A Desperate Charge

[Conrad Mazian]

They are first visible to the Constables on morning duty as a smudge upon the landscape, one that moves at a remarkable rate towards Myrkentown and its Wall. They resolve into a travelling party of some unusual size and particular haste; their numbers are assessed at perhaps some twenty men and women in total. It's not until the Negociantes have neared the Wall's gates that the Constables realise this group has no intentions of slowing. It is their first note of alarm.

The second is the condition of those women.

Urgent pace, bloodstained garments, eyes shocked stark and wide: these things have weapons drawn, these things have a Constable down from his post, and a second sounding the bell that will draw more of their number. Already there are others moving to work those gates closed, and this would have slowed any reasonable approach; so would have the challenge the Constable's just shouted at the foremost of that approaching group. When they realise that the gates have begun to close, they do not slow.

They charge.

The man loses his life in that moment, trampled beneath heedless hooves; some few common merchants and travellers, a feature of each Myrken morning, are sent scattering from the din and from the glitter of bared steel. In these initial moments it is a small and well-contained chaos, for a great number of men and horses must force themselves through a smallish opening in a very short period of time, and there is scarcely the room for it at all. Horses shove and jostle; a trader is crushed between the flank of a wheeling horse and an edge of the Wall itself; men shout their foreign words and sometimes in something like desperation. The bell is a frantic clamour, high and brassy above all the rest, and already the remaining Constables have moved to engage this fray -- with mixed success.

"That Gate, closed!" one of them is hollaring: they haven't the numbers to stem this tide of horseflesh, but still his hands have seized at reins and at ankles in their stirrups, and against all likelihood a dark-clad man has fallen from his saddle. It is a shocking success; the darkclad man falls to the Constable's stout weapon.

Three other men join him there within moments, but willingly, and when that Constable falls it is on account of a solid club to the back of his head.

And still the gates tremble, forced the one way by this tide of desperate bodies; forced another by means of cranks and ropes and urgent effort. Whistles are shrill music to rival the bell's clamour: Constables announce their imminent arrival, and in the same moment foreign voices are lifted, horses are wheeled sharply about in a thunder of poor-shod hooves.

The Negociantes leave bloodied flagstones in their wake, as they race headlong for Myrkentown's center.

[Cinnabar]

A period of chaos, of confusion, of sudden bloodshed, and eventually an uneasy stalemate. From anxious rumour and wild speculation, one might glean these facts:

The intruders number somewhere between a dozen and a score of begrimed and travel-stained men on horseback, from their black-and-gold uniforms assumed to be soldiers, and arrived with a handful of even more bedraggled young women. After their charge against the South Gate, they made their way through the streets to the Marketplace; there, under orders of their commander, they snatched a number of bystanders from the crowd to serve as additional hostages. The identities of these hostages, and indeed of the soldiers themselves, remains uncertain.

As the Constabulary moved to respond to this disturbance, amid smoke and violence the intruders seized a counting-house on Main Street, forcing the hostages inside and securing the building. In the face of the Constabulary advance and an attempted entry by a small force of Shepherd Knights, the renegades cut the throat of one of the foreign hostages and threw the young lady's body into the street as an apparent demonstration of intent. To avoid further such demonstrations, the Constabulary and Shepherd Knights drew back and a cordon was established around the building.

Shortly after, while those surrounding the besieged building were preparing to attempt contact with those inside, a sorcerous globe of force abruptly surrounded the counting-house; smooth and apparently impervious, the top of the building outside of the globe was destroyed, sending fragments of masonry and timber into the street. Whether this apparition is due to some arcane device or the presence of a magic-user within the ranks of the interlopers is as-yet unknown.

A perimeter has been established, and homes and businesses within sight of the building have been evacuated; the Constabulary has set up a temporary command office in a building across the road, and are maintaining a watch upon the counting-house for further developments. The Governor is in attendance, and consulting with senior members of the Constabulary and the Militia witha view to securing the safe release of the hostages. Current information indicates that aside from the rogue soldiers, there are also around a half-dozen captives inside with them, including one Constable.

How the situation will develop from here remains uncertain; what is known is that any mis-step could easily provoke the deaths of further hostages, turning a delicate stand-off into a bloodbath.

