Treachery of Men RPG

[Child of the 7th Age]

Briga purposefully stepped to the front and addressed Gunna. She chose her words with care, all the while keeping a wary eye on the other woman who stood a short distance away, "Cheese for fresh game? Yes, we would be interested. The hunters do a good job of keeping my husband supplied with meat. Just this afternoon, Hunta came to me with a great slab of venison. It is too much for our own household, even with the feast tonight. Rather than take it to the smokehouse or trade it at the market, I'd gladly do an exchange with you for some cheese."

The younger woman who had first answered the door stood sullen and silent. Even though her eyes were guarded, it was apparent that there was considerable bad blood between these two. Before Gunna could reply, Briga turned to address the younger woman, "Embla? Did you not have something to do? I believe my husband asked you to polish the silver cups in preparation for the festivities tonight. As Khandr has been kind enough to ask both of us to grace his table, surely you will want to help?" Embla shot back a sharp glance but then turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Briga turned back to Gunna and began speaking in a relaxed and confidential tone. "I am sorry. You must excuse her behavior. She is new to our household.....a second wife. And it is taking her a while to understand her duties." There was no anger or derision in her voice, just a hint of disapproval as if Briga was genuinely puzzled why Embla should not immediately jump to her command and do as she was bid.

"What say you then, my friend? But before we shake hands on the bargain, may I see the cheese first, or do you plan to drop it off later? Ad please do tell me what your name is. I know so few folk in this town."

[bill_n_sam]

Dag:

Dag paused in his work long enough to hear the girl’s enquiry. Just as he had known it would, Ulfast’s imperious commission for a sword would necessarily put on hold all the other mending and crafting he had obligated himself to do. This was the power that birth brought – the power to shove aside others less fortunate in the circumstances of their conception and drink first and longest from the cup of prosperity. The utilitarian knife of a common farmer, what did that matter when it came to the demands of a chieftain’s son? Those beneath could wait, while the few who rode upon the shoulders of the many took what they wanted, simply because they could.

These thoughts flowed through Dag’s mind as he began hammering once more on the sword. No more than ten blows had fallen though, as Tora waited patiently, before Dag carefully laid aside the red hot blade and finally turned to her, wiping his hand over his face. “The metal must be worked just so, while it is at the right temperature, or the blade will be brittle.” he explained without preamble. Tora nodded her head in apparent comprehension, although her face betrayed her puzzling over what this might have to do with her father’s knife.

“I’m sorry. You must tell your father that his knife isn’t fixed yet. I’ve been . . . required to provide a weapon, for Ulfang’s son.” Dag noted Tora’s gaze fixing upon the still glowing metal he had been working on. His eyes slid sideways to the sword also, then back to her own dark ones, hoping her father would not take out any disappointment over the delay on the innocent messenger.

He hesitated, then said, “Well, the repair should not take long, no more than an hour’s work. I’ll do it now, and let the blade there rest.” He regarded the girl, considering that she had probably a long enough walk from her farm to make it not worth her while to return there and then walk all the way back to the forge a second time.

“You may wait here, if you wish, or if you have other business hereabouts, you might want to see to it while I work on the knife.” Dag walked a pace over to where a small pile of implements awaited his attention. A thought struck him, then, and he waved his hand casually in the direction of his own home. “Or, if you prefer, pass the time visiting with my wife and her sister. I know they always enjoy hearing the gossip from the outlying farms.” He smiled briefly at the girl as he plied the bellows, stoking the fire and plunging the knife blade into its glowing heart.

*************************

Gunna:

"What say you then, my friend? But before we shake hands on the bargain, may I see the cheese first, or do you plan to drop it off later? And please do tell me what your name is. I know so few folk in this town."

Gunna smiled tentatively at the woman from the north. Her husband must be wealthy indeed, to be able to afford a second wife. Although Gunna, with Mem always available, realized how helpful it was to have a second set of hands to get through all the work there was in a day, she was more than glad that she did not have to share Dag’s affection with another woman. Watching Embla’s stiff back as she retreated, and seeing Briga visibly relaxing, Gunna sensed that perhaps this accounted for the obvious tension between the two Borrim.

