A Gaping Hole in the Government

A Gaping Hole in the Government

Postby Reinstadler » Sun Jun 29, 2008 9:04 am

On most recent days, the atmosphere in downtown Myrkentown has been relatively pleasant for this time of year. This is a very large difference from last year at this time. This is, perhaps, not because of any great progress in government. This is not because the people feel safe and secure. One could guess that it is merely because the weather has been mild.

Everyday that it becomes too hot, the whispers begin anew. The people of Myrken Wood do not forget easily the pain of years past, certainly not the pain of last year past.

It was on this particular scalding day that the pamphlets appeared in throughout the streets of town.

Good People of Myrken Wood,

What does your Governor care for your safety? What does your Governor care for your crops? What has your Governor done about Rondeau Spier? Your Governor made him Councilor for Agriculture. Your Governor forced Vanidor Goldenhair, a man who dared oppose him, out of a position he had done well. Where, then, is Rondeau Spier? Why has there been no replacement? Your Governor has failed you on this matter. Is it because your Governor is inept or because he is tyrannical? Is it because your Governor did not want to chance placing another person into power who might disagree with him? Aldred disagreed with him and was driven out. Vanidor disagreed with him, but your Governor could not eliminate him completely. Good Councilor Spier did not have that same sort of protection. Who is to say that the very reason your Governor has not looked in to Spier's disappearance is that he himself has caused it! Believe us, good people of Myrken, it would not be the first time. Be steadfast. More shall be revealed soon.


It was signed with a simple CCM.
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Postby Treadwell » Mon Jun 30, 2008 3:38 am

Beady black eyes squint and scrutinize, studying one of the posters mere feet from the door of their owner's toy shop in the middle of the market, next to the Deck--a much better place for the issuing of proper proclamations, as it's quite likely that a number of poor folks in Myrken, well, simply can't read well enough to make out everything in these notes. But, the Councilor for Revenue and Finance reasons, that doesn't mean they should be left hanging up like this. A frown slips across fleshy lips, being visible for all of a moment amid that floofy white cloud of a beard before Councilor Treadwell, today wearing a brown vest, trousers, and top hat with a lemony yellow shirt, turns to the nearest of lads beside, playing at a hastily scratched Nine Man's Morris board with his friends.

"Rubbish, hoggish, and madness! Whoever put these up here has quite likely no right to be a-stirring up good people! You there, lads, mmph mmph! Two shillings to the four of you *alone* for each of these things ripped off the walls and brought back to me by supper! Now, go!"

With that, the fat fellow plants his cane into the dirt, sweeps out his right arm, and shows the children the way to go with a snatch and a tug at parchment before he wobbles back inside his toy store.
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Postby Cinnabar » Wed Jul 02, 2008 11:36 am

It's perhaps to be expected that one of these vitriolic pamphlets should cross the Governor's desk soon after their being posted around town; Calomel most assuredly has people tasked with paying attention to such things, and bringing them to his notice.

So it is that the somewhat crumpled paper is smoothed out and perused thoughtfully, taking in the words printed thereon. Little regard for the opening lines, as those points are easily answered. The Militia and New Myrken Army stand as evidence enough of his concern for the people's safety, and the Myrkentown Wall as well; meanwhile the return of abandoned Pritchite farmsteads to active use addresses the issue of crops and so forth.

As the pamphlet's author continues, however, a faint frown creases the Governors' brow; a pause to reach for his tea cup before he continues reading, and the tract's tone becomes yet more inflammatory, yet more riddled with rampant speculation, unfounded assumptions and caustic conjecture. A snort of irritation when he reaches the near-frothing conclusion, and the pamphlet is set down on his desk as he considers for a time.

--~--


Within a day or two, fresh posters are to be found displayed prominently around town; altogether more businesslike in tone, with none of the hysterical ranting that had typefied other recently-distributed announcements.

Image



[OOC: This'll be happening here on the forums rather than in-channel, so please stay tuned for further updates. IC the number of members of the public allowed to the meeting will be limited in the interest of keeping things manageable, but your characters are welcome to be among those who happened to be near the front of the line.]
Omnia mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis.
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Postby channe » Wed Jul 02, 2008 7:43 pm

The militia Captain stumbles by one of these signs, and after taking a while to sound it out -- no, she's still not a perfect reader -- she frowns.