[Wendy]

Not sure what to call herself, Cambree, now a Calomel, has arranged to provide meager rations from the kitchen of the tea house. It is a thing she does to help those that are working long hours of the day during the stand-off in Myrkentown. Baked breads, fruits, supplies of water and tea are carried via alleyways toward the market square, but her couriers remain shy of the cordon, handing over goods to the militia or constables that are creating a border where they stand.

As a citizen, this is a commitment she is glad to make, and has seen some success with gaining agreements from other shop owners. There is a movement to provide materials and foods so that the government's stores are preserved. Accommodations for those that are displaced by the cordon are also being sought. Myrken is a growing region - a healing region - and the hope is that it will continue to heal, with enough citizens of kind heart taking part in its protection.

As such, there may be a great deal of cooperation coming from the Treadwell family - which she is grateful for - by way of food rations enough to sustain the growing number of men and women that are working to free Myrken citizens from the clerical building. Time is needed to reach the Councilor, though she has spoken in great detail to his wife of the arrangements needed.

As well, there are letters being written for Mister Draez, for her friends at Darkenhold, and she continues to visit stores that are not shut down due to the cordon, to organize help from other good samaritans - not unlike her husband and herself. Plans are also made to enlist the aid of the monks of St. Thecla's, who have been so keen to advocate selfless charity in their preaching. She has it in mind to pen a note before making a visit.

[Treadwell]

Time indeed will be needed to reach Treadwell, for he is perhaps the latest mishap in question in this messy series of events.

Last night, Aloisius Horatio Treadwell had told his beloved Alice around seven o'clock that he would be going out for a walk. So he had covered, over the space of the next few hours, the space between their house and the middle of Myrken Wood, and it was a tired, tuckered out fellow who bumbled into the situation developing in the marketplace--a situation he had been largely isolated from, having been at home the last day or two without really going anywhere at all, which was, truth be told, the chief reason for the evening's waddling about.

Now, as of this morning, he hasn't been questioned about his presence so near to what nearly amounts to a war zone. To be honest, it was accidental: an unfortunate ignorance of the situation on the whole meant a most unexpected injury. Since then, Aloisius hasn't done much except lie in a hospital bed, washed and sewn and bandaged up like a rumpled, baggy, bloody garment. Most garments, though, don't have marks where crossbow bolts have gone through the top of the right breast and clear through the back of the matching shoulder.

Thus, this morning, though he lies pale and asleep in bed, his wife finds herself right there beside her "bumbling fool" of a husband, and, at the scene of the shooting, perhaps a guard finds himself right there beside that bumbling fool's cane dropped in the street, left behind hastily and necessarily when the Councilor was shot.

[Wendy]

Images are withheld from carefully chosen parchment as there are other times when being artistic would be of use, but this is not one. Each of these notes is instead personalized by its title:

My generous friends at Darkenhold, Ariane Emory, Syl Duquesne:
Please join in the efforts to protect our citizenry. By now you may have received word of a situation at Myrken's town centre. There are shopkeepers and residents that have been evacuated for their safety and, while there are some provisions, it would be a great service if Darkenhold would accept them as guests until the cordon is lifted. Not sure if you are able to facilitate. Please send word to the tea house, where I will be staying.
With affection,
Cambree


To the Gentleman, Kyorin Draez at The Broken Dagger Inn:
You have been received as an eager newcomer wishing to assist, and become part of, the region of Myrken Wood. At this time, there is opportunity for you to exercise your intentions while a number of our citizens remain at risk. I can use your help in smaller matters, odd tasks that require stronger arms and someone of enduring strength to carry items to the cordon, deliver messages, and the like. If you are interested, drop by the tea house when you are able.
Sincerely,
Cambree Calomel


Broken Dagger Innkeeper:
Regrets that we have not met so that a better welcome to the region could be given. Assuming you have knowledge of the standoff going on and the hostages being kept at Myrkentown's clerical building, it is my hope that you would care to provide assistance in what ways you can - like many of us are doing. If you would be so kind as to provide extra feed and limited care for the many horses and hounds that are in use - only what you are able to and not in place of your own needs - it would be a great act of kindness on your part. Please send your response to the Myrkentown Tea House in care of my name.
In appreciation,
Cambree Calomel


