Construction

When the group finally made it back to the village, their bodies ached from the strenuous work, but there was an undeniable sense of accomplishment that radiated from them. The morning sun was now high in the sky, casting long shadows behind the structures of the village.

They headed straight for the rudimentary blacksmith's forge, the future cornerstone of their growing village. The sound of the men's heavy boots stomping through the village square echoed in the still morning air. A small pile of raw, glittering hematite ores lay scattered in front of the blacksmiths. The pieces of ore, varying in size from pebbles to hefty chunks, were a tangible sign of their laborious journey and the potential prosperity it promised for Blackwood.

Their task completed, they dispersed to tend to their individual duties, leaving the newly acquired ores under the watchful eye of the village blacksmith. This tangible achievement marked a small but significant step towards the survival and growth of their community.

As they deposited the last of the ores, Argon scanned the vicinity with a critical eye. "Where the fuck is that blacksmith serf we took from Oakshade?" Argon inquired gruffly, his gaze turning towards Melvin, who stood nearby.

Caught off guard, Melvin quickly responded, "He's probably with Brom, my lord, working on the defenses."

"Find that blacksmith and bring him to me," he ordered.

His gaze then shifted towards the rest of his men, "The rest of you, go and help Brom with anything he may need regarding the defense structures. We need to be prepared for any eventuality."

His gaze then settled on Edrik, the weight of his gaze conveying the importance of his next instruction, "Edrik, I need you to draft a plan for tomorrow. Use the cart we have to transport the ores. Fell trees to create a path to the mine. Decide on the structure of the mine as well. Should it be open pits or mine shafts? If we decide on the latter, ensure they are dug down and reinforced with wooden supports."

He paused, letting his words sink in before adding, "The miners should follow the streaks of ore in the mountain. The mines can meander quite a bit, so ensure you have a clear plan. We don't want anyone getting lost or trapped."

Nodding at their understanding, Argon dismissed his men, each scurrying off to their respective tasks. It was a hefty set of instructions but necessary ones if they were to make use of the new resource at their disposal.

A short while later, Melvin returned, ushering along a towering figure. The man named Ferris was a bulwark of muscle and sinew, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his work-worn tunic. His face was rugged, set with a pair of deep-set eyes that seemed to have weathered many a storm. His hands were hard, calloused and soot-stained, each finger a testament to years of bending metal to his will.

"Your name?" Argon demanded, his gaze running over the burly blacksmith.

"Ferris, m'lord," the man answered, his voice deep and gravelly, resonating with the same timbre of a smithy's hammer hitting an anvil.

Argon nodded in approval, "Good, Ferris. We need a blacksmith, and it appears you can fill that role. We've the forge, the tools, and an ore deposit. What we don't have, is a man capable of turning these raw materials into something of value. That's your task."

Ferris nodded solemnly, "I can do that, m'lord. Been at the anvil since I was knee-high. Tools, weapons, even armor, given time and materials, I can create."

Argon clapped him on the shoulder, "Excellent. Inspect the ores outside. Inform me of what we've got, what we can do with them, and how long it'll take."

Ferris paused for a moment, glancing around the makeshift smithy before turning back to Argon, "M'lord, to work efficiently, I need a proper bellows, a quenching tub, and a grindstone. Plus, coal for the forge. Ore isn't good alone."

Argon gave a curt nod, storing away the information, "Melvin, make a note of it. We'll see what we can arrange.

Argon looked to Melvin, his voice carrying an undertone of urgency, "Take a few gold coins from the chest in the basement of my manor and arrange for the blacksmith's needs. We cannot afford to delay."

Melvin nodded, securing the pouch in his pocket, "I'll see to it right away, m'lord."

"And another thing," Argon continued, his tone growing sharp, "The scarcity of horses is starting to wear on my patience. Brolan's trip took one, and with the Oakshade horse and my own, we're left with a pitiful count."

He glanced around the small gathering, his gaze landing on each face in turn, "I want a solution. We need more horses. Whether we buy, barter or..." His voice trailed off, leaving the last alternative unsaid but implicitly understood. The idea of stealing wasn't entirely off the table, not in these desperate times.

His words hung in the air, and the problem lay bare. They needed more horses. It was a simple fact. How they'd achieve that, well, that was the question they'd have to answer.

With a nod, Argon turned back to Melvin. "You'll likely have to journey to Horntide to procure what we need," he explained, pointing towards the heap of iron ore that they had gathered earlier. "While you're there, keep an eye out for a reputable merchant."

He paused for a moment, his stern gaze meeting Melvin's. "Once you find someone reliable, extend them an invitation on my behalf. Tell them that Ser Argon of Blackwood is interested in forging a business relationship."

The idea of bringing an outside merchant to Blackwood was a good one. With the resources they had begun to accumulate, they could potentially trade for the supplies they needed. The recent events had shown Argon the importance of establishing stronger connections outside their village.

Melvin nodded, committing Argon's instructions to memory. "I'll see it done, m'lord," he assured, determination in his voice. This would be a significant responsibility, but it was one that he was more than willing to shoulder for the good of Blackwood.

