You are starting to reach the point where you can no longer sustain any additional people here in Endataurëo. You need to expand your orchards or your fields. You spend a morning in the middle of the week walking around the grounds. You need to mark out where you have room for expansion. Wesley and Faith both accompany you, helping with planning it out.
"Naturally we'll want it as close to the pre-existing fields as possible." Faith comments.
"No good miss. We're right up against the walls, we'd have to spread out further and that's no good with the things in the woods. We've only got about five bows to keep watch with. We should go deeper into the forest." Wesley replies.

You are keeping their comments in mind, but it is obvious neither of them know the forest very well. They also have no experience with guarding something.
"We will place the next orchard on the other side of the gate. It will be a longer trip, but our first defence against attack is our walls. If anything happens the workers will be expected to retreat into the gate. Thus, both should be closer to the gate than anything else." You tell them.
"You sure about that sir?" Wesley asks. "Forest's been pretty quiet since I showed up."

You look at him. "Yes, it has been. Because the wards in the walls scare them away, the further we get from the walls the greater the danger."
Faith interjects. "If that's the case why not go with my plan, the closer the orchards are too each other the more efficient they will be right?"
"And they will be vulnerable the first time something not scared off by the walls comes by. We keep the Orchards as close to the gates as we can." You command.
"So if we hear a yell, we should all run into the gates?" Wesley asks, nervous.
"If the lookouts in the towers spot approaching danger, they will ring the bells there." You reassure him.

"With all respect, sir. What exactly are you worried about attacking us?" Faith asks.
It is a difficult question to answer. Orcs? Trolls? Humans? You cannot say, all you know is that you feel as though some kind of force is mustering, just beyond your sight. You do not want any who serve you to be harmed.
None of these musings answer her questions, so instead you say. "I am simply being cautious. It is far better to be ready for trouble when none comes than the inverse."
"Of course, sir" Faith says, holding her skirts in something vaguely akin to a curtsey.

You mark out the rough amount of land that would be needed. Your advisors were being unnecessarily dramatic, it is not that far from the other field. You and the other farmers start clearing the area of trees and underbrush. While you are doing so you consider what you are going to be growing here. Now that you have access to trade networks you can grow something other than the wild berries and fruits of your other orchard.

"Do either of you have any experience with brewing alcohol?" You ask your companions while the clearing is taking place.
"No sir." They chorus.
"Well that's unfortunate. I do not trust any of the local brewers, their beer is bad and their wine is worse." You muse.
"It's not that bad sir." Wesley interjects. "I quite enjoy it."
You reach out to grip his shoulder. "I am very sorry that you have never had real beer or wine. When we are finished making some you can have the first glass."
Faith giggles at this, apparently unaware of how serious you are. You ignore her for now, you need to go through your memories to find out if you know how to make wine.

You often compare searching your memories to searching a library. All the books are there, but the ones you use most often are far easier to find. This particular memory, one of examining a winery with your grandfather, is buried beneath thousands of years of other memories. It takes you a long time to find them but there it is, a tour of the entire wine making process. Enough to know what you need at very least. The buildings, barrels and ingredients. You do not have a similar memory for beer, so it looks like you are going to be making wine.

You reshuffle the memory until it forms a list of steps and prerequisites in your mind.
That done you tell your subordinates. "We are going to be making a winepress and growing grapes. How hard will it be to get some grape seeds?"
Wesley gives a single soft whistle as he thinks. "There's a few vineyards about. Shouldn't be hard, we'll need to ask Martin to get some. Oh, I know! We could send my sweet, the light of my life…"
You tune out Wesley's praise for his sweetheart, until he gets to his point.
"…is brilliant and loves wine. It's the best way to ensure we get grapes good for wine instead of eating." He finishes at last.
You doubt that anyone who has lived around here can claim to love wine, but you are willing to accept this plan. It can hardly hurt.

Martin and Wesley's 'beau' are sent off with firm instructions and enough silver to purchase seeds. While they are gone, you turn your attention to the construction of your winepress. You consider at length how it will be built, the design is quite complex from your memory, involving a large shaft that allows the press to be lowered. You are also going to need a lot of barrels, both to store the wine and to hold the grapes for the press. You are not sure if you have the skill to construct such things, especially if you want to save money by not using metal. Actually, you are just going to buy some metal, you are not good enough to make up for its lack.

