The New Face of Fronepu
Huge gangs of workers gathered in the city streets, crowding around the royal agents, signing contracts with their illegible peasant marks. For a few days they idled, some turning to drunken misconduct, but soon a royal order came from Seven Rivers; the site of the palace was agreed upon and the architects absconded to the abandoned Bloodspeaker temple, looming over the western harbor. They counted paces, made measurements, and drew up charts; the workers were shepherded on by hoarse-voiced foremen. Heavy carts, laden with stone, headed off for the site of the new palace.
The army of workers crowded around, watching the man who had emerged as the chief architect, a stonemason from Lloringel by the name of Maris. He and the other planners looked at the plan, the old temple, and back to the plan. They were unsure how to proceed. Dadu, an eight-foot tall giant with a massive hammer, stood mutely, looming over the architects, waiting to begin demolition.
"Shouldn't we say a few words before we knock down the temple of our Queen's faith?" asked a mousy worker. The architects looked at each other, the workers murmured; Maris gulped nervously, realizing the responsibility had fallen to him. He stepped forward.
"Ehm... blessed be the ancient path of blood. Melhed's blood is spilt, and with that change may emerge a people, tempered by defeat and matured with humility. In the glory of this sacrifice, we shall remember our old ways, in the founding of the new," said Maris, eyes shut, and waved his hand vaguely, mimicking a priest. The crowd looked down solemnly, deeply moved by the chief architect's words. A few minutes passed, and a few men in the crowd, obviously still clinging to their old faith, shed silent tears. Maris gave a nod to the giant Dadu, who without hesitation lifted his epic hammer and smashed out a cornerstone. The whole army of workers had at it, and began the reconstruction like an attacking army.
