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Sun Sep 30, 2007 3:44 pm

Fidelius had hoped the Governor had not expected negotiations
with the new Governor to be easy, but he had not expected the man
to make inaccurate statements about the monastery.
After spending a few hours in calming prayer, the Father Abbot
once more took up quill in hand and wrote his reply:

To Cinnabar Calomel:

Your Excellency has made several statements regarding the actions
of St. Thecla’s that I pray are due to lack of information on your
part rather than to willful ignorance.

During the past years when Myrken was racked with drought
and other phenomena that caused food shortages, it was St. Thecla’s
that distributed (with the aid of the Order of Straka) food and livestock
at Straka Headquarters. All were given free to any who wished.

We have also distributed seed for crops, again, given freely and
without any recompense.

All of the above, I might add, were donated to us by the former
owners of the land you have seized, after they’d left Myrken.

As for the state of the land, you might do well to look into the records
of events leading up to the Pritchite departure. John Bates’ fields
were burned not by himself but by ruffians from town. Several wells
on the Pritchite property were poisoned by parties unknown, also
before the Pritchites left the area. John Bates expressed his belief to
me that Suede Roschen was behind this. In his attempts to sir up
trouble between the town and the Pritchites(and only The Light can
know what reason Mister Roschen might have had for doing so) the
man even went to far as to attempt to prevent the Pritchites from
delivering supplies to the Remedium. During a confrontation on the
road to town, several crossbow bolts were fired at the Pritchite wagon,
s lightly wounding one man, and only the timely arrival of Sgt. Otis
of the Straka prevented further bloodshed.

The burning of their own fields as they left their farms was an act of
protest by the Pritchites against what they saw as Town Council
sanctioned persecution. Your actions, sir, I fear will undoubtedly
further fan that belief.

Finally as to greed, you may inform Councillor Treadwell that since
he has not retrieved the funds, I have decided that they will be used
to purchase more food and medicine for the folk of Myrken. Given the
shortage of food in town, I will of course purchase it elsewhere, so
that Councilor Treadwell will not be further troubled trying to
calculate how to tax the citizens of Myrken for these particular funds.

Also, I have sent missives to my Superiors and to the heads of other
Orders and Churches describing the seizure of Church property and
asking for their support in protesting this unjust action.

St. Thecla’s will protest against you and the Town Council peacefully
of course. Our preachers will set forth before the people our case.
While the gates of the monastery and its lands will remain open to the
common folks of Myrken, we hereby must inform you that the troops
or officials of Myrken Wood are no longer welcome at St. Thecla’s
and that those roads and byways that run across our lands that
were built and cleared by the brothers of the monastery are closed
to public use, including troops.


We will also take further peaceful but public ways of protest against
Councilor Treadwell. By the way, you might give a thought to taking
an inventory on the good Councilor’s own pantry and stores. Surely
in this time of food scarcity it seems more than miraculous that the
man’s girth remains as large as ever? It has not escaped our
notice and we shall use this opportunity to help Councilor Treadwell
deal with his gluttony.


I’ve dispatched a copy of our correspondence to John Bates and the
Pritchite Community who now dwell beyond the Wall. What action
they may take, I cannot say.

How news of this dissension within Myrken might be seen by those
who now threaten it’s borders, I cannot say either.

I had hoped this matter could have been solved in another fashion.

Yours in The Light,

Fidelius, Father Abbot of the Monastery of St. Thecla the Feckless.

Sun Sep 30, 2007 5:42 pm

The next day the young novice who’d brought
Brother Fidelius’ letter to the Governor spent
time with some of the children of Myrken Town
as he waited to see if there was a reply. He was
about the same age as they and he played
happily with them until he had to leave.

After his departure, a new jump rope rhyme was
noticed for the first time being chanted loudly
as the rope was swung for each jumper:

[I]“Aloysius Treadwell,
Makes sure he is fed well.

Anything that’s sweet and yummy
Ends up in his great big tummy!