You need to wait for some traders to arrive in order to purchase metal for the barrel hoops and the screw in the press. You spend the time you are waiting for to search for yeast to use. Yeast grows just about everywhere, and it is entirely possible to produce wine with nothing but what occurs on the grapes and vines. Such a practice is unreliable in both success and in quality, so you want to seek some proper yeast to cultivate. To your immense surprise your search stops almost as soon as it begins. A nearby tree has exactly the strain you were looking for, and you swear you hear a ghostly female laugh when you find it.

With your yeast found and in the process of cultivating, mostly by placing it on some flour to feed, you are free to seek for people to run the orchard and press. You ride into town, once more dealing with the moderately sized crowd that gathers to hear what you are looking for. You only need five people to manage the, at this point, small amount of work needed to produce your wine.

Something about vineyard work seems to be deeply unpopular. You hear a few people mutter something about stepping on grapes, which sounds like a strange and unsanitary practice. You also discover that wine is a largely Orlesian product, and there is a lingering resentment for them in the local area. Still, you manage to find some people. A group of around five people step up to take on the challenge of making the best wine this backwater has ever seen. You lead them back to Endataurëo and get them settled. You also take the time to learn their names which are, Jimothy, Timothan, Anre, Alicent and Justinia.

Martin returns with the grape seeds at the same time as the merchants who sell metal arrive. You spend twenty silver getting enough metal, either in small strips that can be hammered around barrels or in a large mass suitable for use in your wine press. You set the new hires to planting while you make the barrels, small and large, that you will be using in this process. Then, once both of you are finished, you will collaborate on the wine press.

Making barrels is simple, making waterproof barrels less so. Still, you manage. There are only one or two abominations of craftsmanship that need to be burned to retrieve their hoops. You fill the barrels with water and smile to yourself when none of them leak. At this point your new hires return to inform you they have finished the planting and you can begin construction on the wine press.

Your future vintners are happy enough constructing the basin that will hold the grapes for pressing. They are a little surprised that it is square rather than round, but they still build it without too much complaining. While they do that you work on the mechanism that will actually lower the press. It is a challenge far more suited to your father's skillset but, with the help of the smithy that you included entirely unconsciously, you manage to create a rudimentary screw. You mount the screw and the press onto a pair of standing arms with the aid of the new hires, and a few of the housekeeping staff as it was very heavy. When you step back you smile at the completed wine press.

Production this week is relatively little. Very few of the grapes are grown enough by the end of the week, and you want the wine to mature. You could call maybe five of them complete now, and you expect ten more next week but full production will have to wait for two more weeks.

Your fields and orchards are finished now. You have only to wait until the end of the week to see how much product you are going to be making. You still have a few days left until then, so you should go see what you can do for Gladesville. You take the time to walk there, since you have enough time to do so. Orundómë is a delight to ride, but in the forest doing so takes concentration. A walk is nice, relaxing and will let you reflect on what you are going to do when you reach the village you founded.

You wipe tree sap from your blade when you make it inside the walls of Gladesville. There were far too many Sylvans on your way here, you wish you had taken Orundómë. You are greeted by the people of Gladesville who are looking over a large amount of construction materials.
"Greetings everyone, what are you planning on building. Or is this a new human religion I do not understand?" You joke as you draw up to them.
"That's the problem we're facin'." Maron replies. "We ain't sure what we want ta build. We need houses obviously, but there's a lot of other things we need."

"Well, what has been proposed?" You ask.
You have a few ideas on what might be needed, but it is really the decision of those who live here.
"Well, outside the houses there's some kind of hall or gathering place. Couple of people want a chapel or church but a hall could be used as that. We also want some kind of storage." Maron answers.
You consider which would be best. Your first thought would be the importance of housing but any of them could be useful. You are not sure why they need a church, but it might make them happy. Storage is just always needed.

You are deeply confused by the human need for churches, and you have heard very little to make you positively disposed towards the chantry. A town hall would be somewhat useful on its own you suppose, but there is no pressing need for one. If they need to assemble, they can do so outside like normal beings. More houses would be good, but you think that having a meaningful storage space is by far more important. To your immense surprise once you have said so, there is no arguing or pushback.