As Argon contemplated his next steps, another thought came to mind. It wasn't about physical defences or resources but something far deeper, something spiritual. A church.

He remembered his life back in the slums, the poverty, the hunger, and the desperation. He also remembered the prayers he had whispered in the darkest moments when hope seemed lost. He had asked for strength, courage, and a chance to prove himself.

He also remembered the day he had faced Ser Bornmowe. He knew he had been outmatched and that the odds were heavily against him, yet he had prevailed. He couldn't help but feel that a higher power had been watching over him, guiding him through the perilous battle. It was a notion he had come to firmly believe.

Argon had not forgotten those desperate prayers nor the unseen hand that had steered his fate. And so, he decided, Blackwood would have a church. A place where people could seek solace and guidance, where they could find hope in times of despair, and offer their gratitude in times of joy.

Argon shared his thoughts with Melvin, explaining his decision. "In these trying times, it's not just swords and walls we need. We need faith too. We need a church," he declared. Melvin listened, nodding in understanding. It was yet another task to add to their growing list, but he knew its value went beyond the physical. It would serve as a beacon of hope, a symbol of their unity and resilience in the face of adversity.

With a resolute nod, Argon dismissed Melvin. "We've wasted enough daylight," he said, his voice firm with urgency. "Make haste to Horntide. Remember, the tools for Ferris, horses, and a merchant who's willing to trade with Blackwood. That's the priority."

Melvin nodded, his expression determined. "Yes, my lord," he replied. There was a clear sense of purpose in his voice, echoing Argon's own determination. Without another word, he turned and strode off, setting out to complete the mission his lord had tasked him with. Argon watched him go, knowing that the success of their little community rested on the swift completion of these tasks.

As Melvin's figure disappeared into the distance, Argon was left alone in the quiet, surrounded by the structures that made up Blackwood. It was a humble beginning, a far cry from the grandeur of larger towns and cities, but it was theirs. And with each passing day, it was slowly starting to feel like home.

As Argon strolled through the village, he took note of the ongoing constructions. The sound of hammers striking against wood filled the air, and the aroma of freshly cut timber wafted around. Men, drenched in sweat, worked diligently under the hot sun, their determination evident in their focused expressions and swift movements.

The palisades were gradually transforming into sturdy ramparts. In several places, men were reinforcing the tall, sharpened stakes, driving them deeper into the earth and packing the soil tight around their bases for added stability. Other labourers were creating platforms behind the palisades, where archers could stand and fire down upon any attackers. The ramparts were designed to provide a strategic advantage, allowing defenders a clear line of sight and the high ground during a potential conflict.

A short distance away, the framework of the barracks was beginning to take shape. Roughly hewn logs were being fit together, creating a solid structure that would soon house the village's soldiers. The rhythmic thud of mallets driving pegs into the wood echoed across the village. Men balanced on the frame, securing the beams and rafters in place, their skilled hands moving with practised ease. A sense of disciplined order was coming into being, a place where warriors could rest, train, and prepare for whatever dangers lay ahead.

Argon couldn't help but feel a sense of pride watching his village transform before his eyes. Each new addition, each improvement, was a testament to their collective resolve to protect and strengthen their home.

As Argon strolled through the village, he took note of the ongoing constructions. The sound of hammers striking against wood filled the air, and the aroma of freshly cut timber wafted around. Men, drenched in sweat, worked diligently under the hot sun, their determination evident in their focused expressions and swift movements.

The palisades were gradually transforming into sturdy ramparts. In several places, men were reinforcing the tall, sharpened stakes, driving them deeper into the earth and packing the soil tight around their bases for added stability. Other labourers were creating platforms behind the palisades, where archers could stand and fire down upon any attackers. The ramparts were designed to provide a strategic advantage, allowing defenders a clear line of sight and the high ground during a potential conflict.

A short distance away, the framework of the barracks was beginning to take shape. Roughly hewn logs were being fit together, creating a solid structure that would soon house the village's soldiers. The rhythmic thud of mallets driving pegs into the wood echoed across the village. Men balanced on the frame, securing the beams and rafters in place, their skilled hands moving with practised ease. A sense of disciplined order was coming into being, a place where warriors could rest, train, and prepare for whatever dangers lay ahead.

Argon couldn't help but feel a sense of pride watching his village transform before his eyes. Each new addition, each improvement, was a testament to their collective resolve to protect and strengthen their home.

As Argon returned to the manor, he found Lyra and Saera waiting for him in his bed-chamber, their alluring forms draped across his bedding. The candlelight cast soft shadows over their bodies, creating a scene that stoked the fires of desire within him. As the night progressed, the two women used their skilled lips and tongues to satisfy him, their every move calculated to bring him the utmost pleasure. The intimate contact, the shared warmth, and their devoted attention all served to momentarily dissolve the burdens he carried. For this one night, he could forget his responsibilities and surrender to his primal desires. His night of pleasure offered a fleeting reprieve from the constant challenges of leadership and warfare.