Brolan's Return

Argon awoke with the dawn, the early morning light seeping through the cracks in his dwelling, casting hazy, golden bars on his bed. His hands reached for his helmet, a companion that had become almost second nature to him, and carefully secured it onto his head. His fingers traced the outlines of the healing artefact embedded within. A gentle press, a faint hum, and the soothing warmth spread through his body, numbing his aches and accelerating his healing.

His recovery was not just a physical one. It was a resurrection of his spirit, a bolstering of his will. Each day was a step further from the jaws of death that Ser Bornmowe had almost thrown him into. A smirk curved his lips at the thought. Ser Bornmowe... the mighty knight, the fearsome adversary... where was he now?

Argon could almost picture it. Ser Bornmowe, stripped of his bravado, reduced to mere bones and rot, buried beneath the earth. A sobering end to such a gallant figure. Argon's smirk widened into a grin. Despite the wound, the pain, and the near brush with death, here he was, almost completely healed, standing on the precipice of greatness while his adversary was a forgotten memory.

His mirth died down as he glanced around his room, his mind already leaping to the day's tasks. Every day was a new opportunity, a new step toward his goal, and he would seize each one. He was not just recovering; he was getting stronger, and the world would soon bear witness to the rise of Argon.

As Lyra and Saera stirred awake, Argon looked at them with a soft expression, an unusual sight for a man as ruthless as him.

"Good morning, my beauties," Argon greeted, his voice rumbling through the silent room. He reached for his freshly replenished purse and dug his hand in, pulling out six gleaming gold coins. As the girls rubbed the sleep from their eyes, Argon divided the coins, giving three to each of them.

"Get whatever you want," Argon told them, his voice gentler than usual, "You've been very good to me over the course of my injuries."

Their eyes widened in surprise, looking at the gold in their hands and then at Argon. They hurriedly thanked him, their faces lighting up with joy. Lyra, her voice playful, said, "Don't worry, my lord, I enjoyed taking care of you." Saera, her tone slightly hesitant, added, "I hope I'm with child from our previous interactions."

Argon chuckled at their words, not missing the hopeful note in Saera's voice. He leaned back into his pillows, letting the sound of their cheerful voices wash over him. It was a good way to start the day.

With thoughts of the new mine at the forefront of his mind, Argon gradually lifted himself from the comfort of his bed, a sense of vitality returning to his once weakened form. It felt good to be back in his full Dayless armour, the familiar weight settling on his body like a second skin. He grabbed his black longsword, its polished surface gleaming dully in the morning light, and donned his ancient pointed helmet. There was work to be done, and he was more than ready to tackle it.

Argon descended the creaking stairs, the low light of the basement illuminating the discarded weapons and armour. Amid the clutter, a long dagger caught his attention - simple, unassuming, but perfectly functional. The handle was of rough, stained wood, notched for a better grip. The blade itself was straight and sharp, a couple of inches shy of a foot.

He turned the weapon in his hands, appreciating the way the cool steel balanced perfectly between his fingers. It was no artefact, no precious treasure, but it had a practical, brutal efficiency that appealed to Argon.

Next, he found an unadorned leather sheath that fits the blade snugly. He attached the sheath to his lower back plate, arranging it so that the handle pointed to the right. He tested the setup a few times, drawing and sheathing the dagger with quick, smooth motions. With this arrangement, he could easily reach for it with his right hand in an emergency.

Content with his new addition, Argon ascended back to the ground floor, ready for the challenges of the day. The simple dagger at his back was a reminder - he may not always have the advantage, but he could always be prepared.

The barracks, now almost completed, loomed ahead as he strolled across the village grounds. The exterior had been fully constructed, and the rough-hewn logs fitted together to create a formidable structure. It was a sight to behold, a clear testament to the hard work and determination of his men.

Stepping inside, he noted that the interior was somewhat less complete. The main hall was spacious and rudimentary, with wooden bunks lined up against the walls. Tools and construction materials were scattered around, evidence of the ongoing work. Argon made a mental note to check the progress later, his mind already moving on to the next task. His eyes swept the area one last time before he turned on his heel and headed back out. The mine was waiting.

Argon strides out of the village, following the freshly constructed path that leads towards the newly discovered rocky site. The path, still scattered with fragments of freshly-cut timber and churned earth, winds its way through the dense forest. The smell of fresh wood and damp earth rises around him as his boots sink into the soft ground.

When Argon arrives at the rocky site, he can immediately see the beginnings of the open-air mine. Several of the serfs and villagers have already started their day's work, guided by the competent direction of Edrik. The rhythmic sounds of their pickaxes striking the earth and the rattle of rocks being loaded into carts provides a busy backdrop to the scene.

Dael and Lark stand a little apart, their alert eyes scanning the surrounding forests for any signs of danger. The memory of beasts in these woods is still fresh, and the vigilance of the guards is a reassuring sight. They stand in sharp contrast to the flurry of activity in the mine, their stillness a silent sentinel against the dangers that lurk beyond the village boundaries.

