evancelt

That's a good-looking crew!

You can read about the build process for this MOC here: https://www.brothers-brick.com/2025/11/04/living-the-highland-life-creating-a-scottish-castle-in-lego-feature/

I vote for the following: @Ayrlego - great composition and framing @The Sarge - fabulous techniques throughout @Professor Thaum - excellent color selections @Dutch Thriceman - great compact build and i especially love the roundy bits for texture in the walls @Ross Fisher - that roof! And great bonneted figures ------- Honorable mentions: @Khorne - great weathering on the walls! @TribunM - absolutely love that staircase railing

Posting on behalf of @Ayrlego

Nice little tent and great personality in the figures and poses!

Nice job! That little diamond window is fun The leaves on the ground do a good job at creating a natural looking base

Nice job @LegacyBuilder! I really like the dormer window you added on the roofline, and the vegetation surrounding the wall of the compound. Excited to see where Mortimer's story takes him A fun tool you can try out for free is remove.bg - it can remove the background on your image so you can drop the subject on a solid color background. I've found removing the background helps people focus on the meat of the image a bit more. Nice entry for the challenge!

Glad to have you in the game, @Bricksbypidy! Lovely Taemric figures and nice job shoving so much vegetation into the build

Looking good, @Khorne! I always love your lighting effects on candles and lamps - so cool! Nice touch with the map, that's great!

Not sure their origin story, but there appears to be a misprint variant of the helmet available on BrickLink and eBay that’s missing the spade design - worked well here to separate the officer from the tankers. The spears are from an AliExpress Roman soldier 👍

In the heart of the kingdom of Kingdom of Corrington stands the formidable unit known as the King’s Own Guard. Clad in red-and-white quartered tunics—Corrington’s colours—and arrayed in disciplined ranks, they carry long spears whose polished points gleam under the northern skies. Each member wears a striking metal helmet, tall and proud, its silhouette crowned by a stylised whale-tail crest ringed with fur: a bold symbol meant to evoke both the kingdom’s mastery of sea and land and the Guard’s role as the “tail that sweeps away” any threat to the throne. Their presence at the royal court and on distant marches is unmistakable, a living banner of loyalty and martial precision. Within their ranks the officers wear a further distinction: the roaring head of a lion emblazoned upon their tunics, marking them as leaders of this elite corps. These officers not only command tactics in the field but serve as the direct eyes and ears of the crown, entrusted with secrets and loyal only to the king. The King’s Own Guard is more than a fighting unit—it is the personal bulwark of the monarch, sworn in sacred oath to defend both his person and the honour of Corrington. Amidst nobles whispering revolt and the realm reeling from defeat, the Guard remains unwavering, the last line of red-and-white defiance beneath the crown.

Correct, he's being waved at by his sister in the main MOC, but you are seeing it from his view. You can view his intro thread here: His mustache is much tamer than his kinfolk's - he had to look presentable for Corrington nobles

Thanks and this is the photo with most of the named characters left is sister Moira, center is father Ewan, right is brother Callum (has a stash!)

Thanks! Yes, I intentionally left the dark bley out of the rest of the build so people would wonder why it wasn't there :D The answer is that the tower is a more recent addition to the castle, with different craftsmanship

Thanks! I UV-printed some white lines onto LEGO 4x3 trans-clear panels to make the smaller panes