How many pies did Aloysius
Eat and were they all delicious?â€

Tue Oct 02, 2007 4:30 pm

The game starts with two children sitting on whatever is handy:
a bench, barrel, or even an actual large stone. The others stand in
a ring around them, hands joined as they circle and sing:

“Calomel and Treadwell
Sittin’ on a stone.
GULP! CHEW! SWALLOW!
Now Treadwell’s all alone.""


The child playing Calomel gets up and joins the circling
ring and the song continues:

"Treadwell, Treadwell,
Can you tell
Whatever happened
To Lord Calomel?"


The child in the middle answers:

"I ATE him up!
I SWALLOWED him down!
And now I’ll eat
All of Myrken Town!"


At that, the circle breaks and the children scatter as
“Treadwellâ€

Wed Oct 03, 2007 7:38 pm

It had taken a few days for Fidelius to get word to John Bates, as the
Pritchites were still withdrawn from their farms into their “safeâ€

Thu Oct 04, 2007 1:25 am

Coincidentally, on the day the monks visit town a wandering player appears to be putting on a performance for the amusement and entertainment of the marketday crowds; the play is enacted by a single actor, who makes cunning use of a very versatile garment and a mask that seems to shift and change to suit the various roles. It would appear that this fellow is a regular sight on market days, and his performances draw quite sizeable crowds of people who come to see such ingenious use of costume, body-language and voice. Also, fart jokes.

--*--


A Storm for a Teacup
A Short Historical Comedy of Folly and Famine


DRAMATIS PERSONAE
BROTHER FRIVULUS - an Addled Man of Faith [whom the actor depicts as a drunkard, a lecher and a blithering fool, prone to all manner of ridiculous fancies; the garment is worn similar to a monk's cassock, only hitched up on one side to display his bare knee, the mask assuming a face of wall-eyed enthusiasm bordering on the demented, with the bright-red nose of a drunkard.]

GOODCUPS - a Stout Keeper of the Bar [whom the actor portrays as a diligent if somewhat sardonic bartender, calm and unflappable in the face of his patrons' foolishness; the garment is worn to resemble a publican's apron, the mask showing an expression of patient good-humour.]

MISS BRANDYWINE - a Young Tavern Wench [whom the actor portrays as a slightly overworked but generally pleasant barmaid, with a no-nonsense attitude and a broad streak of wilfulness; the garment is worn to resemble a barmaid's bodice, the mask showing a pretty and youthful face, though by no means naive.]

FARMER BILLY BARMER - a Credulous Yokel [whom the actor portrays as being more than slightly gullible, and readily swayed by spurious arguments; his garment is worn to resemble a peasant's smock, the mask assuming coarse and ruddy features with an expression of henpecked submission.]

FAIRLY BARMER - a Merciless Nag [whom the actor portrays as a relentless harridan and incorrigible gossip, who constantly browbeats her husband for his foolishness but is no less gullible for it; the garment is worn to resemble a goodwife's shawl and skirts, and the mask takes on the pinched and unpleasant features of a whip-tongued nag.]

FARMER FULLY FIRMER - A Doubtful Rustic [whom the actor portrays in an altogether more sympathetic light as a stolid and unflappable soul, generally serving to express doubt and common-sense in contrast to the ranting of FRIVULUS and the BARMERs; the garment is worn in a similar manner to BARMER's, though the features of the mask bear an expression of permanent scepticism.]

Divers other FARMERS, MERCHANTS, MONKS and TOWNSFOLK.

--*--


ACT I sees the introduction of the players as they mingle in a tavern, with assorted brief character sketches; BROTHER FRIVULUS is clearly deep in his cups and quite crass and obnoxious with it; FARMER BARMER and FARMER FIRMER are drinking and grumbling of the season's awful drought, while GOODCUPS serves all and sundry with a quiet yet incisive wit.

Mid-scene, FAIRLY BARMER makes an appearance, mercilessly henpecking her husband over such ridiculous matters as his failure to arrange proper rainfall in time for his crops, and if he'd planted back in winter when the rain was plentiful he'd surely have a bountiful harvest by now. FARMER BARMER suffers this with weary forbearance.

