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In Progress [LP] Lord Captain, you've served your time in Hell! Codex plays Lords of Infinity, a text RPG of Politics and Warfare

Joined
Nov 29, 2016
Messages
1,832
[INFINITE TIES FOREVER AND EVER

TIES OF INFINITY AM I RIGHT

AAAAA

Anyway option 1 wins the tie.]

I must purchase weapons and ammunition to properly equip my Houseguard.

If there is any egregious shortage facing your improvised militia, it is that of proper weaponry and the ammunition with which to load it. Few of your recruits have brought real weapons. Most are still armed with farm implements and improvised spears. Even with the contents of your gun room distributed to your makeshift force, barely half of your men are in possession of working firelocks, and few of them have more than half a dozen cartridges to shoot with. In truth, you wouldn't have been particularly happy to lead so poorly armed a party to hunt fowl, let alone a pack of violent brigands.

If you are to face the roadsmen on anywhere near equal terms, then you shall have to secure additional firearms and enough powder and shot to allow your men to practise with them until they become proficient in their use.

There are additional guns and ammunition to be had within your fief, of course. It is not so rare for the residents of a country barony to keep a musket or a fowling piece for hunting, or a pistol for disquietous times like these. But you cannot simply walk into their cottages and take them; they are the private possessions of your tenants, and for all that they live within your power, you would be well outside your rights to rob them.

Instead, you must acquire the needed arms by less forceful means. You make the announcement that you're willing to pay good coin to any tenant willing to sell their firearm and ammunition to you.

It works, after a fashion. Within a day, your tenants begin bringing their firelocks to your house. With Saundersley at your side, you look over each submitted piece and negotiate what you believe to be a fair price. By the end of the week, you've acquired nearly two dozen muskets, fowling pieces, pistols, and carbines, along with over two hundred cartridges and enough powder and shot to make up two hundred more.

Unfortunately, very few of your newly purchased arms are in any state to be used. Some are the victims of years, if not decades of neglect, their barrels rust-pitted, their flint-screws missing, their springs and hinges sometimes entirely rusted shut. Most will require long hours of hard work to get them in any shape fit to be fired, and a few have to simply be discarded as beyond help.

Yet even so, after a week of scrubbing, polishing, filing, and hammering, you have enough firelocks available at last to fully equip your entire Houseguard. At least when it comes to equipment, your men will be equal to your enemies.

Now, you can only do your best to ensure that they will be equal in discipline and mettle, as well.

---

Then, one morning, you awake to fresh and terrible news.

No longer content to simply prey upon travellers coming in and out of your fief, the roadsmen have blocked all three roads out entirely. Barricades of stout logs cut off two of the roads, a third is less a blockade and more a fortified camp, with walls of timber, an abatis of branches, and even the sight of cookfires and tends beyond.

It you were under a figurative state of siege before, you're under a literal one now.

Your tenants are far from pleased, of course, but they almost seem to take their newly worsened situation in stride. Long months of living under a declared state of emergency seem to have worked to prepare them for the shock of seeing the roads blocked off by armed men, both mentally and physickally. Your tenants have been readying themselves for this eventuality for the whole of the summer. Now that it has arrived, business almost goes on as usual.

But you can only wonder whether it is all not so much a matter of mental fortitude as it is one of denial. These people have known peace all their lives; to imagine the possibility of a violent death so imminent must be as foreign to them as the bottom of the sea. Perhaps that makes it easier to pretend that the danger simply doesn't exist—a façade of normalcy over the roiling mass of fear.

You, on the other hand, find yourself in incomprehensibly high spirits. Instead of weighing upon your mind, the ongoing crisis has sharpened it. The constant threat of armed foes in the forest less than an hour's ride from your bed has filled you with a nervous energy. The burden of being responsible for the lives and deaths of those who have entrusted their lives and fortunes to your care brings you back to a state of familiar, almost natural focus.

Why, it is almost as if you were once again at war.

1a) Danger has become my natural habitat; what can I do but embrace it?

1b) This is part of who I am. I may not like it, but I'll not deny it either.

1c) No, this is wrong. I am not that man anymore.

---

Had the roadsmen contented themselves to merely preying upon the occasional traveller, then their depredations might have been endured, at least for the season. But by cutting off your fief from the outside world entirely, they have placed you and your tenants in an untenable situation. With the harvest only a few weeks away, you'll need to clear the roads so that your tenants may take their produce to market. Otherwise, the people of your fief will have little means to earn the money with which to pay you their rents, or purchase the tools, seed, and other necessities they'll need for the next year.

