More Money More Problems

Emerging from the forest and hitting the main highway, Argon and Brolan made their journey back to Duskhaven. With the aid of the horses, the travel was a breeze, and what would've taken them hours by foot was now a short and swift ride.

Argon looked over at Brolan, an enthusiastic grin splitting his face. "These bloody horses are worth their weight in gold, eh?" he remarked. Brolan chuckled in response, agreeing wholeheartedly.

As they trotted along, Argon found his thoughts drifting back to Charles. That clever bastard, he mused, thinking back to all the advice he'd given. And boy, had it paid off. The score they had just made was massive, way beyond Argon had ever touched hunting beasts.

Argon couldn't help but marvel at the wealth of knowledge Charles possessed. His information was always spot on; it was as though the man had an uncanny ability to keep his ears on the pulse of Duskhaven's happenings. And when it came to artefacts, Charles was a damned library. His understanding was so extensive it outstripped anyone else Argon had ever come across in the city.

From the merchant to the higher ranks of the Seric and down to the lowliest peasant, it seemed like Charles had a line on them all. He wondered briefly how the merchant managed to acquire such vast information. Whatever his methods, Argon had to admit Charles was a key player in his plans. Having such a resourceful ally proved to be invaluable. And if he played his cards right, Argon knew he could use this to his advantage. One thing was clear, he'd struck gold when he'd walked into Charles' shop, and he wasn't about to forget it.

As they reached the bustling merchant area of Duskhaven, Brolan turned to Argon, a quizzical look on his face. "What do we do with the horses?" he asked, glancing around at the crowded streets filled with people, carts, and merchandise.

"We need to find a stable," Argon replied, scanning the area. They couldn't just leave the horses anywhere, especially considering how useful they were. After a few minutes of searching, they spotted a place that seemed to serve their needs.

An unassuming wooden sign, worn by the elements, marked the entrance to the stables. The stable they found wasn't far from the apartment. It was a solid wooden structure, well-kept with a worn, homely feel. The smell of fresh straw, horse feed, and clean animals wafted over them as they approached. It was a modest structure tucked away from the main thoroughfare, its hay-strewn yard and the soft neighing of horses giving away its purpose. It wasn't the grandest or the cleanest, but it would do. The horses needed a place to stay, and Argon and Brolan needed to unload their loot.

The stable boy was a scrawny lad, no more than sixteen summers old. His hands bore the marks of hard work, covered in callouses and dirt. His brown eyes lit up as they approached, a glimmer of excitement showing through at the sight of potential customers.

"Oi, look at these beauties!" he called out, stepping forward to greet them. "You be needing stable space, aye?"

"That's right, lad," Argon replied, dismounting. "How much are we looking at?"

"Twenty silvers a month," the boy replied, trying to puff his chest out to seem more impressive.

Argon barely blinked. It was practically nothing now, considering the wealth they were carrying. "Done. They stay here. Feed and water them."

The boy nodded eagerly, rushing to take the reins. As they left the stables, Brolan nudged Argon, a grin on his face. "Not a bad day, eh?"

"No," Argon agreed, smirking as they headed toward the apartment. "Not bad at all."

Lugging the hefty chest and pouches back to their apartment, Argon mused over their next course of action. Each clink of the gold and shimmer of the precious items was a reminder of the sweet victory they had achieved, but it also bore the potential risk of a backlash. Selling the valuables in Duskhaven could lead to trouble if any of the merchants recognised their lost items. The idea of selling them back their own stolen stuff, even if the merchants didn't recognise it, left a bad taste in his mouth.

In need of advice, he turned his thoughts to Charles. The man had an uncanny knack for knowing things, his shop seemingly a hub for all sorts of information. Charles might know a way around their predicament.

But as much as he wanted to find a solution, Argon was feeling bone-tired. The day's activities had sapped him of energy.

Argon's fingers danced around the inside of the bandit's pouch, navigating through the varied contents. He plucked out the generic coinage, the jingling gold and silver that could pass unnoticed in any merchant's till. What remained were items of distinctive make and personal value. A small silver locket, its surface etched with intricate flowers; some precious silks, a necklace of oddly shaped pearls, their sheen oddly captivating, each bead seemingly unique.

He shoved the pouches in Brolan's direction, the valuables inside clinking together. Brolan's brow furrowed in confusion as he took hold of them. "Ask Charles," Argon said, leaning back in his chair, "We can't just sell this shit here, not when it's easily identifiable. Charles will know what to do."

A flicker of understanding passed over Brolan's face. "Right".

"And here," Argon said, producing another gold coin from the chest and flipping it in Brolan's direction. "Get whatever we need for the apartment. Food, drinks, maybe some oil for the lamps."

Brolan caught the coin mid-air and chuckled, tucking it into his other pocket. "Living in luxury now, are we?" He said, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Guess we are," Argon retorted, his voice a mix of amusement and satisfaction. "And make sure to buy some good meat. I'm sick of the cheap stuff."

Broland turned to leave, the pouches swinging in his grip. Argon watched him go, his mind beginning to scheme over their newly acquired wealth and the potential it held.

While Argon sank into the comfort of his shabby chair, the other man set out to consult with the shrewd and savvy merchant.