Treachery of Men RPG

[Durelin]

“Foolish woman, you know nothing of war, do you?”

Jord could have laughed, though she would have laughed harder if she could only grab the man by the throat and dig her fingernails into his skin. She was fairly certain that, even in this simple human body, she could tear into his esophagus without too much trouble, if she found the proper tender spot. At least the human body was more resilient than it appeared. Unfortunately for them, men could live for a long time even when it seemed they should not. The spirit of mortals were too attached to their bodies, and they suffered for it. And yet all they did was harm what they so loved. They made war, and they made it a bad thing.

She had been a part of a war for millennia, the War. Over the years, thousands of lives had been simple puppets, controlled by few lives, which were in turn controlled by other forces, whether by fate or by higher powers that they could not imagine…if there was a difference. And this man was just another toy, who just happened to be allowed to play with a few dolls. As long as he was good, he got to pretend. And she would play pretend with him.

“You may not be King, but you are his mind as he grows older. You take good care of your father, Uldor,” she grinned, and did not care that her expression could only be seen as malicious, “You are a good son. And your father more than respects your opinion.”

The man gave her a level look. He made her sick. Thrown out of the kingdom for violent crimes, violence far worse than the bloodshed on the battlefield he spoke so sorrowfully of, and yet he clung to the idea that he had virtue left. That man’s essence was virtuous. That the greed, the lust, and the violent arrogance that they indulged in was just a side-effect of something gone wrong in the universe, something not under their control.

And they thought they were free.

“You believe…no, you know the Elves will not hold to their…oath,” she voiced the word with mild amusement. They, the righteous ones, were sealed to their vows, and doomed by them. “And what of yours?” She paused only a second.

“But oh! I spoke wrongly, did I not?” she said as if a sudden thought had entered her mind, tilting her head to the side and staring off without looking at anything. “It isn’t yours, is it?” she questioned, but did not allow him to respond, “You made no oath. Your father did. Your father is a wise man, who makes promises to keep them…but perhaps you are the wiser, who does not make them at all.”

[Dimturiel]

Seeing that Kata, Jora and Dulaan were about to leave, Tora thought it was high time she went too. Dag was surely to have finished the knife by this time, and anyway, she did not feel quite comfortable in having to spend so much time in the company of the Borrim hunter, although she felt slightly uneasy for leaving Gunna and Mem alone with him. Yet it was really getting late, so there was nothing she could do than announce her departure.

"Well, I think I should be going too, Gunna." she said. "Surely Master Dag must have finished my father's knife by now. He was in a hurry anyway, as he was working at something else."

Here Tora paused. She wondered whether she could ask her question or not, whether it was safe to speak about such matters in front of so many people. Yet she trusted them, and anyway such a thing could not remain secret for too long in a place as theirs.

"You know, Gunna," she began, "Master Dag was telling me that he was making a sword for Ulfang's son? What can this mean, I wonder? And which son? Has he told you any of these things? Are we...are we alowed to speak of them?"

Tora stopped, biting her lips. Now she regretted saying it. Maybe it was something beyond her understanding, a matter of much greater importance than the insignificant pieces of gossip that were usually debated among the villagers. And also, she thought of the Borrim hunter. Would he say anything of this to his people? Was the forging of a sword for one of the chieftain's sons, perhaps, something that the people of the Borrim were not intended to know?

[Nogrod]

After Fastarr had taken the horses back to Khandr’s stables he had taken a very light take-away lunch, just some carrots and bread from the street vendors on his way to his tent. There he took a short nap and then headed to the local sweatlodge carrying his best clothes with him.

The sweatlodge was indeed two tents placed on the northern end of the nearest marketsquare. The place was kept by an old lady named Svana with his adult son Willap. They were an odd pair to run a bussiness but one of those Fastarr had learned to like in a way in this village he was otherwise so uncomfortable with.

“The Horse-Man! Now what brings you here this early? Have you finally gotten a date for you my lad?” Old Svana laughed her hoarse laughter heartily as he greeted Fastarr. “Willap, get some new stones for our visitor! Hurry up now!” she called her son and turned back to Fastarr.