In short, if the roadsmen are not driven out of your barony, your fief may face a complete economic collapse. It has become a clear-cut question of you or them.

Your options are all profoundly imperfect ones.

First of all, there's the choice of simply staying put and awaiting aid from the Intendancy, an unlikely prospect, given that you have neither appraised them of your situation nor given them any warning whatsoever regarding your circumstances. For all that you know, the Royal Intendancy office in Fernandiscourt may not even be aware that your fief is dealing with roadsmen at all.

Alternatively, you have more direct options. You have made some effort in keeping your martial skills in fettle these past two years. Now might be a chance to use them.

Now that the roadsmen have shown themselves in the open, you could confront them directly with your Houseguard. They've come a long way since you first embodied them. Though they're far below the standard of any professional soldiers worthy of the name, they're at least well-armed enough and perhaps even well-trained enough to drive off your foes. Whether they would be able to do so without taking heavy, bloody losses is another question entirely.

Lastly, there is perhaps the riskiest option of all. You could approach the roadsmen and ask to negotiate.

There's no doubt that some of your tenants would see it as an act of surrender, and any talks resulting as the mere discussion regarding terms thereof. However, it is also the only way you might extricate you and your fief out of your current situation without either dependency on some outside source of aid or some great effusion of blood. Of course, you have little idea as to how the brigands themselves might react. They might be quite willing to discuss matters, or they might simply shoot you down as you approach. After all, you've done nothing to demonstrate good faith or a desire to negotiate over the past few months. They might just as easily see your sudden change of heart as a delaying tactic, or even a trap.

No course of action is without its risks, none of your potential choices are without disadvantages. Yet with so much at stake, all you can do is pick the one least likely to fail.


2a) I must wait for assistance, it is the best option I have.

2b) Deploy the Houseguard! Let us finish this with fire and steel!

2c) I must negotiate before it's too late.

[Please give one vote for set 1 and one vote for set 2. These will be counted individually - you know, just in case you need to agonize over the second set of choices for a few hours or something.]



As of the Summer of the 615 of the Old Imperial Era:

Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga, Baron Ezinbrooke
Captain, Royal Dragoons (half-pay)
Age: 27

Current Funds: 51 Crown
Debts: 10660 Crown

Bi-Annual Income (Personal): 135 Crown
Bi-Annual Estate Revenues: 266 Crown

Bi-Annual Estate Expenses: 350 Crown
Bi-Annual Interest Payments: 107 Crown

Total Net Income (Next Six Months): -56 Crown


Soldiering: 70%

Charisma: 41%

Intellect: 9%


Reputation: 37%

Health: 62%


Idealism: 60% ; Cynicism: 40%

Ruthlessness: 42% ; Mercy: 58%

You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear Bane-hardened armour and wield a Bane-runed sword.

Friends and Associates

Javier Campos: Colour Sergeant, the Royal Dragoons.
(Born 583 OIE)

Victor d'al Reyes: Eldest son of Baron Reyes. Major, the 8th Regiment of Foot. Formerly Commander, the Experimental Corps of Riflemen. ~Lost arm at Blogia~
(Born: 583 OIE)

James d'al Sandoral: Captain (half-pay), the Royal Dragoons.
(Born 592 OIE)

Efraim Saundersley: Solicitor-on-Retainer to the House of Ortiga.
(Born 570 OIE)

Octave d'al Touravon: Baron Touravon, Father of Alisanne d'al Touravon.
(Born 556 OIE)

Enemies

Hiir Cassius vam Holt: Takaran Ambassador to Tierra. Eldest son to Richsgraav vam Holt.
(Born 527 OIE)

Eleanora d'al Welles: Countess Welles. Proponent of Military Reform. Friend to Isobel, the Princess-Royal. ~Died at Blogia~
(Born 587 OIE)

Ezinbrooke, a barony within the Duchy of Cunaris, possessed of 133 rent-paying households.

Respectability: 29%


Prosperity: 43%

Contentment:
34%

Manor...

…Being a country house of middling size in very poor condition. encompassed by a low stone fence in a state of much disrepair. Outbuildings include stables, coach house, and guard house, all in exceptionally poor condition.

