Release

Argon and Brolan collect themselves as they finish off the last of their rice wine. Before they get up, they each reach for their respective helmets. Their faces become concealed behind the visors; their identities are hidden, the menacing aura they exuded earlier returning.

They rise from their seats, still steady on their feet despite the generous amount of alcohol they'd consumed. With a final nod to the barmaid, they stride out of the Twisted Boar, the sounds of merriment and chatter fading behind them as they step into the cool evening.

The journey through the city streets is a casual one; their strides are strong and purposeful. They follow the barmaids' directions, even with the effects of the rice wine. They walk like men who own the night, fearless in the dimly lit lanes and alleyways.

Their armoured footfalls echo off the buildings around them, a rhythmic clatter that serves as a constant reminder of their presence. The moon shines down, bathing the city in an ethereal glow. Its light gleams off their armours, the dull metallic hues contrasting sharply with the darkness around them.

The city sleeps, but life can still be found in the corners and crevices, in the hushed conversations of late-night vendors and in the laughter that spills out from taverns and inns. The usually bustling city seems quieter, the noise of the day replaced with the whispers of the night.

Their journey takes them past closed shops and empty market stalls, the colourful signs and awnings of the day now lifeless and dark. A handful of late-night travellers, returning home from their own merriments, cast curious glances their way, but no one dares to approach the pair.

Finally, they arrive at their destination. The brothel stands as a beacon of light and noise in the tranquil night. Warm, inviting light spills out onto the cobblestone street from the open door, promising a respite from the chill night air. The laughter and music that wafts out from within beckons them closer. With shared grins hidden behind their visors, they stride in, ready to partake in the evening's final indulgence.

As they enter the brothel, they're greeted by a wave of rich, exotic scents underscored by the smoky aroma of incense. The interior is tastefully decorated with vibrant tapestries and gilded furniture. Luxurious silk pillows are strewn on low couches, while plush rugs cover the polished wooden floors. Soft, melodious music wafts from unseen sources and the low murmur of conversation fills the air. There's an intoxicating atmosphere of hedonistic indulgence as men and women of various ages mingle, laughter bubbling up over the strains of the lute. The sounds of soft laughter and whispered conversations fill the room as well-dressed patrons enjoy the company of attractive companions.

Behind a lavish counter stands a woman who exudes an air of control and authority, her eyes sharp and knowing. As they approach, she breaks into a warm, welcoming smile. "Greetings, gentlemen," she begins, her voice silky and confident. "My name is Marianne, the mistress of this house. How may I assist you on this fine evening?" Her dress is rich and extravagant, displaying her ample bosom and hinting at her previous years as one of the establishment's main attractions.

With a determined look in his eyes, Argon leans in towards Marianne and says gruffly, " We're here to fuck. Bring us some whores, Marianne." His tone leaves no room for misunderstanding.

As Argon gruffly voices his desire for female company, causing the madam's smile to broaden.

"Of course, my lords," she says, ringing a silver bell with a graceful flick of her wrist. In response to the tinkling sound, a group of young women, each one more attractive than the last, file into the room. Their attire is revealing yet tasteful, and they all carry themselves with beguiling confidence.

Argon, however, bristles at the sight of a man among the selection. "No men!" he barks, his tone gruff and irritated. "None of that gay shit."

"My apologies, sir," Marianne replies in her ever-smooth voice. "Jason, fuck off. Your charms are wasted here."

She then turns her attention back to Argon and Brolan, running her eyes over the lineup of girls. "Now, let's find you two the perfect companions for the evening."

"Well, gentlemen, we've got quite the selection. Over there," she says, pointing to a slender redhead with green eyes, "that's Lily. She's 45 silver, a bit fiery, but worth every penny.

Next to her is Celeste, the blonde with the heavenly blue eyes. She's our most popular girl, and she costs 60 silver. Then there's Nia, a raven-haired beauty with skills that'd put a courtesan to shame. She's 50 silver.

Then we have the twins, Rose and Daisy. If you fancy a bit of fun with two, they go together for 80 silver. Then, there's Iris. She's a bit older, but she knows her way around. She's 35 silver. Last but not least, we have Poppy, our youngest and newest. She's still learning, but she's eager. She's 40 silver."

Marianne gives them a knowing smile. "They're all worth every silver, gentlemen. The choice is yours."

"Could they turn around? I prefer ass to tits," Argon says.

Marianne gestures to the girls, and they obediently turn around, showing off their figures from the back. The room falls into silence; the only sound is the crackling fire and occasional laughter from the other parts of the brothel. Argon takes his Time, his eyes sweeping over the women.

The first to catch Argon's eye is Nia. She has curves in all the right places, her raven hair cascading down her back and contrasting beautifully with her fair skin. The second girl that catches his eye is Rose, one of the twins. She's tall, with an enticing hourglass figure that's impossible to ignore.

"Those two," Argon points at Nia and Rose, his voice authoritative yet slightly slurred from the alcohol. His choices are noted, and the girls offer him a demure smile as they step forward. The rest of the girls return to the backstage area, the low hum of conversation returning as the selection process ends.

