A Most Generous Offer

[Zayken]

As evening rolls on, a figure can be seen standing near the remains of the meetinghouse, draped in a heavy cloak, hood pulled low over the face. Not so uncommon a sight in Myrken. Waiting patiently for a message.

But unlike the previous nights this figure appeared, tonight several others were making their rounds. Moving through the mostly abandoned streets, quietly posting their notices wherever they could find room to. Soon, this message is all over town, for any inquiring eyes that may take notice:


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Citizens of Myrken,

in recent days, your government has been informed of his Lord Zayken's intents to engage in war upon your lands. In his great name, Myrken and its people have been declared guilty of crimes against Perfection too numerous to count. Unless Myrken's leaders surrender completely and unconditionally, war will be unavoidable, and it will lead to the purging of Myrken utterly.

There remains four dusks before Lord Zayken requires this decision be made.

However, in his merciful wisdom, Lord Zayken understands that the decisions of the few may not represent the decisions of the many. Understanding this, the people of Myrken are being offered the chance to join the growing empire of Perfection.

In Perfection, there is no fears, no wants. There is only glorious Perfection, without the perpetual troubles of the common man to plague your lives. And so he has opened the doors to you all.

Those who would seek refuge, those who would not have their destiny decided by crowns and councils, are welcome. Those who tire of living in turmoil and destitution, will find peace, in Perfection.

To join us, you need only indicate your willingness. Travel west, under the darkness of night, into the forest. Drape yourself in a length of chain, and blind your eyes with mask or cowl, and speak aloud the praises of Perfection, and you shall be taken into our empire to find safety from the coming storm.

Know that if a full surrender is not agreed to by Myrken's council, the wrath of Perfection can be terrifying and brutal. Those who reject this offer of refuge now, in the event of war, will be considered to willingly obstruct justice and the will of Perfection, and shall know only terror and ruin, as their leaders and criminals would.

Praise be to his Lord Zayken, and to Perfection.

[Khalika]

Made her way downstairs to the main room of the Waystation, and the room was a buzz, many held leaflets, and were huddled in whispers..

"What do we do?....Where do we hide?...There is no time to run?..Why has the council not spoke?....Do they have a plan?...Where is the constabulary?....Maybe it wouldn't be so bad?...

It was that final suggestion that stilled the entire room, all eyes falling upon a young woman with a small child in her arms...Her husband had perished during the food shortage, when a band of stragglers came upon them looking to raid their cellar where they keep, what little food they had left. since his death, she has been in a cloud of depression...barly having the strength to care for her son..

It was the sudden quiet that had actually pulled the Gypsy's attention to what they were huttled around, and when she look down, a servre frown etched upon her brow. She snapped up the leaflet, and looked about, any others that were about where also snapped up....

"I tell you this now....Talk if you want, flee if you must, fight if the courage is there...But do not speak of quitting in these walls, for you tarnish the memory of those who have in the past bleed to keep this land safe..

This filth!.. The leaflet clinched in her hand.."Will never enter this hold again!....

With that she is gone...slamming the door in her wake, as she does so Daphne-Kyle who was also present, moves to the now weeping mother...

"Hush child....She means not you....Her anger is the only way she can deal with any fear she may feel..

A quick look about the room, as all seemed lost in what to do...

"I can speak only for myself...but what this Lord Promise, seems nothing but servitude. And I would rather die with my head held high and free of will. then live forever without freewill...without feeling..

The mother had stoped weeping now....and stood, For my husband, and my child...I shall fight this newest threat to our land....

And slowly and surely others in the room stood as well...

So while Farmers and merchant slowly find courage, a Gypsy was leaving a message in the town square, after gathering as many of the leaflets she could find, perhaps not all...but enough. They were stabbed to the a post in the main square...Along with a note of her own...

Lord Zayken,

The employees, residences and frequenters of the Waystation, have refused your offer.... We would rather live flawed and free, then in your Perfection...

Khalika Quiller
Protector

[Cinnabar]

"Tch. What fresh nonsense is this?" Behind a desk bearing assorted stacks and sheaves of paper, Cinnabar Calomel of the Myrkentown Constabulary regards one of the posters with bemusement. War, it says. Surrender, it says. Purging, it says. Pale eyes lift to regard the Constable who brought the poster to his desk, and he sets the paper down.

"This is not acceptable. Sowing fear and uncertainty with these, these threats - it will not be tolerated. These flyers are to be taken down wherever they are posted. Anyone found posting them is to be brought into custody and charged with breach of the Peace. This troublemaking cannot be allowed to threaten what stability remains in Myrkentown." Another glance to the poster, frowning at its demands and ultimatums.

