Pestilence: Another Council Meeting.

[Carnath-Emory]

After having served the Judiciary as Scribe (in addition to Councilor of This, That and The Other) for as long as it had taken to find a replacement (ie.: Too Long), Giscard Guillaume had an intimate familiarity with the wrist-cramping, finger-callusing tedium of the job. It might well have been for this reason that he was reclined back so comfortably in one of his study's plush chairs, and with his own copy of the meeting's minutes spread upon his lap.

They had each received copies, on the presumption that they really did take the meetings quite seriously, and in later years might want to review those Good Old Days in minute detail. He himself, on the other hand, simply noted that the new fellow -- Riddoc, that was his name -- did a neater job of it than he himself had, and that the result was inked in plain black, and without so much as a single illuminated capital. He wasn't, then, a professional scribe -- but he certainly was a marvellous entrepeneur, and frankly, anything which had the quill taken out of his hand suited Giscard Guillaume very well indeed.

But there was the copy, in any case, the product of Riddoc's ache and sweat -- and hah, look at that; Joseph O'Cynnen -- the farmers' man -- and Tetsi Avarante, both excused by reason of ill-health. Which was to say the one feared he'd caught that blasted, nonexistant plague, and that the other had simply forgotten the meeting altogether. Again. He was of half a mind to advertise the want of an aide for Old Man Tetsi without the Governor's position, and was restrained only by the fact that he'd end up paying the person's wages from his own purse, if he did. Phuri was like that.

"Plague? What plague? Everyone in town is perfectly well."
"I myself doubt that it exists, but the town is filled with talk of it. They examine their sores, scabs, warts, boils--"

Ahh, the plague. The Blood Plague, that is -- a singularly uninteresting name for the thing, he'd thought, but anything with the word 'blood' in it does tend to get the commoners' attention in a rush. He could gladly strangle the silly fool who'd stood in the Square not two weeks ago, yammering about it; indeed, he would, if he could possibly get the Governor's permission for it. Blood Plague, and half the town alive with terror of it, while the other half sold them bizarre remedies and laughed behind their curtains at the entire mess. Give them a week, and the wealthy would be grinding emeralds into their morning ale, while the poor kissed turnips in which they imagined they'd seen the face of Tyr himself.

"Oh for the love of the Gods....sometimes I wonder if the people long for something to keep them occupied."
"That's generally what religion's for, yes? Perhaps we might find ourselves a Bishop of..oh, something or other. It hardly matters what, if he'll keep their attention and sell chicken bones to hold their fears at bay."
"Sores, scabs, warts, boils--all commonplace. Giscard, Altias, what will the people think next--being normally sized is a disease of sorts, too?"

As it happened, what these particular people thought next was that the matter of Tyralor, self-proclaimed Sheriff of Myrken Wood -- which sounded to him like a marvellous name for a very adventurous novel. Perhaps he might write it himself, some day...

"And that bloody Tyralor. The man's been an upstart menace for months, continues to be so now -- stealing the uniforms of our very Guard, for Tyr's sweet sake -- and I, for one, am heartily weary of his audacity."
"Also, you might want to add to that, assault.There's rumors of him attacking two women. One of them was Lady Mouth. The other was an elven woman."
"I had heard the same rumors. Something certainly must be done about this man. While I harbor no love for Lady Mouth, we certainly can not allow people to go around beating on her."
"Stealing uniforms? What am I missing?"

In retrospect, they'd been fortunate that the Governor's distress hadn't caused him to choke on the biscuit presently filling his broad gullet. It would have been a terribly inconvenient time to have to find a replacement..

"You've not heard? Well, and no doubt he's silenced as many as he can -- and painfully, if we're to believe the rumours of these assaults. If the man thinks to impersonate the very Guard -- in addition to naming himself 'Sherrif' of the town -- hah! -- then what might he not stoop to?"
"Sheriff. Impersonating a guard is an offense here, isn't it? If not, it sounds like we need to make it such, and if it is, we need to enforce such. I'd recommend an arrest; see if he can use his authority to wiggle his way out of his cell once he's in it!"
"So it is ordered then, that this Tyralor be arrested, Governor?"
"That it is. As soon as possible."
"Impersonation of a Sherrif. Theft of Guard property. Alleged assault."

