Teaching Ancient Bloke Football
Kael sat in the courtyard of his estate, the midday sun casting a golden glow over the freshly trimmed grass.
In his hands, he held the result of Gerald's latest task, a roughly stitched cloth ball, weighted with sand and padded enough to allow it to bounce.
It wasn't perfect, but it would do.
The past week had been productive.
Refugees trickled into the barony in small numbers, and though their presence was manageable for now, Kael had no doubt the flood would come soon.
His barony's military and economic efforts were progressing well.
The soldiers trained tirelessly, and the villagers worked to rebuild their livelihoods, but there was no spark no joy or sense of unity.
Kael turned the ball over in his hands, a smirk playing on his lips. That was about to change.
"Gerald!" Kael called, his voice echoing across the courtyard.
The butler appeared promptly, as always, his expression calm but curious. "Yes, my lord?"