"I want extra patrols on the streets for the next week or so, particularly on the night shift - if nothing else, a visible Constabulary presence will hopefully serve to reassure the citizenry. Have the night patrols properly armed - crossbows and falchions, the armoury should have plenty in stock."

The Constable - one of the more senior officers, who'd had the flyer brought to his attention by a member of the morning patrol shift - nods at his orders and eyes the poster disapprovingly. "Will that be all, sir?"

Calomel considers for a moment, following his subordinate's gaze then looking to the other papers on his desk. "Almost. If you could send Waldred from the bookkeeping office up here, I have some papers to discuss with him. Aside from that, good morning Constable."

His briefing complete, the officer gives a smart bow and steps out to see the High Constable's instructions passed on and carried out. Cinnabar returns to his paperwork for a while, reading through reports and signing them off, sorting papers from one pile to another.

This is interrupted by a knock on the office's open door, and a bookish-looking young man with mousy brown hair peers in.

"You called for me, sir?"

The High Constable nods amiably, beckoning the clerk in. "Ah! Waldred. Yes, yes I did, regarding the figures for refitting the stables. Close the door, please." Once the young man complies Cinnabar's demeanour changes from genial pleasantry to grim determination. He retrieves the poster from among the papers on his desk and slides it across for the clerk to read. After the young man has had time to peruse the declaration, the High Constable continues in a quiet tone.

"You may have seen these around town this morning. Apparently a large number of them were posted up overnight. I want to know who this Zayken person is, and whether he might be able to make good on his threats. Have agents out tonight, keeping an eye on public places for anyone posting flyers like this. If they don't get picked up by Street patrols, they are to be trailed as far as is safe - I want to know who they are." Waldred nods, resolve in his gaze quite out of keeping with his role as a shy bookkeeper.

"There'll be a separate operation to find out who comes for anyone who wants to join this "Empire", but for the meantime we are to be extra vigilant - the curfew is still in force, and anyone caught heading west from Myrkentown during the hours of darkness is to be brought in for questioning. I very much doubt any Myrkeners are likely to willingly join up with this madman, but it pays to be certain." A moment taken to make sure there's nothing else he wants this young man to do, then the High Constable nods.

"That will be all. Reports daily, as usual. You know your duty."

Waldred nods, and moves to open the door. "I'll have those figures double-checked, sir - it may be a slip of the pen, or it might be the carpenters trying to take advantage of the current situation." The Shadow Constable resumes the persona of lowly Constabulary clerk as easily as slipping on a mask, and steps out into the corridor. Calomel raises a hand in farewell as he turns back to his paperwork.

"Thank you, Waldred. Mind how you go."

[channe]

Trooping home from their work patching the Wall, the mason Dominik Kaczmarek and his brothers stop alongside a gaggle of illiterate townspeople attempting to figure out what the sign says. After many false starts, someone who can read is dragged from a chandler's shop. That person reads the notice, slowly, in a clear voice, so the thirty-odd grime-soaked, tired-from-the-day workers can hear.

When he is done, a rippling of consternation runs through the crowd. This name is known, and it scares them; the Baie, and now Zayken? Belief, and perfection? How much, they wonder, can one people fight?

The one to break the silence is Dominik. "Perfection, my bloody stinking arse," he says, and then gives the paper a crisp, sound middle finger; and with that, Dominik, Piotr, and the others wheel and walk back towards the farm.

[Jirai]

The posted notes were being removed by the constabulary.

This one was removed by slender, ebon-skinned digits.

Dark eyes scanned the words swiftly, then the woman folded the parchment neatly, sliding it beneath her cloak.

Mother might find this interesting.

[Carnath-Emory]

This is the strange cunning with which synchronicity works:

That if Ariane had not promised Glenn Burnie a voyage to ruined Aithne, she'd not have been returning from Market this morning with the ropes and supplies required for it. That if the Constabulary had not been set to tearing the flyers from their walls, she'd likely never have stopped to read them at all. But the vigour of uniformed men does draw the eye, and some nascent curiosity sets her to riding ahead of them, to where a poster still holds intact.

The swordswoman cannot read all of its words, one-time illiterate that she is. But then, she only needs to decipher one of them, because Zayken holds old and dire meaning; Zayken has her wheeling the horse about to ride hard for Darkenhold with all the haste that it can summon.

Because Glenn Burnie must have his maps, and soon he surely shall.
But her sister ...

Her sister must be warned.

[Zayken]

And as it had in the nights previous, a hooded messenger made its way to the old meetinghouse. Silently, it appraised the streets - although largely emptied, there was still the chattering of people here and there, waving fistfuls of torn down papers angrily. Places where part of the message still remained. And some spots where it was still up, tucked away between the buildings, largely unnoticed.

