Treachery of Men RPG

[Durelin]

Jord whirled around to finally face the man lounging on her couch, her skirts swishing softly. She did not bother to wipe the smirk off of her face that had formed when Brodda spoke. Scanning his body with her eyes, she calculated his strength, and how pleasant his appearance might be to mortals. Comparing him to Uldor, she thought it likely that Brodda was not considered as attractive, if at all: his structure was completely different. Perhaps a pleasing appearance could be helpful, but what Jord observed from the man’s behavior was even more so: an extreme opportunist nature. There was no loyalty between Brodda and his master, only various desires and business exchanges. She would not need to do much prying to loosen the two, and play them against each other.

“A proposition, my dear? I’m dying to hear.” Jord had to try to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She did want to hear what the man had to say: another glimpse into his head, and another connection through whatever this proposition entailed could only help her tighten her hold on him. “Dying” was impossible, though. Impossible. She was Thuringwethil, favored servant of Sauron and thus nearly as favored to Morgoth himself. All sick smiles were wiped from her face as she thought of the Lord Sauron. Oh how she missed her Master, and the pleasures he could give her. She was growing hungrier by the day for as rich of blood as she had bathed in under his service. But she knew the Great Lord Melkor would reward her greatly for her service. And even if he did not…she was bound, and she would serve. Jord would do anything for the favor of Morgoth. It was what her Sauron would want.

“Though I hope you have some information for me, as well, like you promised,” she added, a small, knowing smile once again adorning her full lips. Jord purposefully left her statement open, to see whether the man fulfilled her request for information first or only after he voiced this “proposition” of his. She did not care what he decided, but she was a little interested in seeing what he did do. Sometimes it was just fun to play with these animals, and it was surprising what you could learn about how their little brains worked if you let them try and make a decision for themselves. At least in a controlled environment – otherwise it was very likely a setup for disaster.

Jord glided over to a heavy, high-backed wooden chair made of austere dark wood and carved with stern straight lines. She sat down gracefully, arranged her skirts, and rested her soft arms on the hardwood ones of the chair. Brodda’s close connection to Uldor meant that she had seem and spoken with him a number of times, and she had quickly earned a fraction of his allegiance. She put some interesting opportunities on his plate, including simple things like money, and the shadow of power. To hungry eyes, shadows became real, as they came to life at night to a weak and frightened heart.

The last time they had spoken Jord had asked him to observe the fairly newly arrived Borrims. They were secondary to the other, more recent Elven visitors, but they were still pieces of interest. Unlike the Ulfings, they had been seduced by the Elvish tongue, the hot air that was their pride. And because of that, they would fall to their brother-tribe. But all in due time. For now, they would be staying in the city in peace, and soft ears could very well be tempted by what they had to say. Anyone who could not be placed on the track Jord laid out was a possible danger. The Borrim were a tiny scratch in the body of the plan, and though they had no power, if ignored infection could set in. And the minds of Men were breeding grounds for such disease.

[bill_n_sam]

Gunna and Mem turned their heads towards the door at the sound of Tora’s voice. Thinking the girl had forgotten to pass along some bit of gossip to Mem, Gunna barely heeded Tora’s words as she shifted the now sleeping child to a more comfortable position in her lap. Mem, however, gave a sharp intake of breath, causing Gunna’s mind to focus on the fact that Tora had not bothered to step inside, and the girl’s words finally registered.

“Gunna, Mem, it's me, Tora. Dag told me to say...he told me to announce to you that the Lord Ulfast, our chieftain's son wishes... that he wants Mem to come to the feast he is giving tonight and to sing for him.“

The sisters exchanged startled and unbelieving looks. Hurriedly, Gunna placed her daughter in Mem’s arms and leapt to her feet, moving quickly to the door and poking her head out. The narrow street was crowded with townspeople hurrying about their business, anxious to get home to afternoon tasks and preparations for the evening meal. Gunna could just make out the back of Tora’s head as the girl walked swiftly in the direction of the east gate. “Tora! Tora – wait! What did you say?” Gunna’s cries went unheeded as the girl slipped out of sight, not having heard her friend’s calls.

Or perhaps Tora did not wish to have to repeat herself, Gunna thought grimly, realizing that she had undoubtedly heard aright – her husband had somehow obligated Mem to entertain Ulfast and his cronies . . . ? At a feast?

Shaking her head in confusion, Gunna drew back inside the growing dimness of her little house, saying “Stir the embers, Mem, and lay some wood on the fire. Fetch the roasting spit and I’ll start on this venison.”

Mem did as instructed, but her sister knew the young girl was bursting with unvoiced questions. It was not until the meat had been well rubbed with salt and sage and hung dripping over the flames, and Gunna had thrust a bowl of parsnips into Mem’s hands for peeling that the girl ventured to speak.

