Sequence III: Perdition - To the Tune of Thunder.

[Kylerryth]

WARNING! This is a Sequence Complete: Kylerryth thread. There may be any and all of the following involved: physical, mental/psychological, emotional, and/or landscape/widespread violence; mutilation; threats; nightmares; sundry illnesses; and general strangeness.

* * * * *

"I don't like it," said a man.

"Nor I," said another.

A third remained silent; too, a fourth.

The fifth, seated at the head of the table, openly surveyed his fellows.

Then, in a rough voice accustomed to shouting, not speaking at the volume of secrets and conspiracy, the fifth said: "You think I do? We have to do what's best for our families -- best for the town as a whole."

* * * * *

The Red Eye flickered.

* * * * *

"Of course," said the first man. The others made noises of agreement.

"So," continued the fifth, "why are we still discussing it?"

* * * * *

A keen observer of the sword might have noticed, but with the recent infestation of Myrken's food and water supplies there was little chance of that.

* * * * *

"Because you're talking about conspiracy," said the first. He seemed to have taken the role of the voice of reason -- or, as the fifth saw it, the voice of compliance with the norm, of fear of change and doubt for the unknown. "Rebellion. Treason. You name it, it all adds up to the same thing -- us against them. Or, better yet, us against their trained and battle-hardened guards." The other three nodded grimly.

"Would facing death in the defense of our good names and our families, our town, be so truly bad?" the fifth asked softly.

The other men were moved; the fifth saw it in their eyes.

* * * * *

The Red Eye focused; it attuned itself to the minds it had detected. It felt out their desires and motives, listened to the babbling brooks of their thoughts as each and every one was translated into words or actions, or mutated into a new nexus of thought that, in turn, spawned new thoughts that occasionally overlapped the old. It saw through their eyes and beheld five weary and weathered faces; it saw the effects of the ruling body's decisions written in their flesh like a testament to the corruptive nature of power and government. The only factor that need be added to complete the concoction, a blend of domination and genocide sprinkled liberally with the enslavement of beauty, was religion. Perhaps that addition was not so far off, and the elixir capable of curing all ills by curing the world of the disease known as life would be ready for the masses to imbibe.

Tveitan listened, and slowly, softly, began to sing.

* * * * *

"I don't like it," repeated the first man. "I don't like it, but damn it, I can't argue with you. We've said too much already; who knows what one of us might say in his sleep, and who might overhear? These days, I wouldn't be surprised if the Council had its spies in every house. Hells, they might even be employing the filthy drow -- like the tailor." He spat on the floor. "That, to that."

The others nodded.

"Exactly what," the first went on, "do you want us to do?"

There was a moment of silence. Every man's attention seemed momentarily diverted, as if they had collectively heard something, and a razor's-edge of tension sliced through the room; the wound became infected, transforming into the ugly, swollen discoloration of suspicion.

"Did you hear that?" the fifth man inquired.

There was no reply. For some reason, he hadn't expected one.

* * * * *

Tveitan's song altered in pitch and frequency; its volume reduced to an almost subliminal level. The Red Eye flickered again, narrowing to a point. To the naked eye it would seem the pommel of the sword had once more become a dull sphere, save for a malevolent blood-red dot in the southern hemisphere of the pommel.

Truly, if it had not seemed an evil and eldritch thing before, the way the sword now seemed to be looking at the town would convince even the most skeptical person.

* * * * *

"It was nothing," the first man grumbled finally. Everyone settled in their seats; a heavy sigh was shared by the five men.

"We'll begin by seeking the aid of Ariel O'Cynen," the fifth man said.

There was another silence. Then, from two men at once: "Is that wise?"

"Well, why not?" The fifth man smiled crookedly. "Joseph, her father, had his own ideas for Myrken Wood. Maybe he passed them on to his daughter."

The other men weren't farmers. It took a moment to sink in, but when it did...

"A farmers' rebellion?" asked the first man.

"Of a sort," answered the fifth. "I'll explain it to you on the way -- it's a bit complicated." They nodded.

"Gather your men," the fifth ordered. The other four men rose.

"The militia will act with or without the farmers' aid."

* * * * *

Tveitan muted his singing. It had been a subtle touch, but it had influenced their decisions just enough.

AFTER ALL, Tveitan mused internally as the dot shimmered and then spread like oil through water, turning the pommel a deep carmine; it remained strangely lightless, however.

The sky had darkened. Thunder boomed like the laughter of a drunk god.

IT TAKES BUT ONE EMBER TO SPARK THE INFERNO.

[Rattrap]

"...you can't do that. That doesn't help anything!"

"The Council doesn't help anything, Ariel! How often has that fat$%^& Giscard simply locked himself up in his estate when the #$%^ came? How many times did Altias just disappear? Hell, you have your own suspicions for Suede's innocence. Isn't he the one that dug up your father?" Aisea Cook was not, as his last name would suggest, a cook; he was a farmer, and an angry one. At the table were four men - not farmers, but angry nonetheless. And Ariel O'Cynen.

"I understand that, Aisea. And yes, I share your concerns. But right now, this is not what we need. Not while the Drow are at large. Or the plague."

"There's always something, Ariel. Always. Drow. Baie. Flux. The angry gods themselves. Drow be damned! The Council's only acting because they threatened the Councilors specifically. Hell, let the Drow have 'em."

