Beneath the Banner of Fear II
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-Pov of Mervyn twelfth moon 288 AC
The sound of our armor echoed along the muddy path as we made our way to the Ironborn camp. Dawn was just beginning to break, and the damp cold clung to everything it touched. Our task was the same as always: deliver the day's assignments and ensure the work began without delay. But as we crossed the makeshift barricades, the eerie silence of the camp told me something was wrong.
In the center of the camp, six bodies hung.
Four women and two men, suspended by thick ropes that creaked in the wind. Their bodies bore the marks of burns and deep cuts, a grim testament to what had happened before their deaths. Torn nails and a tarp bearing the Prussian eagle draped over their faces made it clear this was more than just an execution. It was a message.
"Shit… what happened here?" murmured one of my sergeants, stopping beside me.
"The Wolfheads found their culprits," I replied, not taking my eyes off the bodies.
The camp began to stir, and the reactions came quickly. Islanders emerged from their huts and tents, first hesitantly, then more urgently as they caught sight of the scene. Some froze in place, paralyzed by the sight of the bodies, while others collapsed to their knees. There were muffled cries and wails, particularly from the women. Mothers clung tightly to their children, as if shielding them from the horror. Most, however, stood silently, fear etched into their faces.
The stares were impossible to ignore. Some were filled with panic, others with seething hatred, but all were directed at us.
We weren't the ones who had done this, but to them, it made no difference. We were the invaders, the oppressors. And now, the executioners.
"Do you think they were guilty?" the sergeant asked quietly, casting a quick glance at the bodies.
"That doesn't matter," I said. "What matters is that everyone here believes it."
An older islander, his face weathered by wind and salt, stumbled toward us. His gaze darted between the bodies and our group. Though he said nothing, his expression spoke volumes—pain, rage, and helplessness. I held his stare, maintaining my composure until he finally lowered his eyes and backed away.
"Deliver the assignments," I ordered firmly. "Everyone needs to be working by midday. And keep your eyes open. If anyone here thinks they can defy us, this is what they'll get."
My men moved quickly, distributing tools and overseeing the islanders, who barely reacted. The tension in the air was thick, but the work had to continue. We couldn't let it paralyze the camp.
I glanced one last time at the hanging bodies, watching as the wind swayed their lifeless forms.
Work began immediately. There was no room for delays or excuses. Both we and the islanders had clear orders. Most of the locals were assigned to basic tasks: moving dirt, digging, and transporting materials. The strongest men were sent to the makeshift quarries to extract clay and stone under the strict watch of our guards. Everything they extracted had a purpose.
The clay was molded into bricks using rudimentary tools, but there was a problem: we didn't have enough fuel to fire the kilns. With little wood or coal available on these wretched islands, most of the bricks were left to dry in the sun—a temporary solution until supplies arrived from the mainland. The stone was broken down into smaller fragments, ready to be mixed with the cement that would arrive in future shipments. Everything was makeshift, but it was essential to keep progress on track.
Meanwhile, the land was being cleared. Snow and mud made the work more difficult, but the Prussian engineers insisted the city's foundations be laid on solid rock, not unstable soil. For two weeks, we toiled without rest, leveling the area. Men and women hauled massive rocks, while the elderly and children did what they could—carrying tools, gathering debris, even fetching water for the workers. No one was exempt.
Signs of resistance among the islanders were not uncommon. Some deliberately damaged their tools, while others feigned injuries or exhaustion to delay progress. Minor acts of sabotage were uncovered more than once—ropes mysteriously cut, tools gone missing, piles of debris "accidentally" dumped onto cleared areas. For every incident, the Wolfheads acted swiftly. Every suspect was interrogated, and not all of them returned to the camp.
The message left by the hanging bodies was still fresh in the minds of the islanders, but their spirits were not entirely broken. They didn't attack openly—they were too cunning for that. Yet small acts of rebellion persisted, as if they were trying to remind us that they hadn't been fully subdued.
Everything changed when the first shipments of supplies arrived from the mainland. Two weeks after the work began, Prussian war galleys began docking at our makeshift pier. From the north, sawmills had sent large quantities of planks, beams, and coal. The sound of the ships' hulls striking the docks signaled the start of true construction.
With materials finally available, the pace of work intensified. Engineers laid out the first lines for the foundations, and the construction of a deep-water port became the top priority. The coal fueled the kilns, and the bricks hardened faster. Wooden beams were used to erect initial structures, while cement mixed with crushed stone formed the solid bases that would support the city.
The resistance among the islanders didn't vanish entirely, but it became quieter. Any act of sabotage would now be discovered swiftly, and the consequences would be severe. Still, some islanders looked at the Prussian galleys with barely concealed hatred, as if willing them to burn where they docked. The Wolfheads continued their patrols, ever watchful for signs of dissent.
The new lord we served, Konrad von Falkenhorst, was personally involved in every detail of the city's development. He micromanaged everything, supported by a team of Prussian engineers who oversaw the construction with absolute control. From the foundations to the simplest designs, nothing escaped his critical eye. Under his leadership, the city advanced at an almost inhuman pace.
