A letter to Treadwell.

[Strahl]

The progression of the Farmstead’s renovation had gone exceedingly well. Of course, such was the luxury of prestigious backing fueled by considerable interest on the part of one of the wealthiest cousins in the whole of the Amasynianic region – and considering the family’s home of Ricathair; such in itself was either one of two things: Blind fate of inheritance or blind luck.

In Alistaar’s case it wasn’t so obviously the latter. Though the family name of Strahl wasn’t always spoken aloud, it could be found as a footnote on nearly one in every three crate that had pushed itself through port at Ricathair – and nearly one-fifth of all physical cartage running up the roads from Gilead, back up to The Valley for subsequent export and remarket – though such in itself had been in close-to-deficit for some years now, considering the hazards of highwaymen, specifically in the more shrouded territory of Mythago Wood – where ambush was increasingly more likely.

The Strahl family’s answer to the problem was its own paid-for presence in Gilead and throughout the Amasyn Valley in the form of an organization known as The Silver Shield. A private force consisting of nearly one hundred men, officially answerable only to the family’s Patriarch and its counsel – consisting of his three brothers, the husbands of two sisters, and his own son. Alistaar, being a cousin of the family was never in line for such a placement. Not now, or ever. However, it was Alistaar himself that had established and arranged The Silver Shield organization himself – no illusions in the basements and taverns of Gilead are ever made that it is he whom those sellswords ultimately owe loyalty.

Until this point, Alistaar had only retained a place-holder position within the Corporate Empire, acting as the eyes and ears for the business’ interests whenever specific leadership over a project was needed, or representation of the family in an overall capacity. He, was, essentially an Ambassador.

And when he was asked to contend with the concerns of bandits and told by The Counsel to resolve the issues plaguing the route between Gilead to Ricathair (and of course through the Mythago Wood) He did so, and in creating The Silver Shield, introduced stability to the region that had been until that time was unheard of – at least frontrunned by a private organization, as opposed to enforced by The Crown.

What was supposed to be a placeholder assignment, assumed to be an irresolvable concern requiring constant attention, was nearly resolved inside of three years – all of it was privately accredited to Alistaar’s efforts. A rising star, as it were amongst the family whom had made its fortunes for generations in the import, export, and overall transport of any manners of goods and product throughout Amasynia, and to the major ports throughout Amasynia, Thessilane and to a far lesser extent, Heath and Lothaine, now could count on an almost inexhaustible source of income from the fields of Xanth Grange and Mythago’s lumber.

So when Alistaar with his new found voice made the proposal to expand efforts into Myrken to the Counsel of Directors – they listened…

Soon afterwards, a more than generous allowance was made and travel arrangements were set. With more than enough abandoned Farmland out skirting Myrkentown and frankly, little interest in the property a dilapidated Farmstead and home was purchased at a near liquidated price, and with a heavy purse of shilling, a team of laborers had been employed to restore and renovate the structure – and the work was completed in near record timing.

Inside the home, it had sported the obvious northern, enriched look of tapestry, painting – decorative wallpaper and an overall richly black and velvet red color scheme – not to mention lanterns and chandeliers, It was a home the likes of which most of Native Myrken hadn’t seen before – and on one hand it might have been seen as a slight over-indulgent, the effect was to essentially not please Alistaar’s own cravings for status and power – but to show to the governance of Myrken that he was here for the duration, ready to talk business, and not take anything short of approval for an answer.

Money in his experience, among other things, did that effectively and satisfactory…

“To whom it may concern…”

He started, dictating his letter to a younger woman, whom sat a desk scratching away at a parchment with an ink-tipped quill.

“To whom it may concern,

As I have no doubts the rumors of my arrival into the region have reached your ears, I must apologize for not issuing statements and confirmations much sooner than now. As I have been actively organizing efforts on behalf of my Uncle, Lord Rene Strahl, it is with great enthusiasm that I am now prepared to begin negotiations for the lands and title deeds as submitted by My Lord’s clerks from the offices of Ricathair.”

