Hell Hath No Fury....

[Tyralor]

A barmaid's apology. Water from Rock. Hell frozen over. Pigs were flying. These were about as likely as Myrken avoiding all forms of plague, destruction, and other catastrophes for over a year. The Lieutenant sighed wearily, and nodded ever so faintly. Then paused as he had a new idea.

"What about selling your produce to us?" If they could start purchasing from those that held either one of the opposing viewpoints and reselling to the town in general at cost, there couldn't be any dispute with the impartial Order, now could there? Kilborn was really running out of ideas that might work. And he was making every effort to avoid bloodshed. Unlike certain other individuals that should be working for a peaceful solution, rather than a dictatorial pursuit.

[Dhugal]

John stopped....looked back..gave a short laugh, and then
shook his head.
"Nice try, Straka. But we both know why'd you make
such a suggestion, don't we? Selling to you would be the
same as selling to them, in the long run. No thank you."

[NightSteel]

While the Pritchies squabbled with the Myrken Townies, Ezekiel Jones quietly made money.

It was hard work. With the relatively dry earth; he had to find new places for his cattle to graze daily. He constructed a few exceedingly simple shelters to keep them and the rest of his animals out of the heat. He, as predicted, had had to find different sources of milled grain and a few other essentials, but with the initial assistance of all of the men running around that were paid to help the non-boycotting farmers, he had established those sources. Water was distributed and dropped from overhead, by and large keeping his grazing fields alive enough to regrow, if slowly. And other struggling farmers that had not gone along with the boycott were faring similarly well. Without the collusion of the Bates to keep prices low to the Myrken Townies and therefore take the majority of the business, the non-boycotters could afford to do business--and even collude themselves, to keep prices from rising *too* much. Strong alliances were formed in these trying times.

As much as Mary Bates and her umpteen siblings may have wanted it, there was no monopoly on Myrken's farming. Ezekiel Jones' honest work had positioned him perfectly for Myrken's emergence from the damnable drought--if that ever happened.

[Dhugal]

Ezekiel Jones might have felt the Bates' had a monopoly on the
market on various farm goods, but in reality, it was just a result
of location and sound farming practices.
Or so Mary Bates confided to those non Pritchite neighbor
women she talked with over the next few days.
"We don't live as close to Myrken Town as many of the
other farms. We've had to fend more for ourselves when
trouble comes, haven't we all out here?"
She'd cut a slice of the pie she'd brought along and
pass it to her hostess before continuing on.
"And there's been a lot of those troubled times around that
town and especially that lake and tavern, haven't there? That
flying demon that threw some poor defenceless fae creature
through the front window? The naked drow? The barbarian
horde with the giant wolves that ate that poor man right
out in the field in front of the tavern?"
She'd let that sink in before continuing on.
"There were those strange towers that popped up out of the
earth and that stretch of weather where you couldn't see the
sun the closer you got to Myrken Town.And now? People
being murdered and posed like statues. A whole family,
killed and posed, can you believe it, like some bunch of
statues all about their farm! And then that sword that
popped out of the ground by the tavern.Thirty men dead
from a mob of them gone crazy fighting each other. All I can
say is I'm glad only a few of our friends were killed or hurt in
that mess, I can tell you. And this drought, as well!"
"And then the other day, when we sent our Matthew and some
of the men into Myrken to deliver supplies to the Remedium, some
bunch of scoundrels from the town attacked them and nearly killed
poor Samuel! And Matthew heard that the new bartender at the
tavern ..the drunk who stood out in the lane by the farm screaming
curses at us like a loon in the dead of night, did I mention that? Well,
he said in that tavern he'd cut poor Brother Cyth's head off and stick
it on a pole."
"Have you ever heard of such blasphemy? I think that's why that
woman threw the things we sent to honor Blessed Pritchard out into the
dirt. There's something wrong with that whole town, with all these
disasters befalling there! It's an evil place, and my sisters and I and the
other women folk of our farms are happy, I can tell you, that our men are
safe at home and not spending their time and our money in a place that's
turned its face away from good."
"Could I have another cup of tea, dear?"