Interior consists of eighteen rooms, including six bedrooms, a kitchen, a library, a small ballroom, a dovecote and a gun room.

Estate and Grounds...

…Being a barony of middling size, composed of a manor house, market village, and surrounding fields and hinterlands. It is located a week's ride west from the city of Fernandescourt, a journey rendered easier by the fine state of local roads.

The village of Ezinbrooke is a small hamlet, possessed of a traveller's inn, a publick house, a somewhat worn shrine to the major Saints, and an open market square. The surrounding cottages are few in number but of excellent condition, having recently been repaired and refurbished. Fields bound the village on all sides, and all available land is under cultivation.

Bi-Annual Estate Revenues
Rents:
266 Crown

Bi-Annual Expenditures
Estate Wages:
150 Crown
Food and Necessities: 75 Crown
Luxuries and Allowances: 75 Crown
Groundskeeping and Maintenance: 50 Crown
Other Expenses: 0 Crown

Total Balance: -84 Crown
 

Kipeci

Arcane
Joined
May 22, 2012
Messages
3,027
Location
Vicksburg
1a 2c

Pointlessly contrarian vote on the second but kind of curious if having a rabble at our back would make good enough leverage for him to get them to go o shit
 
Joined
Nov 29, 2016
Messages
1,832
This is part of who I am. I may not like it, but I'll not deny it either.
You are not so insensible to your own disposition as to think that your time in Antar hasn't changed your way of thinking. No man can survive as severe and harrowing an ordeal as a dozen years of war and not have his attitudes changed. However, you are not a brute animal either, to be made wholly a product of one's own conditions. The war in Antar made you change the way you think, but it is your decision whether to accept those changes or not.

While it may be true that your years as a King's Officer have made the state of mortal peril indifferent or even welcoming to you, that doesn't mean that you cannot choose to repudiate that way of thinking now that your days as a soldier are in your past. Perhaps you may find yourself embracing that part of you which was forged in the fires of battle, and not the more peaceable form which you're expected to maintain now that you're once again at home.

But it will be your choice to do so, just as it shall be your choice to determine your response to the conclusion which you now find yourself facing.

Deploy the Houseguard! Let us finish this with fire and steel!
There's no more time for deliberation, no more time for delay. Your foes have come into the open, and every part of you knows that now you must face their challenge directly, immediately. Every day you allow yourself to sit inactive on your estate will serve only to dishearten your people and embolden theirs. Now! You must act now!

You put on your best uniform in the pre-dawn gloom, buckling on your helmet as the sun rises. For a moment, you consider putting on your armour and taking your baneruned sword with you, but only for a moment. Armour would be more a hindrance than a help in the thick underbrush, and you have no desire to set your own forest ablaze with the flames from your enchanted sword. Instead, you settle for your sabre and pistols, before heading out into the late summer morning, ready for war.

You call out your Houseguard and assemble them in the village square. They're not ready for battle, not by any definition, but you're out of time. They'll have to do what you demand of them, or die in the trying.

You march them out of the village, up the main road to where you know the roadsmen have their central camp in as good an order as you can muster. You can see the nerves take hold as you look into the faces of your improvised little force. They grip their weapons with white-knuckled hands, their eyes flicking side to side as if certain death might come at any moment. You can almost hear the shudders in their breaths, feel the excited tremble of their limbs, see the nervous looks in their eyes.

You feel it too. It never really goes away, not even after the hundredth battle. But it does become familiar, almost comfortable, the slipping on of an old coat. Yes, the old battle tension comes over you too, hot and cold at the same time. If you're fortunate today, you may never have to feel it again.

---

You're still two hundred and fifty paces from the trees when someone fires the first shot. You see the flash and puff of powder smoke before you hear the sound. The ball itself falls short, far too short, smacking into the road more than a dozen paces ahead of you with a puff of dirt.

When the sound comes, it comes as one which you've heard all too many times before. You don't even flinch. But your Houseguard recoils with shock, as if they had in unison been slapped hard in the face. Some stumble backwards, others go reeling. A few dive to the ground, barely holding onto their weapons. One or two level their own firelocks, as if to reply. Only your shouted orders stop them from wasting their powder.