"Don't they always dissappear?" she asks herself. "I mean, Bromn did it for stretches, and Roschen, too; pfaugh, it's not like Spier is doing something new." Nor had Spier's family registered any complaint with the Constabulary.

Still, though. It gives her pause.
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Postby Treadwell » Wed Jul 02, 2008 9:49 pm

"Mmph!" from the old politician, priest, and toymaker standing by the front door of his toy shop with a leg of mutton in hand. As teeth work at a hunk of that tasty meat, Treadwell wonders aloud. "Didn't I pay those lads to take down all--oh! It's a new one. . . ." So, standing there in his green, long-sleeved shirt, matching trousers, and great, broad, leather belt that covers much of his stomach and jingles-jangles with all manner of toymaking tools, Aloisius Treadwell squints beady eyes through mostly useless (yet thick!) eyeglasses, reading a poster near his door. Similarly hmphed grunts work their ways forth between bites while Tready takes everything in, settling on one word at the bottom of the document.

"Refreshments."

Maybe Aloisius Horatio Treadwell will drop by to listen to his latest governor speak, after all!
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Postby Reinstadler » Thu Jul 03, 2008 3:27 am

Cinnabar Calomel was perhaps clever in making his public forum so soon after his message was posted. It made replying to it in any other way very hard.

That was, unless there was a message already ready. A second assault, if you will. It was much larger than the last, to say the least. Before it was to get people's attention. Now it was to use it for something.

Good People of Myrken,

Has anyone thought recently of the late Jan Baker? Your Governor does not want you to. Has anyone wondered why his death was never resolved? Has anyone visited the Baker farm, now the Calomel farm? Has anyone seen the way things are run there? Does anyone know why your staunch Militia captain, Agniezska Kaczmarek, had been hounded by Constables in the days prior to her being named to her position? Do any of you imagine how all of these things connect? We have examined both our souls and the facts to come to rather horrifying conclusion, to which we now share with you:

FACT: Cinnabar Calomel needed to be a landowner of some regard in order to succesfully stage his coup.
FACT: Cinnabar Calomel purchased the Baker Farm from the Government shortly before the coup.
FACT: Jan Baker was murdered in his home and the Constabulary has never successfully resolved the case.
FACT: The Calomel farm is run differently than almost any other farm in Myrken.
FACT: Shortly after taking power, Cinnabar Calomel named Agnieszka Kaczmarek Captain of the Militia.

These facts, taken on their own, mean little. Put together, they spell out a message of conspiracy, murder, and blackmail that endangers us all!

Whatever conclusions may come from this, we beg of you, good people, not to blame the Captain too harshly for her role. When one's family's fate is held over one's head, what else can one do but go along with even the darkest machinations?

Calomel needed land of some regard to give his coup legitimacy. He was in a position to know that Baker had no heirs. He knew of a grudge. He knew how to use it as a wedge through Farmer Baker's heart. With the deed done, the land was merely a means to an end. What did it cost him to let the Kaczmareks have their share in it, as a reward, perhaps? So little. What might it gain him? So much.

Calomel already has control over the army, control over the Constabulary. By placing Agnieszka Kaczmarek as Captain of the militia, he gained complete leverage over the militia as well. With her family at stake, what else can she do? He could implicate her at any point, no matter whose decision it was for Baker to die. Whose word would be listened to? A peasant girl or the governor?

Be brave, good people of Myrken. Demand your answers, but be careful as well. What is a man who controls the army, the militia, the constabulary, if not simply a tyrant by another name!


The pamphlets were, once again, not printed in Myrken. This time, however, if people were bribed, bullied, and beaten enough, if lines that are not usually crossed by the Myrken authorities would be crossed, this time, one might find that a good deal of money went into getting them from the direction of Heath, the direct opposite direction of the posters of a month ago.

Of course, if that sort of pressure was used, it might give more and more credence to the message itself. It was the sort of pressure best used by a tyranny.

That was for the days to follow, however. What was important now was that the pamphlets were throughout Myrken. They were not easy to read so their message would spread through conversation in a clumsy way, some people amplifying it and some people dismissing it.

It could not be proven, of course. In fact, it could not even be known by the author, most likely. It was just a reasonable story from facts easily come across, and in the end, all that mattered is that it MIGHT have happened... and it might.
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Postby channe » Thu Jul 03, 2008 5:31 am

The aforementioned Captain is working on defense plans for the farms by the Gilroy Pass -- quite easy, honestly, as there were quite a few ways the armed forces of Myrken Wood could hold the area against Derry's armies, as long as they were not equipped with the Thessilanean transporters -- when one of her girls runs in and wordlessly puts the message on her desk.

