The #Broken_Dagger Forum

All the last recently purchased in Myrken Wood outside the eastern portion of the town had been turned into a land busier than an ant hill. Men in drolves had arrived just two days prior and forced the remaining squatters off the land with rude comments, loud laughter, and a few swift kicks to the arse.

Then the construction began.

Men could be seen tearing down the old houses, parting out the various scraps for future use. Others were clustered around these remains creating tools, or new slats of wood, pulling out nails, sharpening old tools. And yet more were plowing fallow fields and beginning to work them into useable condition.

The final touch in all this were the carts bringing in loads of squared and shaped stone to begin the construction of a twelve foot high wall. Anyone trying to cross on to this new property would be quickly turned away by the first man to take sight of them.

All in all, it was a busy part of the neighborhood funneling quite a few tired men into the taverns at the end of a hard day.

Labor has been in high demand recently in Myrken Wood. Workers have their choice of Darkenhold, the orphanage complex and this latest construction site and the cash flow mirrors that the laborers enjoy the leverage lately.

It should come as no surprise then that some of wall builders had already worked on other assignments throughout Myrken Wood - namely the orphanage. They had seen the damage the fire had caused, had heard Vraal's stirring words, and had accepted his teaching on the Violet Dawn.

And so, working beneath the merciless summer sun, they set about their tasks with an easy pace and skilled hands. All the while spreading their wonder and excitement about this new teaching of liberation from fear, doubt and ultimately themselves. That they would soon be free from cowardice, fear and evil to do those things they had always wanted. For some it was to be heroes, as some who frequented the infamous Broken Dagger. For others it was to take a secret lover or to cheat old Treadwell of his taxes. And for some it was to engage in even darker instincts and yearnings that law and church had always told them were wrong but felt too right to ignore.

In any event they talked, work carried on, and word spread beneath the summer sun.

And so the land would come to completion, a new farmstead build upon the pieces of many smaller ones. And it would be declared, several days after the owner had moved in, to be the property of one Archibald Magnus.

Mr. Magnus had hired many of the local men to work his farm, most of which seemed to have little previous experience. Whatever crop he hoped to harvest would have to be fast, with the winter coming.

There would be one letter sent to the Council and Governor, offering his assistance in any way possible to his new home, as he wishes to make it as lovely as possible.