Our village is livelier than before. Like a graveyard—grey, bleak, but restless at night. But in this instance, the skeletons arising at night are chained, evil nobles with spiteful faces.
Evan of Cicily stoically oversees the droves of captured; it seems like Leara held up her end—they've been busy. It's a prideful feeling, watching your shitty hovel erupt into a thriving metropolis.
Obviously hyperbolized. These captured students are living out of several dedicated run-down village houses, and likely being fed a bit above the minimum.
Not exactly thriving, but I do love seeing these fuckers humbled. The way they slouch from a day's work, or quiver at the sight of more terrible overlords who'll make them chop some wood or wash some clothes—it's all so thrilling. It's a fraction of the collective pain of all non-Humans. Their situation is comically easy in comparison.
