"Fragile." The old man puffed on his pipe. "That's how I'd describe it. There's a constable upholding what he considers to be law." He made a face at Carrick and looked off in the distance, towards the silhouette of Ozgad's Folly. "If you're looking for peace, I'd suggest heading back the way you came, friend."
Carrick made a slight nod and looked around while untying his horse. There were a few hamlets spread about in these plains, including the little one - barely more than a fishing dock - he was standing at now. People were walking in front and behind him, traveling to and from Ozgad's Folly a few miles to the east. Yet while the area wasn't desolated, it surely felt like it. Vegetation was sparse and the trees not nearly as leafy as they'd ought to be. There where noise from birds - sea gulls, in particular - and people, but hardly the welcoming kind. It wasn't a buzz, more like a solemn and dispersed mass at kanisa, or church. Carrick hadn't faced hostility here, but he was starting to wish he had instead of spending another day in this perpetual gloom. Yet if it was hostility Carrick wanted, he held no doubt that he'd find it soon enough. Ozgad's Folly was merely an hour's ride away.
"Did you want something else?" the old man offered. Carrick looked down on him. The smoker, called Huffy, was puffing on his pipe, his beady eyes wavering. He seemed uneasy. Carrick tended to have that effect on people. Then again, any man as defenseless as this one ought to be constantly uneasy in these parts. Still, Carrick and Huffy had already been breaking bread, the fisherman offering Carrick a taste of today's catch. Shouldn't be this nervous. Maybe he hadn't seen a threll before, they were rare in these parts. Carrick hadn't thought of that.
"Thank you for the hospitality. Be safe." he answered and mounted his horse. Huffy looked at him in a funny way, as if the prospect of safety wasn't even worth considering, but he declined to answer and tipped his straw hat as goodbye. Carrick put his horse in a steady trot in the direction of Ozgad's Folly. He was wielding his swords and leather armor, his Vanir mail tied to the horse. Riding into town dressed as a man of the Vanir might not be the best choice. Normally Carrick wouldn't give a damn, but this time things were different. He wasn't looking to capture or kill someone, but rather make allies. Different indeed. Still, Carrick had no doubt a place like Ozgad's Folly would be ripe with conflict regardless, and Carrick tended to draw conflict like shit drew flies.

An hour later Carrick was about to enter the village, for a village it was. The hedgarls, the title of scholars in the Vanir, had correctly claimed the village to indeed be a village, but Carrick had doubted them. A place of the repute and influence Ozgad's Folly held ought to be larger. Then again, maybe this was what was considered large in the comparably desolate lands of Nagath. Truth be told, Carrick himself had only visited a few locales in Nagath that was larger than Ozgad's Folly, and Carrick had traveled farther than most. Yet despite it's humble size, Ozgad's Folly was technically walled. It was a palisade, not much taller in height than Carrick himself and in desperate need of repairs, but it was a lot more in the ways of protection than any other place in the area could offer. 
The entrance to the village was guarded by two men armed with spears who looked more like ruffians than guards, and probably were, too. It was dusk and the night soon to descend upon Nagath. No people around, most of the villagers and travelers probably inside by now, at home or at a tavern. Carrick thought he could smell the scent of rain drifting in from the sea. The two "guards" approached Carrick and halted him. They had let a woman walking a few minutes ahead of Carrick pass freely, as far as Carrick had seen, but then she had been neither armed, ahorse nor threll.
"Who are you?" the shorter of the two demanded. He was a squat, squarely built man with a hard look. The taller one was leaner with a handsome face. 
"My name is Carrick. Who are you?" 
"That s'posed to be funny, threll?" he answered. Carrick shrugged and dismounted. He judged the shorter man the more dangerous of the two and quickly walked up to him, striking him square in his nose with his iron-studded elbow. The man fell like a sack of potatoes. Before the taller one could lower his spear, Carrick descended upon him and wrenched the spear out of his hand while tripping him with his leg. They both fell to the ground, Carrick on top with a hard grip on the man's wrist. He punched the man in the face a couple of times, making him fuzzy, before drawing his short sword and putting it against the man's neck.
"You best be very quiet and listen to me. Understand?" Carrick said as he established eye contact with the man, who nodded in response. "Who do you work for?"
