Kitted out

Argon retired to his modest sleeping area in the corner of their apartment. He wasn't a man for luxury and preferred the simplicity of a sturdy cot and a good blanket. He was not a light sleeper, but the newfound wealth and power were a comforting presence that put him at ease.

His mind was a whirl of thoughts. The newfound wealth, the power of the artefacts, and the uncertain future that lay ahead. He decided he would worry about those things tomorrow. For now, all that mattered was rest.

Pulling the woollen blanket over himself, he let his mind drift away, trusting Brolan to handle things with Greg.

The sounds of Duskhaven faded away as he drifted off to sleep, the soft murmur of the city a comforting lullaby. Tomorrow would bring new opportunities and, with them, new challenges. But for now, rest was all that mattered.

Argon woke to the smell of breakfast cooking. Brolan had prepared a simple meal of bread and cheese with some leftover meat from the previous night's meal. He saw Argon stir and waved him over to eat.

"Morning, master," Brolan said, greeting Argon with a bow of his head. "Hope you're feeling better after yesterday."

Argon grunted in response, stretching out his muscles before moving to join Brolan at the table.

Brolan watched as Argon started to devour his meal, saying nothing but still looking curious. He had questions about his master's new strength, but it was clear now wasn't the time. He'd just have to wait and see.

Argon finished eating quickly, pushing his empty plate away before leaning back in his chair. The day was still early, and there were things to be done. First, he needed to see what Brolan had brought back from Greg.

"Let's see the armor you got," he said, his gaze shifting to the side where he saw the corner of what looked like a leather cuirass peeking out from behind a stack of boxes.

Brolan got up to retrieve it, an expression of proud excitement on his face.

Brolan returned from the blacksmith's shop with a respectable set of iron armour. The chest piece was a moulded cuirass that hugged the contours of his torso, broad at the shoulders and narrowing at the waist. It was unadorned and utilitarian, built for protection rather than aesthetics. Its surface was dotted with tiny speckles, a result of the cooling process, giving it a rugged, battle-ready look.

The armour set included a pair of iron vambraces that encased his forearms. They were solid, with leather straps on the inside for a secure fit. They were undoubtedly heavy, but they offered formidable protection against slashing weapons and arrows. At his elbows, the vambraces connected to a pair of matching iron pauldrons that protected his shoulders.

His legs were covered by iron greaves, which ran from his knees to his ankles. They were of the same make as the rest of the armour – durable, solid, and designed for combat. The boots Brolan wore were reinforced with steel toe caps and a steel strip up the shin for added defence.

Completing the set was a simple iron helmet. It was a full helm design with a faceguard that could be lifted for better visibility. There was a slight dent on the side, a scar from a previous battle, but it only added character to the piece.

All in all, Brolan was now outfitted in a complete set of iron armour. It was heavy and likely uncomfortable, but it offered substantial protection. The armour was clearly not new, bearing signs of prior use and minor damage, but it was well-maintained and fully functional. A world away from his former tunic, Brolan now looked every bit the part of a squire.

With their new armour sets, Argon and Brolan cast an imposing sight. Brolan, in his full set of iron armour, had taken on a fearsome, martial appearance. His stance had stiffened, his back was straighter, and his eyes held a gleam of newfound confidence. No longer did he look like the timid slave from the outskirts of Duskhaven. Now, he appeared ready to march into battle at his master's side.

Argon, however, was a sight to behold. Clad in his new Dayless piece, with the helmet's crest glinting ominously, he was the embodiment of an unstoppable force. The helmet's metal gleamed, casting eerie shadows on his face and enhancing the grim lines of his features. The sight of the artefacts embedded in the back of the helmet added an extra layer of menace.

The two stood there, bathed in the faint light of the morning sun, looking as if they could take on the world. With their menacing armour sets, they were no longer a thief and slave; they were warriors. Even Argon felt the change, the light weight of the helmet, the cool touch of the Dayless steel against his cheek; it whispered promises of power and destruction. He could almost feel the thrum of battle in his veins, the urge to unsheathe his sword and cut down anything in his path. For the first time, he didn't just look dangerous; he felt lethal.

As Argon and Brolan stepped out from the comfortable confines of their apartment, they ventured into the slums, the grimy, unsanitary region of Duskhaven that Argon had once called home. Strangely, he found himself missing the hardscrabble existence, the thrill of it, and the fear of being killed.

Wandering through the narrow, litter-strewn lanes, Argon and Brolan cast an imposing sight. The residents, used to seeing scrawny thieves and weary labourers, looked at them with a mix of fear and awe. Children stopped their play to stare at them, their wide eyes filled with wonder and dread. Gossiping housewives paused in their chatter to cast them curious, wary glances.

The usual hustle and noise of the slums seemed to quieten as they passed. Their metallic footfalls echoed ominously, and people gave them a wide berth, instinctively shrinking away from their menacing figures. It was as if the very air around them had stilled, parting for their passage.

Though they had no specific objective, Argon felt a peculiar sense of satisfaction in this aimless stroll. The familiarity of the slums, the filth, and the decrepitude strangely comforted him, reminding him of where he had started and how far he'd come. As the sun started to descend, casting long, foreboding shadows in the lanes, Argon realised he was exactly where he wanted to be.