You ought to have known. For all that you've trained them, your makeshift force has never been under fire before. You may know that the enemy is far out of range, that the chances of being hit at two hundred and fifty paces is about the same as being struck by lightning, but your men don't. To them, a single shot at two hundred paces seems as deadly as a battalion volley at twenty.

There's no helping it. Instead, you focus your efforts on getting your men moving again, back on their feet. Yet every time you get them advancing, another shot echoes from the forest, and the whole thing falls apart again, and it is another half-minute of shouting, chivvying, and waving to get them going again.

To you, the danger seems obvious. You're only a hundred and fifty paces away now. At such a range, a decent shot might have a one-in-five chance of hitting a man. If even a wide miss is enough to bring your men to a halt, what will they do once one of their fellows is actually struck?

Another puff of smoke, another sharp crack. The ball goes high, just close enough to clip the plume of your helmet. Again, your men reel. This is how attacks fail. You've seen it happen before, not just to half-trained militia but to veteran infantry as well. Faced with enemy fire, the attackers let paralysis sink in. Too proud to run, too terrified to charge home, they stand trapped betwixt two extremes as the enemy picks them off one by one, until the shredded remnants finally break.

Your fingers clench inside your riding gloves. Your left hand tightens around the hilt of your sabre. You cannot allow that to happen here! There's too much at stake! There must be something you can do!

1) I will take the lead and make them follow!

2) I must encourage them to keep going!

3) I must take a step back, look for a better way forward.



As of the Summer of the 615 of the Old Imperial Era:

Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga, Baron Ezinbrooke
Captain, Royal Dragoons (half-pay)
Age: 27

Current Funds: 51 Crown
Debts: 10660 Crown

Bi-Annual Income (Personal): 135 Crown
Bi-Annual Estate Revenues: 266 Crown

Bi-Annual Estate Expenses: 350 Crown
Bi-Annual Interest Payments: 107 Crown

Total Net Income (Next Six Months): -56 Crown


Soldiering: 70%

Charisma: 41%

Intellect: 9%


Reputation: 37%

Health: 62%


Idealism: 60% ; Cynicism: 40%

Ruthlessness: 42% ; Mercy: 58%

You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear Bane-hardened armour and wield a Bane-runed sword.

Friends and Associates

Javier Campos: Colour Sergeant, the Royal Dragoons.
(Born 583 OIE)

Victor d'al Reyes: Eldest son of Baron Reyes. Major, the 8th Regiment of Foot. Formerly Commander, the Experimental Corps of Riflemen. ~Lost arm at Blogia~
(Born: 583 OIE)

James d'al Sandoral: Captain (half-pay), the Royal Dragoons.
(Born 592 OIE)

Efraim Saundersley: Solicitor-on-Retainer to the House of Ortiga.
(Born 570 OIE)

Octave d'al Touravon: Baron Touravon, Father of Alisanne d'al Touravon.
(Born 556 OIE)

Enemies

Hiir Cassius vam Holt: Takaran Ambassador to Tierra. Eldest son to Richsgraav vam Holt.
(Born 527 OIE)

Eleanora d'al Welles: Countess Welles. Proponent of Military Reform. Friend to Isobel, the Princess-Royal. ~Died at Blogia~
(Born 587 OIE)

Ezinbrooke, a barony within the Duchy of Cunaris, possessed of 133 rent-paying households.

Respectability: 29%


Prosperity: 43%

Contentment:
34%

Manor...

…Being a country house of middling size in very poor condition. encompassed by a low stone fence in a state of much disrepair. Outbuildings include stables, coach house, and guard house, all in exceptionally poor condition.

Interior consists of eighteen rooms, including six bedrooms, a kitchen, a library, a small ballroom, a dovecote and a gun room.

Estate and Grounds...

…Being a barony of middling size, composed of a manor house, market village, and surrounding fields and hinterlands. It is located a week's ride west from the city of Fernandescourt, a journey rendered easier by the fine state of local roads.

The village of Ezinbrooke is a small hamlet, possessed of a traveller's inn, a publick house, a somewhat worn shrine to the major Saints, and an open market square. The surrounding cottages are few in number but of excellent condition, having recently been repaired and refurbished. Fields bound the village on all sides, and all available land is under cultivation.