While Mary and her sisters carried on their talks with their neighbors, John
and the menfolk kept working their fields and away from town. The town's
merchants might have been buying from Ezekiel Jones and others who were
taking advantage of the Pritchite boycott, but they might find that having a
sizeable number of former customers not buying other items from
them might begin to effect their ability to pay for what Ezekiel and his
friends might want to sell them.
As for the items from the bar that had been returned by Lt. Kilborn, Mary
and the others would not take them back, They'd been desecrated by their
disposal by the bar wench. She and some of the other women buried
them quietly the morning after Kilborn's visit.

[Driftingstar]

No one had been injured, not badly. Although now the gypsy had a better idea of just how tight the tension between the farmers had gotten. After leaving Matthew, his fellow Pritchies and the guard, scuffed, but nothing a good wash wouldn't get out she found herself thinking the attack far more than she would have liked. Seldom did Calandra enjoy sticking her nose in situations which were clearly none of her business, but this was getting ridiculous in her opinion. It was one thing for factions to squabble over their differences, but now the entire town had begun to feel the effects.

"Bugger it." she thought dismally, kicking at a sawed off old stump on the side of th road,

Maybe she'd pay the farmers a visit herself, not that she could honestly see it acomplishing much... and just maybe she would drag her cousin along for the fun.

[Dhugal]

For the next few days, John Bates and the other Pritchites
stayed away from Myrken Town.The attack on the road
had set John to thinking that someone might be trying
to provoke trouble..or at least more than there already was
given the situation.
"Don't go looking for trouble!" he told his neigbors. "If
someone tries to pick a fight, do what Mathew did and walk
away. Someone wants an excuse for a fight, and maybe use that
to seize our land like that councilor wanted."
So the Pritchites helped their burned out neighbors rebuild,
and Mary continued her rounds talking to the neighbor women,
but no one, man nor woman, set foot in Myrken Town.
And the coin they'd have spent at the market places remained
at home with them.

[BrokenDreamer]

Rumors were circling once again --would it come as any suprise that they would be of Ms. O'Neill once more? These words set by waggling tounge would fall in conflict with that of the Bates.

Just the other day as old man Pattersen was set to hang himself in the barn over a dead cow, a man had come running to the tavern looking for aid. Who should rise to the occassion? Molly, trailed along with Mikhail and Maeve, one more woman who's name remained a mystery to the barmaid.

Once the farmer had been stopped and safely kept from doing harm to himself, the red-haired woman of famed temper had taken his panic wife under wing. Kind words to sooth and hot tea to calm the nerves as her husband's body was carried back into the house -unconcious but alive. A pretty little handkerchief had even been left to tender to the woman's tears, delicate irish lace all about it's edges.

One would think that with all the harsh words spat at the woman, she would have been more than pleased to hear of one of the farmers suffering and yet ... one of the first to come running to give aid?

[Dhugal]

Word reached the Bate's farm of the attempted suicide the
next day. It was a five minute wonder, sparking a short
conversation among the family and farmhands as they sat
down for the midday meal.
"That wasn't one of those who hold with us, was it, John?.
Can't be, living that close to town. Otherwise they'd have
gone to the nearest neighbor for help instead of the tavern."
John took the plate of rolls from Mary, shaking his head."Don't
know for sure. The rider who told me the latest news from town
was city folk. He doesn't know the names of the farm families.
Just the name of the barmaid and her friends."
Mary frowned as she spooned some soup into her bowl. "Well,
nice to see that she at least has some decency. Doesn't
change my opinion of her or of that place. Man hanging himself
over one dead cow? If a farmer did that every time he lost a
beast there'd be empty farmhouses all over Myrken. Pass those
rolls back, would you John?"
Then all discussion of the news ended as everyone set about
the business of eating their food.