FAIRLY BARMER then notes BROTHER FRIVULUS at the bar, and spends some time buttering up (and at points quite blatantly flirting with) the man of the cloth, attention which is quite cheerfully returned. Choice lines include an inquiry if his prayers might not arrange some rain for the crops, to which he replies that he'll have a few more mugs of ale and then he'll make all the water she wants.

Draining his final cup (by which point he is clearly on the verge of falling over), BROTHER FRIVULUS praises GOODCUPS as a fine and pious soul to aid the monk in his holy works, and drunkenly declares him a saint before lurching out. FARMER BARMER and FAIRLY BARMER are thoroughly impressed by this, though FARMER FIRMER expresses some doubts over such a swift beatification; the BARMERs berate him, arguing that obviously BROTHER FRIVULUS is a man of the cloth and thus knows a saint when he sees one, and immediately begin petitioning the newly-minted saint GOODCUPS, initially for such things as rain, a good harvest and blight-free crops, swiftly moving onto respite from nagging, relief from noxious bedfarts "fit to wither a goodwife's nethers", a husband who's not lazy, a wife who's not a shrill old crone, and the matter soon escalates into a blazing row between FARMER BARMER and his wife in which all manner of exciting epithets and blistering insults are thrown.

Towards the end of this, clearly overwhelmed by the vehemence of the argument and trying in vain to calm the quarrelsome couple, GOODCUPS clutches his chest, slumps to the floor and expires with a short but poignant soliloquy on the importance of mutual affection and respect in marriage. This goes unnoticed for a time before the farmer tries to call in GOODCUPS' support in some argument, and notes his sudden and unfortunate collapse. FARMER FIRMER, a quiet observer throughout this, confirms that the man is dead, which is instantly taken as the saintly barkeep ascending to Heaven with much praising and delighting on the part of the BARMERs.

--*--


ACT II sees the BARMERs growing more and more vocal and ridiculous in their veneration of the beatified GOODCUP, with praise that jumps clear into heresy at points. At length, they construct a teetering and unsteady shrine upon the bar, with FAIRLY's "good cup" perched atop the lot. As they leave the tavern in the process of another quarrel the slamming of the tavern door causes the whole lot to collapse, and the cup to break. Enter MISS BRANDY, who delivers a short monologue about the continuing drought and how difficult things are without GOODCUPS to tend the bar now; she notes the awful mess caused by the collapsing shrine, and grumbles as she tidies the whole lot away, particularly noting a "plain and oft-chipped cup" that doesn't appear to have been cleaned for months, and throws it all out on the midden heap.

FAIRLY BARMER subsequently discovers the broken and discarded cup (while rooting through the tavern's midden-heap for cabbage-stalks from which to boil broth, being too mean to serve anything else to her husband), and her shrill reaction to seeing her offering so casually cast aside.

The next scene sees FAIRLY BARMER working the old wives' network, with much tutting and clucking and well-I-never-ing. Matters swiftly escalate, as it becomes apparent that the the followers of Saint Goodcup (calling themselves "Cuppers") have been stirred into a fine fit of pique. At first they decide not to sell their wares to the tavern, but when that doesn't work they decide to withhold sale of their goods from the whole town, with lines about them letting the folk of Myrken drink deep from the cup of their ire (while holding up a dainty teacup, pinky finger extended).

Finally, in response to mild grumblings and complaints and entreaties to "see reason" from various Townsfolk, the Cuppers whip themselves up into a state of almost hysterical indignation; the climax of this is a long and heartfelt speech by FARMER BARMER, which would be a piece of masterfully moving oratory were the audience not constantly being reminded throughout that the whole issue arose over the matter of a single cup, thus cleverly reinforcing the ridiculous and disproportionate outrage displayed by the Cuppers.