It takes Agnieszka a while to get through it, and she has to wander down to find someone who can read, as certain words -- 'machinations,' 'leverage,' 'implicate' -- escape her ability. But when she does, her eyes are wide, her hand is trembling, she's saying "No, no, that's not the way it was at all --" and she's strapping on her rapier as fast as she can, bound for the Governor's office.

"F*ck this," she hollers at the hapless messenger.

She'll dismiss secretaries, push aside guards, until she's in Calomel's office. Is he there? She'll push the letter towards him.

"They're after you," she says. "Like they were after Helstone." Nothing more.

If he's not there, she'll write it in her large, shaky hand on the top of the paper. Sign it with A.K. They're after you. Like Helstone.

Agnieszka Kaczmarek was no fan of Governor Helstone. But she knows that this kind of nonsense doesn't come from the grassroots. Not in Myrken Wood, a land of people staunchly devoted to their homes and absolutely cynical about life at the same time. The wave has to be stirred into being. Bromn and Roschen did it. Others have done it. More than once.
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Postby Suede » Thu Jul 03, 2008 10:41 am

Many people could not manage to read such weighty words with the ease of the well-bred upper-class. Oh, but how they wanted to know, and thus they sought someone to speak for them, to read aloud of this grand conspiracy that was only rumors and whispers of snippets each person had managed to make out and pass along.

Thus, as the sun began to creep over the horizon there stood a man, his dark beard peppered with grey and cane supporting him. He'd been provided several barrels to perch high upon for his crowd of several score, and it was here he stood, one of the many pamphlets in hand. It was here he translated some larger words to things the simpler folk could understand.

And it was here he grinned ever so faintly, as he aided whomever wrote this drabble for no foreseeable reason but that he was a man who wished to help the common folk.
"So, Lone Starr, now you see that evil will always triumph, because good is dumb."
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Postby Cinnabar » Thu Jul 03, 2008 11:58 am

Agnieszka has a certain amount of leeway when it comes to gaining access to the Governor's office; as de facto Councillor for Defence following Sir Malaroth's vitriolic resignation, it's expected that he be available to meet with the Captain of the Militia when necessary. So there's not too much resistance to her progress, barring a few disapproving frowns at such youthful impatience, perhaps some quiet grumbling from the more procedure-favouring clerks and functionaries.

Calomel rises from behind his desk as she bowls into his office, waving her towards a chair as he resumes his own seat and peruses the pamphlet that's been brought to his desk. The Captain might notice its twin already upon his desk, which would explain why the Governor only gives this one a cursory inspection before he settles back into his chair and looks up to her with a mild gaze.

"It's good that they've opted to paint you as the unfortunate victim of my wicked schemes, at least." A wry grin at that, another glance for the pamphlet before grey eyes return to the Captain.

"Clearly someone has an agenda. This is not the sort of thing that one embarks upon without a goal in mind, hm? If they seek to discredit or disgrace me then it's reasonable to assume it's so that I might be replaced with their preferred candidate. If one seeks to overthrow a Governor, one does not leave his successor to chance." Fingers lace neatly together atop the paper, his demeanour maddeningly calm and composed. There is a hint of steel in his gaze, however, a spark of determination when next he speaks.

"So we watch to see who steps up as an alternative to the tyrant."

--~--


Gatherings and crowds are something that the officers of the Constabulary tend to keep a close eye on, for obvious reasons. Enough of the more experience Constables remembered Haberdasher's Row and the scenes that had led up to it, and so it is that as the gentleman on his makeshift platform of barrels addresses the crowd, grey-uniformed officers approach the periphery, voices raised to carry above that of the pamphlet-reader.

"Move along please, ladies and gentlemen! Move along, no blocking the road. Come on, you've all got places to go to, no need to be causing an obstruction. Move along..." Polite enough, but firm in their insistence that the crowd disperse. A couple of officers make their way to the barrel-stage to address the agitator directly, the older man speaking while his younger colleague kept a wary eye on the crowd.

"Step down please, sir, before there's a disturbance."
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Postby Suede » Thu Jul 03, 2008 12:15 pm

"Alright, alright." He tosses his cane at one of the gentlemen and holds out his hand to the other. "Man can't even read to his fellows these days. Help me down, would you? I've got a bad hip and it took me near an hour to get up here."
"So, Lone Starr, now you see that evil will always triumph, because good is dumb."
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Postby Jirai » Thu Jul 03, 2008 1:16 pm

One of the posters was plucked from the wall by thin, dark skinned fingers.

