With the light of the early morning peeking through the cracks of the window shutters, Argon groans as he stirs awake. The pounding in his head is insistent, a relentless throbbing that makes him wince. His mouth feels like a desert, dry and sandy. As he rolls over, he catches sight of Brolan snoring loudly, oblivious to the world.
"Brolan," Argon grumbles, lobbing a pillow at the sleeping figure. It hits him square in the face, causing Brolan to stir and grunt irritably. "Water. Now," Argon orders, his voice rough with sleep and a lingering hangover. "And food."
Brolan mumbles something unintelligible, pulling the pillow over his head. Argon grumbles under his breath, rolling onto his side, the world spinning slightly as he does. He's not entirely sure what happened last night, but he's certain that the pounding in his head and his current state is the price he has to pay.
Brolan grumbles as he finally pulls himself from the comfort of his bed. Argon hears the creaking of the door as he heads out, presumably to fulfil his order. The apartment is quiet without Brolan's incessant chatter, but the silence does little to soothe his headache.
After what feels like an eternity, Brolan returns, his arms laden with a pail of water and an assortment of produce. The sight of the cool water has Argon sitting up, reaching out to take the pail from him. He gulps down the water, some of it spilling down his chin, but he doesn't care. It's refreshing and exactly what he needed.
Over the next couple of days, they both decide to take it easy. Their activities consist mainly of lazing about, occasionally venturing out for food and other necessities. For the first time in a long while, there's no pressing task at hand, no life-or-death situation to navigate. And even though Argon is not used to this kind of tranquillity, He welcomes it.
The comfort and respite of their current life are pleasant, but Argon knows they can't last forever. Despite his significant gold reserves, the high cost of living in the merchant area will quickly eat into his savings. Besides, he yearns for more power and more status. They couldn't afford to laze around forever.
After about a week of leisure, Argon decides it's time to get back to business. He turns to Brolan, who is lounging about, still enjoying the last bits of their respite. "Go to Charles," he instructs, his tone decisive and stern. "Ask him to set up a meeting with one of his noble contacts who's looking for guards."
Brolan, though surprised by the sudden turn of pace, merely nods in understanding. He gets up to prepare for the trip to Charles's shop, his relaxed demeanour replaced by one of determination. As he steps out of the apartment, Argon can't help but feel a sense of anticipation. This could be the start of a whole new chapter in their lives.
As soon as Brolan returns, he steps into the apartment with a serious look on his face. Argon, seated at the table, looks up.
"Well?" Argon inquires, his voice gravelly and filled with anticipation.
Brolan takes off his helmet and places it on the table before sitting across from Argon. "Charles said he'll see what he can do. He'll have an answer in three days," Brolan reports, his tone neutral.
Argon sits back in his chair, his expression unreadable. He rubs his temples, processing the information.
"So, we wait," Brolan concludes, his voice soft.
"Three days. Yeah, we wait," Argon echoes, his gaze distant. He looks towards the window, the setting sun painting the horizon in shades of orange and red. "Three days."
For the next three days, their apartment is filled with the clanging of swords and the muted thud of practice strikes. The daylight hours are spent in arduous training, the intense routine broken only by their brief meals and the necessary maintenance of their equipment.
On the evening of the second day, after a particularly tough training session, they find themselves at the tavern. Mugs of ale in hand, they sit in silence, lost in their own thoughts.
"Ever served a noble before?" Argon asks suddenly, his voice barely audible over the murmur of the tavern.
Brolan shakes his head, taking a swig from his mug. "No, can't say I have," he replies, wiping the froth from his lips.
Argon nods, his gaze fixed on the mug in his hands. "Me neither," he admits, a far-off look in his eyes. "Wonder what it'll be like."
There is a long pause before Brolan speaks again, his voice thoughtful. "We'll find out soon enough."
Three days pass, filled with a mix of trepidation and excitement. They've done all they could, and now, the decision is out of their hands. It's a waiting game. And as the dawn of the third-day breaks, they brace themselves for the answer.