“What do you make of Tora’s words, sister?” Mem asked, trying to keep her tone casual, but failing utterly.

Gunna shook her head once more, truly having no answer. “I can’t fathom it, Mem. How is it that Ulfast, son of our highest chieftain, bids you sing at his feast? And what feast is this Tora spoke of? I know the Borrim were feasting this night, but I’ve heard nothing of Ulfast, or his father or brothers for that matter. I can only think it must have to do with the elves.” Again, Gunna felt a now familiar tightening of her stomach muscles as the thought of the emissaries and their message filled her heart with foreboding. She looked at her sister, a frown of uncertainty on her face. “Did Kata or the others speak of it before I arrived home?”

Mem shook her head in the negative. “No. They said no word of it, as I’m sure they would have if they had known something of it. Do . . . do you think then, that . . . “ The girl’s voice trailed off, not wanting to sound too eager for Tora’s words to be true, but hoping with all her heart they were so. She knew her sister well enough to realize that Gunna would be dead set against her going to such a gathering. Yet still, her own heart knew no heaviness, but beat brightly and joyously at the prospect of attending, and actually singing, at a chieftain’s fete. Even now, her mind was racing with thoughts of which songs might best please such a man as Ulfast, and the other lords and chiefs.

“I don’t know what to think.” Gunna replied, somewhat sharply. “All I know is that my husband sends word of such a happening through another, and that itself does not bode well – for any of us.”

Mem took the reprimand quietly and kept about her peeling, knowing in the end it would be Dag who decided whether she went or stayed, not Gunna. Much as she loved her sister, the girl knew in a matter such as this, with a chieftain beckoning, a wife could not well refuse to obey her husband, just as he could not refuse his lord.

Gunna’s lips were set in a tight line. She needed desperately to speak with Dag, to find out what had transpired, how this had all come about. But she had already absented herself from the home once today, with a mixed result. She did not feel comfortable leaving once again, leaving her sister and child alone, unguarded, now that she knew that somehow Mem had come to the attention of one of Ulfang’s son. It was no secret that Mem had a beautiful voice and knew many songs. Most of the women around had visited with them a time or two, to trade for yarn and thread, and gossip. Mem was popular with their neighbors, not only for her good humor and gentle ways, but her wit and ability to make even the sourest matrons laugh. But for word of her abilities to have reached as far as the ears of one such as Ulfast, no, Gunna would never have expected that. It was with a growing suspicion, and fear, that Gunna wondered if this was yet another ploy on the part of the chieftain’s son to draw Dag into his clutches and bind her husband to him. On the eve of the arrival of these messengers from the north, perhaps Ulfast saw a need for a skilled smith, and armorer in his camp.

Wiping blood from her hands, Gunna lifted Mem’s hand to turn the spit, taking the bowl of parsnips from her. In resignation, she said heavily, “We will wait, for Dag. He will tell us what we must do.”

[Mithalwen]

Feeling the pressure of his master's words and hand, Tathren lowered his blade but did not replace it in its scabbard. He would wait for the men to sheathe their own weapons first. He tapped the blade's tip gently against his boot as an outlet for his irritation. In the torchlight his pale face was no longer fierce, merely a little sulky.

His action had been impetuous but it had been fueled by a noble instinct, or so he preferred to think. Yet Lachrandir seemed to think he had been merely spoiling for a fight, like an argumentative drunkard in an alehouse. Tathren considered if this was the case. Losing his temper and pulling a knife had hardly been the most dignified course of action but should he have done nothing when his Lord had received a show of steel in response to his simple enquiry? On such thoughts was his mind engaged as he waited for the Borrim's response.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Khandr's body stiffened as he wrenched his hand away from the hilt of his dagger. As the torchlight glimmered down on the two tall figures standing in the corrdidor, it was all too evident, even to the Borrim, that their visitors were none other than the Elvish envoys, who had recently arrived in the village.

"My pardon, good friends! A hundred pardons. Had I known you were coming, I would have arranged for a welcome far different than the one I have given you tonight." Khandr looked nervously from one face to the other, and then stammered on. "Though these lands lie to the south, we have found it cold in these parts, far colder than it was even a few years before. Little warmth has come to us from our hosts or neighbors, and we are simply not used to receiving visitors in the evening. Indeed, once the sun sinks under the plain, we find ourselves barricaded in our homes, afraid to venture too far outside. Things have changed, and it is not for the better. "

"But let me make it up to you for our rude behavior. Surely you will join us around the table for a round of drinks and a plateful of the finest local cheese along with conversation. I would welcome any news from the north...to know how the fight against Morgoth goes in these troubled times. Or perhaps you have even seen my lord King Bor in recent weeks. For in the past day, I have heard rumors a plenty and would welcome your news and expert advice. Our people remain commited to the alliance and will do whatever must be to drive the vermin back into their holes."

