The Blacksmith of the Estun is one of the most revered men in the village. He may not be a warrior though he could certainly hold his own in a fight. Instead, he is held in such high regard for without him the whole village would fall into disrepair. Everything from nails to horseshoes to swords makes its way out of that glowing forge.
The Church is a place of welcome to all, no matter their faith. It has been this way for all time. The tree carved above the door has come to represent many things through the ages. The World Tree that connects the realms, the Sun God's influence on the earth below, even the Tree of Woe upon which the God-son was crucified.
No village can stand for long without trade and Estun is no exception. The Market Stalls are the vibrant hub of the village, with exchanges for goods and services happening almost constantly. Just as important here is the trade for information, stories diffusing from here as quickly as the smell of preserved fish.
If there's one thing that the people of Estun can rely on, it's the forest. Food from anything the people can forage as well as game, protection from the blizzards that come down from the mountains, but most importantly the timber from the trees themselves. The Saw Mill processes much of this to build and repair the dwellings of the village's folk as well as trade with other villages.
The Dwellings of Estun are known for miles around. Well built and sturdy, just like the people of the village. The shields above the doors are not purely symbolic, though they do show that these folk are protected.
The Watch Tower has stood for longer than anyone can remember. Stories say that this was the first building in the village, a remnant from an empire, long since fallen. Whatever the truth, horrors of all kinds have been spied from these ramparts. Without which, ambushes might have brought this settlement to its knees in ages past.
Even when all is quiet in Estun, the Tavern still has sounds of revelry. Mead, ale and wine from faraway lands are consumed by the hogshead. Life is hard in the mountains and everyone needs a place to ease the aching bones. Skalds know that they can pass through and get fed and watered for the price of a story. Can a village without a tavern truly be called a village at all?
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