This culminates in the Cuppers pompously declaring that they will be rid of Myrken, setting their crops afire in an act of purest spite, donating their lands to the Cupper Monks with explicit instructions that the land be left untended in order that Myrken be made to pay for their most grievous insult with the lives of their children and loved ones, and flouncing off-stage in a show of petulance that would make a toddler's tantrum seem dignified and composed.

The final scene is something of an epilogue and provides a rather sombre contrast to the farcical hilarity of the rest of the play, with gaunt-cheeked Townsfolk bewailing the continuing food shortages and grieving for infants lost to hunger, and closes with the Abbot of the Cupper Monks speaking with a Novice and congratulating himself on what a fine crop of weeds the Cuppers' farms are growing this year, noting that times are so hard that all they need to do to purchase the citizenry's goodwill is distribute a few wormy windfall apples from the orchards.

With that the play is finished, and the actor passes round a hat.

Thu Oct 04, 2007 5:33 am

GREED
A FARCE IN ONE ACT

DRAMATIS PERSONAE:

GOVERNOR TAKEALL
COUNCILOR EATWELL
COUNCILOR FEAR
COUNCILORMELLOWBROTH
COUNCILOR GIVEMEMORE
VARIOUS CITIZENS

ACT 1
SCENE: THE MYRKEN MEETINGHOUSE
The Myrken Town Council is seated around the
Council Table (a large plank set upon two large
stones)


The Councilors are discussing the events at the
latest tea party when a citizen walks in to plead for the Council to
take action about the drought. He tells of crops dying in the
field. Each of the Councilors tell him to be gone, that they have
more important matters to discuss. COUNCILOR EATWELL’s
only line is: [I]“HMPH! HMPH!â€

Fri Oct 05, 2007 7:18 am

Fidelius was working with several of the other monks in the
herb garden as they prepared it for the onset of colder
weather when news reached him of the events going on at the
Orphanage.


The Father Abbot found himself conflicted. He’d had private
misgivings about the Orphanage and it’s Founder.


On the other hand, he could not but help to feel a certain bit of
pleasure that Governor Cinnabar’s latest action might be seen
by the citizens of Myrken Town as further proof of the injustice
of the seizure of property by “eminent domainâ€

Thu Oct 11, 2007 11:35 am

The Monks of St. Thecla the feckless do not preach rebellion or
treason.


Rather, as they go about distributing food or carry out conversations
with those farmers whose lands adjoin theirs, they comment on the
sad state of affairs of late in Myrken. An orphanage seized by the
foreigner governor. The Brotherhood of Janeiro disbanded and the
defense of the Wall protecting Myrken given over to outsiders from
Xanth Grange! The Brotherhood might have been mercenaries but
a good few of them at least came from Myrken itself!



And yes, it was sad that the Pritchite lands had been taken
by the governor. The monastery had been holding the land in trust
for those Pritchite sons and daughters who might have wanted to
return someday to their ancestral farms. Anyone who had family here
could understand that, couldn’t they? Many of the Pritchites still
had kin here in Myrken and they hadn’t forgotten it, sending food
in past years from their new farms while the drought and famine
had struck Myrken.


But of course, the new Governor had only been here in Myrken a
short while, hadn’t he, so he couldn’t be expected to understand
family ties here. One had to wonder if he planned to buy more
farmland besides the Baker’s old place.



And meanwhile, the young acolytes are whistling “POP! Gae the
Noompties!â€

Mon Oct 22, 2007 1:12 pm

While Brother Fidelius had deliberately distanced himself and
St. Thecla’s from commenting on events at the Orphanage, the
attack by the monster and kidnapping of two innocent children
right under the noses of the Constabulary was impossible to
ignore. He instructed the monks that if the topic should come up in
conversations with neighboring farmers or townsfolk, they were to
simply invite the other to join them in a short prayer for those poor
children.


And if the conversation should turn to how the Constables were now
hunting the former head of the Brotherhood of Janiero, perhaps they
might wonder if it were somehow connected to the termination of
Brotherhood’s contract with the Council and if it were part of some
private agenda of the new Governor. And things certainly didn’t
seem to be all that better since Governor Calomel took over, did they?