"Jerez!" the man managed to wheeze, sword pressed against his throat. Carrick looked at him quizzically. "The constable!" Carrick nodded. From his research, the constable seemed to do well enough, but he doubted the man had established any actual order in Ozgad's Folly. Furthermore, Carrick seriously doubted the constable was this man's only employer.
"Wrong. You work for me." The man seemed confused at first, but then slowly nodded. "Good lad. I'm going to go of you now. Reach for your spear and you're dead, got it?" The man nodded again. Carrick did as he said and stood up, watching as the other man took a few deep breaths before sitting up on his knees. He was about to say something, but Carrick interrupted.
"Like I said, my name is Carrick. What is yours?"
"Fennel."
"Like the vegetable?" The man didn't respond. "Very well. Fennel, I want you to kill that man." Carrick pointed towards the squat guard lying on the other side of the road. Fennel looked first at the man, then at Carrick, seemingly at a loss. Carrick simply waited, still pointing. A few seconds later, Fennel got up and strode over to the man. He unsheathed the sword at his hip, but instead of finishing off his partner, he turned to Carrick. Carrick tapped his short sword and shook his head.
"Don't do anything stupid now, Fennel." he said. Fennel seemed to hesitate, his courage quickly faltering. Carrick seemed to have that effect on lesser men. Fennel cursed under his breath and turned towards the unconscious man, slitting his throat.

About ten minutes later, the two men entered the office of Jerez, the constable. The man called Jerez was in his middle-ages and hardly looked as capable as Carrick imagined an alive man of the law would look in a town like Ozgrad's Folly. Carrick decided this made it even more likely that the local constable was still in office due to him working for the criminal element rather than against it. Jerez was sweaty and shaky, looking as if he'd just been through an ordeal. Or maybe it was just the tension of being the law in a lawless place.
"Fennel? What are you doing here? Who is this threll?" Jerez exclaimed, cigar in mouth. Fennel opened his mouth to answer, but Carrick shoved him aside and strode up to the sitting constable.
"You're supposed to be the law in this town. Somehow I don't think you're doing a very good job."
"What? What the fuck did-" Jerez was cut off by Carrick backhanding him hard across his face. Jerez tried to rise, reaching for a dagger on the table but the man was far too out of shape and unprepared to be even close to reaching it before Carrick slapped the dagger off the table and into a wall. He grabbed the constable by his collar and pulled him across the desk, throwing him to the floor. Carrick kicked him in the gut, causing Jerez to first wheeze, then cough and lastly vomit. Turning his eyes towards Fennel, Carrick asked;
"Tell me, do you prefer to do the bidding of this creature, or work for me?" The tall man looked at Jerez with disgust. Carrick imagined few people, if any, working for Jerez held any respect for the man.
"I suppose you." He paused. "But you won't last a week if you carry on like this." Fennel subconsciously took a step back while saying it, as if expecting Carrick to lash out.
"No, I wouldn't either." Carrick responded. "Nor do I intend to beat every single man and woman here into submission. Just the pitiful ones." He kicked Jerez once again. Fennel didn't seem to catch the slight. "No. What I want is for you, Jerez, to take your shit and leave Ozgad's Folly within a fortnight. Permanently. Before you do that, however, you will set up a meeting with whoever you're working for and declare that you would nominate me as your successor." Carrick waited for Jerez to catch his breath. The constable sat up and looked at Carrick nonplussed.
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, I don't work for any-" Carrick cut him off by slamming his boot down on Jerez' leg. The man howled in pain.
"Curse you, fucking threll! Fine, I'll do it." He started to climb to his feet. "I don't see the point though, don't you realize Javira will simply have you killed for upsetting her order?" he said, trying to stand upright. Carrick offered a weak smile.
"You will contact this Javira in one week. By that time I suspect we'll be well acquainted already. Meanwhile, I want you to do whatever it is you were doing before I stepped in to your office. In return, I'll make sure you leave this place with your coffer's lined with coin. Do you agree?" Jerez seemed surprised that Carrick would offer something in return. Nodding, the constable turned towards Fennel.
"What the hell have you gotten me into?" Fennel shrugged, while Carrick picked up the stuff he'd thrown to the floor along with the dagger and put it back on the desk. Then he turned towards Fennel.
"Now if you'd please show me to any of the taverns here, I'd appreciate it."
"There's only one tavern here, sir."
"Oh? Lead the way, then."
Sir. Carrick liked the sound of that.