“I’m Gunna, wife to Dag, a blacksmith and armorer. We live not too far off, under the eastern wall of the town. I . . . I know, perhaps some of the townspeople have not been too friendly. They . . . they are shy, or suspicious, of strangers. When we first arrived, three years ago, it was the same for us. People . . . people are . . . frightened, I believe. Frightened of what they do not know, and of what lies ahead of us, in these uncertain times.” Gunna closed her mouth abruptly, wondering if she should be talking like this, to a woman of position, and a stranger at that. “Well, yes, fresh venison sounds wonderful. I’ve heard your hunters are very skillful.” She hurried on. “I wasn’t sure if you would want the cheese, so I didn’t bring it with me. It’s quite large and I had no free hands. But I can bring it right by, if that’s acceptable.”

**************************

Mem:

Mem’s mouth hung open as Dulaan spoke. Surely the old woman was making a joke. But if so, it was a cruel one. Mem knew Dulaan well enough to know that, regardless of the old granny’s penchant for teasing, a kinder hearted soul could not be found in the Ulfing settlement. Could it be that the old woman was serious? Mem shook her head in disbelief, while her hands busied themselves with finding the pot and settling it near the edge of the cook fire. In confusion, the young woman called out to Jóra, who sat playing with the gurgling baby. “Sweetling, the tea is in that clay jar, by the basket of turnips. Can you fetch it here?”

Unconsciously, Mem fingered the bright bit of woolen cloth which Gunna had tied about her head that morning as they dressed. The hair which had grown in after her fever so many years ago, was brittle and of a strange rusty coloration. Gunna kept it clipped short – shorn like a sheep in spring, Dag would quip. What man would even think of her in terms of affection, Mem thought distractedly? Never in her wildest imaginings would she have guessed that Fàlki . . . Mem’s hands froze as the full impact of what Dulaan had said hit her. Fàlki! What did she even know about Kata’s son? Quiet? Shy? With a certainty, he was both. So much so, that even Mem, with her sharp ears, had barely heard him speak more than ten words in the two years in which he had occasionally accompanied his mother to their house. Could she even say she knew the tread of his feet, so like it was to that of his twin?

With a start, Mem realized that Jóra was speaking to her. “Mem. Mem! Here’s the tea.” The girl was setting the little clay jar gently into her hands. Taking a small palm full, she tossed the fragrant leaves into the heating water. Trying to collect her fractured thoughts, Mem turned to where she felt the old one sitting familiarly knee to knee with her. “Dulaan, I . . . I don’t know what to say. Are you in jest? Fàlki? I . . . I never even imagined . . . “She stopped, helplessly searching for the words to express her confusion, and the dim, far away hope that lay beneath.

[Dimturiel]

Despite the disappointement brought to her by her father's knife not being ready yet, Tora could not help feeling intrigued. A sword for Ulfang's son? But why? And which son was that? Of course, she did not voice her questions aloud. She knew it was not her place to know such things, and she was not sure she would get an answer, anyway.

Tora welcomed Dag's proposal of her going to his house. She did not feel up to walking all the way to her home and then returning later, yet neither did she want to remain in the forge. She somehow felt as if she would in a way be hindering the man from his work. And she had already abused enough of his kindness. Not many would put aside a task given by the chieftain's son for the mending of a plain farmer's knife. Therefore, she smiled to him and said:

"I am very grateful for your kindness, master Dag. I think I will indeed pay a visit to your wife and her sister. I had not seen them for a while, and I have been longing to talk to them."

She nodded to Dag and got out of the forge. It was not a long walk from Dag's forge to his home-not as long as the way back to Tora's farm, anyway. She soon reached the house and, after a soft knock on the door, she entered. There was a certain intimacy between most of the inhabitants of the settlement, and so no one bothered with rules of courtesy such as waiting to be invited in a house before entering.


On entering, Tora noticed that Gunna was not there, but that did not mean that her sister, Mem was alone with the baby. There was also Kata and Jora there, as well as Granny Dulaan. As far as she could see, Mem was talking to the latter with a flustered expression on her face.