Finally, a new character was added to the play “Greedâ€

Thu Oct 25, 2007 8:38 am

A new play was performed that sunny afternoon under the large tree
at the edge of the marketplace:
“THE CONFUSED CONSTABLEâ€

Thu Oct 25, 2007 12:46 pm

A play in a public space, on marketday no less. Bound to draw a crowd, to gather attention from Myrkentown's citizenry. And where there are crowds of citizens, small numbers of Constables are often present - making sure there's no breaches of the Peace going on, just keeping an eye on things. It's been the case for the novices' previous performances, the Constables standing on the edge of the crowd, paying more attention to the gathered townsfolk than the players - on the lookout for cutpurses and pickpockets, most likely. Perhaps even grinning and nudging one another if a particularly choise jest about the Governor arises, as jokes about one's superiors have currency in any line of work.

Today, though, the mood is a little different. The play's title alone draws a watchful patrol of two Constables as the performance opens, observing the novices as they caper and ham it up for the audience. Perhaps some muttered asides as mention is made of the Brotherhood, but this is shocked into silence by what follows. One of the Constables hurries off, scowling, to return very soon after with another patrol, who arrive partway through "McBoy" harassing the couple at the bar. The youngest of the Constables stares with undisguised outrage as the murder of Constable Charles McCoy is re-enacted for the amusement and entertainment of the citizenry; the others murmur angrily amongst themselves, though the most senior Constable there, a middle-aged officer with a well-kept mustache, quiets them with a few sharp words. Another patrol joins the gathered officers, and in fierce whispers are appraised of the story so far.

The rest of the performance plays out, with "Lettum" being assigned to the case and then the chase, during which the senior Constable sends the youngest one away in the company of one of his colleagues, the junior officer clearly desiring to put a stop to the distasteful performance.

Finally the play ends, and the four remaining Constables wait until the food parcels have been distributed before the senior officer approaches the novices as they pack away their props and simple stage. He walks with the upright posture of a military man, and though his tone is carefully measured, there is the impression that he is more used to shouting orders on the parade ground or battlefield; clearly-spoken enough that it's certainly audible to those members of the audience who remain near the stage.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. Ah, Miss Sweetums, what a charming frock." Deadpan as he regards the novice who played Candy with a level gaze. "I caught some of your play, and I was wondering if you might answer a few questions. Won't take much of your time, I'm sure you've got plenty to get back to. Gossipin', makin' up childrens' rhymes, readyin' for your next performance." The other Constables are arrayed loosely behind their spokesman, watching the novices closely, but very firmly keeping their hands behind their backs for now, out of the way of their truncheons.

"First of all, sirs, I wondered if your Abbot knows you're out here entertainin' the fine folk of Myrkentown with your thespian stylings. An' if so, I wondered if he's in favour of 'em. Specifically, sirs, I have to ask myself, Alf - that's me, by the way - I ask myself, Alf, do you think this play reflects the attitudes an' beliefs of the monks of St Thecla's? Because I'd find that surprisin'. Pious bunch of lads like yerself, performin' a play which - an' forgive me if I missed the meanin' behind it, I ain't much familiar with yer theatrical business - a play which appears to approve of the cold-blooded murder of an officer of the law, an' casts his murderer as a hero? Very rum, that." A very cool, level glance moves across the novices, striving to meet the gaze of each and hold it for long seconds. The silence stretches as he allows them to think on that question.

"Did any of you lads know Constable McCoy? Any of you? Good lad, he was - only child, joined up with the Constabulary so he could do bit for Myrken and make his dad proud. About your age, son." A nod for one of the novices. "Bit thinner, though. Been feedin' you up well at the monastery, eh? Good stuff. Certainly brought plenty to share, I see. Nice if you can spare it." A brief and avuncular smile at that, for all that it fails to reach the Constable's eyes. A brief pause, and he draws breath to continue.

