Myrken Wood, Confined.

[Carnath-Emory]

In the aftermath of stifling darkness, a time of peace has come to Myrken Wood. And, as is human nature, minds that had previously been occupied with little but thoughts of survival -- on enduring -- have turned to contemplation of the province's ever-changing state. It is generally agreed, some weeks after sun won its freedom and the last of night's monstrosities faded away before its light, that things have taken a slow turn for the worse.

Oh, it's not so bad: these circumstances hardly compare to the horrors of the Fivefold Blight, after all -- the weather is mild, with not a preturnatural storm to be had, and the crops are poor, but that's only to be expected at this time of year, when so few of them will grow at all. The abominations that had stalked the woods hadn't slaughtered all of the game there, and miraculously had left livestock completely untouched. Myrken's farmers are quite aware that, had this darkness fallen upon them during the summer months, their fields would have been left as worthless as barren rock. But...

But. There is that Wall to consider -- for this is all that it's ever been named, Councilor Guillaume evidently lacking the creative flare to do better. Governor Bromn would have done better, it's muttered; even dead old Phuri, bless his rotten heart, could have thought up something a little more... inspiring. But in the absence of such minds, the Wall is capable of inspiring little more than greed and uneasiness. Greed, yes, for it's not just a division of Straka that has been at work upon the thing. Carpenters, stonemasons, draftsmen, labourers -- all have been requested, coaxed, wheedled, conscripted, bought into the Judiciary's service, to facilitate the Wall's construction. Bolstering the Straka presence there, a contingent of uniformed men from Lothbury itself have taken up arms -- or, in some cases, shovels -- at the Walls main points; in addition, Baron al'Nerun's contingent is expected within days, prompting the speculation as to the three factions' abilities to co-operate harmoniously. Expectations are not high.

Fortunately, the sprawling forests for which Myrken is named have supplied a good surplus of lumber for the project. Limestone has been imported in quantity from Derry, the reigning Princess of which has courteously -- but with increasing insistance -- expressed her curiosity in its purpose. Her patience is not infinite; in time, she will make mention of this oddity to the Lord of neighbouring Heath, and word will spread like wildfire. In all, it's agreed that the one good thing about the Wall is the impetus it's given to Myrken's economy, which has enjoyed a flood of coin during the construction process -- which has proceeded with haste. At this time, Myrken is almost completely encircled, the Wall standing at an even five feet of burly stone -- and growing with each passing day. Watchtowers have been erected at major points of transit, fortified with good blackwood and bristling with guardsmen's spears, and travel in and out of the province experiences significant delays; still travel does still remain possible, and Myrken has not suffered for a slowing of the rate of import.

But. What has befallen the Judiciary? It is speculated, of recent days, that a post to the Council carries with it a death sentence. Witness Governor Phuri, for instance -- murdered in his own bed, if the rumours are to believe. Oh, certainly, Councilor Tetsi was a decrepit echo of a man when he died ( "Practic'ly dessicated!", it was commonly said) -- natural circumstances, certainly -- but a man couldn't say the same of Good Councilor O'Cynen, unless he wanted to be jeered all the way to the Wall, and beaten soundly once he'd gotten to the other side. There's no mistaking the mourning for Joseph's loss, and his widow will find blankets and foodstuffs set at her door for many weeks yet; she does not grieve alone. And what, meantime, of the Marquis? A mysterious one, that had been, ushered in on an evening wind, charming the merchanters of the town with his charismatic wit -- only to vanish without warning, some months later. Another victim of that lasting darkness? So the rumours go, encompassing everything from horros of the night, to monsters of the more human sort. He is hardly the only source of such conjecture: there's also Good Governor Bromn, a man all but idealised by those portions of the populace less familiar with O'Cynen's integrity; in a time of war, Bromn had promised courage, and an honesty rare amongst the Judiciary -- although, it's murmured reluctantly, he had gone a little strange near the end. Tetsi; Phuri; O'Cynen; the Marquis; Bromn -- surely, Councilorship is a dangerous position. No surprise, then, that so few have made nominations for those seats newly emptied -- and that the populace has grown ever more concerned...

