Kit and Freyja's words are bolstered by deeds. As they point out, you have organized the locals into a bucket brigade whilst the Consortium men were content to sit back and let the surrounding farms burn. What's more, they ensure that the assembled crowd recognizes that, rather than consorting with the hag, Wulf and company put her down to end her malice.
The accusations turned back upon him elicit a very brief look of anxiety upon the lumber boss.
"You'd best watch your tongue, boy," Gavel Kreed spits back at Kit. He also sneers at Freyja and Wulf. "Maybe you should take this as a sign from the gods that Falcon's Hollow ain't no place for you. Awfully dangerous, isn't it?" he says with a wolfish grin.
The gravely voice pierces the night, and the bucket brigade attending the farmstead parts to allow the owner to saunter forth: Gavel Kreed.
The tyrant of Falcon's Hollow stops at the fence, claps his heavy hands upon the wooden rail, and surveys the scene in the yard.
"It seems that source of our woes is here among us," Kreed calls out to the crowd, representing a sizeable portion of the logging town's population. "Wulf and his band of foreigners and half-breeds have been consorting with hags and their wicked offspring! He has offered his own farm as their playground, to work their fiery foulness!
"In my role as protector of Falcon's Hollow, I tried to warn you all! The harpies and hags began plaguing our town not long after this unseemly group arrived! Now here is the very proof before your very eyes!"
With much of the town gathered around Wulf's farm, the vile lumber boss attempts to lay the blame for all this at your very feet!
A complex blend of simple emotions roils across Kreed's face as he listens to Sweet Pea's reply. Surprise is first and foremost, as the Gavel clearly had not expected the child-like fey to be so well spoken. However, anger and resentment comes simmering through that surprise. Kreed is not at all pleased to be contradicted by a fey, even if she is correct on all counts.
However, like a quick riposte with a rapier, Mayor Callahan interjects and prevents and fist slamming to erupt from the Gavel or his men. Your patron turns talk back to the charter, trying to counteract the more hampering aspects that Kreed has likely commanded Harg to incorporate. Unfortunately, Kreed seems adamant in his refusal to allow the mayor or his people to have any semblance of authority over Consortium business.
"The Consortium's interests span across all of Andoran!" he declares. "Surely you do not expect a small village mayor to have any rightful power over us?"
One concession that Jack is able to secure from the opposing side is the right for the mayor to "deal with" the fey inhabitants of the forest, as part of the purview of defense. While Kreed likely sees this as meaning waging war, Jack has more diplomatic intent in mind.
When negotiations break around midday, Jack even asks Sweet Pea if she would like to serve as his ambassador between the town and the forest.
In addition to the above provisions, you suspect that you've spotted the loopholes that Harg has worked into the charter. There is some language referring to the mayor as being a representative of the People's Council. Following this language, it seems that the People's Council in Almas can actually invest the mayor's office with powers beyond those stipulated by the charter - including ways to curb the abuses of the Consortium and, perhaps, even shut them down eventually.
"Then where have all our missing loggers gone?" Kreed demands, not expecting an answer but merely seeking to make the gathlain cry. "Why have harpies repeatedly attacked my home? Or back during the time of the Falcon Feud, why did your kind infiltrate the Larko family and replace them with changelings and worse creatures, right under our noses?"
"Little fey," Kreed says to Sweet Pea, all semblance of hospitality draining from his face, "You are lucky I tolerate your presence here at all. We have been at war with your kind for ages, and you dare tell us how to conduct our business?"
The Gavel's irritation distracts him from the magic conversation between the halflings. His cronies seem likewise focused on their boss's venting, as well.
A raspy chuckle rattles in Payday's throat, amused by Krogge's attempt to scare him. The Consortium guards keep their hands upon thick-headed spears, and each man has either a hatchet or broad-bladed knife at his hip. Kreed has a finely made rapier at his side, while Payday shows no apparent weapons.
"I bet you're expecting some kind of throwdown, eh? Hah!" Kreed laughs. "You wound me. I'm no monster. I'm just a businessman, and we're going to be doing business from now on, it seems," he says with a predatory grin.
With a snap, Kreed beckons to Magistrate Harg. The halfling hurriedly retrieves a weathered old scroll case leaning against his chair. With some difficulty, he lifts it up and retrieves its contents. He unfurls a broad sheet of fresh parchment and lays it upon the table. Many lines written in sharp, black ink canvas the sheet.
"I had Magistrate Harg burning the midnight oil - not literally, of course, that stuff costs money - to draft up a town charter for us to...what's the word? Oh yes, ratify. I will speak on behalf of the Consortium's loyal, hardworking employees, and I invited Mr. Bloodeye to attend as he is one of our town's most prominent business owners. I see you've done likewise...Mayor Callahan."
The Gavel's voice grows low, betraying his distaste not only for having Deevera and Miss Aiba present, but for simply having to refer to Jack as "mayor."