"But no, 'course you ain't met him. If any of you ever had met young Charles McCoy, you'd know that yer Constable McBoy up there - nice play-on-words there, very sharp - wasn't anythin' like him. So I says to myself, Alf, I says, those lads up there seem to think it's funny to be malignin' poor Charlie's memory, and him not two weeks in his grave yet. They seem to think that a father's mournin' is cause for chuckles galore. They seem to think that a bright young lad like Charlie McCoy gettin' stabbed to death is, 'scuse my Dauntless, a right bloody laugh." His voice has risen gradually over the course of this little speech, words carrying across the market square in full parade-ground roar; now, as the audience watches and listens, he drops his voice again, constrained outrage in every syllable.

"They seem to think that the bloke what did it is a big damn hero."

"An' I wonder, lads, if that's any way for good, pious servants of the One God to behave. Laughin' at murders an' castin' killers as heroes. An' I wonder most of all whether you lot actually know anythin' at all about Charlie McCoy's murder, an' the whereabouts of Aeryn Karolinger, who did it. Because if you do, lads, I'm going to have to ask you to accompany me to the Yard to answer some questions. An' if you don't, well, if you don't then you can be on your way, even if I don't think it's right that you've been spreadin' miserable, spiteful lies about such a fine young man." He draws himself up to his full height, raising his voice enough to carry over the crowd.

"So, which is it? You know anythin' about McCoy's murder? Or did you make the whole lot up?"

The Constables, and the crowd, wait for the novices' answer.

Thu Oct 25, 2007 4:51 pm

The young boy playing Candy listened with a wide friendly grin on his
face. “Good day, Constable. Well fed? Hardly! We have food, yes, but
as you can see, we share what we have with those most in need of it.â€

Thu Oct 25, 2007 5:38 pm

The Constable's brows raise at this little bit of hearsay, and he pulls a terribly interested face.

"Really now? Whispered, is it? An' on the basis of these whispers, despite a pair of reliable eye-witnesses seein' the man pullin' his bloodied knife out of Constable McCoy, you're willin' to deliver a verdict of self-defence? Bugger me, 'scuse my Dauntless." The Constable's eyes are wide with mock astonishment, and sarcasm fair drips from his words as he looks round to his fellow officers and the crowd. "Looks like we can all go home an' not bother with all this investigatin' an' chasin' wanted fugitives an' such. All we need to do is jus' ask the town whisperers, seein' as how a bunch of whispers is grounds enough to besmirch a dead man's name an' let a murderer off the hook." His gaze returns to the novice, regarding him quietly for a moment before he nods, his manner calming slightly.

"Oh, aye, plenty of important work. But since you're tellin' me my job, let me help you with yours. Word of advice, son: stick with the scripture plays in future. Bawdy comedies are alright for the wanderin' minstrels, an' rumours an' gossip are alright for those as don't know better, but it ain't becomin' for devout young men like yourselves to be messin' about with either." His manner is quieter, and he shakes his head at the novice's offer. A moment to dig in a pouch at his belt, and he presses a shilling bit into the boy's hand.

"Don't worry about me. But light a candle for Charles McCoy, if you would." A curt nod, then, as he straightens and touches the edge of his helm in courteous salute. "Mind how you go."

And with that, he turns and heads off to resume his patrols; some lingering glances from the other constables indicate a reluctance to see the matter dropped so readily, but a few gruff words from the older man sees them hurrying along after him.

Thu Oct 25, 2007 6:05 pm

The novice took the shilling, then looked about and beckoned an old man
over and pressed the coin into the old timer’s hand. “Here, you buy
some food for you and your wife with this.â€

Sun Oct 28, 2007 4:24 pm

Word of the day’s events had been brought to Fidelius by nearly
breathless novices who’d been out in the fields with their sheep.
Then another arrived with the poster announcing a curfew that
very night.

Fidelius narrowed his eyes with thought, then issued orders that all
the brethren of St. Thecla’s return at once to the monastery and
remain behind it’s walls until it could be determined just what was
going on.

He muttered a phrase that the Scots mercenary Kildrummy had
used a few times when he was about.

“Bluidy hell!â€
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