The #Broken_Dagger Forum

Aloisius Treadwell sits lazily slumped backward at his desk in the Myrken Wood Meetinghouse; the poor man's actually having to work, for once, and the effort is wearing him out. Inbetween (sluggish) bursts of writing, he's working his way through an assortment of foods scrounged up from the Meetinghouse's kitchen--a sandwich here, a good fat salami there, a wedge of cheese *there*, and a pitcher of ale and accompanying mug to the right of all that. In short, he has little room to actually write, which suits him fine.

However, were one to peep over the rounded shoulder, past the fluffy crumb-specked beard, and at what he's writing by a flickering oil lantern, that one would make out some sloppy handwriting that's something of a journal entry.

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18 August
I'm waiting for Altias's opinions on whether or not to string up the two gypsies. It's currently three to one, and, while his vote won't sway things either way, it *does* count. Mmph! For my part, I'd dare say that the two of 'em deserve a good stretching of their necks for being such brazen hussies in the first place, raising their voices in a council meeting and blathering on about whether we're doing things properly! Rest assured they'll join the rest of the felons and miscreants and rogues and thieves who've ended their days on that lovely, worn scaffold in the middle of the square. It's all a matter of when.

Then there's that dratted goblin from the other night, blowing up a table in the Dagger and setting it afire. He had the nerve to dare to leave a vial of powder with me much like what I wager burnt Tyralor--crammed into my nose, no less, but there all the same! That is safely ensconced in my desk, here, wrapped up in a spare handkerchief and carefully tucked away between some papers and the front of the desk drawer. I reckon it should actually be examined as soon as possible; I'll see about getting it over to Daniels or Kilborn at the first opportunity. For now, it's hidden here. I'm not about to carry something like that around with me; drugged candies can sit about in a coat pocket just fine, but explosive powders can't!
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The writing ends here; Treadwell's out of ink, actually, as noted by a fading of the scribbled last few letters. He sets the wet paper on a bookcase behind him then goes about to filling his tummy. Aeri's recent words concerning losing weight and such certainly haven't gone to heart in the slightest, in spite of an initial--and faked--outburst of emotion at them. Ohhh, yes. That was a fairly rich moment--a fair test of his long out of use acting abilities. Besides, it was only proper to pretend to be affected by what she had to say. Sometimes a man just has to keep up appearances--or, in this case, keep stretching out a stomach.

Altias bromn sat at his desk, as he had many nights before, going over the pile of paperwork that had accumulated in his absence. After clearing away the thick masses of spiderwebs, he had found what he determined to be the two most pressing issues, aside from the war and the spiders, new issues these were.

The women accused of killing Tyralor. It seemed the council had voted on their execution. Three to one. It was not a vote Altias would agree with. He had been in the inn the day Quincy had broken down. The girl was convinced that Tyralor was not dead, and she seemed to have reason to believe it. Something inside Altias tended to believe her.

Then there was the matter of Dhugal's death. Altias was deeply saddened by this. He had held his emotions in check the night before with Aeri and Treadwell, but this cut him deeply. He had only just begun to know the man, but he liked him a great deal, despite his abrasive exterior. This issue of a puaper's burial and Aeri paying for his head stone from her own small pockets did not make the governor happy. He had, in fact, offered to host the wake for Dhugal, as well as seeing to a proper burial.

The governor settled back in his chair, one bared hand brushing through the masses of sunset tresses. He hoped no one would take offense to his actions on the part of Dhugal, he had to do this, for himself, for Aeri, and for all those who loved him.

Bare feet stretched beneath the desk, encountering more spiderwebs, causing him to shudder. In the dim light of the oil lamp it was difficult to see if there were actually spiders inhabiting the webs, but the rustle of paper beneath his feet was apparent. Reaching down, Altias retrieved the sheet of parchment. The note. The note he had left to let the council know of his whereabouts. COverd in dust and webbing, not a soul had seen it.

A long sigh was drawn from the governor, before his voice was raised to the page outside his door.

"Luke! Send for Councilor Treadwell. We have things to discuss."