“Oh no, my lady”, Fastarr replied to her shaking his head and smiling back to her in a way that showed he had approved of her jesting. “But my lord is giving a feast to my kinsmen here this evening and I need to be clean and tidy to attend.” He picked a coin from his pocket and handed it to the old woman. Svana kept on looking at him when he took the coin and then said quietly, almost whispering: “So you have someone to whom your heart beats among your kin, now don’t you? Don’t try to fool an old lady... We recognise the shining in young mens eyes still, even though that flare is not meant for us any more my lad.” She winked an eye to him and then abruptly turned in her heels to call for her son. “C’mon Willap, get on with it! The Horse-Man is having a date and can’t wait for your lazy legs to get moving!” Fastarr handed her his better clothes. At first Svana only nodded but then she bursted laughing again. “Oh, you young men... you’re just such open books!” She paused for a second. “Nevermind an old lady, nevermind...” She gestured him towards the tents still trying to calm down her laughter. “That lazy-bone Willap will be ready soon. Don’t worry”, she added and then turned to examine Fastarr’s clean clothes to see what trimming there was to be done.

Fastarr undressed behind a tottering curtain that had been erected beside the entrance to the actual sweatlodge. He was arranging his dirty clothes to the bench when Willap came out from the tent cheeks glowing red. “Good day to you sir! Just a moment sir!” he said as he kneeled to lay the iron rack that was filled with faintly steaming stones to the ground with his heavy gloves and went back in. Fastarr hesitated a moment in front of the selection of herbs laid on the other side of the bench but finally decided to take a bunch of sage and a few twigs of rosemary. He felt the cold wind in his bones standing there naked and waiting for Willap to come out. The curtains opened soon enough and the figure of a man emerged from inside. He took the rack he had left outside and pulled it up. “It’s all yours sir. It should be good now”, he said and turned away.

Inside the tent it was warm and humid. The flickering light from the two lamps buried on the ground at the each side of the hot stone-rack made everything look cozy and homely to him. Fastarr ripped the herbs over the stones, took the waterbucket and sat down to a straw mat a few feet away from the stones. For a moment he just enjoyed the warmth and relative darkness. He was alone. What a bliss!, he thought to himself and closed his eyes. Slowly the scent of the herbs started to reach him and the warmth wrapped him from all around...

After a while of just enjoying the moment Fastarr took a ladleful of water and threw it over the hot stones. They made a hissing sound and he could feel the warm steam begin to surround him. The temperature was rising fast. After throwing another ladle of water he had to bend down as it was getting too hot for him to sit straight. The warmth and the scent of the herbs were everywhere around him and slowly also in him. The sweat was running in little streams from all around his body. He could taste the saltiness of it with his lips as it poured down his face.

At that moment his mind was blank. There were no worries, no problems to solve, no tasks ahead or behind; no memories, no future, but just the here and now. Fastarr threw a few rounds of water over the stonerack and just fell into the abyss of the moment.

After a while the herbs started to lose their distinct flavor and Fastarr felt himself ready. He crawled out from the tent and hurriedly slipped to the other one before the chill afternoon wind could freeze him. There the lighting was a bit brighter and there was also an open fire going on under a large tub of steaming water. He washed himself thoroughly and finally poured a vat of flowerpetal scented cold water over him. From beside the entrance he took a towel and dried himself thoroughly before stepping outside. His finer clothes were trimmed and neatly folded on the bench waiting for him.

Fastarr dressed and combed his hair. Then he adjusted the plate mirror to a right angle and started cutting his cheekbeard with the scimitar. His skin was pore and elastic and the hairs were soft after the warmth. There was no better time to shave than after a sweatlodge and he knew it well. At last he trimmed his chinbeard and tied it with the tin ribbons he had taken off before going into the sauna. It had been like a ritual and a ritual it indeed was for him here in the strange lands. A knot that tied him to his home and kin far away.

Svana looked at him quizzically as he came forwards looking clean and shaven in his best outfit. But before she had time to make any nosy remarks Fastarr thanked him heartily: “As good as always, if not even better today my dear lady!” With that he took his purse and scimitar the old lady handed to him and tied them to his belt.