"Greetings, Mem."said Tora brightly. "Hello, Kata and Jora. Good day, Dulaan. I hope you do not mind me being here, Mem. Master Dag sent me here while he finishes mending my father's knife. If it bothers you, I could go. I see that you already have your hands full."

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hunta was just on the verge of slumber when a shadow at the front of his tent brought him awake. Laylah growled and raised the hackles on her back, and when Hunta saw who it was that had disturbed them he did not still her. “What do you want?” he mumbled at Hugo. “Can’t you see that I’m trying to sleep?” He had spent so much of himself on the chase this morning that all he wanted for the remains of the day was rest. It annoyed him that this creeping fellow who did little for his livelihood but fetch and carry for his master would interrupt that. Either because he was oblivious to Hunta’s annoyance, or that he was simply used to such treatment that he was able to bear it without reaction, Hugo delivered his message without sign.

“You are wanted for a feast tonight at my master’s table.” Hunta wanted to know what the occasion might be. “My master wishes to discuss the matter of these new arrivals from the west. There are tidings in the town that they are here on matters of war.”

“The Elves?” Hunta asked, his interest finally piqued. He had never seen one of the immortal beings but something about the tales he had heard of them stirred his blood and lightened his heart in a surprising way. “Tell your ‘master’ that I’ll be there.”

When Hugo was gone, Hunta left his tent with Laylah intending to walk toward the Ulfings’ great hall, hoping that there he might catch a glimpse of the Elves. But as he came through the wings of the house he found Briga in conversation with an Ulfing woman. He quickly discerned that his catch was being put to good use by the older woman….Hunta was a great fan of the Ulfings’ pungent cheese, and he savoured the opportunity of enjoying some at the feast tonight. When he heard that the woman had not brought the cheese he immediately stepped forward. “I can bring that here for you, if you would like,” he offered.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Briga again slipped forward and spoke. "What a fine idea, Hunta. I think a cheese and egg pie would do very nicely along with the venison for our dinner tonight. If you could go with Gunna to pick up the cheese and return here after that, I could get started on the cooking. Plus, you might help Gunna carry the extra meat back to her home. It would be difficult for her to manage on her own. The packets are sitting in the kitchen."

Briga glanced over at Gunna and smiled, "If you would excuse us for just a minute, I''d like to show Hunta where that meat is so he can carry it over to your house. Perhaps it might be nice if the two of you could go together now."

Beckoning to Hunta, she gestured that he should follow her down the hall and then discretely guided him off into a side room. She lowered her voice to explain, "Hunta, don't worry about the meat. I'll have the kitchen maid give it to you before you leave, hopefully with Hunta. But I need to pass this along from Khandr. As the letter says, my husband feels there is something going on behind closed doors. The Borrim have been shut out, not just on these wedding negotiations but everything else at court. Whether or not this 'something' involves the Elves who have come, Khandr has no idea. But could you speak with Gunna? We are so isolated here, so off by ourselves, that we don't even know what those outside the court are thinking or feeling. I doubt she'll know too much about those Elves but perhaps she or her family have some feelings about what has happened to Ulfang. There used to be such good relations with him. My husband is at a loss to understand what is happening. For the good of our clan and liege lord, we all need to work together to uncover whatever is behind this change in sentiment at court. I know Khandr would appreciate anything you can pick up from Gunna or her family. I must go now. I have much to do, but I leave this matter in your able hands. Please give my apologies to Gunna for leaving so abruptly." Briga turned and walked away before Hunta could even answer.

[bill_n_sam]

Mem’s distracted face lit up at the sound of Tora’s voice. “Tora! So good to have your company. You’re never a bother. Come in, come in.”