But... it's not all bad. There's begun some talk of religion, amongst the townsfolk -- and this time, neither the Church of the One Faith, nor the Inquisition, are its source. A man as charming as he is wise, they say, gentle and sincere, and not the sort of churchman who's more interested in pockets than souls. Perhaps he will guide the province to a new era of peace, although even those who've seen him speak remain unconvinced of that... so far. And there's the Way Station & Livery, one of the town's newer businesses, which by its very presence reassures that all hope is not entirely lost; if merchants would come to the town of their free will, after all, there must be something in it worth having! Why, even those thrice-cursed Spires have finally fallen, and gone is the smog with which they'd tainted the sky, and after all...

...this isn't Orvere. Now that's something to be grateful for.

[Vanidor]

...this isn't Orvere. Now that's something to be grateful for.

Which was a good thing, if one were to ask one of the soldiers in the Baron's contigent. The city had been virtually flattened in the last days of the siege. Magefire had coursed the streets and turned centuries-old cobblestone to slag and burning missles. Certain parts of the once proud city had been completely destroyed, including the ancient Elector's manor, which had once been the centrepiece of city culture. All of it gone, along with a good portion of that city's lucrative shipyards. The Belisarius was a'shamble, with three or four ships laying in the harbor and the dockworks turned to cinder.

And that devastation, according to the mercenaries, was why they were here. Eighty strong, with more on the way for sure if rumor told rightly, they had left service with the armed forces of Thessilane and gone to serve under the Baron of Almark, Kerrak al'Nerun. And then, they had come here to attempt to make a difference. For some reason the Baron, no the Captain as he preferred to be called, had some desire to make sure Myrkenwood did not fall to the Shadow, as he called it. Whatever that meant, he was here to stay if more rumor told true.

Some of his men were letting it be known, in a rather non-chalant way, that he was seeking a governmental post here. And as he was a military man, there really was only one position he was aiming to seek, open or not...

In the meantime, he had integrated his men into the security of the Wall, sending the motly force out in groups of five to patrol the boundaries. A random pattern too, if anyone was attempting to watch. They came afoot, or upon the back of massive warhorses. They had swords and hammers and axes or spears ready to push back the nefarious or quarrelous folk, who wanted to do harm to that defensive structure. Kerrak and his men, it seems, truly were here to stay...

[Khalika]

Indeed the patrols watch as the walll grows higher everyday....but as they watch the wall another contigient watches them....from midnight shadows, and upon high tree perches they are watched...But not by townsfolk, disgruntal or curious..or paid mercenaries...not even human are the 3 who have been watching the progress in silence...Vertex are what they are called..though they are not known in Myrken, in Thessilane, in Derry, in the whole of the Amasynia Province, save for a select few, who are in close company of their R'il. A creature from across the sea far past any marked Island. These Lizard men meld into the landscape with a Camilean skill. Holding the ability to stand in silence for days...man have walked an inch from their touch and not known of their presence...It is perhaps why they have been thought upon a number of occasion as the perfect killers...for they have no clear scent..the abilty to leave almost no tracks. But they are not here to kill.....yet..

Simply to watch...Observe the builders as much as the soilders who Protect the large cage being erected around Myrken wood...Their R'il, a resident of the area for some years now, Holds a personal grudge against being confined, in any form. and does not look kindly upon having simple freedoms being snatched away...

So they watched and more...in the dead of night when they choose to slip through the darkness, a mason, or treecutter might spy a glimpse of a being, a brush of the trees where there is no wind...and night after night as this occurance repeats itself....rumors of ghost and dark spirits haunting the wall may spread amoungst an already superstious people, a people who have seen everything and anything land before their feet....a belief in ghost could not be too far a straw to grasp....and when symbols and talisman begin appearing hanging from trees and clawed into froozen ground....strange pictorials...they may perhaps jump to the worst conclusion...and that could be...

The wall in cursed...

[Vanidor]

... The wall is cursed.