[Dhugal]

John Bates heard of Ezekiel's plan and directed his friends to
leave off any donations to the the Rememdium at the Jone's
place. That way they could be brought into the town without
another incident like the previous week's. But while the
Pritchites would help their burned out neighbors rebuild, they
would steer clear of the infirmary project.
"We don't want any fights breaking out between us and the
townsfolk, and esepcially not around the infirmary. Doctor
doesn't need more wounded patients from either side. No, we
steer clear, watch our fields for fire and whatever is killing the
animals closer in towards Myrken."
One of the men stirred a little uneasily. "John this drought
isn't breaking. We have enough left in the wells and cisterns
for a few more weeks if we're careful, but what if the rains still
haven't come?"
John nodded at that. "I've been thinking on it." He unrolled
a map on the tabletop and the farmers crowded round. He stabbed
a finger at the map where Silver Lake and Myrken Town were.
"There's the town." He moved his finger east along the line that
marked the Derry Row. "Here we are off one to two day's ride from
Myrken. And here..." he moved the finger further east "is the southern
reach of the Siskoon Mountains."
"Right, John. We all know how to read a map!" There was a friendly
laugh from the crowd.
"Aye. So, now...look at all these streams and rivers out to the east Those
of us who live the furthest east have suffered least from this drought, like
Wat here at his mill.Still plenty of water to turn the wheel! And why? Because
the water's coming down out of the Siskoon. Clean water, untainted by what
ever plagues the land around Silver Lake." He looked at the men around him.
"And there's some points on the map where only a few miles seperate one
brook or stream from another"
"What are you getting at, John?"
"I say it's time we took our future into our own hands. We can dig a canal
and irrigation ditches starting from just above Wat's mill and bring that
mountain run off water down here to our farms. It might take a while, but
we can start it. I say we build us a Myrken Canal!"

[Dhugal]

Word of the recent events in town would spread, even out to the
Pritchites who still were keeping away from town. Mary Bates,
could not help but say:

"I told you so! Another cult!That place is evil, and if you want
your menfolk to keep living, you'll make sure they stay away from
that town!"

Her listeners, wives and girlfriends of farmers and farmhands,
nodded their heads in agreement.

As for John and the other men, their discussion centered
more around the confrontation between the militia and the Straka.

"Who's this Proxenus fella? I here tell he's runnin' th' Militia and
he's barely been in town a few months!" Wat Miller scratched
his neck as he sat back down.

"Don't know him, Wat. But I do know he works at the Dagger,
and that worries me a mite, given the fact he is friendly with the
girl that argued with Brother Cyth." John took a swig of his ale.
"And now he and the Straka have butt heads."

There was a low murmur about the table as that was discussed,
then John spoke again. "Seems to me, the only one to speak fairly
with us from town was that Lt. Kilborn. He was the one to speak
up when that rascal Suede threatend to seize our land. And the
Straka have fought for us many a time over the years."

"So, I don't see any choice but supporting him and the Straka
over this Proxenus fellow. For the time being, I think will stay
seperate from the militia out here."

And the Pritchite Irregulars were born.

[HeySeuss]

â€

[Dhugal]

Lem and Nat might have thought their little chats weren't known
but the fact of the matter was that given the occasional loud bursts
of laughter they gave when they'd managed to amuse themselves,
the meetings were common knowledge.

But even if John Bates had known he and his wife were the current topic
of conversation, he wouldn't really have cared a whit what the two old
geezers had to say.

By now, there were fifteen farms with their families and farmhands
that were boycotting. That was roughly 275 people, 130 of whom
were men of age to bear arms.

And 130 men who had now withdrawn from the Militia to form their
own defense force until things were sorted out in town between the
Straka and the Militia. John sent letters to this new Proxenus fellow
and to Lt.Kilborn, informing the first of their withdrawal and telling
the second that he had the support of the Pritchites should the Straka
need it. Most of the Pritchite men had some experience fighting in the
past emergencies and so were weapons trained and mounted.

And now 130 experienced fighters leaving the Militia.