Argon digs into his coin pouch, producing the requisite amount of silver for Marianne. He hands the coins over, their metallic chime mingling with the hum of the brothel. As the madam counts the coins, Argon gives Brolan a pointed look, his mouth spreading into a mischievous grin.

"I'll see you in an hour, Brolan," Argon says, trying to keep his voice steady as he fights back a fit of laughter. "Enjoy yourself. And don't worry, Rose is just as good as Nia... or maybe you'd have preferred Jason?" He raises an eyebrow teasingly at his companion.

Brolan scowls at Argon's insinuations and retorts sharply, "Fuck off."

Argon let out a final stifled chuckle at Brolan's expense.

With a coy smile and a hint of allure in her eyes, Nia takes Argon's hand and leads him up a narrow staircase. The soft hum of the brothel grows distant as they move into the more private quarters of the establishment.

"Here we are," Nia purrs as she pushes open the door to a dimly lit room. The scent of sweet incense mingles with the faint musk of previous patrons, creating a heady atmosphere that is unmistakably sensual.

Argon wastes no time in making his desires known. Instructing Nia to undress, she does so with practised ease, the seductive dance of her lithe form against the dim candlelight raising Argon's excitement. Argon struggles to quickly take off his armour.

"You're quite handsome", Nia praises once Argon's helmet comes off ", and a big soldier too".

Without further ado, Nia pleases him orally, her expert movements leaving Argon in a state of heightened anticipation. Following the moment of oral pleasure, Argon instructs Nia to position herself on the bed.

"Bend over," Argon says gruffly, his voice filled with desire. Nia obliges, positioning herself perfectly for Argon. His hands find their way to her hips as he proceeds to fulfil his desires, immersing himself in the pleasure of the moment.

After the climax of their encounter, Argon collapses onto the bed, breathing heavily but with a satisfied grin spread across his face. Nia, always the professional, begins to knead her hands into the tense muscles of his back.

As she works, Argon finds himself engaging in small talk, a rarity for him. "So, how did you end up in a place like this?" he asks, his tone casual but genuinely curious.

Nia chuckles lightly, her hands not ceasing their comforting movements. "Oh, it's a boring story, really. Came from a small village, got tired of living in poverty. Decided I'd rather make good coin here in the city. And to be honest, I don't mind the work."

Argon considers this, nodding thoughtfully. "I can understand that. Getting out of the bottom rung, striving for something better."

"Yes, exactly," Nia replies, her tone grateful for the understanding. "And what about you? What do you do, when you're not... visiting places like this?"

Argon laughs a rough, husky sound. "I... I'm not really sure. I'm sort of figuring it out as I go."

Their conversation continues in this vein, an unexpected connection forming in the aftermath of their physical intimacy. Argon finds himself appreciating Nia's company, a pleasant end to a relaxing day.

Nia's soft voice brings Argon out of his relaxed stupor, "Time's up, handsome. You should come see me again sometime." Argon smiles at her, his fingers trailing along her cheek before he rises to his feet.

He moves around the room, methodically strapping on his armour piece by piece until he's fully dressed once again. "I might just do that," he says, giving Nia a final appreciative glance before exiting the room.

Once downstairs, he finds Brolan lounging by the entrance, looking equally satisfied. The two of them exchange knowing smirks before they stumble out into the night, the effects of the rice wine still pleasantly buzzing through their veins.

The streets of the merchant district are quiet, the chill night air a stark contrast to the warmth of the brothel. Argon and Brolan start their journey back to their apartment, their footsteps echoing in the otherwise quiet streets.

Brolan, still clearly under the influence of alcohol, begins to animatedly describe his own experience at the brothel. "All right," Brolan slurs, a goofy grin plastered on his face as they trudge down the streets of the merchant area. "So, she leads me into this room, right? The curtains are all velvet and the whole room smells like roses."

"And then," he says, chuckling, "She starts to undress and I'm just standing there like an idiot. She was... she was incredible. Like a statue carved by the gods themselves."

"Her skin, man, it was so soft and smooth. And the way she moved... it was like she was dancing, just for me. She... she took my breath away, Argon. Really. It wasn't just about the pleasure, it was more than that... it was... it was beautiful."

He falls silent, lost in his memories, a happy sigh escaping his lips. Then, suddenly, he burst into laughter, the sound echoing in the empty streets. "She called me 'sir', can you believe it? 'Sir'!"

His laughter continues, punctuated by hiccuping fits, as they slowly make their way back home, the light of the moon guiding their path. "I tell you, Argon," Brolan says, wiping a tear from his eye, "I'm definitely going back to that brothel!"

Argon groans, rubbing his temples as Brolan continues his enthusiastic recounting. "Brolan, for the love of all that's holy," Argon grumbles, cutting him off mid-sentence, "Your incessant chatter is giving me a headache."

Brolan gives him a wide, lopsided grin but finally falls silent, contenting himself with just humming a cheerful tune under his breath. Argon rolls his eyes but can't help a small smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth. As infuriating as Brolan can be, his presence has become a familiar and oddly comforting constant in Argon's tumultuous life.

As they walk, they laugh and joke about their respective experiences at the brothel, the alcohol loosening their tongues and making them more talkative than usual. The tension of the past few days seems to have lifted, replaced with a light-hearted camaraderie that has them chuckling all the way home.