There's no sign of Brom, but Argon surmises that he must be back in the village, continuing the work on the platforms on the palisades. The sound of distant hammering confirms his thoughts, a rhythmic echo that is carried across the distance.

Argon takes in the sight with a sense of satisfaction. His plans are taking shape, and the progress is visible and tangible. Seeing the beginnings of what will become a source of wealth for his village, he can't help but feel a surge of anticipation for what the future holds.

As the sun ascended in the sky, casting long shadows on the rocky outcropping, the makeshift mine buzzed with activity. The open-air mine was in its infancy, yet the beginnings of a significant operation were evident. Workers swarmed over the site, their labour-intense movements rhythmical and focused, creating a living mosaic of progress on the rocky canvas.

The workers, an amalgam of villagers and surfs, laboured away diligently, their bodies gleaming with a sheen of sweat. Every so often, the rhythmic clinking of pickaxes striking stone would punctuate the air, reverberating off the rocky outcrop and echoing through the nearby forest. Each chunk of rock dislodged revealed the precious hematite ore within, its glimmering facade a promise of wealth and prosperity.

Nearby, a group of workers toiled over a rudimentary cart, their strained muscles attesting to the weight of their cargo. Heavy sacks, filled to the brim with raw hematite, were hauled into the cart one by one, each thud signifying more potential wealth for the village.

Over the course of two hours, the landscape transformed continuously. The once pristine rocky outcrop now bore the undeniable marks of human intervention. The sacks on the cart multiplied, creating a growing mound of raw ore. Amid the noise, the dust, and the sweat, the operation became a testament to the village's determination and Argon's ambitious vision. The open-air mine was taking shape, and with it, the dreams of a better future were slowly becoming a reality.

Lyra's voice echoes through the forest, carrying the message of Brolan's return. The sound of her voice attracts Argon's attention, and he turns, his gaze finding her as she emerges from the tree line. She is a striking sight, her red hair vibrant against the green foliage of the forest, her blue eyes sparkling with an intensity that rivals the morning sun.

"What the fuck are you doing out here, idiot?" Argon growls, his voice laced with irritation. The dangers of the forest were many, and he'd be damned if he allowed one of his people to become a snack for a wandering beast.

"I've been doing this all my life," Lyra retorts, standing her ground as she meets his gaze. Her voice is defiant, challenging his authority. "I'm not scared of a few beasts."

Argon's eyes narrow at her retort. Lyra was proving to be more headstrong than he'd initially thought. However, that didn't change the fact that she was now under his protection, and he wouldn't tolerate such recklessness.

In response to her defiance, Argon swiftly closes the gap between them, his hand snapping up in a flash of movement. His open palm strikes her cheek with a resounding slap, the sound echoing through the silent forest. The force of it rocks Lyra back on her heels, her hand flying to her reddened cheek as surprise flickers in her eyes. Argon's face is set in a stony expression, his anger clear. He'd made his expectations clear, and he wouldn't tolerate insubordination, regardless of who it came from.

Lyra flinches, holding her cheek and looking at Argon with wide, surprised eyes. He towers over her, his temper flaring as he chastises her. "I don't care if you've done this all your life," he snaps, his tone harsh and unyielding. "You are under my protection now, and I will not have you risking your life for something as trivial as delivering a message."

His eyes burn into hers, asserting his authority over her. He has given her status and food to eat and even rewarded her with gold. He demands respect and obedience in return.

"Never forget your place, Lyra," Argon warns her, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "You are not in the forest anymore. Here, you follow my rules. You dare to disrespect me, there will be consequences."

Lyra shrinks back from him, nodding quickly. She has seen Argon's temper firsthand, and it is not something she wishes to provoke.

Argon and Lyra stride swiftly down the path, the looming trees lining their path seeming to stand at attention. Argon is silent, his mind occupied with thoughts of Brolan, his second in command, his confidant. A relationship born from a purchase at a slave auction, a necessity turned into a valuable asset.

The wind rustles through the foliage, a cool whisper against his exposed skin. Even though he moves quickly, his pace is purposeful, and his stride is confident. He knows that every step he takes brings him closer to reuniting with his trusted advisor.

Lyra follows behind. Still a little shaken from Argon's swift chastisement. She rubs her stinging cheek but makes no complaint. Her steps are quieter, her mind filled with a mixture of respect, fear, and a flicker of indignation.

As they emerge from the tree line, the familiar sight of the village comes into view, with villagers going about their daily tasks. But Argon's gaze is drawn towards one figure, standing out amidst the common folk - Brolan. Seeing him again after such a long time, a smile tugs at the corners of Argon's mouth. It feels good to have Brolan back, to have his most trusted advisor by his side again.

"Welcome back, Brolan," Argon calls out as they approach. His voice is loud and authoritative yet carries a trace of genuine relief. The village, for a brief moment, seems to hold its collective breath.