That is what the people were starting to say. The rumour mill had started it's course and flit and flew amoungst the more easily swayed members of the community. And the signs and sigils had been seen and observed by the men who rode patrol. Their dark-clad eyes sweeping over the various talismans and such left in trees and upon the fridged ground. The Captain, this being Kerrak and not the currently imperiled and incapacitated Captain Daniels, sat upon the back of his horse observing one of them. Observing the markings and trying to read their meaning. After moments, he simply laughed and drew his sabre. With a rather... indifferent reguard, the blade swept out and hacked one of the talismin's from its perch upon its treelimb.

His command was simple, then, ordering torches to be lit along the entire course of the Wall. Torches drove back the shadows, brought into some clarity that which was hidden by the Darkness. Torches and lanterns would, he said, enable the people of Myrken to combat the demons that would assail them. There was no need to fear the dark, nor the wastrels that sought to hide behind it's cover. He believed in the strength of the people of Myrken, that they had survived this long was a testament to it. And with their strength, allied with that of the Order, the Judiciary, and his own... Well, they'd drive whatever it was that was driving them back out and away.

And speaking of the Judiciary, he'd make a second proclaimation. There before the stout main gates. Head held high, the feather tucked into the crown of his hat blowing lightly in the chill wind. There was a change in the air, he said. And he was here to assist the province in flowing with it. The man who was, at least amoungst the Judiciary, in charge of their well being and saftey had failed them. Had vanished from the pages of history. As if he had been torn from the sheets and set aflame. And Kerrak was here, now. With his sword in hand, and both feet firmly planted (through the massive posterior of his horse in this case!) upon the ground of Myrken soil. He would announce his desire to assume the post left semi-vacant by the mysterious Marquis. To put his name forth, as one who had already bled to help keep Myrken soil safe from invasion. If the People and the Judiciary would have him.

But that was not all. For he could not do this as he now was. There had to be a change. So he would make it. A renunciation. A renunciation of his place of birth, of station and of rank. He, and his men as well, would no longer consider themselves as Sons of Thessilane, but Sons of Myrken Wood instead. And so their futures would be intertwined.

[Khalika]

The Gypsy was in the back, lost in the midst of the small gathering who had stopped or come specificlly to hear the Barron..no the interm Captain make his claim on the post of counilor...The one known as Marquis was not around to defend his title so it seems he will lose it and from the looks of it..rather unceremoniously....Sons of Myrken...When it suits them...

Sons of Myrken...

Where were these sons when the spires spit out monsters and death?..Where were these sons when the sun rays were vanished from the soil of Myrken, and the white woman strolled freely through the forest poisoning it with her very touch?...The list could go on...and in her mind it did...but they were not there...These sons of Myrken..they were off fighting a greater battle...a Thessilane battle...

But she was there....she bleed for Myrken, she bruised for Myrken, her bones were broken for Myrken...Does that make HER a Daughter of Myrken?...No for she did it for self preservation...or at least that was what she told people when they asked why she ran into hordes of undead...or orc parties who have strayed to far from the mountains..Protecting her interest...yet more and more her interest seem to include those who called this land home...

Childern of Myrken...

Now as she stands here and watches as this man spouts empty promises, behind a thing that was nothing but a cage to keep them trapped inside what already exsisted...Would their stone wall have kept out any of the things that had plagued this land during her time here?..doubtful..but it will do a good job of drawing in the eyes they have worked so hard to avoid..for if there is one thing most enjoy..and that's a challenge...in her mind and mixed in with a dozen other reason she thinks this is the worst idea since Leek soup...This is wall will soon be a beckon for any and all to challenge..It made Myrken look more important then it really was...and what happens when the Sons of Myken go back to war?..When they bore of protecting peasants and farmers?

The wall is not cursed...This wall IS a curse...a curse, a plague, a giant bull's eyes that screams to be fired at...She's knows when the shine wears off this newest trinket...It'll be her and a few others left to deal with whatever comes looking to bring it down...