Predictably, while settling upon a philosophical stance had not challenged the Judiciary overly, determining a practical answer to the situation had demonstrated itself to be far trickier...

"Arrest, and a trial, I should think. I am begininng to think that I should have become a barrister with all these trials. Unless of course, there will not be one, for this Tyralor."
"A trial? He's clearly guilty, and he's doing it all for his own personal reasons. Guilty, guilty, guilty."
"Oh, I'd rather see him take his lashes upon the Square, and be done with it. A Spring Fest for the commoners, hmm? Come hear the music, sample the sweetmeats, see the lashing of a Famed Lout... We must likely have at least witnesses, though. Doubtless, they can be procured."
"Well, how do you plan to off-set his ignorants, and their message of his authority. Considering he has none, save what they allow for..."
"Hah! Public proclamation, notices about the place stating it clearly. Town criers, for Tyr's sake. And, of course, that lashing."
"I'm quite sure, your alleged assault, would be more easily proven and defined if we could bring the two in question he assaulted for the public to see. Proof of guilt, over mere speculation. Of course, if you could find the uniform too.."
"Seems a reasonable enough fate for a man who would lay his hands upon a woman, even Lady Mouth."
"Of course. Public sentiment is justly like that. Given the rhetoric is true, and based in truth. The public would flock to see such, and pity the women. And the man would be shamed. Perhaps it would be fitting too, as punishment too?"
"A lashing does sound like a good solution, yes. Arrest him first. Then have him soundly whipped."
"I am not sure a lashing is a fit solution. Being stern, is not the same as being draconic. If anything, if whipped it would make him a martyr to his own people, would it not?"

At which point, the Council evidently having very strong feelings about the subject of whippings and their usefulness as a public attraction, degenerated into several minutes of heated argument.

"It would make him a fool before the others--"
"If anything, his weakness is his pride, and his hubris--"
"-- and nothing strips authority from a man like *that* does. What else would you suggest?"
"Yes, but it also brings pity from those closest to him, as well as his lackies, cohorts, and his ignorants."
"If we beat the man then it is we who are sen as animals, power mad fiends, perhaps. Take away his power, that seems the right choice."
"He has no power, Altias."
"But he beloeves he does, Governor. His followers believe it too..."

And so -- ad nauseum -- it had continued. For some time. Eventually:

"Let us display the women publically, or at least disseminate their tale amongst the populace. Let it be proclaimed that he is a fraud, that his authority is nothing but a sham. Let him spend a few nights in the cells -- perhaps even a few weeks -- to remind him of his error. And should it occur a second time, let him be lashed and the hell with him."

Which had finally settled the entire, maddening matter in a most satisfying way. In keeping with the theme of crime and punishment, it was the issue of the Guard's Captain which the Judiciary chose to address next.

"The Guard, yes. Well, I have received word from three men wanting to apply for the position. Two are lieutenants in the guard, and one is a random fellow who has a bit to his name in the way of heroics. I would rather pick one of our own men, of course."
"And I would disagree whole heartedly, Governor. I think that Alexander Kanashia has more than proven himself an asset to Myrken Wood -- "
"Kanashia? Yes, I've met him. ... He seems the sort for intelligent deductions."
"These lieutenants -- might they have been the Captain's own recommendations, perhaps? I suspect so."
"Yes, your grace, they are on the recommendation of the last Captain, Taliaferro."
"And of these other men I know nothing. Nothing save for the information they have submitted, which is in my opinion, nothing remarkable."
"Then I motion that we have the pair of them fired. Taliaferro is Prince of New Dauntless -- which is a most compromising difficulty for Myrken Wood as it is; we cannot assume that the men he suggests are not New Dauntless puppets, neatly arranged to take his place, after his own resignation."
"However, if they are such there will be outcry because they were not granted a station. Perhaps, they should be given other duties, which have no impact save look, and title alone. Or hire them as vampire slayers."