Svana raised her right eyebrow in a way only she could do. “Sad our girls haven’t pinned their eyes on you already Horse-Man... or is it you who refuse to see them? But I’ll wish you all the luck tonight”, she winked her eye again and made one of her hoarse laughs after it smiling openly. “And your clothes will be ready tomorrow morning as usual”, she added nodding towards the huge cauldron under which Willap was tending a small fire. She curtsied to him as he gave him another coin and then gave another laugh.

“To tomorrow!” Fastarr said to her as he left.

[Anguirel]

Lachrandir and Tathren departed from Ulfang's private apartments behind the Hall by a side exit, so as to avoid crossing the banquet of the Easterling nobles once more. It had been patent that their presence, and the command Lachrandir brought, and most of all the obligatory Oath, had disturbed the gathering of men, and even Lachrandir at his most harsh had no wish to disconcert his hosts unnecessarily. He gave the Elfling beside him a swift clap on the shoulder as they passed through one of the main streets of the Ulfing settlement, their light tread scarcely leaving marks on the muck that festooned the cobbles.

"Not bad, my colt. Who knows, perhaps in our next audience you can address the Chieftain...I wonder if he'll notice the difference..."

Tathren stayed quiet. Lachrandir fell silent in response, feeling a little rebuked. The boy was right to reproach his frivolous speech, perhaps; everything was not straightforward, that was clear. The Chieftain was weak in mind but strong in will; a will that favoured, unto extremes, this complicated figure, this grave Atan fellow Uldor; who seemed to have the most quality and power about him of the brothers, but who also seemed, if not grudging to the Elvish envoys, then at least reticent.

"No more of our business this eve," Lachrandir said, "at least, not diectly. Courtesy demands that we go next to the house of one Khandr."

"Courtesy?" Tanreth asked, puzzled. "Should not courtesy have kept us in the Chieftain's Hall?"

"Nay, lad. This Khandr, you see, is in the service of our own Paramount Lord, one who ultimately commands our arms and loyalty still more than Caranthir - though those claims shall never, of course, conflict. Khandr is a servant of Himring, left in the south to treat with Ulfang; and it is well that the servant should know what the master intends."

"Indeed," Tathren assented. "Do you know where the house of this Khandr lies?"

"I believe it is rather in a great pavilion that he makes his dwelling, but many of the notables among these Men live similarly in tents. We shall have to ask elsewhere; yet that would, I think, be no bad thing. I have a certain desire to see how those of the Ulfings whose respect we truly need to command - fighters, rather than the loafers and parasites who slump in yonder Hall - spend their days. We shall stop and ask for news at one of these, ah, homesteads, as we make our way."

The pair of ambassadors had experienced small impediments even on their path through the crowded thoroughfare, as the inhabitants of the township generally scrambled aside out of their way. But though their journey was clear and easy, they felt the wait of scores of startled gazes, some men staring openly from the sides of the streets, women watching from higher apertures in mud or timper walls, unidentified figures in the shadow of a tent's flaps. These the Elves did their best to ignore. Soon enough they had passed through the worst of the throng, and Lachrandir pointed ahead to a sturdy looking door in a hut better appointed than many.

"Shall we enquire after Khandr there?"

"If you wish."

Lachrandir stepped forward and knocked, firmly, even ringingly, on the door of the house of Grimr.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

piosenniel's post

With Erling gone, Grimr poured himself another cup of ale and wandered about the main-room of his house. His eyes flicked over the furnishings, coming to rest on Káta’s loom. His family; his house; his very heart. A satisfied smile infused his features.

And a certain happiness stole over him.....along with a small prickle of unease. Take care, fool! he admonished himself in silence. Too much pride, too much boasting could turn good luck sour.

‘Gods keep us safe and prosperous!’ he murmured fervently. He took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly as he held up his open hand, palm outwards. A sign of warding against ill fortune.

A sudden knocking at his door startled Grimr, and he shook off the disquiet of the moment. ‘Erling! Is that you, my friend? Have you forgotten something?’