Daughter of Myrken indeed...

she slipped away..without a glance back ..they were all so wrapped up in his words..it doubtful anyone saw her..and it was passing back into the treeline that she noticed them..the talismans...she bent down to pick up one that had been cut down and left to wither in the snow...bone and twigs, wraped and knotted with twine and bark...she knew the Talisman.. knew it well, though the materials were altered. They'd have to be as she doubts there a mess of Ghuliop Boars about. But that wasn't what had startled her. This wasn't what she asked for..Her ghost were not so much haunting the workers of the wall...but protecting them...

She looked back at the wall as it stretch as far to the left and right as she could see...she never should have gotten them involved...it was her pride that sent them off and not her more logical thoughts..Of course there would be no stoping them now...for they have found a cause..and a Vertex with a purpose in a near unstopable force..the best she could hope to do was still them some...she was their R'il after all...

The Vertex...so true a race..in there land,the Xeno jungles there are no boundries...no lines invisiable or otherwise, that seperate one land from the other...the clans..live in song..a comunity of circles like the rings on a cut tree...to them the land is not to be owned or divided...they do not have a word to explain what they see now in Myrken... to Deny one part of the land from another...Perhaps that is not exactly what the builders had in mind..unfortunatly the Vertex no not the language that is spoken in this land..

All they see is the stone snake...weaving path across the land...seperating cutting...caging them in.....no...they are not trying to scare the people of Myrken...They are protecting them..in there own ways....against the evil that is the wall...

Protectors of Myrken...

What has she done?...and can she undo it without destroying her plans...or before they kill or get killed..

[channe]

Perhaps the most unimportant member of the crowd -- a skinny, underfed girl hacking at a piece of stale bread with dirt-crusted fingers -- stands nearby, watching Kerrak speak with an upturned gaze.

She, like most everyone else in the vicinity, is hungry. Not like Councilor Treadwell -- she believes what the other farmhands say, that Treadwell stockpiled measure after measure of salted beef in a private smokehouse during the starving-days of the Long Dark. She's been told that Guillaime eats plump grouse from a golden plate each night at six-thirty sharp; and why should she not believe these things?

In the days since her father's vicious beating at the hands of a member of the Order of Straka, she's been haunting the town, growing angrier by the day at the governing class, whose servants she sees purchasing a dozen sticky buns at the bakery to be eaten at tea while she plunks down a week's salary for enough stale bread to keep her father (an invalid; beaten hard enough that he no longer remembered her name) and younger brother alive.

Her brother thinks the wall is a good idea -- after all, who really wants a repeat of the Long Dark, or the Spires, or whatever army choosing to use Myrken as a pass-through this month? And he likes Kerrak, too; the man does have that particular je ne sais quoi -- and did not he bring some extra food to the table by helping out with the carpentry on the Wall?

Agnieszka trusts her brother, and appreciates the extra income.

But Agnie also hates Straka (and, really, what are those mercenaries but an outgrowth of Straka, now?) Her jury, unlike those of the approving Kerrak-hearing mass around her, is still in deliberations.

The anger that was instituted by Curin's beating has bubbled over and extended to what she has begun to see as gross mismanagement by (whom? The Council? Certain individuals? Agnie's mind would fill in the greater "sticky-bun class" here, as she's not politically aware enough to see the difference) -- not that they care what she thinks, as they only have time for those who eat grouse from golden plates.

Torches and lanterns didn't help the poor neighbor-child from being mauled to death by those tiger-things outside the Dagger that night. Nor did they keep away the darkness that killed the crops and caused the hunger. And she's seen enough, living here, that she knows no combination of wood and stone will keep out the supernatural.

Maybe what they're saying is true. Maybe the wall is cursed.

All Agnie knows is that she is hungry.

And she will still be hungry tomorrow.

And the next day.

But -- as she watches the man speak, she realizes -- yes, she wants to believe -- oh, how she wants to believe. And maybe she starts to. Just a little.

