Rumors in the town...

[Jirai]

Come morning, a plentitude of new ones would be making the rounds of Myrken Wood.

"Th' General, 'e go' rid of Helstone... must be tha' Helstone's workin' wi' them drow."

"Aye, and if Helstone's wi' th' drow, so's 'is guard, tha' Ramirez woman. Ain' th' new Councilor also a Ramirez?"

"They ain' from 'ere, neither. Jus' come from Collingford... or so they say! Me, I say th' drow sent them all!"

"Nay, 'tain' Helstone as is wi'the drow, it's th' General. He go' rid of t'only one who can help us!"

"An' Treadwell, he ain' better. Gonna tax us more... an' what does he care? He can allus run righ' back to Westenford!"

"I heard he been sleeping wi' lots o' wimmen up at th' tavern."

"An' they elected an elf! Wot's an elf got t'do w' us, anyway? They ain' nothin' but trouble."

"Wot's th' differance 'twixt elf an' drow anyways? Who's t'say he ain' helpin' his pointy-eared friends?"

And so they spread.

[Kylerryth]

So the rumors spread; so heads turned, ears listened, mouths muttered.

Sometimes, however, a mouth would mutter a question. It was a question on many minds, but it had occurred to few of those minds to lend voice to their thoughts. After all, they were but commoners -- their voices, while loud enough to be heard round Myrkentown proper, were too often unable to pierce the walls of the Meetinghouse, to reach the ears of the Councilors. Councilors they had not even voted for, at that.

So the rumors spread; so the question went with them from place to place, and remained yet unanswered.

"Why," the question began, as many questions do.

"Why do we have a Council made up of foreigners?"

It wasn't long before question transformed into questions. Some were variations of the same; some were new. Some were dangerous, even treasonous, and these were whispered more often in the dark smoky corners of houses of ill repute.

But who was to say what thoughts and desires lay in the minds and hearts of every man?

"Why do we have a Council made up of foreigners?"

"Why are there no Myrkenfolk on the Council?"

"Why aren't we allowed to vote?"

And so it went.

So it grew, too.

"Surely the General means well. He's led the Militia, after all. But why should we continue to depend on him if our men can now train more men?"

"Treadwell? That fat sod? Likely he'd pop if you poked him; more likely he'd bleed gravy instead of red. But isn't he a lord over in Westenford? Why does he need to be a lord here, too? To set his just as fat pockets to overflowing? To eat our food? Enough to feed a family of five, all by himself no less!"

"Vaniwho? Goldenwhat? Speak straight, man, else I'll straighten you out myself. An elf? Faugh, elves. Why do we need them on the Council? Not a dark elf, you say. Not one of those filthy drow. Well, by the One God's teeth -- you don't say. Like it makes a damn bit of difference, you fool! Elves don't have our concerns; they don't know what it's like to be human. Faugh and faddle, say I."

"Eduardo Ramirez. That's the brother of Helstone's wench, isn't it? Never heard anything of or about him until he got on the Council ballot somehow. So why is he there at all? What's he ever done to distinguish himself here in Myrken?"

"Coriolanus Helstone. That Collingford fop. Thinks he's so smart. Well, how did he get so caught up in them drow affairs, then? Huh? Tell me that. Not so smart after all, right? Tell me this, too. Why are they so interested in him? Eh? Eh? I betcha he's their tool. That's right, he's a tool of the drow, him and that magicking bitch of his. Both of them -- ptooh! -- I spit on them, for they mean no good for the whole of Myrken."

And so went the muttering of Myrken.

[jacktim]

"I would have thought he bled butter..." --Sabrion in response to the Treadwell/Gravy comment.

"Perhaps these governers work with... or even for the drow!"

"Some militia. The drow have plagued these lands for too long! What is that curr Gen'ral up to?"

"I hear they have scones at the 'Dagger now." -- "Scones? You don't say."

"There's rumors of a pit fighting arena coming into the area. They seys that some rich man from the south is putting up good coin to make it happen."

"... Perhaps this curfew is stop us folk from interferin' with the drow spys tryin' to study up on our defenses."

"Mages? Drow? Talkin' squirrels? They'll let anyone into tha' tavern these days. I hear's that even that fat tax collecter is holdin' some sort of secretive meetin' there at nights."

"I hear that Treadwell's using the taxes he's been collecting to start a hunt for the fey again. Din' he learn last time not to be snackin' on the fairies?"

And on it continued...

[Treadwell]

"Gravy! Butter! Mmph mmph! It's neither of those!" Someone, it seems, has just gotten word of some of the grumblings on the street. Treadwell chortles as he shuffles around in his new library at his new home.

"They should all know by now, of course, that it's either pudding or ale."

But that bit about a pit fighting arena? A servant listening to everything from a few feet away is summoned, and thus. . . .

"You there! Go dress up in something suitably common, make yourself scarce, and then start spreading word that there's to be no pit fighting whatsoever. It's horridly illegal, hmm hmm!"

"And try to get the name of the rich man from the south, hmm hmm? It's not *me.* I'm from the northwest!"

So, with the servant running off at Treadwell's request, Aloisius returns to his books.

[jacktim]

"I'd rather like to think that it'd be both... that... or stoo" --
In response to the Tready Bleedy posts....

"They say that ol' Treadwell can't read, and of all the times he caught looking at books, he's really just checking for pictures." -- "That explains why he taxes so much, he can't really count the value of the coins... So he just grabs them 'til he's happy."

"I wonder if we beat 'im wiv a stick would he explode with candy??" A rather curious squirrel asked.

[Dhugal]

Somewhere, off in the deepest parts of Myrken Wood,
in the midst of grabbing nuts, the WereSquirrels stop
and look at each other. Someone is TALKING!!

TCCCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHCK!!!!!

[jacktim]

It seems that much like death, (and taxes), the harsh weather has not put a damper on the gossip going about town. More and more villagers are talking about the comings and goings of others...

"I heard someone say the other day that that bard was up to no good out in the forest again. I'll bet 'e's been talking with those drow... Tellin' 'em our secrets... I'd bet me life on it."

"Treadwell's opened 'is shop again, and he's usin' our taxes to fund it... Why I was walking by the shop just yesterday, and saw a brand new sign sitting in his floor, a large metal 'un at that... The nerve of that so-called-councillor, using our taxes to spruce up his shop...."

"... And what's with that squirrel thing, what lives up in the rafters at the 'Dagger. Ain't natural. He's always *somewhere* doin' something he shouldn't... I'd say it's about time someone did something about him."

[jacktim]

" 'As it been me imagination, or have a lot of unnatural folks been wandering aroun 'ere lately... As if that strange bard and the weird squirrel thing weren't enough... now we have even more creatures around... I says someone's up to something, bringing all those weirdos into town, an I'll bet me last pence that it ain't gonna be pretty."

"Treadwell's done ate so much 'e had to start a new pile... 'Ave you seen that bulky doll 'e's got in there?"