She studied it for a moment before tucking it into her belt, smirking.

Opportunity.
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Postby Treadwell » Thu Jul 03, 2008 3:05 pm

"What madness! What dolts are wasting their time with this, and mine?" comes the grumbling from that tired, gruff, old politician, still wearing the same green outfit and toy belt from earlier. He rubs his by now aching back--wearing this tool belt all day is far less than lovely, but he had toys to make--and promptly rips the latest of the posters from beside his door, then waddling inside his shop to flick it into the glowing flames across the main room.
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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What must be a VERY welcome letter

Postby Reinstadler » Thu Jul 03, 2008 11:39 pm

Shortly thereafter, Cinnabar Calomel would receive a neat, ornate envelope addressed to him. Inside would contain an almost delicate piece of paper with flowing writing.

Governor Calomel,

I pray that you do not find me opportunistic for the timing of this missive, Calomel, but in writing this, I do truly have you and this quaint little hovel of yours in mind. You can imagine my surprise when during my morning constitution , I found the most peculiar literature, or a poor excuse thereof, strewn through the streets of town. You can only imagine what these allegations might mean for my reputation, let alone yours, if true, so I am choosing to have a modicum of faith, given what I know of you, for the sake of my peace of mind. You understand, I would hope.

With this in mind, might I remind you that you are still expected at Razasan. Such embarrassingly laggard behavior has been and remains to be unsightly and below a man of your position. Moreover, it continues to be a trip that would do much for you and your standing. Returning to Myrken with a firmer, unquestionable mandate and the gifts of Empire may be just what you need right now. Also, if you were not aware, perhaps through your encounters with the esteemed Savoy family, Razasan is a hub for experts of all sort, both religious and secular, many studying the theoretical field of demonology. I would not be surprised if you were to find just what is needed to combat the current threat and all it would cost you would be a few weeks travel and the good sense to put your pride aside and do your duty. No, the cost is not even so high because you should pride in doing your duty in the first place. Ah, but emotions get the better of me once again. You must forgive me in that as well.

I do hope to hear an affirmative response from you as soon as possible so that I might send word to begin preparations. I assure you yet again that it is absolutely in your best interests.

Graf Josef Reinstadler
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Postby Malaroth » Fri Jul 04, 2008 12:48 am

With eyes narrowed against the slanted sunlight that skewered its way between rooftops to strike amongst the crowds, Osric Storth skimmed over one of the many messages strewn across the town. Behind him a handful of squires lingered, leading pack horses and even a donkey, laden with supplies for the latest arrivals that had begun to replenish the ranks of the knighthood.

He glanced around carefully before plucking it free and secreting it securely within his pouch. A raised hand and a simple wave urged the squires to fall back into step behind him.

The Grand Master would find such news very interesting, to say the least.
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Postby Dhugal » Fri Jul 04, 2008 4:02 am

Copies of both the mysterious fliers and the Governor's announcement
had of course been brought to Fidelius by novices who'd spotted them
after a performances of the satires in town. The Abbot of St. Thecla's
frowned as he read the first two, then sent for a certain novice.

Matthias arrived in the library shortly after and walked over to wait
quietly by Fidelius's desk, head covered by his cowl and arms folded
across his chest. The Abbot looked up at his recalcitrant student. "Are
you responsible for these?" He tapped the anonymous fliers with a
forefinger. "You may speak your answer."

There was no immediate response as Matthias pushed his cowl off his
head to read, a small grin creeping across his face as he did. Then he
shook his head and looked up at Fidelius. "No, Father, these are not
my work. Although I wish they were."

Fidelius gave a resigned sigh. It had been months since he'd placed
Matthias under a Rule of Silence until he'd repented the curse he'd
uttered on the Governor and it was painfully obvious that the boy
was still unrepentant. If anything, Fidelius realized, it had probably
had the opposite effect by reinforcing Matthas' dislike of Cinnabar
Calomel. He shook his head, then stood. "Very well. We'd best go
now if we want to be there."

"Be where?"

"The meeting, of course. And, Matthias?

"Yes, Father?"

"You are released from your Silence. See that I do not regret it."
Do you know the wish of your heart?
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