He turned to the two of them and gestured that they were welcome to follow him down the corridor and into the great hall where refreshments would be provided.

[Anguirel]

Lachrandir was mollified to a certain degree by the contrite attitude that had come upon the Borrim, though he was surprised to find that Khandr, the man he had come to see, should have been so rash as to lead such an uncouth welcome in person. The Borrim envoy's cryptic words seemed to warn of severe dissension being fomented between these tribes of Men. Not remembering that his own Elven kind were divided far more profoundly, Lachrandir mused on the lack of discipline among these mortals. His words were now polite, though he kept to Sindarin.

"I am afraid I can bring little news of your own people, Master Khandr; for I have not seen the fortress of Himring since the Dagor Bragollach. Your own tidings will be more up to date than mine. I have long dwelt in the south; the ruin of Thargelion and the settling of Caranthir's people with the folk of Amrod and Amras has proved absorbing work. I do, though, carry, indirectly, a certain message from Lord Maedhros. We shall speak on this subject later this eve. In the meantime," and his gaze swept across to include all the sheepish-looking Borrim, "I would be pleased to accept your kind offer to join your table."

Lachrandir smiled, in a fairly genuine fashion, leaving the coldness of his look behind, and turned to his page. "I think, friends, that this companion of mine will not assume such a terrible visage once he has been plied with some of your, ah, cheese and viands..."

[CaptainofDespair]

Brodda thought for a moment, as he listened to Jord speak. So, she at least wanted to listen to his idea, even if it was a superficial interest. They were both opportunists, he surmised, and so surface benefits were usually all that mattered. But before he went into his proposition he thought it would be best to, hopefully, whet her appetite with a little information on the Borrim.

“My dear Jord,” he began, “the Borrim you wished for me to spy on are hiding very little. But what they are hiding may very well be important. And I do not trust their arrival. It is too near to that of the Elves, who I do not trust, and I fear the two may be cohorts. Though, it may be an unwitting or unknown alliance.” Brodda continued to lounge through it all, unperturbed by the thoughts of the Elves and Borrim. But he began to fidget somewhat as he tried to transition into his own proposition. He was finding his position precarious, at best. He had given Jord the information she had wanted, but he had few bargaining chips himself for the upcoming discussion now. Uldor was perhaps his only card to play, and Brodda began to think he should not have come to visit Jord. She probably did not think much of Uldor, if Jord were the opportunist she seemed.

But Brodda quickly composed himself, and decided to go through with it. He may not have much on his side, but if he could present himself well enough that might be all he’d need. “Now Jord, I think it is time we discuss my proposition.” Perhaps he said it too forcefully, he wondered. Brodda felt tormented, that every move he could possibly make could turn against him if Jord took it the wrong way. “I know of your dealings with Uldor,” he continued, “and where he hopes they will lead. But he too must go to war with his father when their army is marched to the aid of the Elves. And the battlefield is a dangerous place, where unforeseen things happen.” He glanced into Jord’s eyes as he spoke, hoping to catch a hint at how she was feeling so far. But he could find nothing. “I, however, will not be going on this campaign if I can help it. And Uldor will certainly need me here to keep his plans from unraveling. Whether battle takes him or not, I could care less. So would it not be better to have someone to clean up the mess this business with the Elves may cause? I can certainly do so…” Sinking deeper into the couch, Brodda felt satisfied with his performance, at least to the degree he felt he had Jord's attention.

[Anguirel]

"I..I know I should have been here long ago and I am sorry that I was unable to come sooner. Yet master Dag had other things on his hands, errands more pressing than the mending of a mere farmer's knife. So I had to wait."

So ran the words of Tora, the only daughter, and decidedly the least favourite child, of Torguar Torgaltling. The father frowned in response, holding his peace for a while, but evidently not exactly mollified. His wife was quieter still, scarcely seeming to breath; she hung about only until Torguar dismissed her back into the homestead's inner room with a baleful look. Then the farmer took the newly-repaired knife from his daughter, and began to reply in a surly voice.

"'Mere farmer', thou say'st, girl? I am your father and I do not like the sound of that word, that mere. What mighty errand did that no-good smith go running after, then? Dropped in on by an elvenking, was he?" Torguar chuckled, his mood a little mellowed by the excellence of his little joke.

"Well, next time I'll send one of the lads. By my father's beard, a man can't trust a girl to look after his knife, can't he, isn't that right, wife? Confound it, where's she got to now?" he barked, forgetting that it was he who had sent her off moments before. Sure enough, the woman came scuttling back, her head bowed.

"Well, now you're here, wife, can't think why, actually, we might as well come down to it. You, Tora, undutiful daughter though you might be," he said in a kinder tone, "I think I've made a good settlement for you, girl. Now, what do you say to the idea of getting married?"