Which suggestion the Judiciary as a whole had siezed upon, and found to be the perfect answer to a tricky situation -- much to Guillaume's own surprise, and eventual comfort. The Gods knew, after all, that they were in need of such appointments.

[Carnath-Emory]

"So, Kanashia, with his foul, womanly scented vanilla stench, is hired on as guard captain?"
"I would support that choice, Governor, yes."

And that had been the end of the entire matter -- and not before time; how many weeks had it taken for them to proceed to an actual decision? Hah...all for the better, as it had turned out. Of course, it wasn't the only issue to have suffered some..delays in processing.

"Governor, I would like to state right now that I wish to call the orphanage idea to a halt until the entire issue with the boy, Phlynn, has been resolved. ... It is entirely possbile that this woman is completely insane."
"Perhaps, considering she's been assaulted thrice, once by the boy, once by the 'Sherriff' and the general public in dismay over her-- it is possible she is insane from stress."
"And how to test her insanity, hmm? Treat her as a witch and try dunking the lass in a lake?"
"Add to that she wishes to give them a ...'Christian Education' -- "
"A religious upbringing? How horrid. I almost pity the little monsters."
"The woman threatened to tell whatever lies she had to, to anyone who would listen, to discredit me and get this orphanage pushed through --"
"It is either instability, or cunning, your grace."
"We could allow her to try it out on a very limited scale and budget, perhaps--maybe some half a dozen rugrats in her hold, and see how things go."


In time it was determined that the claims against the woman -- and indeed, the character of Lady Rose herself -- would be put under investigation; there were her merchants to be considered, after all, and the sort of public outcry she might feasibly raise amongst them, should matters not go entirely her way. In time it was determined that a committee would be appointed for the running of the Orphanage -- upon which Lady Rose would, of course, have a seat, and that a brass plaque of exceptional loveliness would be set upon the damned building's front, proclaiming in rich engraving the names of those who'd contributed financially to its construction.

"I'd suggest that we be the ones to appoint her board, her committee, her council. Likewise, we are the ones to investigate the place from time to time--quite at random--and leave her quaking in her boots if she bothers to slip up once."


Which had been a perfectly fine end to the entire evening, excepting that Bromn had brought news of another menace come to plague Myrken Wood.

"This afternoon I was approached by a young woman calling herself Loviti Obe`t`. She brought to me a story, the likes of which I had never heard. The young lady said that she had traveled north, on the trail of a killer. One who had killed her kin, and most of her township. A simple enough story, on the surface."

Oh, of course. On the surface, everything seemed simple - but this had been the way of it, these last weeks: dig far enough and one eventually found the rotting manure at the heart of it all.

"As I asked her for a description of this killer, she had none to offer. I asked for a description of his crimes, what she told me shook me greatly. Even she had trouble formulating the words to describe the horrors she had seen. ... Miss Obe`t` had asked if there were any missing children, pets, livestock...strange mutilations. ... I traveled south a bit, toward the farms just outside of town, to check on their livestock. Imagine my horror when I discovered evidence of just such crimes. Three farmers were able to offer me evidence of the crimes she had described. I sae a sheep, which had a good portion of it's rigt side rmoved, it's insides showing. There was not blood, no sign of knife of teeth marks. The same is true for two cows. One with it's brain exposed, the other...well...it is far too gruesome."

Oh, gruesome indeed, and Bromn had continued in that vein for quite some time, describing the horror -- known, apparently, as 'The Baie' -- and in terms that quite put the rest of the Judiciary off their collective supper.

"All indications point to the fact that this...thing...is headed North. North to Myrken Wood. Loviti Obe`t` had hoped she was wrong, but from what I have seen with my own eyes today, she is not. ... Myself, and Sir Kanashia, have agreed to help Miss Obe`t` to find it's trail. I do not know what else can be done until we know more about it. I only hope that once we know something, it is not at our doorstep."

Which had been a profoundly tasteless way to end the evening; why, the very reminded of it had Guillaume shuffling his papers aside with some small displeasure. Perhaps..he would take his night's rest a little later, this evening; he didn't much care for the idea of this 'Baie' invading his dreams.