Safehold

He spent hours writing the address the Grand Vicar'll make in a five-day. Carefully crafting, perfecting every phrase. Vicar Zahmsyn Trynair smiled, satisfied.
Vicar Rhobair Duchairn finished praying and opened the books. Eventhough Jihad was draining the Treasury, he'll build more shelters this winter. His brain started crunching numbers.
The Navy was a fiasco. But the Army was different. Captain General, Vicar Allayn Magwair stood over a map, rearranging troops, determined to succeed.
Vicar Zhaspahr Clyntahn, scanned reports from conquered territories. He scribbled orders for his Inquisitors: "Let fire and blood of heretics purify the land." His power was growing.

Stywyrt Showail sat in his office, peering into the papers his accountant brought. Out of all changes the new mathematics brought forward, he found the ease of keeping track of costs and profits the most useful.
"Cut labor costs by about 20%, to achieve competitive prices," he mumbled to himself. "Fire anyone above fifty five, find more children..."
The next five-day, Charis has seen its first workers' strike.
Ehdwyrd Howsmyn bared his teeth in a mirthless smile, watching the SNARCs' takes. His 'outrageously generous' social care for his workers has come to fruition - his were the only factories still running.