The Unfinished Baronial Garrison of Laugavegur

The Unfinished Baronial Garrison of Laugavegur

Perched near the southern edge of Laugavegur, where the cobbled main road skirts the village’s palisade and the air carries a persistent scent of ash and sulfur, stands the Baronial Garrison. Half-built, half-held, and wholly symbolic. It is a proud yet weathered testament to noble ambition restrained by circumstance, a looming silhouette of timber and volcanic stone rising unevenly from the obsidian-laced cliffs below.

The structure’s rectangular footprint, roughly thirty by forty feet, was intended to house a full contingent of the baroness’s men. Yet, the garrison remains incomplete, its skeletal frame and rough stone foundations solid enough to shelter soldiers but visibly unfinished. One entire wing is open to the elements, its rafters exposed and vulnerable to the caldera winds and ashfall. The ground floor walls, mostly raised, bear the marks of weather and volcanic ash, with blackened timber and heavy iron-bracketed beams holding together what could soon be a fortress.

Inside, the barracks are bare-bones: bedrolls and pallets scattered across a floor dusted with sawdust and soot, while a central hearth burns steadily, battling the chill of geothermal drafts that sweep through the gaps. The cramped armory holds a modest collection of weapons and armor, with a forge nearby still awaiting its permanent home. A partially finished staircase ascends toward a lookout platform, its floorboards ending abruptly in midair, unsafe and unfinished. The signal bell, intended for this tower, rests mute and tethered near the entrance, wrapped carefully in coarse linen.

Outside, stacks of quarried stone, clay bricks, and iron fixtures lie beneath weathered tarps, slowly collecting soot and rain. A lean-to stable shelters a few of the baron’s mounts, and a rough training ring of packed earth marks the beginnings of a proper drill yard. From a temporary pole, a red-and-black Vaetildsson banner flutters, frayed at the edges but defiant, signaling the noble presence that has not yet fully taken root.

Thorgal Vaetildsson, second son of the baroness and captain of the watch, occupies the garrison’s sole private chamber, a small room furnished simply with a desk cluttered with maps, a cot, and an altar dedicated to the Gatekeeper. His retinue and garrison staff make do in the unfinished quarters, their discipline lending a quiet authority to the incomplete stronghold.

Though far from finished, the garrison already stands as a symbol: a reminder that the baroness has not forgotten Laugavegur, and that the baroness’s reach, though delayed and tempered by hardship, will soon solidify its foothold in the shadowed heart of the caldera.