Alistaar had received confirmations from those same offices that those letters had gone out and been received, depicting interest in appropriating a number of land claims along the extent of the Sikasoon Mountains, where his own prospectors had returned more than generous reports of potential findings there. However, by his order, they were ordered to not proceed further, fearing that should further investigations reveal something of credible value and prices would find themselves in the extreme – when they might otherwise be purchased at a bargain.

The longer the regional mindset that it hadn’t been worth the effort remained, the better it would be for his margins… Clearing his throat, he continued.

“I am at your convenience with urgency to begin negotiations. It is with maximum interest that our negotiations proceed without further delays and we can, going forward, work in collaboration to maximize the use of otherwise unexploited benefits for all.

Signed,
Alistaar Strahl.”

“Good… Have copies made and sent to Treadwell’s… Whatever. Clerk, office, whatever he maintains around this god-forsaken wood.” Alistaar commented idly, as he found himself staring over one of the many books that had been present on his extensive dining room table – all of them pertaining to histories, folklore, and speculation on Myrken as a whole, the majority of which he had carted here at great expense. “Go on to make sure that gets sent to every independent contractor from Myrkentown to Foggy Bottom – and to Crossroads and Ruann to the east and west. Once these peasants catch the name, they’ll be falling over one another to snatch the purse. It’ll pressure the local government to speed things. The faster they move, the more we might otherwise sneak in. “

“So… This is how it starts, hmn?” She asked, but not before a slight snicker as she went about starting on the first of several copies, referencing the first with slight glances every so often.

“Oh, my dear Carlijin – it started two years ago in Gilead. Now, however, is when the real efforts are made. “ He closed the book he was reading after marking the page with a tassel. “Also, send word to The Silver Shield to have me sent an updated roster. We may very well need to have a contingent brought up here.”

“Already done this morning…” was her only response. His came in the form of a coy smile – proof in execution that the best of loyalties came from years of friendship and service. He couldn’t have hoped for more initiative and foresight from his assistant.

[Treadwell]

Aloisius Treadwell would be found easily enough, though not, at first, at his office in the Meetinghouse. A runner from there would need to be dispatched, first to his toy shop in town and, finding that unoccupied, to his home outside said town. The Councilor is there found wobbling about on the front lawn with his two oldest children, both toddling and scurrying about playfully. Soon, though, the red-robed fellow takes up the note, pays the messenger well enough, invites him in to wait and eat while he works on a reply, and nudges his children inside the house, retiring himself into a sitting room just to the right of the entrance while his butler secures something marginally cold and quenching for the thirsty, sweaty fellow.

It's a decent-sized area that seems to be up for the purchasing.

The Council could certainly use the funds.

But what is there about this Silver Shield and its representative? He knows little of them from personal experience. Thus, giving a small frown as he takes another gulp of the relatively cool milk in his mug, he responds in that usual sloppy, heavy-handed blurbiness of penmanship he has.

= = = = =

Good Mr. Strahl,

You come with a reasonable request--desiring a purchase of land. I, however, desire a few things, myself: knowledge of the land's intended use, an estimate of when you might wish to acquire such holdings if possible, and consideration to be given to what should happen should any agreement we hope to reach not carry through to its intended purpose. These are the sorts of matters, in truth, that I much prefer to discuss in person instead of through notes like this. Please come by my estate here in town, and, if I'm not present, have sent for me so that we can meet, perhaps dine, enjoy one another's company, and, I pray, come to a pleasant agreement in writing that pleases any and all involved.

By my hand this evening the fifteenth of the second month, A. R. 213,
Aloisius H. Treadwell
Councilor of Revenue and Finance of Myrken Wood

= = = = =

The note is sent along with appropriate payment to the runner in question (now doubly paid by Treadwell for services!), hurrying away to Strahl's offices again.