Ulf's Return

As the sun stretched its warm fingers across the sky, marking the arrival of a new day in Blackwood, Argon was alerted by Edrik of a familiar figure at the edge of the village. Making his way towards the entrance, Argon's hardened gaze fell on Ulf, who'd just returned from his mission, Brolan's loyal steed pulling a laden cart behind him.

As Argon approached, Ulf hopped off his horse, giving Argon a nod. "My lord," he greeted, his face etched with the weariness of the journey.

Argon, his arms folded across his chest, shot Ulf a stern look. "Took your bloody time, didn't you? What held you up?"

Ulf, unperturbed by his lord's harsh tone, merely shrugged, indicating the cart behind him. "Had some trouble getting the grain, my lord. But the Baron came through for us in the end. Even threw in some weapons."

Argon's interest was piqued at the mention of weapons. He strode over to the cart, pulling back the cloth cover to reveal several bags of grain and a decent stash of swords and spears. His fingers ran over the metal, testing its quality. It wasn't the best he'd seen, but it was far better than the wooden spears they'd been using.

A sly smile spread across Argon's face as he turned back to Ulf, clapping him on the shoulder. "Good work, Ulf. This will do nicely."

Still inspecting the weapons, Argon tossed one of the lighter spears to Ulf. "See that you handle this shit, will you?" he commanded gruffly, gesturing at the rest of the cart.

Edrik nodded at Argon's instructions. "The grain to the storage, weapons to the reserves, understood."

Argon turned to leave, his mind already racing with plans on how to utilize this new acquisition.

This little stroke of luck, courtesy of the Baron, was just what they needed. Blackwood's defences were finally starting to shape up.

As Argon was leaving, Ulf called out to him, "My lord, one more thing." He reached into his pocket, retrieving a carefully folded parchment sealed with a wax stamp.

"This came with the supplies," Ulf explained, extending the letter towards Argon. "From Lady Isolde."

Argon paused, eyeing the parchment with curiosity. The crimson wax seal bore Isolde's emblem, the mark of a raven clutching a rose in its talons. He plucked the letter from Ulf's hand and broke the seal.

He knew that a message from Isolde could bring news of anything from upcoming politics to potential threats. As he unfolded the parchment, he readied himself for whatever information Isolde deemed crucial enough to send his way.

As he walked away, he could hear Ulf and Edrik directing some villagers to start unloading the cart, the sound of their quick obedience a pleasing backdrop to the lord's thoughts.

Striding away from the town centre, Argon unfurled the parchment, his eyes scanning over the neatly inscribed words. "Argon," the letter began, "My scouts have reported that Baron Waleran of Silverthorne has dispatched a small force to test Horntide's resolve they'll be approaching Goldenfield village as this letter reaches you."

Argon's brow furrowed as he read further. "The Baron explicitly told me to do nothing, but he's gotten soft. I want you to go deal with them." His heart pounded a beat faster. A confrontation with Silverthorne's forces was not something he had anticipated, but it wasn't an unwelcome development either.

"I've granted you extra supplies," the letter continued, "and if you do this, I'll be indebted to you." Argon's lips curled into a smirk. He loved the idea of having Isolde owe him one.

Tucking the letter into his pocket, Argon increased his pace. The first step was to prepare his men. The next was to quash Silverthorne's little incursion and make it clear to everyone, especially to Waleran, that Horntide was no longer a weak, defenceless territory.

Argon pushed open the wooden doors of the old chieftain's house, his boots echoing on the stone floor. Brolan, draped in his usual casual stance, was leaning against a wooden beam, tossing an apple in the air.

"Isolde," Argon spat the name out as if it were a bad taste on his tongue. He unfolded the parchment, laying it flat on the rough-hewn wooden table that occupied the centre of the room. "She's asked us to go against the Baron's orders Baron Waleran of Silverthorne has sent a small contingent to Goldenfield Village."

Brolan caught the apple, his brow furrowing. "Why would we want to go against the Baron's wishes? Doesn't sound like a smart move."

Argon leaned on the table, his fingers tapping against the rough grain. "I agree, Brolan. But consider this," he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more contemplative tone. "It's an opportunity."

Brolan was silent, regarding Argon with a thoughtful expression. Argon continued, "By dealing with Silverthorne's forces, we could raise our standing. Move up in the world. Plus," he added, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous light, "it's been awfully boring around here lately, hasn't it?"

Brolan snorted, biting into the apple. "Well, when you put it that way... it does sound tempting." His grin was a sharp curve in the dim light, full of the promise of violence to come.

With a calculated glint in his eye, Argon sketched an invisible map on the surface of the table with a gauntlet-encased finger. "We'll gather a small force. No need to pull out the big guns just yet."

Brolan swallowed his mouthful of apple, tossing the half-eaten fruit onto the table. "And if it looks too daunting?" he inquired, a dark brow lifted in question.

Argon shrugged a deceptively nonchalant gesture. "Then we simply leave. The last thing we need is to expose ourselves unnecessarily. Or," he added, the corner of his mouth turning up in a grin, "we could engage them in a bit of idle chatter."

Brolan barked out a laugh, crossing his arms over his massive chest. "I'd love to see that. We're more familiar with steel than we are with words, but it could be amusing."

"Well, it never hurts to have a backup plan," Argon replied, his smile predatory. "And if it comes to that, I'm sure we can be... persuasive."

In the dim light of the room, the two men's grins mirrored each other, both filled with eager anticipation for the impending encounter.

With the lure of upcoming conflict stirring predatory energy within him, Argon was restless. His mind drifted back to his earlier encounter with Lyra, the memory of his triumphant dominance eliciting a savage thrill in his veins. With that thought came the impulse for an immediate replay of his earlier victory. His strides were purposeful as he made his way towards Lyra's house, his intentions clear.