With kindest regard for your family business, Miss Rhaena Olwak, resident of Broken Dagger:
There has been a disturbance of the peace at the centre of our town. The governor and officials from our militia and The Shepherd Knights are present and doing fantastic work to protect the lives of our people. There are some medical supplies at hand, but more would not be turned away. Please join me at the Myrkentown Tea House, if you would, and perhaps bring Mister Burnie. We can go over a list of wanted items at that time. Looking forward to seeing you now that you have returned to the region.
Expectantly,
Cambree Calomel


In Greetings to the Father Abbot of St. Thecla's:
Regrets that we have not met before now. I hope to remedy that, within a few days, if you will receive me as a guest. A struggle continues in Myrkentown as foreign adversaries have claimed a clerical building and taken hostages with them. There is a standoff while negotiations are being made and supplies offered in trade for the safety of our citizens in captivity. I am writing to you to request prayer for those people being held hostage, for their families, and for those that are working to deliver them safely from the building. Please, light a candle in your sanctuary for them. Looking forward to a meeting with you.
By Special Request,
Cambree Calomel

These hastily written - though entirely legible - letters are sent on the morning of May the 6th.

[Cinnabar]

After a night and a day of silence, the evening of the first day after the capture of the counting-house brought communication, of sorts. The Governor, accompanied by Captain Agnieszka Kaczmarek of the Militia and with the red-robed Thessilane Envoy Christoph al'Nerun serving as translator, approached the besieged building to parley.

Events were almost terminally derailed by the unexpected appearance of Councillor Aloisius Treadwell, who had somehow failed to notice the cordon in the course of his evening stroll, and approached within bowshot of the renegade soldiers - who duly shot him, after what is presumed to have been a warning shot was disregarded. Councillor Treadwell, badly wounded, was hurriedly conveyed to the Rememdium where he remains under the care of the healers and nurses.

In spite of this heightening of the crisis, dialogue was opened between the authorities and the hostage-takers, and an agreement was made for food, water and other necessary supplies to be provided once one of the hostages was brought to the door and allowed to confirm that those held captive remained unharmed for now.

The renegades are willing to bargain, it seems - though for the moment, all that is required is that the hostages are unhurt. With time, further demands may be made by both sides, and it remains to be seen how each will respond.

[SuperRy]

To The Myrkentown Teahouse, in care of Cambree Calomel:

Missus Calomel, trust that we welcome the opportunity to assist the endeavours downtown in any way that we might. Our stables, and additionally the smithy, are at the disposal of the constabulary and militia, whatever their need. If there is anything more that we may do, please, hasten to inquire it of us. The hostages, their families, and the brave men involved in seeking to peaceably resolve this issue, will remain in our prayers until this crisis has come to an end.

The Maren Family

[Jirai]

Lady Calomel,

I will be pleased to assist in any way possible. I look forward to seeing you at the teahouse, though I might wish for more pleasant circumstances.

Allow me to offer my belated congratulations on your wedding to Governor Calomel.

Sincerly,
Rhaena Olwak

[Dhugal]

My Dear Lady Calomel,
Of course we shall pray for all those involved, as we do for all the
folk of Myrken. Be assured that if any further aid is needed with the
wounded, I can have some of St. Thecla's healers sent to the
Remedium to help the staff there.

Yours in the Light,
Fidelius,
Father Abbot of St. Thecla the Feckless Monastery

[Malaroth]

It was with brief, hurried and whispered words that Sir Malaroth Deucalios shared his thoughts with the Governor. It was a constabulary matter, that much he was certain, and had little desire to trample a matter of policework beneath military jurisdiction and strategy. If the Governor wished to lay siege to the counting house he need look no further. However, there were certain commonalities: an entrenched enemy who would be difficult to assault where they currently were. Barring the use of powerful magic they would need to leave at some point.

His thoughts that were shared: give them what they want, realistically so, and when the time coems for them to leave let them have done with it. For, outside the city walls would be waiting the Shepherd Knights, armed and armored, ready to ride the cutthroats down beneath sword and lance and spear.