"As you can see, this charter clearly lays out the powers and responsibilities of the mayor's office. Matters of law and defense will be within your hands, and you'll have the right to levy a tax upon residents to pay for such expenses. In addition, in what I'm sure you'll see is a generous concession, the mayor'll now be the one who regulates access to both marketplaces."
Sense Motive DC 20:
Kreed's behavior - treating you in an almost professional, amicable manner - is highly suspicious. You suspect there is more to this charter than he lets on, and he is trying to lull you into signing it without reading too closely.
Pulk hauls the log onto the wooden platform, alongside others awaiting the water-powered saw. He then offers a long sigh.
"I didn't mean to do it," he says with eyes cast down upon the pile of logs, as though they had more value than his own life. "I can't even remember much of that night. A bunch of us were leaving the Duck and walking down Worship Way. I think Orvis suggested visiting the Cayden shrine. I don't know.
"Along the way, we ran into the church-folk. They started berating us, then fists started to fly. I saw Jeb come at me. I thought he was going for his knife, so I pulled mine, and well..."
Pulk buries his face in his hands. In the dim light, you can see many cuts and bruises on his calloused hands from working the mill.
"I was drunk. I was afraid, and I...I guess none of that matters," he says, looking up. "I did it. If the church-folk don't lynch me, then the sheriff'll probably have me hang."
Sweet Pea:
Your rapid recounting of your recent adventures seems to fly over Mikra's head.
"Yeah. Jurin comes over for story time. What's this book called, Jurin?"
The other child stands and sheepishly introduces himself.
"Hello, I'm Jurin," he reiterates. "Mikra can't read, so...so I'll usually stop by in the afternoons to read to him." He looks over your shoulder to Mikra. "It's called, um, Fables of the Forest. I think I've read these stories to him like ten times. Then again, my father doesn't keep many good books around the manor."
Kreed scowls at Jack and company, even as your words seem to gain traction among the crowd. However, perhaps more so than the actual rhetorical weight of what Jack and Krogge say, the fact that they are willing to stand up to Kreed and his men - out in the open, no less - builds up the value of your cause in the eyes of Falcon's Hollow.
Kreed steps closer to Jack, ensuring that his taller height and more imposing frame is in clear contrast to the foppish man from Almas.
"You're right, good sir," he says with a predatory grin. "We'll let the people decide. I have always trusted Falcon's Hollow to make the...right decisions."
He turns his eye to the crowd with a wave of his hand as he says this.
"We'll hold this election in one week's time," he announces gravely. "Then we'll see what the good Valers value most."
For a time, you are able to observe unnoticed. After a while, though, the boy in the chair looks up and notices your face in the window. He rises suddenly from his seat, dropping his book in fright.
Mikra turns to look, but he offers a smile as he recognizes you. He stands up and walks over, opening the window for you.
"Hello," he says pleasantly.
Randu:
"I've no interest in telling stories," Pulk says brusquely, turning his back to you. He continues his work, a rusting iron hook in his hand that he uses to seize upon the log he struggles to haul out of the river.
"Even if anyone was willing to listen, ain't nothing to tell. I ain't killed nobody."
Sense Motive:1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19
You get the sense that he doesn't really believe what he's saying. Pulk is tired and afraid, putting on the last of his gruff courage as a mask.
.....
Kreed glowers at Jack as he approaches the Tribunal steps, and his ire does not soften any as Rrruh and Krogge stand beside him. His men tighten ranks, drawing closer to their boss. They look ready to draw weapons, but Kreed offers them a quick shake of his head.
"I'd heard tell that we had a fancy lad visiting from down south," he calls in a thick voice that blends gregariousness and condescension into a toxic gruel. "I couldn't meet with you sooner because, as you were gallivanting through town, I was busy keeping everyone's business running.
"What makes you think you can lay claim to being mayor? You aren't from around here. These aren't your people. You don't put in the work in a year that we do in a single day. I bet if we examined your hands, they'd be softer than doe-skin."
He closes the taunt with a low chuckle that catches among his coterie. It is all too obvious that he is trying to intimidate Jack away from entering the running. However, Jack's familiarity with Andoren law ensures him that residency in the town is not a requirement for holding office.
Thuldrin Kreed marches down Worship Way, taking the long route through town from his manor, accompanied by a cadre of his bodyguards and toadies - two of them bearing lanterns on poles. As they tromp through the dusk-darkening road, they inevitably attract many curious eyes. As the crowd following the Gavel grows, it becomes obvious that Kreed is trying to garner as much attention as possible.
The procession reaches the Low Market, and by the time Kreed climbs the shallow stairs to the Tribunal's porch, it seems as though half the town is gathering to hear what he has to say. Flanked by his lantern bearers, Kreed does affect an air of grave importance.
Magistrate Harg emerges from the Tribunal office and stands, almost hiding, behind Kreed and his men. Kreed pauses to let the crowd grow further. Once he judges that enough people will hear, he finally speaks.
