Walsingham Estate, 2km outside of Dalton, Susseax, Brytene
7:30pm, September 25th
Cyril Swift was furious. His groundskeeper had caught Lyanna Swift, his daughter, attempting to sneak out of her bedroom, to which she had been confined. When the dishevelled girl had been brought before him in the parlour and challenged to explain her actions, she had exclaimed that she was going to marry her beloved, one Oswulf Key, a local lad from Dalton who worked as a park ranger. Cyril had calmly informed her that, as he had explained, such a marriage was not only below her station as a Swift, but also completely forbidden by way of this Oswulf's adherence to the pagan religion of Adfyr.
The stupid girl was now up in her room, tears streaming down her face. He could hear her sobbing from down hear - slapping her had just made her bleating worse. He was at his wit's end. Ever since her mother had passed, she had become more and more intractable. Not once did Cyril stop to consider whether he himself had changed since Susanna's passing. He'd hoped that, at the age of eighteen, she would have matured somewhat and grown into herself, but the girl seemed headstrong and childish still. Certainly he would not let her submit to the slovenly attentions of the heathen oaf down the road. He had informed Lyanna, somewhat coldly, that she would be attending a prestigious private university in Carloso, studying literature and languages, after which he would arrange for her a marriage if she had not already found a suitable candidate amongst her classmates.
Cock and Bull, Dalton, Susseax, Brytene
7:35pm, September 25th
Oswulf was enjoyed a well-earned pint with his friends in the Cock and Bull, one of the two pubs in Dalton and, to his mind, inestimably better. The Dalton Tavern was dingy and served piss-lager, whilst the Cock and Bull was cosy and served delicious ale. That, and he worked with the son of the landlord of the Cock and Bull, and they all thought that Harris over at the Tavern was a wanker.
They were on their fourth or fifth round when Oswulf's phone started ringing. He only had an old smartphone, not one of the fancy IDAItech gadgets everyone else seemed to love, but the old-fashioned device was good enough for him. Glancing down, he realised it was Lyanna, and he grinned.
"Alright darling. How's it going? he said, his voice slurred a little by the alcohol already sloshing around his belly.
"Oswulf, you have to come, please! Father locked me up, he says he's going to send me to boarding school abroad!"
"What?! You're kidding? Are you alright?" replied Oswulf, his exuberance deflated by the misery in her voice which convinced him she was being deadly serious.
"No, he's got me locked up, he...he hit me, Os! He hit me!"
"WHAT? exploded the young man, rising to his feet and overturning the pitcher he and his friends had been sharing. "Stay right there. I'm coming to get you."
His friends, buzzed and cheerful, had been taken aback by his sudden eruption, but upon hearing his words they too rose to their feet without so much as waiting for an explanation.
No-one in the area was particularly fond of Cyril Swift. He was a snob, a hardcore Catholic with delusions of grandeur, and he also ran a large game estate as well as owning quite a lot of property in the small town, known as a miserly and hard landlord. The folk of the town had viewed Oswulf and Lyanna's 'secret' dalliance with a mixture of amusement and genuine approval, glad to see the two young lovers happy whilst simultaneously delighting in the embarrassment it evidently caused the uptight Mr Swift.
When they heard Oswulf's furious explanation, however, the mood soured. Beating anyone was bad, but for a man to raise a fist to his own daughter was inexcusable...
Walsingham Estate, 2km outside of Dalton, Susseax, Brytene
8:04pm, September 25th
The first Cyril Swift knew about the approaching threat was when he glanced out of the window. There, on the country lane that led from the nearby road up to his manor, was a dark mass, a crowd of people barely visible in the dark patch between his own yard lighting and the orange glow from the street lights far beyond.
"What on earth..." he began, then rose to his feet. He snapped at one of his serving staff, ordering her to call the police, but most of his people had already gone home for the evening - only a single security guard and a single maid remained. His guard glanced out of the window and then, surprise and fear on his face, moved to wait beside the door, whilst Mary called for the local police, reporting a mass trespass in progress at the estate.
As they grew closer Cyril could discern individual voices, and began to recognise them as people from the town, people whose rent he collected and whose wages he paid. In the front of the crowd, that brute Oswulf was visible, his scruffy dark hair and rough features visible behind his tattered flatcap. He should have known that his daughter would cause more trouble, and made a note to punish Mary for failing to confiscate Lyanna's phone. The crowd was almost to the door by this point and Cyril hid at the entrance to the reception room, from where he could see Mr Cutter, his guard. There was a pounding on the door, followed by demands to open up.
