The Earth is Delved; the Foundation, Laid.

[Kylerryth]

It has been just over a week since the Judiciary Council finalized the decree that construction would begin on the new Myrkentown Meetinghouse, with the proper space marked, the earth dug and leveled, and the stones for the foundation in place and mortared before the onset of winter, and already the first two tasks were almost complete.

Immediately after the decision had been made, the Judiciary Council had advertised a need for workers, particularly those skilled in masonry and enduring physical labor, stating these people would be paid at the end of each day in accordance with how long and hard they worked. In a perhaps surprising display of support, countless men of all ages came to lend aid -- they would work wherever they could, use their skills however they could, and were willing to help when and where needed. The Amasynian architects were immensely grateful; they had not expected such a high turnout of able-bodied people. Even refugees from Derry, once they were aware of the project, came to assist. The architects sent runners to the Judiciary Council, notifying them of the sudden, positive change in their favor, and requested scribes be sent to record the names of everyone that contributed so they could be properly compensated for their time and effort -- and so there were no financial mix-ups.

After organizing everyone and ensuring they had proper equipment, the architects and their overseers told them to start digging.

So they dug, and dug, and dug -- and it was not long before the air was filled with the noise of shovels piercing the earth, the collective heaving breaths of the men in the gradually growing pit, the creak of wheelbarrows and the thunder of carts bearing away the excess of their labors; and the brow and back of every man, young and old, was soaked with sweat. Yet they dug, and dug, and dug, pausing briefly to hydrate themselves; and at lunch everyone took a break, and the pit was full of conversation, laughter, and the occasional grumble about sore muscles and joints. When they finished, however, they resumed -- they dug, and dug, and dug, and before they knew it evening was upon them and the overseers were telling them to stop, that they could go home for dinner and come back tomorrow if they wished.

And they did, and the digging continued like that for six more days. Relentless were they, toiling morning, day and evening; and while they complained, as any man would -- they were human, after all -- they did not quit. When they did halt, however, they had hollowed out what would be the future basement of the Meetinghouse -- a massive rectangle, as if a giant had paused to pluck a block of soil from the ground, it would serve as a storage facility and the Judiciary's archives. Thirty feet in depth, a hundred in width, and three hundred in length, it was a testament to the determination and efficiency of these men. The architects were so pleased that they treated everyone to honeyed sweets rolled in almonds, lemon cakes and plum pudding -- on the Judiciary's tab, of course.

The next few days were spent smoothing the ground, with the architects often on their hands and knees measuring and balancing and testing, calling out areas that needed correcting in this manner or that, conferring amongst themselves about calculations and, for the most part, things absolutely no one but other architects would be interested in; so the Myrken and Derry folk waited for new orders, savoring the pause in the backbreaking pace they had set for themselves but wishing to continue working. After all, they were not paid while they were idle.

Soon after the architects had finished their own work and were obviously satisfied, the slow rumble of several laden drays resounded through the streets of Myrkentown. Oxen lowed and groaned; drivers grunted and shouted, and ever forward they moved, forward, toward the construction site. And at the end of the eleventh day, the first stones of the new building's foundation arrived.