"People of Falcon's Hallow! My fellow Valers!" he booms, raising his hands. "The time is upon us for change! We have endured many challenges: murderous druids, hungry beasts, and the ever malevolent fey. However, if our way of life is to survive, a new direction is needed. New leadership.
"Therefore," he intones with a raised finger for emphasis, "I believe the time has come to elect our town's first-ever mayor!"
The announcement elicits a variety of responses from the crowd. Many are surprised. Some seem skeptical. However, a good deal of heads nod and murmur in agreement.
"Obviously, this move may come as a surprise," Kreed continues, "but to finally stamp out these dangers, we need someone with a right, sharp head about them. And I don't think there's a man in town with a better reckoning of the laws to bind us together and lead us forward than our good man, our very own magistrate, Vamros Harg."
The Gavel practically drags the halfling forward before the crowd, twisting his small arm. Harg looks terrified to be put on display like a trophy. However, steely glares from Kreed and his men keep the crowd from chortling at the proposition.
"I want their hides flayed and drying on my walls by noon!" Kreed bellows like an enraged beast.
He draws his rapier, polished to a blinding shine, and aims a thrust for Ulark's heart.
The keen blade pierces beneath Ulark's mail shirt, and the sliding blade slices along his shoulder blade.
Kreed then takes a step back, towards the door to the Tribunal, clutching at one of his bleeding wounds.
Move action to draw rapier. Standard action to attack Ulark, dealing 7 damage. Five-foot step back.
Kreed would have missed if not for the Misfortune Revelation. Looks like it wasn't his misfortune.
"Looks like the lad's a little too excited about being a big winner," Kreed laughs sardonically for the people still assembled in front of the Tribunal.
"We're just going to take him inside to help him calm down and appreciate what he's got."
Kreed gestures for Teedum and his men to escort Ulark inside the Tribunal.
Inconnu and Joanne both realize that if this happens, there's a fair chance that no one will see Ulark alive again.
Thuldrin's scowl transforms into a leer, and he welcomes Joanne up to the Tribunal building's short steps.
While his cronies edge away from the imposing woman, Thuldrin yields no ground and remains imposingly, uncomfortable close as he offers the slips of paper to Joanne.
"Be my guest, Miss Jana."
The ink on the eighth name is indeed too smudged for Joanne to read, but she notices fresh ink smears on the Gavel's thick thumb, so she suspects this was a recent non-accident.
Of the four names called but not answered, Joanne recognizes three of them. Two are local loggers, one of whom usually works day shifts in the sawmill by the river in town; the other is likely at the cutyard on the forest's edge, far more than an hour away.
The third name is Colbrin Jabbs, the town butcher. He is likely at work in his shop, preparing cuts of meat for both markets.
The last unanswered name is unfamiliar - either a new, seasonal arrival or otherwise a loner.
As Joanne examines the lottery slips, Thuldrin's eyes single out Ulark in the crowd.
"Well, son? Are you gonna come and claim your pass. What do you boys think? The mongrel looks liable to go axe mad on the lot of us."
Teedum and the thugs laugh obsequiously at their boss's joke.
Kreed and his entourage march to the Hollow Tribunal, the town’s civic hall where merchant licenses are dispensed, mining and logging claims are stamped, and criminal and civil cases receive judgement.
As he walks, Kreed deliberately steps in the way of a porter slowly hauling a cart into the Low Market.
Kreed draws a riding crop and strikes the man across the side of his head.
”Watch your step, cur!” he barks. The porter also earns a thick-handed slap from Teedum as he tries to hurry on his way.
Kreed climbs the porch of the Tribunal and clears his throat loudly to attract the attention of everyone gathered around the Low Market.
”Good people of Falcon’s Hollow, dutiful employees of the generous Lumber Consortium,” he bellows. ”You have proven our strength in the face of disease and brought us into what will surely be another profitable year. To both commemorate First Cut and honor your endurance, this month we will be granting passes for the High Market to 9, rather than 3, loyal employees.”
“As usual, our own Magistrate Harg has fairly drawn the lottery to select our lucky residents.”
Kreed announces the first three names, but no one steps forward.
”Our first three winners seem to be hard at work in the cutyard,” he smiles wickedly. ”Well, they’ll have an hour to collect their passes before the privilege is considered forfeit. I’m sure they’ll be along shortly.”
Kreed’s cronies chuckle among themselves at the unlikelihood.
The Gavel calls out four more names, only two of whom approach the Tribunal to accept the paper passes.
The eighth name causes Kreed to squint at the slip of paper in his calloused hands. He grumbles to Teedum with a scowl before turning back to the thin crowd.
”Unfortunately, it seems this next name is too smudged to be read properly. No matter. Magistrate Harg will draw a new name when he is not so...busy, and I’m sure the new winner will be duly notified. Anyhow, the last winner is…Ulark Bastardson. Please collect your pass, allowing access to the High Market and its merchants’ fine wares for three days. Let’s all congratulate our winners one last time.”