Fully armoured and looking menacing as ever, Argon and Brolan leave their apartment and make their way through the merchant area. The streets are bustling with life, traders haggling over prices, and goods changing hands. Despite the crowd, people instinctively give them a wide berth, their imposing figures radiating an unspoken warning.
As they navigate the busy streets, their final destination, Charles's shop, looms ahead. The sign of the shop swings gently in the afternoon breeze, the delicate sound of chimes ringing out as they push the door open and step inside.
The interior of Charles's shop is as they remembered it, the shelves lined with mysterious trinkets and old texts and the smell of aged paper filling the air. Charles, sitting behind his counter, looks up as they enter, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Ah, Argon, Brolan. Just the men I wanted to see," he says, beckoning them closer.
"How have you been? Brolan tells me you've been keeping busy."
Argon grunts in acknowledgement, his eyes steady on Charles. "Aye, we've been training. Have you got an answer for us, Charles?"
Charles nods, pulling out a folded parchment from beneath the counter. "Yes, indeed. A man by the name of Baron Eldrige has expressed interest in employing someone with an artefact of attributes. He's intrigued by the unique advantages it could offer."
Charles leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers and fixing Argon with a shrewd gaze. "Don't think I've arranged all this out of pure goodwill, Argon," he warns. "You've got a lot of potential and with two artefacts at your disposal, you're going to rise fast. Especially now that you'll have a noble backer."
Argon raises an eyebrow, not quite surprised by Charles's candour. The merchant had always been a practical man.
Charles continues, "In return for my assistance, I expect you to remember who set you on this path. You owe me, Argon. I scratch your back, you scratch mine. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement, understand?"
Charles's eyes held a hardened glint, revealing a man who knew the value of opportunities and the power of obligations. Argon simply nods, acknowledging the unspoken agreement between them. There was no such thing as free help in this world. Everyone expected something in return.
Charles slides the parchment across the counter towards Argon, who picks it up and examines it. It's an official pass, allowing entry to the central area of the city - the domain of the high nobility.
Charles rubs his chin thoughtfully, "Alright, let me explain the Seric nobility to you. At the top, you've got King Aelfric the Wise; long may he reign," Charles chuckles. "Then we have the High Lords and Ladies. They can command up to a 512 knights, quite the formidable force."
He continues, tracing an invisible hierarchy with his hands, "Dukes and Duchesses follow next; they can have 256 knights. For instance, Duke Mortlan, the ruler of Duskhaven. Marquises and Marchionesses command 128 knights, while Earls and Countesses have 64. Then we've got Viscounts and Viscountesses; they're allowed up to 32 knights."
"Why the exponential growth?." Argon quipped.
Charles nods in agreement with Argon's statement. "Indeed. These rules are in place for a reason. If a lower-ranked noble amassed an army greater than their status allowed, it would be a clear sign of potential rebellion. These restrictions are designed to prevent one noble from becoming too powerful and destabilizing the kingdom all the knights have to be registered by the King. It's all about maintaining a balance of power, although that being said only the very wealthy amount them reach the maximum allowed, Dayless sets and artefacts don't come cheap."
Charles pauses for a moment, giving them a knowing look before proceeding. "Finally, we reach the Barons and Baronesses. They hold a lower rank within the Seric nobility but still possess significant privileges and influence. They typically govern smaller territories or estates, acting as feudal lords over their lands. Their responsibilities include overseeing agriculture, trade, and the protection of their subjects. They command 16 knights."
He leans back, giving a small sigh, "Baron Eldrige, the one you'll be meeting, has a residence in the centre. Thinks it's a nice spot for vacations. The nobles... they do love their comforts, don't they?" he ends with a smirk.
"The Baron wishes to meet you tomorrow, Argon. In the centre," Charles adds, his eyes flickering with a hint of excitement. "That pass will get you through the gates and the location of where your off to. Don't lose it."
Argon pockets the parchment, giving Charles a firm nod. "Tomorrow, then. Thanks again, Charles."
With that, they exit the shop, the parchment held securely in Argon's hand and a new opportunity on the horizon.