So it was that while Malaroth remained, his youngest knight of the other three present, the same who had used his steed to batter in the counting house's back doors, made his way calmly from the scene until he was beyond the sight of anyone from the counting house. It was then that he took to his horse and rode hard for the Chapter House, the current encampment of the Shepherd Knights as they began to rebuild what the Ashfiend had destroyed.

[Kyorin]

Lady Calomel

I have just returned from taking care of business and still quite unaware of the circumstances that are occurring. Although, if there is a need for my aid. I would be most certainly at your disposal. I will seek you out soon.

Sincerely,
Kyorin

[Treadwell]

A note is sent to Governor Calomel's office, and it is thus to be forwarded to the Governor himself. It is brief, though written in an elegant, flowing, feminine hand--quite the difference from the usual messy sludge that accompanies the Treadwell family seal.

= = = = =

Governor Calomel,

At your lady's request, and with my poorly fated husband's agreement, I have been asked to see that shipments of basic food and drink arrive for your men, complements of the Church of Tubbius. Aloisius would certainly provide this much and more were he able to do so, but, for now, you shall have to accept the willing helpful kindness of his wife.

Do reply, if such a notion suits you, to my house, with an estimate of how much might be needed and when it might, and I can see that everything comes to you and yours very safely.

Do forgive my bumbling oaf of a husband, sir. He truly is hopeless sometimes.

Mrs. Alice Treadwell

= = = = =

[channe]

Signs are posted at the cordon, and orders given to the exhausted cordon guards.

NO TRESPASING BEYOND THIS POINT WITHOUT PERMISION FROM THE GOVERNMENT.
Trespasers will be arrested and gaoled until furthur notice.
People who ignore this notice will be shot.

This dekree will last until repealed.

By order of Captain Agnieszka Kaczmarek, Myrken Wood Militia.

[Carnath-Emory]

Within hours, a response is received at the teahouse.
[INDENT]
Cambree,

We receive them gladly. We presently make ready the rooms set aside for this purpose; there are provisions enough to support such numbers for quite some time, and their soon arrival is welcomed.

Darkenhold.

[/INDENT]

[Cinnabar]

After a promising start in the negotiations - barring the unfortunate hospitalisation of Councillor Treadwell - the delivery of much-needed supplies on Tuesday, the second morning of the siege did not go as smoothly as planned. The requested - or rather, demanded - consignment of food, water, and medical supplies was brought to the front of the counting-house without incident, and the Constabulary retreated to leave only the Governor overseeing the transfer, alone and unarmed.

The renegades lowered their sorcerous wards long enough for several of their hostages - at crossbow-point - to retrieve the crates of supplies and provisions, with the warning that any attempting escape would be shot down. The transfer was proceeding peacefully enough, until one of the hostages - a local man, one of the clerk captured when the Negociantes stormed the building - decided to take his chances. He might have made it to safety unharmed, had not the renegades made good on their promise, and loosed a bolt through his shoulder; he might have made it to safety alive, had they not then hurriedly re-established the arcane shield around the building, catching the hapless fugitive in the very worst of places - on the very boundary of that globe.

Despite Calomel's swiftest efforts, he was successful in pulling only half of the wretch clear of the shield; the rest of him remained inside, cleanly bisected by that unnatural barrier.

Since then, there has been little contact between besiegers and besieged. Those inside the counting-house seem content to wait, to rest, and regain their strength after their desperate arrival in Myrken Wood; those outside seem unwilling to risk provoking the foreigners into visiting further harm upon their prisoners.

A tight cordon remains in effect around the building, guarded by the men and women of the Militia and the Constabulary. Other citizens of Myrkentown have rallied round, volunteering their time and effort to providing temporary accommodation to those displaced by the siege, distributing food and drink to those who man the barricades, and otherwise doing what they can to assist. The recently-infamous Myrkentown Teahouse has become a focal point for these efforts, with Cambree Calomel, wife of the Governor, playing a prominent role in organising and coordinating matters.

Today, the fourth day of the stand-off, and the situation remains tense, fraught, but ultimately lacking in developments - good or bad.