A few strides brought him to the entryway and he threw open the thick wood door, a grin on his face. His brows raised, the grin slid from his lips as he looked up at the tall man standing expectantly before him. No, not man.....Elf! Grimr schooled his face so that it bore a neutral look and asked how he might be of help.

~*~

Grimr watched as the tall fellow and his companion turned away from the door and started off in the direction of the Borrim’s house. Now imagine that, he thought to himself, they wanted directions. Lost, like ordinary folk might be. Ordinary.....hunnnnh!

‘That’s right!’ he called out as one of them turned back briefly, as if seeking confirmation of their direction. ‘Go further into town.....near the smith’s place......and towards the setting sun, then. Can’t miss it.’ He waved them off, stepping away quickly, back inside his home.

And made another sign of warding against ill luck.....

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Fordim Hedgethistle's post

Hunta was in well over his head and he knew it, and like any good hunter he knew when to give up the chase. To Gunna’s question he replied merely with a noncommittal grunt. Fortunately for him, he was spared any further embarrassment by the activity surrounding the departure of what seemed to him a herd of females. He scrambled to his feet and tried to escape in the midst of the activity, but Gunna called out to him. “Wait! You have forgotten your cheese!” So desperate was he to be apart from these women and their mind-boggling ways he almost considered pressing ahead without it…but the memory of the savoury flavours of the cheeses made by their southern cousins brought him up short.

He waited outside the door impatiently while Gunna collected it, turning over and over in his mind what in the world he was to report to the lord. That the women of this city, like women everywhere, were full of such gossip and foolishness as would drive a man mad? That all they thought of were marriages and the misbehaving of children and the petty demands of household life? There may, he supposed, be some interest in the sword that was being forged. He would not have paid any heed to that but for the woman’s consternation at having let it dribble from her mouth. Yes, at least he would have that to report to his people.

Gunna came out with a large wheel of cheese and passed it to him, saying “Thank you again, Hunta, for carrying this. And thank you for staying to have some tea.”

“Thank you for the tea,” was all he could think to say in return, then whistling for Laylah to cover this latest embarrassment, he stalked away from the house. He did his best not to hurry and thus reveal the full extent of his relief at his escape.

As he walked from the house he saw coming toward him two tall strangers. He immediately recognised them as Elves, even though he had never seen such people before. He stumbled to a halt for a moment as he regarded them. They were indeed fair folk, tall and graceful, with features that were clear and fresh but also aged and full of wisdom. One of them glanced in his direction and Hunta found himself gazing into two deep eyes that glittered like starlight. He quickly ducked his head, overcome by a queer feeling the likes of which had never yet come to his isolated and callow heart. Rather than face them directly he slunk into a side street and found a different way back to the house of the lord Khandr.

[bill_n_sam]

With some relief, Gunna had leapt up as Kata began making her good-byes and shepherding her daughter out the door to fetch the cart. The gathering had been an awkward one. Gunna knew that Kata, Dulaan, and Tora would not misrepresent anything which had transpired here, but she feared that the wagging tongues of her neighbors might make overmuch of the visit of the Borrim stranger. She saw that he, too, was more than ready to depart, with a quietly desperate scowl on his brow.

Tora had also stood, explaining that she too must leave. Gunna had just turned to speak with Kata when the young woman queried, “You know, Gunna, Master Dag was telling me that he was making a sword for Ulfang's son? What can this mean, I wonder? And which son? Has he told you any of these things? Are we...are we allowed to speak of them?”

Tora stopped suddenly and chewed nervously on her lip, as if perhaps she had said more than she had intended. Gunna glanced instinctively at the Borrim, but he was himself rising to go and, if he had heeded her words or if they meant aught to him, he gave no sign. Indeed, he was at the door in an instant, and did not pause, but passed through quickly.

Suddenly remembering the whole reason why he had accompanied her home in the first place, Gunna roused herself and called after him, “Wait! You have forgotten your cheese!” Scooping up the large, white cheese, she hurried out the door behind Kata and Dulaan, who had finished their good-byes to Mem and the baby.