The wind from the Taemric Marshes carried the scent of peat smoke and damp earth as Duncan Brickleton rode toward his father’s hall. Before him, rising from the mist and half-reflected in the black waters of the bog, stood Castle Brickleton—a sturdy, rectangular keep of grey stone with a single tower jutting from its northeastern corner. The red flag of the clan fluttered from that tower, marked by a white diagonal slash that seemed to cut through the very fog itself. To Duncan, that flag was as much a warning as it was a welcome. He had been gone too long, and the marsh remembers those who linger away from its grasp. As his horse’s hooves squelched through the muddy causeway, Duncan looked up to the rooftop deck where an archer kept watch, bow drawn in half-readiness. The guard recognized him after a moment’s squint, lowering the weapon and striking his chest in salute. A horn call echoed from within the walls, deep and resonant, signaling his return. The great tree by the outer yard shuddered in the breeze, sending a slow cascade of autumn leaves drifting across the stones—burnt orange and deep brown against the cold grey of the keep. It was a fitting homecoming: beauty and melancholy intertwined. When Duncan dismounted in the courtyard, the gates creaked shut behind him. He was met by familiar faces, some smiling, others wary, for word of his time in the south had preceded him. His father’s steward, old Fergus, greeted him first—bent but still proud in his clan tartan. “The chief awaits ye in the hall,” Fergus said, voice gravelled by age. Duncan handed over the reins, feeling the weight of the castle’s silence pressing around him. Each stone seemed to whisper of expectations unmet, of a legacy waiting to be claimed. The hall beyond the great oaken doors flickered with firelight, and from within came the faint rhythm of a hammer striking iron—his father’s forge still active even as night fell. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and warmth. Chief Ewan Brickleton stood by the hearth, his great shoulders stooped but unbroken. The old man turned as Duncan entered, his eyes sharp beneath grey brows. For a heartbeat, neither spoke. Then the chief’s voice rumbled low. “So, the Keeper of the Marsh Gate returns,” he said. “Have ye found wisdom among the Corrish, or just their manners?” Duncan smiled faintly, bowing his head before the man who had shaped his every measure of pride. “Both, father,” he answered. “But neither worth more than what’s here.” The chief grunted—a sound somewhere between approval and warning—and motioned for him to sit. That night, the wind clawed at the shutters, and the peat fire glowed red as the clan’s flag above the tower. Father and son spoke long of loyalty, of border raids, and of the uncertain future for all the Taemric clans. Duncan listened, but his gaze often strayed to the window, where the last leaves clung stubbornly to the great tree outside. He knew the world beyond the marshes was changing, and soon, the old ways would be tested. Yet here, in the heart of his bloodline’s home, beneath the red and white banner of Clan Brickleton, he felt the stir of something fierce and resolute. The marsh might be quiet, but Duncan sensed it waiting—ready to rise again with him. Duncan’s sister, Moira Brickleton, met him first in the courtyard before he even reached the hall. Her hair, a fiery red like the autumn leaves falling from the great tree, caught the light of the torches as she rushed forward to embrace him. Though the marsh wind bit cold, Moira’s warmth never dimmed; she had always been his ally amid the clan’s stern faces and heavier expectations. She spoke quickly and with laughter, teasing him about the southern manners he had supposedly learned, yet there was a tremor beneath her mirth—a recognition of the burden her brother carried. In her eyes, Duncan saw the reflection of home, of what he was fighting to protect. Moira had her father’s stubbornness but her mother’s gentleness, and though she had no claim to leadership, she wielded quiet influence among the clan’s folk, binding them together when pride or grief might pull them apart. His brother, Callum, was another story. Broad-shouldered and quick to temper, Callum had remained behind during Duncan’s years away, serving as the chief’s right hand. Though loyal in deed, envy had begun to fester in him like damp in stone. He had watched the clan whisper of Duncan—the favored son, the Keeper of the Marsh Gate—and though Callum bore the same blood, he felt himself ever cast in shadow. When Duncan returned, Callum greeted him with a warrior’s clasp but not a brother’s smile. His words were clipped, his gaze wary. Beneath the surface, an old rivalry stirred, one their father had done little to mend. Chief Ewan Brickleton saw both sons through the lens of duty rather than affection. To him, the clan’s survival mattered more than any single heart within it. Duncan was the heir—clever, adaptable, a man who could speak both to the marshfolk and to Corrington’s lords. Callum was his hammer—loyal, fierce, but too bound to old grudges. Moira, though he seldom said it aloud, was the soul of the family, the thread that kept them from tearing apart. Yet even she could not always soften her father’s stern will. Around the hearth, when the chief spoke of legacy and loyalty, each sibling felt the weight of his gaze differently: Duncan as a test, Callum as a reprimand, and Moira as the quiet hope that one day, their father’s pride might finally give way to peace. It's said the soil surrounding Castle Brickleton promotes strong facial hair growth. BTS:

A Comparison of different LEGO Flintlock Muskets and Pistols I didn't include the AliExpress Napoleonic muskets because I didn't have one on-hand, but they are generally skinnier and longer than the others

Agreed, the turquoise accents really stand out! Nice camel :)

Thanks! Her torso is the reverse side of the CMF Rococo fig, on top of Bo peeps bottom 👍

King Edmund III, called “the Weak,” rules over a realm in decline. His authority has been shaken by the defeat in the Long War, which left nobles openly questioning his rule and the border Marches drifting toward rebellion. Though he clings to the trappings of power and presides over an otherwise centralized semi-feudal monarchy, his reign is marked by indecision and deference to court factions. By tradition he remains the head of the realm, and his presence carries symbolic weight, but in practice much of the day-to-day governance and defense is increasingly contested by ambitious nobles and fractious border lords. Beside him stands Queen Beatrice, whose steadiness and quiet gravitas provide a counterbalance to Edmund’s hesitancy. While she does not rule with absolute power, she is well respected among courtiers and serves as a moderating influence at court, smoothing disputes and protecting her daughter’s interests behind the scenes. Their only child, Princess Eleanor, is a contemplative and studious young woman. She has long been drawn to the libraries of Belson and Archeon College, showing more affinity for books, philosophy, and quiet scholarship than for the rituals of statecraft or battlefield command. Her learned temperament and intellectual bent give her a certain esteem among the university circles and courtly scholars, though some question whether she possesses the boldness needed in troubled times. Completing the immediate dynasty is Edmund’s nephew, Prince James, and his wife, Princess Genevieve. James is a veteran of the Long War and has gained a reputation for martial competence and decisive leadership—qualities that contrast sharply with his uncle. Many nobles dissatisfied with Edmund’s weakness see James as a more effective potential ruler. Princess Genevieve is his gracious consort, a stabilizing partner whose diplomatic sensibilities and gentle charisma complement James’s vigor in arms. Together, they are sometimes seen as a rival court center, quietly cultivating support among the discontented and offering an alternative vision of strength and renewal for the kingdom.

Actually the barding is from AliExpress - I think that is where PickleBricks sourced them from as well

Duncan Brickleton, heir of Clan Brickleton of the Taemric Marshes, was born under grey skies and the long shadows of peat bogs. His childhood was shaped by the clang of smithing and the restless wind that sweeps over cattails. From his earliest days, he learned what it meant to bear responsibility—his father, Chief Ewan Brickleton, named him “Keeper of the Marsh Gate,” a title that meant more than just ceremonial pride. Duncan’s lean frame belies strength forged in boggy marches: he is deft in navigating treacherous paths, sharp of tongue when insulted, and ever-watchful for threats—be they wolves in the hills, rival clans’ raiders, or the encroachment of Corrington nobles who would see the Marches tamed. In the tradition of Taemric clans, loyalty is everything to Duncan. He is bound to kin by blood, bound to honour by oath, and bound to the land by birthright. He has spent long winters huddled around peat fires, listening to the elders’ stories—tales of past chiefs who defended the marshes, who held fast against Corrington’s taxes and demands. Duncan speaks the old Taemric tongue with his laughter, yet he also has learned the courtly speech of Belson when needs must—pragmatic, not prideful. He wields a claymore at his side, carved to bear the Brickleton stag sigil, and he practices archery across the rising mists until his arms ache. Now, with Corrington reeling from defeat after the Long War and the authority of King Edmund III weakened, Duncan stands at a threshold. He watches the March-Lords gathering in secret, sees disquiet among the folk at the edges of swamp and hill. Though young, he feels the pull of destiny: is he to remain simply the son of a chief, protector of his own, or step into a larger role, perhaps for all Taemric? There is fire in his heart—and a steel in his will. Whether he moves with diplomacy or blade, Duncan Brickleton knows that the old ways will not bend without leave.

Units of the Kingdom of Corrington King's Own Guard (via @evancelt)