Meanwhile, thousands of Ironborn arrived from across the islands to settle in the designated area. Women, children, and the elderly made up the majority, but even the few remaining men couldn't escape their orders. This constant influx of people inevitably caused conflicts. The Ironborn were not accustomed to living in such confined spaces or to following orders with this level of intensity. Fights broke out frequently, and problems erupted daily among them. However, the Wolfheads were unconcerned. In fact, they seemed to relish it. As long as the Ironborn fought among themselves, they wouldn't have the time or energy to organize against us.
Two more weeks of relentless work transformed the landscape. It was during this time that the first galleon docked at the newly established port. Despite its unfinished state, the planks and temporary reinforcements allowed the ship to successfully unload specialized tools and steel beams essential for continuing the construction. The arrival of the galleon marked a turning point in the project.
The port began to take shape. As we unloaded the cargo, the first merchants started to appear, drawn by the growing activity and the promise of secure trade under Prussian supervision. They negotiated directly with our supply officers, selling raw materials and food to keep the construction efforts moving forward. The city was still in its infancy, but there were already signs that, once complete, it would become an economic stronghold in these lands.
The first houses rose quickly. With dozens of hands working on each structure, the progress was impressive. The Ironborn handled most of the manual labor, supervised by Prussian guards ensuring no delays or sabotage occurred.
The newly completed houses were reserved exclusively for Prussian officers and soldiers. This was the top priority. Only once there was a surplus of housing would accommodations be prepared for the future colonists arriving from the mainland. For the Ironborn, housing was the lowest priority on the construction list.
At the same time the first houses were being built, larger structures began to take shape. These were not for housing but for administrative purposes, storage, and workshops. The city was being structured as both an economic and military center. It was around this time that artisans began arriving—a small but steady stream from the north, Essos, and The Reach. Carpenters, blacksmiths, stonemasons, and bricklayers came equipped with tools and skills, eager to contribute to the development of this new city.
Every artisan who arrived brought not only their expertise but also their vision of what Harlaw could become. Blacksmiths set up improvised forges, reinforcing tools and producing nails, hinges, and metal supports for the structures. Carpenters, working with freshly arrived wooden beams from the galleons, constructed roofs and frames for new buildings. Stonemasons began outlining the first stone streets and laying the foundations for plazas and major buildings.
The arrival of these artisans also brought a subtle but noticeable shift in the atmosphere. Although most worked to meet Prussian demands, some began offering their services in the improvised markets forming near the port. Slowly, a local economy started to emerge. Merchants bringing provisions and raw materials began trading goods with the artisans, and though the trade was strictly controlled by Prussian officials, the constant movement of people and resources began to breathe life into the area.
Despite these advancements, the Ironborn remained relegated to the most basic tasks. While the artisans and colonists found their places in this new society, the Ironborn continued hauling stones, clearing debris, and erecting structures they would never occupy. Their glances toward the port, where ships unloaded materials and workers, carried a silent resentment that never fully faded.
The restriction that generated the most resentment among the Ironborn, however, was the absolute prohibition on owning ships. By law, the Ironborn were forbidden from buying, leasing, owning, or even boarding a ship without Prussian supervision. Ships, once the lifeblood of their identity and the means by which they sustained their families through fishing, were now completely out of reach. This was no accident; it was a calculated measure to ensure control.
The only access to ships was granted to the migrants arriving from the north, Essos, and The Reach, who brought with them new fishing and trading techniques. These colonists operated the fishing vessels, leaving the Ironborn with no choice but to work for them or rely on the food they brought back to the port. All food entering the islands was strictly controlled, distributed by Prussian officials based on the population's needs and ongoing projects.
Without ships, the Ironborn couldn't organize secretly or attempt to escape. More importantly, they couldn't fish independently or maintain any economic autonomy. They were forced to depend on the system we had established. If the day came when they attempted rebellion and, for some reason, we couldn't suppress it by force, hunger would accomplish what we could not. With no access to ships and all trade and fishing routes under our control, their survival depended entirely on their submission.
To the Ironborn, this policy was yet another humiliation. Some initially resisted, hiding small boats or attempting to build them in secret. But the Wolfheads were vigilant. Any attempts at defiance were quickly discovered and harshly punished. Boats found in defiance of the law were burned in front of their owners, and those responsible didn't always return from "interrogation."
Over time, the Ironborn stopped trying, but their resentment lingered. Their eyes constantly drifted back to the port, watching fishing boats depart and return—none of them under their command. Seeing migrants, foreigners on what they considered their land, manning the vessels that once symbolized their freedom was a constant reminder of their defeat. Some Ironborn resigned themselves, taking miserable jobs in the fishing operations under strict supervision, while others simply clenched their teeth and endured in silence.
Hunger became another powerful weapon. Though there was enough food for everyone, its distribution was tightly regulated by the supply officers. Each family received just enough to survive, but never enough to feel comfortable. This kept the Ironborn in a precarious position, always at the mercy of the Prussian system.
Any sign of rebellion would mean a cut to the rations, and there was no way to survive without them.
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Leave a comment; support is always appreciated.
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I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see.
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