Cutter called back, telling them to get off the property and that the police had been called. There were jeers from the other side, and suddenly a window smashed elsewhere. With a curse, Cutter moved to the coatroom, where a rock had smashed the glass pane. Even as he looked out, faces crowded round, clambering to get inside. He put a hand out and roughly shoved the first face back, yelling at them to be off. As he tried to push a second person away, hands caught hold of his sleeve and tugged him out into the night air, where he was pushed to the ground. Voices he recognised told him to bugger off, to go to his home and leave them to it, but Cutter panicked and drew his pistol.
There was a scream from the crowd and they cleared a space around him rapidly, the gravel beneath his shoes crunching as he climbed to his feet, pistol in hand.
Oswulf emerged from the now-silent ranks, hands raised.
"Put that down mate, before you get yourself hurt." he said placatingly, flinching as the gun barrel pivoted towards him. Inside, from the windows, both Cyril and Lyanna looked on aghast.
"Get off this property, you fucking savages!" snapped Cutter in response, breathless, surrounded. In hindsight it probably wasn't very smart to say, but he had little time to reflect. Someone in the back cried out for him to fuck off himself, and another rock was hurled, catching him on the forehead. It was not a large enough rock to knock him out, but it hurt like hell and drew blood instantly. The crowd moved, some away, some towards him, and in the chaos he panicked. He raised the gun and squeezed the trigger, hitting Oswulf twice and grazing another man in the arm before strong hands laid hold of him and bore him to the ground, where he died under a hail of furious blows and kicks amidst the screams of terror and the cries of outrage.
Cyril saw the gunshots, saw both Oswulf and Cutter go down, and fled. He had not intended for any of this, and now he knew the townspeople were out for blood. He rushed upstairs, to where he heard a thin wailing from Lyanna's room. Unlocking the door, he burst in to find her slumped across the window seat, tears streaming, her face red and breathless.
For a second, he was taken aback. She seemed genuinely heartbroken, contradicting his belief that this was a mere teenage crush which would pass with time and distance. But then she looked up and saw him. Her face instantly contorted into a mask of hate as she stood, wobbling for balance before clutching at the crucifix around her neck and flinging it at him.
"You BASTARD!" she screamed, her voice raw and agonised "How COULD you?"
She advanced on him, gathering speed as though she meant to tackle him herself, and he backed out into the hallway just in time for Harold, Oswulf's friend and co-worker, to barrel him into the wall, knocking him unconcious instantly...
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BBC HOMEPAGE
25.09.2015 | Pam Terpahl | Lundene
An ongoing hostage situation has shocked the small town of Dalton, Susseax today, after purportedly angry townspeople descended upon the home of local magnate Cyril Swift. Reports of up to a score of suspects currently occupying the Walshingham Estate are reaching us, with initial reports suggesting that the dispute began after Cyril Swift refused permission for his daughter, Lyanna Swift, to marry a park ranger from the town. It is believed that this was primarily due to religious differences, with the Swifts being a prominent Catholic family whilst Oswulf was a member of the Adfyrian majority in Brytene.
Police have recovered two bodies from outside the property, namely one Oswulf Key, believed to be the jilted lover, and one Jeffory Cutter, a security guard employed by Mr Swift. Cyril Swift is believed to still be being held hostage by between a dozen and twenty townspeople, whilst many of the crowd, along with a female employee of Mr Swift's, have already left the area. The property is currently surrounded by police forces backed by Gendarmerie armed response personnel.
More updates can be found on the Walshingham Siege Live Stream, which can be found here.
Author: Pam Terpahl
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Comments:
By citizensnips - Just now
lol bible-bashers need to check themselves before they wreck themselves560 Likes | 126 DislikesReply | Like | Dislike
By lookitsasnek - 8 mins Ago
Hope this ends without more bloodshed!430 Likes | 130 DislikesReply | Like | Dislike
By canillacc#nt - 12 min Ago
heathen savages, the cops should string the lot of them up and teach them not to harass good christian folk278 Likes | 45 DislikesReply | Like | Dislike
By sandrafromfinchley - 16 mins Ago
here's hoping for a...swift resolution ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)493 Likes | 210 DislikesReply | Like | Dislike