Bi-Annual Estate Revenues
Rents:
266 Crown

Bi-Annual Expenditures
Estate Wages:
150 Crown
Food and Necessities: 75 Crown
Luxuries and Allowances: 75 Crown
Groundskeeping and Maintenance: 50 Crown
Other Expenses: 0 Crown

Total Balance: -84 Crown
 

Kalarion

Serial Ratist
Patron
Joined
Jan 30, 2015
Messages
1,008
Location
San Antonio, TX
Strap Yourselves In Codex Year of the Donut Shadorwun: Hong Kong BattleTech Steve gets a Kidney but I don't even get a tag. Pathfinder: Wrath I helped put crap in Monomyth
1) I will take the lead and make them follow!

It's possible - barely possible - that our middling Charisma will allow us to firm the men up. A drill sergeant would have been useful here too. But I'd prefer we rely on our greatest strength, and hope that our sterling example will encourage our men and fortify their resolve.

Besides, none of the trash sitting behind that barricade is worth 1/10 of a Baneblooded lord of Tierra. They will feel the sting of our shot and the edge of our sword before this day is done.

Let the reaping begin.
 
Joined
Nov 29, 2016
Messages
1,832
Btw I had a RULES OF NATURE moment in the shower a few hours back. Black house spider was crawling on the curtain right next to my facehole and, upon recognized that fact, I instantly teleported across the room. Granted I may have actually leapt out of the tub while screaming. Also the funniest thing is that I proceeded to flick the light switch on and off like 6 times in a couple of seconds because my fight-or-flight addled brain thought that was supposed to "turn off the water" l m a o
 

ERYFKRAD

Barbarian
Patron
Joined
Sep 25, 2012
Messages
30,180
Strap Yourselves In Serpent in the Staglands Shadorwun: Hong Kong Pillars of Eternity 2: Deadfire Steve gets a Kidney but I don't even get a tag. Pathfinder: Wrath I'm very into cock and ball torture I helped put crap in Monomyth
1) I will take the lead and make them follow!

It's possible - barely possible - that our middling Charisma will allow us to firm the men up. A drill sergeant would have been useful here too. But I'd prefer we rely on our greatest strength, and hope that our sterling example will encourage our men and fortify their resolve.

Besides, none of the trash sitting behind that barricade is worth 1/10 of a Baneblooded lord of Tierra. They will feel the sting of our shot and the edge of our sword before this day is done.

Let the reaping begin.
If nothing else our ferocity will scare the life out of our subjects so they won't grouse so much when we raise the rent next.
 
Joined
Nov 29, 2016
Messages
1,832
I will take the lead and make them follow!
If your men will not advance, then you shall have to drag them with you.

"Houseguard!" you cry, tearing your sabre from its scabbard and raising it high over your head. "With me!"

you drop into a run, the silvery steel of your sabre glimmering in the summer sun, that familiar sound of blood pounding in your ears. A musket ball cracks past your head. You pay it no mind. You don't even turn to see if it hit anyone, or if your men are still following. No, to turn now would be to slow, to slow would be to stop, and to stop would only lead to disaster.

"Tierra and Victory! Charge!" The words come almost unbidden from your lips as you pound up the last few paces of open road into the shade of the forest.

Suddenly, three slim figures pop out of the underbrush, clad in ragged broadcloth and the remnants of what might be line infantry jackets. Soldiers? Former King's soldiers? Turned to brigandage? Why—

No, you have no time to consider that. One of them is already raising a cry of alarm as he clumsily levels his musket.

You spring forward before he can squeeze the trigger, knocking the long barrel aside as it discharges harmlessly into the air. Ears ringing, eyes stinging with powder fog, you press in without fear, the brass guard of your sabre driving into the first roadsman's face with a meaty crack.

The others are reaching for their weapons now. You don't give them the time to use them. With a lunge, you drive your shoulder into your first attacker, sending him reeling backwards into one of his fellows. The other stumbles away in shock, staring wide-eyed not at some soft country lordling, but one of the Duke of Cunaris' vaunted Royal Dragoons.

"Forward!" you bellow as you press on and your men follow. "Forward, and with me!"

---

The sound of musketry rattles out afresh from ahead, not a single shot but a full, ragged volley. Balls buzz through the air around you and slam into the trees beside you with splintery thuds. Someone behind you lets out a cry and tumbles to the hard roadbed. But your men are already moving forward. The skirmish by the treeline has steeled their resolve, and where one shot might have sent them scattering, they're not even dissuaded by a dozen. Instead, they bellow defiance as they advance from the cover of one tree to the next, firing and loading and firing again as they go.