"...and then what? Let the Drow take over Myrken Wood? Live in a dark slavery, until they decide to butcher you for fun?"

"Hell no! We'll &^%$ing kill 'em! What are the Drow going to do? Kill us all? Rule an empty plot of land surrounded by hostile territories? No. The Drow screwed themselves out of stupidity before they started. They'll be torn apart, if not by my hand, than another just like mine."

"So you'd go fight Councilor al'Nerun's men, and the Drow? What do you hope to accomplish with that, Aisea?"

"Don't get me started on Kerrak al'Nerun. He's not any cleaner than the rest, Ariel. Think about it: the Order of Straka puts pressure on Suede Roschen, which...I mean, c'mon. He's a tailor. Getting on the Council? Nothing but crooked. Suddenly, the Order of Straka gets cut. Captain Daniels 'leaves' - doubtlessly pressured to do so - and Kerrak al'Nerun of Thessaline steps in, taking over the guard. Not only that, but he introduces a number of his own men, and still maintains a Council position. &^%$ the Drow, he's a much greater threat in the scheme of takeovers. If we're lucky, that Duke Burel isn't backing him. If we're less lucky, maybe we can get New Dauntless or Derry to step in if he is. Maybe...either way, I'd feel better with the Drow than with him."

"How can you say that? The Drow butcher people for sport! They hang up corpses just because they can!"

"The Drow are terrible, Ariel. I won't debate you there. But they can't win. Kerrak can."

"We want Kerrak to win!"

"...yeah, maybe. Listen, I respect you and your position, Ariel. So we'll stay quiet, for now - as long as they keep their promise of holding an election as soon as the Drow are out of the way. I don't care if the Bloody Flux is around or not."

"I heard it from Kerrak's own mouth, Aisea. I also have personal assurances from Councilor Helstone."

"Well, I hope they keep to their word. Are we done, then? Don't get me wrong. We all want what's best for Myrken Wood. But it's obvious we have different ideas on how to get there."

"I'm want to prevent any unnecessary bloodshed. There's perfectly legal and nonviolent means to get your demands. Our demands...in any case, thank you for your understanding, Aisea. I hope we can meet in a better environment soon. Stay safe." Ariel stood, standing side from her chair and sliding it under the table.

"Goodbye, Ariel." Aisea stood to see miss O'Cynen, and there was a short-lived murmor of good-byes and farewells from the other men seated at the table, who were otherwise fairly silent for the meeting. The trip to the front door was short lived, with one more set of farewells exchanged before Aisea Cook closed the door and turned back to his four.

"What are we going to do?" asked one of the seated men.

"We're going to hit 'em hard, is what we're going to do! ...as much as I hate lying to the girl, even Joseph's daughter can be a little naive. The Council isn't going to follow through with their word. There's no reason to! They control the guard, now, even." Aisea spoke as he returned to the table, reseating himself among the other four men.

"How are we going to stand up against Kerrak's men?" asked the man to Aisea's right.

"...with a surprise. I've recently come in contact with an ex-Straka guard who's just as angry as we are. He says he can supply us with weapons and plans for attack with his knowledge of the inner-workings of the place. All we need is a handful of willing, and we can knock 'em off from a distance and disappear. We'll hit them after the Drow are defeated - in their moment of trial. Then we can start anew, elect a new Council, and go about our way."

The fifth man breathed in deep, tapping the table while he thought of a response. It came without much delay: "There's certainly enough men in the militia who are angry at the Council who would likely come along...if we can convince them this isn't just a suicide run. None of us can match the training of Kerrak's boys."

Aisea shook his head. "No, I realize that. That's why we've got to hit them hard and fast. Surprise them. The Council is expecting the Militia to work for them, not against them. Let's keep it this way."

The fifth man nodded. "All right. As soon as this ex-guard contact of yours produces some results, I'll start spreading the word...I'll make sure there's a lid kept on it. There's probably already rumors of rebellions anyway, so we should go unnoticed."

"Ah, my friend, he already has." Aisea smiled and stood, gesturing for his companions to follow him. There was a mix of curious expressions, but all four men rose from their seats and followed Aisea out of the room.

In their wake, a shadow shifted in the shadows of the opposite doorway - features, human features shifted to a smile on smooth, bronze-colored flesh. The sixth man exited.

[Rattrap]

Beyond the confusing twists and turns of Myrken Wood's Judiciary Council - outside of that, looking in, is anger. Anger and blame and fault. Much if it is improperly placed on the shoulders of the four men taking up the council seats, but some is not. Some is very appropriately on their heads. It's this anger - fueled in part to outside influences - that Aisea and his close conspirators had been hard at work these past weeks.

Building a catapult.

They had mixed feelings about some of the events that happened during its construction - Kerrak al'Nerun's stepping down, the ship from Thessaline coming in to bring aid. The men might have even had a good word to say about these events, might have even seen some hope - but there was a snake among them. Not even in hiding.

Masaccio watched and instructed. All the while, he kept the rage fueled. And when the siege weapon was finished - far under the eye of the Brotherhood and hidden from those who might blow the whistle - he gave them hope of saving their fair Myrken Wood. Smash the corrupt Council that exists now and start with a clean slate - that was their only hope.

And the men ate it up.

Then Masaccio disappeared. And so did the catapult.