Maron nods to himself. "Right, we figerred a barn would probably be best placed near the fields. With the road though we're gonna have problems puttin' it where we want."
That sounds wrong to you. "Do you have a map?"
When he shakes his head, you sigh. "Come on, let's go and make one quickly."
"You what? You can't just make a map 'quickly'." Maron protests.
"Of course you can." You say, finding a large strip of pale bark. "It does not need to be a perfect representation, just enough to tell you where everything is in relation to everything else."

Your sketch is rudimentary at best, but it is roughly to scale, so you can put together an idea of where you have room.
"See, we put the barn here, we don't got no room to expand the farms later. We gotta put it here, but that puts it right on the road." Maron says, gesturing to the map.
"Why not place it right at the road and let the farms shape around it? They do not need to be perfect squares." You ask
He shrugs. "That was my first thought too, but problem is it means less people can work on it at any one time."
"Perhaps the solution is to make the barn smaller." You reply.

At this point Maron perks up and calls out, "Lauron you lazy bum! Get over here!"
The other builder ambles over.
"Brother." He whines. "I'm not lazy. I was up late last night because you didn't finish the inventory and left it to me again."
"Ah, shut your face. We have work to do." Maron swings his arm upwards as he speaks. "We have a problem with the barn."
"Why're we building a barn? I thought we were building a house." Lauron continues to groan.
"If you do not cease complaining and help you will be up until midnight finishing the work you are currently delaying us from finishing." You say, trying to conceal you irritation.

Lauron does at very least make up for his attitude with competence. His suggestion of making an L shaped barn at the crossroads is a little unusual but there is no reason it should not work. You and Maron add doors at either end, to ensure that there is as little inefficiency as possible. Maron and Lauron then go through the inventory picking out what they need. Doing so proves the necessity of this storage space, as there are any number of things buried under other things. As you watch, helping as much as you are able, you mentally kick yourself for not including some kind of sorting system in your plans.

When you raise the possibility to the brothers, they reply that redrafting the plans would take far too much time and they will deal with the organisation later. They are in truth somewhat dismissive of the idea it should have been part of the plans in the first place. With that discussion over, you consider what you are going to do next.

You do not really want to help with the building of this barn. It is not something you find interesting or have much skill in. You would rather go elsewhere and talk to the various members of the village you founded. Unfortunately, you were raised to always finish a task you have begun. So rather than what you want to do you instead turn to Maron.
"Is there anything I can do to help with building?" You ask him.
"You any good with a hammer?" He asks.
"Passable." You reply.
"Right, we'll see then." Is his last word on the subject.

You are not a hinderance to the progress of the building. That is probably the only flattering thing you could say about your performance. Perhaps you used all your creative talents on the winepress or perhaps Maron and Lauron's building style clashes with your own. The end result is that you serve as little more than an extra pair of hands. You save the builders some time by holding things or fetching tools, but you can hardly take over entire sections of construction on your own.

It is not all bad news though. Thanks to your help the barn is finished after only a day's work and the builder brothers have the time to complete the house they had started before they began work on the barn. As a result, they invite you to join them as they eat, later than the rest of the village.

You have never really had much time to talk to the brothers since you recruited them. They are clearly not believers in your village and merely see it as a job.
"So I hear that you are some kind of saint from the locals." Lauron says, tone skirting the edge of mockery.
"I cannot control what others call me. I am less of a saint than I am a lord." You reply.
"Still you've got to wonder why everyone 'round here is head over heals for you." Maron picks up the line of inquiry as Lauron shovels food into his mouth.
"How much do you know of the founding of the village?" You ask.
"Who cares?" Lauron says through a mouthful of food.
"It is important to answering your question. And do not chew with your mouth full." You scold him.

"Whatever." He says, rolling his eyes.
You ignore him and answer their question. "This village was founded to serve as a chance for those with nothing else. A place where the needy and the desperate could come together and try to make a life for themselves."
Maron looks at you. "So what? A lot of villages have some kind of grand origin story if you ask the old timers."
You look at him. "Because the village was founded less than two months ago."
The two of them look around, taking in the village with new eyes.
"I guess that makes sense. Your idea?" Maron asks.
"Forced the first group here at sword point." You confess.
This gets a fair amount of laughter from the pair of them. From that day forward Lauron has far fewer barbed comments for you.