“Thank you again, Hunta, for carrying this” Gunna said politely, handing him the cheese. “And thank you for staying to have some tea.”

“Thank you for the tea,” he replied gruffly, then whistled for his dog, turned on his heel and stalked off down the narrow street. Gunna smiled to herself, knowing Dag too would have been similarly embarrassed to be forced to take tea with a flock of cackling hens.

Stepping back into her little house, Gunna saw that Tora still wore a worried look on her face. Gunna smiled reassuringly and placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder, saying, “Don’t worry. You said nothing wrong. I’m sure that one has no interest in the work of a smith.” She nodded her head at the door through which Hunta had just left. “And it’s not as if the word won’t get around, if it hasn’t already. It was Ulfast who is having the sword made. You know how these chieftains love to throw their weight around – if they want something, it must be done right away. Everyone else can wait.” Gunna forced a laugh and rolled her eyes comically, although she knew none of her friends would be deceived by her assumed levity. At least, Kata and old Dulaan would know full well that even such apparently business-like arrangements often led to more formal bonds of obligation and loyalty. “But I’m sure Dag will be finished with your father’s work now. Run along, and tell him not to forget his dinner!”

Gunna turned to make her farewell to the others. She embraced old granny warmly, saying, “We don’t see you enough, Dulaan. Come keep us company anytime. You need to teach Mem more of those songs of yours.” Then, cupping Jóra’s chin in her hand and smiling, Gunna told the girl, “If you don’t stop growing so fast, your mother and father will have to find a giant for you to marry, maybe one of these elves – I hear they are as tall as a birch tree.” The little girl’s eyes widened at the improbable, but fascinating, thought.

Finally, Gunna laid her hand on Kata’s arm, turning her away from the others slightly. “I would talk to you a moment, Kata. This matter of the sword . . . “ Here, Gunna lowered her voice. “It has me worried, in spite of what I said just now. I . . . I wish sometimes that Dag did not keep so to himself. He . . . he thinks that if he stays apart, stays out of these endless squabblings between the chieftains, that he will escape being drawn into their plots and schemes. But I am worried.” Her dark eyes looked deeply into her friends’, an unspoken bond of understanding passing between them. These things, a woman knew . . . and feared. “Grimr knows so many of the folk here in the town, and in the countryside. I’m sure he must talk with the other men. If . . . if only Dag could speak with him. Perhaps Grimr could advise him.”

[piosenniel]

‘Well, now, that’s just the problem isn’t it,’ Káta said nodding her head as Gunna spoke. ‘There is no “staying apart”, is there?’

Jóra had gone off to fetch the cart and bring it round. The girl grinned at her mother and waved. Her attention was diverted back to the cart as Granny hailed her, motioning for Jóra to give her a hand up. Káta waved back, raising her brows toward Granny. ‘Put the brake on,’ she mouthed in an exaggerated way. She flicked her hand at her daughter. ‘Help her up!’

Káta turned back to Gunna, placing her hand lightly on the woman’s arm. ‘We’re already drawn in to their plots and schemes. And most men, the gods love’m, are like horses with blinders. They need a little help, a little direction, a hint here and there.’ She crossed her arms and looked thoughtfully at Gunna, measuring how much she should confide. ‘With what fate offers us, we have to choose as best we can. We need to make sure our families are seen to. A good future secured for our children.....and our grandbabies, too..... Listen - I’ll have Grimr come pay a visit to Dag. I’m sure we have something that needs seeing to by a smith. The men can have a little talk about.....things.’

The cart pulled up; the wheels scattering scattering a little dust and a few pebbles as Jóra yanked on the little handbreak. ‘Meanwhile,’ continued Káta, putting her foot on the small step-up, ‘we women will continue as we always do. Gathering, spinning, weaving.....sharing the small things that knit us together.’

‘Come on, mami!’ Jóra’s eager voice broke in on the two women’s conversation.

‘Yes, yes.....alright!’ She clambered up into the cart, settling herself on the hard wood seat. Káta waved back at Gunna as the cart started off. ‘I’ll send Grimr.....soon as I can convince him what a great idea he had about talking to Dag.....’