As for the Canal, work was indeed slow but some progress had
already been made. John wasn't envisioning some Grand Canal but
network of ponds, dams, and irrigation ditches that would be fed from
runoff from the Siskasoon mountains. Already one small brook had
been dammed off to the south of the river that turned Wat's millstone,
flooding the equally small valley it had flowed through, and the farms
closest to it would soon reap the benefits of irrigation from it

John and Wat were careful to make sure that none of the work
affected any water already flowing into Silver Lake. They did not
want to take water away from neighbors, and if things ever improved
with those who mocked them, the network could easily be extended
to them as well. It was going to be long work, but they had plenty of
time. After all, it wasn't like they were going to go into Myrken, was it?

As for Mary, she'd sent out a few queries shortly after the boycott of
the town had begun and after a few weeks, the first tinker's wagon rolled
down Derry Row with goods and sundries for sale.

Money that would have rolled into the coffers of the Myrken Town
merchants was now being spent on goods from Derry.

The Pritchites were in this for the long haul, and more and more ties
of trade and loyalty to the town were being severed.

[Vanidor]

It wouldn't take long for news such as this to make it's way to Councilor al'Nerun. He -did- have his spy network firmly in place, after all, and they stretched into the farms as much as into the townsfolk. He had been paying attention to the whole thing, but other issues had, at first, kept his eye away from this thing fully. He had figured that Councilor Roschen would deal with it as firmly as he was sure the man would.

Of course, that attempt had failed. Damn those farmers could be bloody damned stubborn. So it was then, once his informant had delivered the message within the proper channels, Kerrak swung into action. This whole ordeal gave him a headache. Especially after the meeting the council had just been through. A few letters, then, penned and sent and carried by his men. The messengers, hard nosed veterans all, travelled in trios. It'd be hard to overcome such a force, and they were ordered to deliver the messages to -only- the people they were addressed to. Secretaries need not apply.

----

Letter #1

To:Captain Daniels, Order of Straka
From: Kerrak al'Nerun

Now I understand that we still have our own differences that we need to hammer out, but there is something else we need to deal with first. The province is in danger, and from a threat that both of us can deal with handily enough. Namely, that would be the so called... 'Pritchies'. While I can understand where their vehemance comes from...

Well, their methods are a danger to this province and the way of life of the people here. Those farms have traditionally, and I mean centuries here, provided their food for the town and provience itself. It is a threat to the well being of the people, and I would ask your assistance in dealing with it. And hopefully in a non-violent way. We cannot allow the people to suffer because are being so abjectly stubborn. And, of course, there is the latest bit of information to come out of there.

Over a hundred members of the militia? Cordoning off their part of the land? While I will agree that it is their land, it is within the boundaries of -our- province. It is something that someone would consider calling treason, and I would too if that word hadn't been bandied about so much of late.

What I shall call it, for now, is a case of mistaken intent. They might not know what exactly it is that they are after. And what their actions may do. Though, from other reports I have heard, the ringleader of this bit, one Mary Bates if I recall, is quite knownledgeable about what her actions will do to the surrounding country side.

Let me know what you think a good course of action will be. I will take anything you say under advisement.

Kerrak al'Nerun
Councilor of Defense and Civil Security

Letter #2

To: 'Captain' Proxenus, Myrken Militia
From: Kerrak al'Nerun

Captain. I hope that title fits, for the time being anyway, I presume you will have discovered what the so called "Pritchies" have wrought upon our province. I emplore you to make sure the militia still firmly with the council and Myrken in general be kept as calm as is possible. I am sure you agree, but with things the way they are, we do not need things to escalate into a bloody conflict. And if it does, I would prefer that neither the militia nor Straka be involved in the situation. I can handily deal with a hundred and some armed men without either's assistance.

To point. Keep up what you are doing with the militia. Make sure they are strong of backbone, and ready to do what needs to be done. We may need to call on them as much as Straka in the coming months.

Kerrak al'Nerun
Councilor of Defense and Civil Security.

The third and last letter? Well, that one was packaged tightly and the trio of men headed off in the general direction of Heath. Who knew, for sure, what their real destination could be...

[Treadwell]

The slow clip-clop of a fat horse's hooves, the creaks of a carriage carrying a man too large, and the occasional grunted "Mmph mmph!" from the round fellow in that carriage are signals enough of his arrival. He'd be going to the outskirts of town, first, to visit those farms trying to put a strangle hold on Myrken.

