threat of Silverthorne.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the silhouette of Goldenfield began to emerge on the horizon. The sight was a welcome one, a sign that their long journey was nearing its end. Goldenfield, with its vast golden fields that seemed to stretch on forever, lived up to its name, especially under the setting sun.

Despite their weariness, the sight invigorated the group, a beacon signalling the nearness of their destination. Their pace quickened slightly, eagerness and anxiety both driving them forward. The journey had been long and gruelling, but they were close now. Goldenfield and whatever lay beyond awaited Argon and his force.