You walk back from the construction efforts after the day has ended. You have done all that you can, beyond being an extra pair of hands there is nothing left for you to do. You note the stillness of the forest, as though it is holding its breath in anticipation of some event. It puts you on edge, the lack of assaults that usually characterise your journeys only enhancing this feeling of unease. Your left hand drifts to your sword hilt without conscious direction. Your senses strain for anything out of place, any sign of an ambush or enemy.

Your vigilance is rewarded by the sounds of a group blundering their way through the undergrowth. You press yourself against a tree and strain your ears. You hear further sounds, muffled grunts and more importantly the clacking of metal on metal. You follow the sounds, using what art you have in the matter to cling to the shadows of the trees. You want to see the group before they see you.

There is a break in the trees, it forms a small space that is reminiscent of a path. There are many such breaks in the forest, they are commonly used by the traders of the Irregular Hexagon. Along this path are a group clad in crude, dark armour. Their heights are variable, from the height of a dwarf to the size of a man. Their faces are grotesque, pale sallow skin. The shorter ones have prominent ears, pointed in the manner of the Dalish. The taller ones lack ears at all. They are carrying weapons, not sheathed but in their hands. From the milky eyes, the sallow skin and the crude weapons you have only one conclusion.
"Orks." You breathe, sword sliding from its sheathe silently.

You are about to leap out and ambush them when you pause. You look at your left hand, what if you are wrong? You had leapt to attack the werewolves, believing the Auro, what if you do so again. What of your resolve to be better, to do better? You let your sword fall back into its container. It will cost you the element of surprise, but you dare not take the risk. You observe for a few moments, none of the noises they make sound like speech to your ears. Even if it were it would not disprove anything, Orcs can talk after all.

You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves.
"Sorry Merrill." You say to yourself. "I am doing something reckless again."
You step out of the shadows into the clearer part. The bright sunlight glints off your armour, matched by your bright smile.
"Greetings gentlemen. What brings you to my 'neck of the woods' as they say." You keep your voice light and conversational.
There is a lot of snarling and growling. Then the group charges at you.

Well that answers that question. If they do not want to speak to you then you will treat them as they appear. The taint of darkness is upon them, and they come at you armed with crude weapons and armour. You know orcs, whatever name they may go by in this land, and you have no intention of letting them survive to raid and pillage. Then again perhaps these creatures are not so far gone as the orcs of your land. You do not wish to end those twisted by dark magic only to discover they might have been saved later. This all assumes there is any need to confront them now.

You are curious to see what will happen when these pseudo orcs are exposed to the Light of the Eldar. Perhaps you will experience this mythical 'good luck' and they will all burst into flames. You chuckle at the thought while drawing your sword. In response to your laughter, or perhaps your sword, the charging monsters roar in rage. Then you call upon the power of your people.

Calling upon the Light provides quite a stark contrast between now and prior to reclaiming your soul. There is no delay, no struggle, you simply will the light forth and it goes. Like a hound that has only waited for the call but has, until now, been far away. The effect it has is immediate. The monsters' charge fails, the front ranks screeching to a halt only to have those behind them run at full speed into their backs. You take the opportunity to strike at those who are on the ground. Several snake like strikes at the monsters lying on the ground stains the ground with their blackish red blood, and you hear a faint hissing sound from your blade.

You do not have time to look at the source of the sound, you are focused on the rest of the local 'orcs'. Many of the small ones and one or two of the taller ones have turned on their heels and are fleeing randomly in all directions. Others are clustering around the tallest one, who wears a helmet with horns sticking out comically far from the sides. The ones who remain are glancing between you and it, clearly drawing some confidence from its presence. Either that or they fear what fate they will meet should they run while it lives. You grin, it seems that you are on familiar ground with these creatures.

You point your sword at the leader, keeping your smile on your face.
"Come evildoer!" You cry, in Thedaslta since this is a beast of Thedas. "Come and face me! Or would you rather cower behind your minions as they grow ever more fearful!"
You are not certain if it is your words or the hesitancy of its minions that drives the creature to face you. Whatever its reason it does so, lurching towards you with a guttural growl.

