The land was relatively new, being only freshly drained. There was no birdsong, as all the trees had been cut, leaving only small shrubs and marsh-plants. The sound of electrical arcing interrupted the mid-morning silence.
"That's the last of them," said a man with Ol' Barney emblazoned on the chest of his uniform. He walked over to the bogle, its arms and fingers still writhing from the lethal shock.
"Ugly little basket," the man mumbled as he kicked the fresh corpse. He turned to one of his charges, one Corporal Deremyn, who was powering down a sinister looking staff-like device.
"Tell the workers they can begin work tomorrow. Everyone gets the rest of the day off to celebrate. This is a great time for the everyman."
A man, nameplate reading "Gëffallow" and dressed in vest-and-coat that was reminiscent of an antiquated time, paced around his office. He had told the men to report to him as soon as their jobs were finished. He ventured out of his office and into one of the many hallways of his manor to distract himself from the slow passing of time. This particular corridor was decorated with paintings of his ancestors and family. He passed the paintings of his long-dead relatives, barely pausing to look at them. However, he did stop at one; the man was dressed in a great coat of sable, leuc, and celest. The man's face grew a long mustache and a beard, both of which were groomed above the standard of the time. The plaque on the frame read "Narsesës - Archduke of Brandenbrass". For a moment, Mr. Gëffallow wondered if this Brandenbrass was anywhere in the region called the Brandenpilts. His musing were cut short when he heard a harsh ring from his office. Mr. Gëffallow ran, unlike a nobleman should, to his office and picked up his astrapenunticon.
"Yes? Ah, Mr. Swilde. Is the job finished? Great! I'll be there in the morning for the grand opening." He hung up the device and walked over to his desk. He removed a set of advertisements from a drawer and stretched them across the desk in a flourish. He stroked the fliers, almost lovingly.
"Ichormeer Residential: the Epitome of Suburban Housing"