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Four weeks had passed since the initial survey of his lands, and in that time Domeric had worked with a meticulousness that would have exhausted a man twice his age. Every village had been catalogued, every resource logged, and every minor lord reminded of their obligations. What remained now was the orchestration of manpower: the beating heart of the transformation he had envisioned. Without workers, plans remained ink on parchment; with them, even the most modest village could become a hive of reform and prosperity.
Steelshanks Walton as usual stood still nearby his liege, the sharp lines of his greaves gleaming faintly in the sunlight. His presence was an unspoken guarantee of a man of martial duty even when he served Roose before Domeric, and he was a silent reminder to all that while Domeric's methods were new, the authority behind them remained absolute, either you get with the times or get your teeth kicked in.
"You have arranged the laborers?" Domeric asked, his voice soft like his father's but carrying the unmistakable weight of command.
Coleman, perched comfortably on a stool beside the table, handed him a sheaf of papers.
"Yes, my lord. The census of able-bodied men and women has been refined. Villages have been subdivided into work parties based on skill: carpentry, masonry, blacksmithing, general labor. Each party has a designated overseer, drawn either from the local gentry, or where necessary, or your essosi specialist's own cadre of men."
Domeric skimmed the lists, noting names, ages, and skills. Each entry was accompanied by a brief note on the individual's temperament and past reliability, the kind of detail only an obsessive observer could record. He found satisfaction in it. Names became more than names—they became blocks of promise , tools in the creation of a functional, self-sustaining society especially in a medieval magical world like this.
"This is Good," he said now staring at the man "And the incentives?"
Coleman swallowed, clearly getting uneasy. "We have followed your instructions. Each laborer receives a daily ration, extra for those in construction or hazardous work. Those who show skill or dedication will be eligible for a bonus at harvest, grain, coin, or tools, depending on the overseer's recommendation. The gentry have been asked to enforce these rules and ensure fairness."
"Fairness indeed," Domeric said, letting the words linger.
"Yes…..But do not let them think of it as weakness. If anyone obstructs progress, their work party will be reassigned and disciplined. Repeat offenses will incur heavier measures."
His eyes swept the room. "We are not building castles, nor structures for the faint-hearted. We are building a future for conservation and development."
"Failure is not something we can tolerate or risk"
The Essosi observed silently. Varro and his retinue merely listened ; only two of the Qohorik men with him were skilled clerks/scribes, or logistical specialists capable of handling the detailed planning Domeric demanded.
The remaining thirteen were hardened mercenaries, loyal entirely to him, eyes sharp and hands never far from their weapons. Their presence just like Steelshanks was both a reassurance and a warning to those that would nay sat
Coleman slowly nodded before a thought resurfaced .
He had seen leaders, men accustomed to command—but Domeric's balance of patience and ruthlessness was unusual. He was calculated, careful, and dangerous and to top it off he was charismatic when needed.
Domeric turned back to the maps spread across the table. Each village and hamlet was marked with symbols indicating labor requirements, available resources, and the proximity of skilled tradesmen. Roads were drawn in red, rivers in blue, forests in green, and abandoned lands in grey. The contrast was stark: while some areas teemed with potential, others were near lifeless. The work would be painstaking, but nothing worth achieving came easily.
"Walton," Domeric said, "I want a rotation schedule for all the men-at-arms. Their duties will include both protection of the laborers and maintenance of order. No villager is to be assaulted, but no saboteur is to escape discipline."
Walton inclined his head. "Understood, my lord. Patrols will be staggered to ensure presence without hindering the work. And the rations for the men-at-arms?"
Walton inclined his head. "Understood, my lord. Patrols will be staggered to ensure presence without hindering the work. And the rations for the men-at-arms?"
"Drawn from my stores. Equal to the laborers' daily ration plus an additional portion for those assigned to long-range scouting or hazard duty." Domeric's quill scratched across the parchment, noting details down with precise care. "I want reports by sunset every third day. Any shortage, any discontent, every detail."
Coleman's hands trembled slightly as he recorded each order. He had served Roose Bolton for decades and knew that even the smallest mismanagement could spiral into disaster. He also knew, perhaps with unease, that Domeric's meticulousness left little room for error. And yet… it was strangely comforting. There was a method here. A plan. One could only hope.
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By midday, the workforce began to assemble in the courtyard. Villagers trickled in from all over ,able-bodied men and some women, carpenters, blacksmiths, and laborers, formed a loose semi-circle before the lord and his council. Walton's men stood at the edges, an unspoken warning that order was expected.
The villagers shuffled uneasily, unsure whether to hope or fear. Domeric could sense the tension; he had read it in every face during his tour of the villages. But he pressed on.
"You will be organized into work parties. Each party will have a supervisors and engineers . You will follow their orders, and your work will be accounted for. This is not punishment; this is opportunity. Opportunity to feed your families, to earn rewards, and to build something that will last long after we are gone."
They would start small and from there build up.
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