As he waiting for the slow, sweaty man, Bastion began looking around the plantation, appraising it with a keen- if inexperienced- eye. Within sight of the Lords inner hold, a short distance North on a slight slope, the Barley Field spread it’s way all the way to the Outer Walls of the Hold. The overseer's house was more of a large cottage. Made of stone, with a stone wrap around porch, a bronze roof that glittered in the midday sun, it was possibly one of the oldest building in the Northern Hemisphere. With diamond windows and all, this was surely a church left from the Reign of Fire. Beyond the cottage where the worker's headquarters. Half a dozen longhouses; long short buildings that would house about 25 people on barley-filled mattresses and dirt grounds. In addition to the longhouses, a small village had formed as more workers were needed, or some acquired families. With no real order to the huts and small homes, the only building larger than the longhouses was the church in the somewhat center of the cluster.

To the North lay the Lords hold, the Estrian River cut from beyond the hold, in a large arc the West, and then beyond South where miles and miles beyond Bastion knew it emptied into the Estrian Bay. The rest was just barley and more barley. Even beyond the irrigation reaches and beyond where plows and harvester reached, just a sea of barley. And of course, that was how Estyria made all of their money. Providing the continent with beer was their primary income.