[Vanidor]

"I know that many of you are angry. Are distressed at the state of affairs here within your own city. Your own provence. There are those who have not done their all to support and uphold you in your time of need. And those that had, have been taken from you in the midst of a cruel and evil time." The man who spoke, Kerrak al'Nerun, stood tall. Stood alert. He was dressed in the simple clothing of a laborer this day, with the sun overhead streamed down and illuminated the site of the wall that was still under construction. He had been helping, it seemed. And now had paused to speak with a score or so of villagers and workmen. They had sought him out, not the other way around.

"Others have come, you will say. Have come to support you in your time of need, but they came from without. From other lands and nations. And when the need for their presence was no longer felt, they departed and left you. True, they believed that things we well and right here in this realm, but the shadows and the darkness always waited. Bid their time. And would come again in order to strike at you from their corners and hidden sanctums." Here the man paused yet again, turning as one of the workmen handed him a small cup of water. It was swallowed, allowed to roll down the prominant jaw and past narrow pressed lips.

A breath, taken and released as Kerrak looked around. Others had come, noting the cessation of work, hearing the flow of words. Had come and decided to listen in. "I am here to say that it is time to change that. That it is time for us, the People of Myrken Wood to become what is truly our destiny." And he paused once more, another breath which was deeper and longer.

"In Thessilane, there is a proud tradition of men and women who rose about the petty squabblings between clans and intermingled. They joined their stengths together and became, in time, a nation with as proud and as rich a history as any nation here in this part of the world. They took control of their destiny, and rose up and above what they had been. Oh, yes, they bled and died for it, clashed against the Orcs that had resided at Almark swamps. Fought the Trolls that clung to the outskirts of the Red Hills. But through these trials and tribulations, they were forged into something delicate and strong all at once. We, too, now have that opprotunity."

"For though I believe the raising of this wall will bring repercussions, it will do something for Myrken that had been done for other nations in the past. Brought enough of you. Of us! Each and everyone, together for a single purpose. And that is to protect your lovers, your wives. Husbands and daughters. Sons and Mothers. Even your thrice removed lack luster second cousin, from Foggy Bottom, was considered when the Ring Wall here was decided upon. Thought of, subconsiencely when you agreed to come and work upon it. Through your sacrifice, thus will Myrken Wood be made better. For you are all a strong folk. Having weathered the trials of the Fivefold Blight, now we are ready to usher in a new age of prosperity. Perhaps... perhaps in time, our grandchildren will be able to look back and smile at this generation."

"And remember them as the generation that took the 'Wood back from the dark, and wrought a semblance of peace from the shadow..." Here the man paused again, took another breath for he had been speaking those words with an almost... fervent pitch, it seemed his eyes burned so intently. "You, the folk who hold the broom and the hammer. The chisle and the mattock. The reaper and the plow. Who operate the loom or the 'mill. Those who have gripped the sword and buckled upon the shield." There were some men from the Order of Straka there, it seemed. Watching curiously. "You are the true Heros of Myrken Wood. All you need do is reach out and grasp what fate has ordained as your right. And I swear by the Holy Light above, that my hand will be there right besides your own. Stretching for all of it's might to help us all gain and preserve what liberties and freedoms we desire!"

And here, the man stood tall and swept his gaze over the assembled crowd. Men and women, now, with a few children seemingly scattered amoungst the collection. It amazed him, sometimes, how many full families had come to the camps set up along the lines of the Wall. No, the Ring Wall, now. He'd just given it a name, though there was no surety that it would stick. That they banded together like this gave his heart some strength. Then, with a wave of his hand he motioned back to the wall. The hammer he had carried this day was hefted upon his shoulder. Carried back to the wall where he had been helping form another rock into one of the defensive bricks. He would work alongside them, these folk he now called himself one of. And together, why, perhaps the just might forge a better Myrken Wood for one and all.

[Ymir]

It had been weeks since the Reverend Craymont had delivered his opening sermon to the people of Myrken town. The vigor and perhaps panache of the display had left many with positive and negative questions left on their lips. Many had witnessed the healing of the plague-ridden dwarf. Many had run from the sight of such a thing, but there was little doubt that such an event would be whispered and come to be common knowledge.