Truly happy to have the chance to talk to the young woman, with whom she shared a close friendship, Mem was doubly relieved to have a chance to turn the conversation away from the startling revelation Granny Dulaan had imparted. Taking up at wooden spoon, she stirred the tea in the heating pot, saying, “Sit, please. I’m so glad your father sent you. It’s been a while since we had the chance to talk. Do you have time to take some tea with us? Kata is waiting for Gunna to return. I don’t know what is keeping her so long. Did you see her at the forge? She was taking Dag his lunch. I know he’s been quite busy lately – he’s even been asked to make a fine sword for Ulfast. But it’s worked out well for us.” She smiled confidentially. “Gives us a chance to catch up on all the gossip.”

Mem hoped that her friend would not notice how quickly she was talking, and how she went on and on. Having heard from different sources about Tora’s own sad experience with love, Mem had no desire to mention Dulaan’s bit of news. Turning her face back to where she knew Kata stood close to the door, Mem asked politely, “So, how is your husband, Kata? What news does he bring you of the goings on of the men of the town

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

To say that Hunta was taken off guard by Briga's abrupt manner and surprising request would be an understatement. He and the lord's first wife had exchanged but a handful of words in the time they had travelled together; as a guide and tracker for these nobles he had dealt for the most part with the second wife, Embla. Much as the younger woman's bad temper and rude manner annoyed him, she was -- at least -- someone he could more easily understand and empathise with. Like her, he was something of an outsider to this group having been engaged by the lord more or less at the last moment. And like Embla, he was not of that more courtly and refined class from which the lord came -- Hunta had been raised in a little more than a mud-hut and had slept beneath the stars at least as many nights as he had beneath a roof in his life. He had never felt truly at home or at ease with the lord and Briga, and he had always sensed that perhaps Embla felt the same. But her temper!

Despite his misigivings, Briga's request could not be ignored. As he wife of the lord her authority was real, and her self-possession and almost regal bearing was something he could not pretend had no natural sway over him. So it was with some amazement, and more than a little confusion, that he found himself accompanying the woman Gunna back to her home.

As they walked they made what small-talk they could manage, but it was difficult and stilted. So much of their lives were so different, that it was hard to find common ground. As they passed a group of rough looking youths loitering against a wall, one of them called out to Hunta. "Hoy there, barrakar!" he said contemptuously. "I hear you brought home a deer this day! Was it a grand hunt? They say that you were able to smell it out, and that you chased it down yourself. What does a mighty hunter like you even need with a dog?" They youths laughed.

Hunta froze in his steps and turned toward them. Their laughter faltered somewhat but the one who had spoken pulled himself up, not wishing to appear weak or chastened before his mates. "What is it barrakar," he asked, "Is it not true that you are a great hunter? Perhaps you fancy yourself better than the Ulfings in that sport, eh?" Hunta took a step toward them. "Watch out barrakar," the youth said. "You wouldn't want to do anything rash. We are only trading jibes with you...you can't offer violence to some jokes...not if you want to stay on the good side of the law."

At Hunta's side Laylah growled deep in her throat. Now the youths were truly nervous, for they had never seen a dog of her size or power. She stared at them, and the wild idea went through their minds that she could understand their words. "Keep that mutt away barrakar!" they cried. "You should have her on a leash, dirty brute!"

It happened so fast that onlookers barely saw it. Hunta stepped close to the leader of the group and raised his hand. The boy's own hand flew to his knife and drew it forth an inch from the scabbard. Hunta froze and it became clear in an instant that he had tricked the boy into making this first threatening move. "Now who is in danger of being on the wrong side of the law...Ulfing?" Hunta said quietly. "I believe the penalty for breaking the peace within the city walls is quite severe, is it not? I might be willing to let the matter drop, though....if you apologise."

The youth's eyes narrowed into slits of impotent fury. He knew he was caught and had no choice. "I apologise for raising my hand in anger against you," he recited formally.

Hunta smiled, and it was not a friendly sight. "Not to me, you fool....to my dog."

The youth snarled but the laws of the Ulfing lord were strict, and his guards were sturdy. As his companions fought snickers of contempt the youth looked at Laylah and said, "I am sorry." Laylah sat and wagged her tail, leaning her head against her master who scratched her behind the ears.

Hunta returned to Gunna. "All right," he said without emotion, "I'm ready to go."