Ahead, you can see the outline of the brigand camp, astride the road like a fallen log. Smoke rises from behind the formidable-looking barricade and abates as your foes continue to fire back, even as the range closes.

Yet no matter how furious the fire comes, your men do not falter. They press the attack ever closer, even as some of their number fall wounded or perhaps even dead. You can be no more than a hundred paces from the enemy camp now. You see the shapes of heads and shoulders huddled behind fallen logs, the long, slim shapes of their muskets shuffling and bucking as they try in vain to hold your men back.

Seventy-five paces. One of the shapes behind the barricade jerks and falls, his musket tumbling out of numb hands and clattering over the side of the log wall. You could end it now. One rush, and you could take the camp by storm.

It would be a close-run thing. The roadsmen knew what they were doing when they built their little base. It's practically a fortress by itself. To succeed would mean to end this whole affair in a moment, instead of letting it drag out into a long, costly firefight. To fail…

You'd rather not consider what might happen if you were to fail.


1) Now's the time to end it! I take the roadsmen camp by storm!

2) I cannot risk an assault; I will wear them down with musketry.

3) The situation is untenable. I must try to withdraw in good order.


As of the Summer of the 615 of the Old Imperial Era:

Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga, Baron Ezinbrooke
Captain, Royal Dragoons (half-pay)
Age: 27

Current Funds: 51 Crown
Debts: 10660 Crown

Bi-Annual Income (Personal): 135 Crown
Bi-Annual Estate Revenues: 266 Crown

Bi-Annual Estate Expenses: 350 Crown
Bi-Annual Interest Payments: 107 Crown

Total Net Income (Next Six Months): -56 Crown


Soldiering: 70%

Charisma: 41%

Intellect: 9%


Reputation: 37%

Health: 62%


Idealism: 60% ; Cynicism: 40%

Ruthlessness: 42% ; Mercy: 58%

You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear Bane-hardened armour and wield a Bane-runed sword.

Friends and Associates

Javier Campos: Colour Sergeant, the Royal Dragoons.
(Born 583 OIE)

Victor d'al Reyes: Eldest son of Baron Reyes. Major, the 8th Regiment of Foot. Formerly Commander, the Experimental Corps of Riflemen. ~Lost arm at Blogia~
(Born: 583 OIE)

James d'al Sandoral: Captain (half-pay), the Royal Dragoons.
(Born 592 OIE)

Efraim Saundersley: Solicitor-on-Retainer to the House of Ortiga.
(Born 570 OIE)

Octave d'al Touravon: Baron Touravon, Father of Alisanne d'al Touravon.
(Born 556 OIE)

Enemies

Hiir Cassius vam Holt: Takaran Ambassador to Tierra. Eldest son to Richsgraav vam Holt.
(Born 527 OIE)

Eleanora d'al Welles: Countess Welles. Proponent of Military Reform. Friend to Isobel, the Princess-Royal. ~Died at Blogia~
(Born 587 OIE)

Ezinbrooke, a barony within the Duchy of Cunaris, possessed of 133 rent-paying households.

Respectability: 29%

Prosperity: 43%

Contentment:
34%

Manor...

…Being a country house of middling size in very poor condition. encompassed by a low stone fence in a state of much disrepair. Outbuildings include stables, coach house, and guard house, all in exceptionally poor condition.

Interior consists of eighteen rooms, including six bedrooms, a kitchen, a library, a small ballroom, a dovecote and a gun room.

Estate and Grounds...

…Being a barony of middling size, composed of a manor house, market village, and surrounding fields and hinterlands. It is located a week's ride west from the city of Fernandescourt, a journey rendered easier by the fine state of local roads.

The village of Ezinbrooke is a small hamlet, possessed of a traveller's inn, a publick house, a somewhat worn shrine to the major Saints, and an open market square. The surrounding cottages are few in number but of excellent condition, having recently been repaired and refurbished. Fields bound the village on all sides, and all available land is under cultivation.

Bi-Annual Estate Revenues
Rents:
266 Crown

Bi-Annual Expenditures
Estate Wages:
150 Crown
Food and Necessities: 75 Crown
Luxuries and Allowances: 75 Crown
Groundskeeping and Maintenance: 50 Crown
Other Expenses: 0 Crown

Total Balance: -84 Crown
 

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