The creatures first blow comes with speed and strength you were not expecting. You twist away from its first blow and desperately stagger backwards from the masterful follow up you were unprepared for. You give ground rapidly, needing some time to catch your thoughts. With the space you have gained, you have time to notice how its movements have becomes slower, more erratic, since you called upon the Light of the Eldar. With an exhalation that could be a sigh of relief or a breathing exercise you leap back into the fight.

Your blade blurs, faster than the creatures own. It fends off your initial assault and counterattacks, but you are ready for it now and you slide past the strike. With your free hand you grab one of its horns and violently yank its head to one side. The creature is tugged off balance and its neck is exposed. You bring your sword down on it once, twice and its head comes free in your hand on the third. The creature's body hits the ground with a clatter and the remaining monsters flee.

You curse, they have scattered in all direction and hunting them down is going to be an absolute pain. Your attention is then called to the hissing noise on your sword. The blood on the blade is bubbling and a fine black smoke, almost invisible to your eye, is wafting off of it. Now that you think about it you notice that smoke is hanging in the air around you, likely it has been coming off your sword for the duration of your duel with the creature

Eventually the bubbling subsides, and the last of the smoke wafts off your blade. What is left behind is blood, red as any you have ever seen. You wipe it off with some cloth from one of the fallen and examine it closely. Inhaling yet more smoke. You have seen a great deal of blood, human and quendi, in your life and you would swear this is the blood of one of those two. Looking up you realise that the entirety of the smoke has vanished.

At this point several minutes have passed since your fight ended and you are not feeling well. Your entire body flushes as your temperature skyrockets. You cough uncontrollable and your entire body heaves several times. For several seconds you feel as though you are dying, then a final heave sends a tiny glob of inky blackness flying across the clearing and you feel fine. You are confused. What just happened? It seems to be related to the black smoke that you inhaled. You poke at one of the bodies with your sword. What should you do?

You leap to pursue almost immediately. You can discover what these things are, and what it was they did to you another time. Merrill should know, but you can ask her another time. For now, you have creatures of darkness to hunt down. The group is scattering in all directions, and by choosing to pursue one you are dedicating yourself to a long and difficult tracking session if you want to catch them all.

You run down the first of your foes without any trouble. Your legs are far longer and the forest seems to favour you, placing obstacles in your prey's path. You cut it down and then turn to track the others. Their tracks are a struggle to find in the ever deepening twilight but you manage to chase down another by following the smashed vegetation. This marks the last bit of success you have this eve. When you follow the next set of tracks it quickly becomes apparent that you will not find them before the sun sets for good. Tracking an orc at night through a forest tainted by dark magic is an idea so stupid even an orc would avoid it.

You return to the site of your initial encounter to find that the bodies have dispersed, leaving their weapons and armour behind. You examine the loot in detail, finding more of the dark substance clinging to the hilt and blades. This combines with the more mundane corruption, rust, mould and other things of that nature, to convince you that it would be more harm than good to arm your warriors with them. You drop the armour you were examining, noting the black liquid that drips from your fingers leaving them momentarily numb. You use a scrap of mostly clean cloth to wipe it off, and head back home.

When you arrive, the moon is well on its way to midnight and you are late for dinner. You take what is left over out to eat while speaking to your guards. Merrill having already gone to bed and thus being unavailable for questions.
"Sir. Good to see you. When you didn't show up we were all worried." The guard says.
You wave off their concern. "I can take care of myself. Where are the Dalish?"
"They left with the merchants, sir. Something about being done with all the humans here." Is the reply.
You shrug. "They were always going to leave at some point. Though it does remind me, I ran into some creatures today."

You describe your encounter with this world's orcs to the guard. As your tale continues he looks more and more frightened.
"Sounds like darkspawn, sir. They're nasty. You didn't get any blood on you did you? I heard a story where someone who fought a darkspawn got covered in its blood and became one." He says, clearly nervous.
"Do not fear. I have my own protections against such a thing. Besides which I got no blood on me." Another 'technically true' comment for the list.
"You're a grey warden?" He gasps.
"I do not know what that is, and frankly I am too tired to find out. So let us say no for now." You reply, finishing your food.
You leave the guard and go to bed. This week has been exhausting.