The aftermath of such an event was the dwarf immediately swearing fealty to a very humble holy man in the town square. This allowed for the progression of a small chapel to be built in order to further the needs of this new group of holy men. It was indeed an odd sight to see two half-elves, two humans, a dwarf, and two half-orcs working on building a humble abode in which they might commune with the holy gods which they revered. The holy man who had sparked such controversy did not have an aversion to pitching in and working just as hard as any other man. Those villagers that came forth to volunteer were served water personally by the bearded man, who thanked them for their neighbourly contribution.

The entire build was indeed a great contrast to the sermon that had been delivered. While the events that took place initially were quite dramatic. The build of the chapel was quite subdued, quite humble. They did not seek to draw attention to themselves, nor did they need to. Their actions spoke far louder now than their words. While they required trees to build the chapel, they insisted on completely uprooting them. In order to allow the soil time to heal and provide space for new trees to be planted. This they also insisted was their duty...to ensure that the forest stayed strong and that a balance was maintained between need and growth.

The group of holy men led by the wise Reverend Craymont had maintained a vigil in their duties. They interacted with the people on a daily basis, but also kept up on the local news and rumors. The chapel doors were open from dawn to mid-dusk. Free to all those who had questions or needed advice. The Reverend himself enjoyed leisurely strolls in the town, and among the countryside. Even stopping to help the townsfolk with menial tasks, such as setting fenceposts, or birthing a calf from it's mother. They were well aware of the growing tension that was building within the region but seemed quite oblivious to it.

Indeed they had been present at the speech which Captain Kerrak had delivered upon the Ring Wall. Many were the men and women who gathered in meetings at the chapel in order to pose questions and discuss the local situations. It was on this eve that they spoke of that very speech. There were some cries that the Captain was far too fervent in his words. Some said he was just and strong, others said he was simply mad. A fight nearly broke out before the good Reverend simply raised his hand in order to speak.

"Captain Kerrak seeks to help the people of Myrkenwood. He speaks with passion...this is true. He is either a man of great faith...or great ambition. Both have their risks...both can have their rewards. Not one man in this room can predict the future. Not one can say what the results will be if this man assumes power. We can only do the work of the gods. If destruction occurs, then we will rebuild. We will heal and have faith. Fighting with our hearts for the well-being of our neighbours. This man works with the people. We should have faith in him for being so humble and generous."

There was some murmur of agreement amongst the people about this. But a few voices rose up in alarm and anger. "What if he brings a military state upon us?!" There were additions to this statement as well. "Yes! What if we become closed off from the other provinces permanently!" And more. "This wall isn't only a shield Reverend! It could be a prison too! What will we do with no money from trade?! When our children grow hungry and the winter winds grow cold?! What then?!" There was much cause for alarm. That could easily be seen. Murmurs and fingers pointed violently were the gesture of choice amongst those present. But it all abated with a simple raising of the hand of the man who stood in a gleaming white robe that seemed to push the darkness away.

"Perhaps being closed off will be good for the economy. While the supply from Myrken will be halted...it will be more in demand other provinces. While their supplies begin to dwindle from the higher demand...slow your production so that a surplus does not occur. In this manner, when trade opens again, you will be able to raise your prices. It will take faith to get through until that time. Should you worry about money inside the province...simply nominate an individual to issue forth a petition to the government that a barter system be introduced if the province locks it's gates. Money will not be necessary in a barter system. Neighbours will help neighbours...and help the state for protection." He bowed his head with a smile and proceeded to shake it slowly. "I am not saying any of this is easy. Hardship is not easy. You've all encountered death, famine, war. We must find a balance in everything. We must find the good in a bad situation. Faith does help. I will be here, ready to help and counsel you...should you need it. My brothers and sisters...we must rely upon each other for strength. Sometimes...that's exactly what faith is. That our brothers and sisters will not let us down in our time of need. And we here will not let you down. This I swear."

The night would die down into voices of assent...though there would always be some dissent. Faith was a fickle thing...after all.