The messenger arrived at its location and stood in silence, arms hanging forward, hunched slightly. Waiting for the official reply.

Its master would be pleased.

[Cinnabar]

As the High Constable ordered, Myrkentown is heavily-patrolled by Street Constables as night falls, moving along the roads and byways in twos and threes with lanterns on poles to light their way. The remaining members of public still out of doors are politely but firmly instructed to return to their homes, and the town grows quieter as the night deepens.

It is one such patrol - Street Constables Gale and Briggs, the former a relatively new recruit, the latter a veteran of Haberdasher's Row - that encounters the hooded figure waiting by the burned-out Meetinghouse; Gale holds up his lantern to illuminate the straggler while Briggs discreetly shifts his crossbow before calling out.

"Sir?" Eyes narrow beneath the Constable's steel helm as he tries to make out the form of the figure under that heavy cloak. "It's past curfew, I must ask that you return to your home until morning." His tone is calm but firm, well-honed after months of escorting drunks back to the Yard to sleep it off. Hopefully this loiterer is one such - his hunched pose gives that impression, though he doesn't have the unsteady sway of most drunks - and he and Gale can get on with their patrol.

[Zayken]

The awaiting figure would look up, lifting the hooded head a little, still pulled down to conceal its features almost entirely. A hand lifted, the sleeve of its robe dangling off it, too long.

"Do you have the reply," asked a low, gutteral voice. Inside its sleeve was the quiet sound of chains.

[Cinnabar]

That voice has the Constables shifting uneasily, Briggs' crossbow drifting to a more ready position. A brief glance at each other yields no answers, so it is up to the senior officer to speak, eyes narrowing as he peers at the hooded figure.

"What reply?" Briggs does a good job of keeping his voice firm and authoritative, though Gale is clearly unsettled by this encounter - something about the figure just isn't right, and you know the sort of stories that circulate in Myrkentown; the sort of monsters that are spoken of in hushed whispers. Still, he does his best to stand fast, his grip on the lamp pole tightening.

[Zayken]

The thing... whatever it was, lowered its hand, shoulders slumping, head tipping forward once again.

"If you do not have the reply," it murmured in a voice not quite... right, "then please leave me to my business," it concluded.

It did not seem to be agitated, but nor did it seem interested in compliance.

[Cinnabar]

Briggs frowns at this and summons up his firmest tone, that which brooks no disagreement.

"You've no business being on the street after curfew, sir. Either you return to your home, or you'll be taken into custody." A glance to the junior officer confirms whose job that'll be, much to the younger man's disappointment. A nod from the senior, and Gale reluctantly moves closer to the hooded figure, an arm held out to one side as if to vaguely shoo him away from where he stands.

[Zayken]

"I act under a higher authority than your own," the thing rumbled. And only a few silent moments separate this statement with its sudden motion.

It slid back, away from the men, arms thrown up towards them from either side. Chains extending from inside the sleeves of its robe, the Witness swung the heavy lengths of metal at the two constables, lifting its head fully now.

Beneath the hood, a faceless white mask stared. The thing lashed furiously - the will of its master would not be disrupted.

[Cinnabar]

The older Constable snorts. "I'd dispute tha- shit!" Eyes widen, and things move quickly.

The figure's sudden motion has Gale taking a sharp step back, lantern pole brandished defensively; Briggs, meanwhile, snaps the crossbow to his shoulder in a well-oiled motion, bringing it to bear on this cloaked stranger. Fingers tighten smoothly upon the trigger lever and there is a thwack as the heavy string is released, crossbow bolt sent winging towards the assailant's centre of mass.

To his credit, Gale remembers his staff training and moves the lantern pole to block the length of chain aimed at him. Unfortunately this does little to protect him from the chain as it whips around, striking with bruising force across the young Constable's back and ribs; the pole drops from nerveless fingers, lantern falling to shatter on the cobbled street in a flare of spilt lamp oil. Briggs takes a more pragmatic approach and drops to the ground, though he is not quite as spry as he was and the chain slaps across his helm with a clash of metal on metal. The older man is sent sprawling on hands and knees, momentarily stunned by the blow.

Things do not look good for the Constables.

[Zayken]

Zaykenspawn have come far since the era of shambling monsters.

This creature, assuredly inhuman, was stepping forward now, into the crossbow bolt - how could it conceivably avoid a flying crossbow bolt, after all? Just as well to take it, square in the stomach - and it did, with the familiar fleshy thud of wood and steel piercing into muscle and bone.

The Witness screamed a shrill cry, which degenerated into hysterical, sadistic laughter, a drone of cruel giggling as it swung the chains up into the air, away from the constables, precise. Snapping them back like a whip and throwing them down hard upon the two men...

Its motions were brutal, swift, and trained. This creature fully understood the situation.