He'd not be starting with the infamous old woman Bates. Her old man John would be a good deal easier to boss--err, talk to in a professional manner--and he'd rather not deal with her first, anyway. Fifteen farms to focus upon in particular, and two hundred seventy-five folks to feel the high and mighty wrath of Aloisius Treadwell.

Taxes were going up, and the only way to legally and effectively do such would be to raise them for the whole town. His rationale was simple. This bothersome infighting and puffed up foolishness from the Pritchites was hurting the town quite drastically. Morale was being hurt, much needed food wasn't being distributed, and fat old gossips were cackling all the while.

So it's a good, sudden, unwarned ten percent hike in taxes. For the lower classes merely renting their cottages and making their homespun clothes, this meant a single shilling's increase on their rent and little more. Out of all of the normal folks in Myrken, it would hit the merchants and the working classes the hardest with their having to cough up an extra amount anywhere up to six more shillings. . . and none of this is accounting for any other taxes Treadwell or Tetsi Avarante before him might have dreamed up, such as ones on farms and land.

The farmers against Myrken wouldn't exactly fall within Treadwell's definition of normal Myrken folks right now. Poor, poor farmers with those farms and land. All those infamous so-called forty acre fields and the like. . . .

Of course, there would be alternatives accepted. While the barter system certainly doesn't do, of course, "good quality food" would be accepted as partial payment at last month's food prices (that is, before things have started going up thanks to the heat!). It could all count for up to ten percent out of all the taxes someone has to pay this month, thus allowing those with food to spare, such as those who might be in collusion against their betters in Myrken, an out.

It's more like that it's allowing those with food to spare, such as those who might be in collusion against their betters in Myrken, to feel the same restrictive vice of hunger as everyone else. Of course, they could always buy some of the food back from local vendors. Some of it would be sold back to the merchants, allowing them to make some or all of their money lost on extra taxes back soon enough. Prices would be kept reasonably low in this reselling to the merchants with strict orders to keep them that way. No artificial inflation would be permissible; it could only lead to Treadwellian sized fines.

The rest of any food gathered would be kept up in Treadwell's own storehouse, appropriately kept well clear of his other foods and clearly marked with signs all 'round as belonging to the Council. He wouldn't add to the problem by keeping it for his own personal use.

[Suede]

Suede was back admist the farmlands again, just as he'd claimed in his departure from the meeting last night. Word of that might get around considering the random persons having been present. Though he hadn't actually removed his things from his shop, empty as it currently stood.

For now? He wasn't alone admist the sunbaked fields. He was sitting in the dirt admist dying plants, the ridiculously large limp brimmed hat his primary protection from the Sun's level of general displeasure. It was curious though, the way flakes of caked earth pulled up into the wind. Moreso the fact there was a wind than anything, it was a faint, weak breath of the land, but it struggled as best it could to keep the pair cool.

The second man present wore fairly simple robes, light, but clearly displaying the fact he was druidic in nature to those familiar with the beliefs. He wore not hat to cover the thick green of his hair, was the color even natural, or some form of natural marking to what he was? It didn't matter.

This newer figure placed a hand over the soil, dropping several seeds onto the surface, leaving his hand to hover there. It was silent, they simply watched. What they waited for likely didn't come, for the greener one simply sighed.

"The land here is nearly dead from the drought, I couldn't make weeds grow here at this point. And the weather is bloody well fighting any tries I make for a little moisture. Something strong."

"I honestly am not suprised, but we should probably do at least something. The dear farmers of the land won't have their irrigation together for quite some time yet."

They nodded to one another and stood with some displeasure. Suede took a long sip from a canteen and passed it to his long time associate. They began to walk, from one field to the next, and generally not paying attention to who's property they trodden on. Suede hoped the man's robes, which he was wearing only out of favor to the tailor, would at least suggest some comfort to the farmers.

And perhaps so would the slight life being breathed back into whatever farmst hey passed. It was very little, perhaps 3 or 4 more days of life into the plants, a little bit of color returned, but it was something... perhaps enough. Natural magic had it's limits against whatever this was.