Treachery of Men RPG

[Dimturiel]

Tora was hurrying through the streets of the settlement. It was late and she had still so many things to do before she could finally be allowed to rest. For one thing, she had to find her father from wherever he was. It was usually her youngest brother who did that, but now he had fallen ill and Tora had to go. It was nothing serious-not yet, at least-but her mother thought it best for him to spend some days in the house. If she could keep him there, that is, thought Tora grimly.

On her way she had made a few inquiries about her father. One man reported to her that he had seen him heading towards the chieftain’s hall. Tora felt baffled. What could he be doing there? It was true that a feast was to be held there in honor of the elven guests-or so rumor had it- but a mere farmer would certainly not be invited to such an event. Then why had he gone there? Had he no sense at all? Had he, perhaps, drunk so much that he no longer thought of the consequences of his actions both regarding him, as well as his family?

Tora quickened her pace. Things did not look good. She only hoped that the chieftain’s would be in a good enough mood not to punish a drunken farmer too heavily. Perhaps they would have enough drink in themselves at the time to make them more indulgent. But maybe he was not even in the hall. Perhaps he had not been allowed in.

On reaching the hall, Tora saw a young guard sitting in front of it, with a look of boredom on his face. Plucking her courage, the girl approached him.

“I…I am sorry to bother you, but could you help me?” she began hesitantly. “I…well, I have been told that my father had headed for the feast and I was wondering…”

Tora paused, biting her lips, desiring nothing but to be away from that uncomfortable situation. How could he explain to the guard that he was looking for a drunk farmer in the chieftain’s hall? And what if she was wrong? What if her father was not even there? The guard, however, nodded curtly at her words.

“Your father would be that drunk rascal shouting to be admitted to the feast, no?” he asked. “It seems he was safe to go there.”

Tora’s eyes widened. He was in the hall? But how…? Yet that was not the time for questions. She had to fetch her father out of there before the situation got even worse than it already was. Taking a deep breath she told the guard in a tone as calm and as natural as she could make it:

“Well, of course he was thought safe to enter. How could he not be when they have invited him. Now, I should have been with him, but I had some work at home said I would come later. So would you please let me enter?”

That was exactly what the guard did not want to do, but the girl had spoken in so natural an air that she could not have been lying. Not in so unconcerned a tone with little signs of fear or worry on her face. Therefore, he stood aside, letting her enter.

Tora thanked her fortune for having taken her so far. She was now inside, and able to look for what she had come to find. Yet she could not help wondering how the evening would end. The talk with the guard had left her with her heart beating fit to burst and her knees shaking. But nothing could have prepared her for what she was to see in the hall. There was her father, sitting beside a young man whom she had never seen before. Yet that was not the cause of Tora’s fears. For she could very well see that Uldor was close by. How come he had not already thrown her father out, she could not tell. Now was the time to act, she thought. Now before it was too late.

With resolute steps, he headed towards her father and tapped him on the shoulder. She could see surprise and annoyance on his face, but she told herself not to be put off by that.

“What are you doing here, father?” she asked, not letting him speak. “I have been sent to look for you, and I must bring you home. Come with me.”

She could see anger growing on Torguar’s face. It was clear his daughter’s words did not please him. He opened his mouth to reply, but Tora cut him short.

“Come.” she repeated putting a hand on her father’s shoulder, and then adding in a quiet whisper. “This is no place for the likes of us.”

[Celuien]

There was an uncommonly cheerful aspect to Ulfast's visage after his interview with the smith. It seemed that a different man returned to the hall than the dourly sardonic one who had left. This Ulfast smiled and seemed to mean it rather than to wear it to cover malice. Nearing the gates of the hall, he had even tossed a handful of copper to astonished townspeople, who then scattered after the unexpected largesse in a way that Ulfast thought similar to chickens after grain. He beamed at his own generosity and crossed into the chieftain's grounds.

The smith would appear with the sword and his sister-in-law. After such an appearance, as Ulfasts's guests, the support of Dag's family for Ulfast - genuine or not - would seem certain. True, they were only common working folk. But Dag was a craftsman who could well-arm many men for battle, and one who seemed to have some prominence among the people of the town. If Ulfast's quarrel with his brother ever came to open fight, it would be the blood of those people that decided the outcome. Better to have as many on his side beforehand as he could muster.

Preparations for the banquet were surely well underway. Ulfast laughed aloud. Mem's addition to the evening's entertainment would not have been known to Uldor. Ulfast hoped his reaction to the unexpected arrival would be amusing.

[bill_n_sam]

Arriving at the great hall, Mem clutching his hand tightly not from fear but from a need to keep up with his brisk pace, Dag led his good-sister to the smaller entrance to the far west side, which gave way first to a cramped storage space of sorts. Here, whatever provender might be needed within could be deposited until called for, and servants could stand guard over their master’s belongings unless they too were called for. Tonight, with every Ulfing of any note whatsoever, and many lesser vassals, assembling to honor the elven envoy, the anteroom was tightly packed and already quite warm with the heat rising from many bodies.

Pushing his way inside, Dag kept Mem close, pulling her arm through his. Ulfast had left no instructions about where and when to deliver the sword, so Dag continued elbowing men aside until he reached the opening into the main hall. There he paused and scanned the smoky room, trying to catch a glimpse of the young chieftain.

As expected, the room was already crowded with men and women from many of the powerful families and clans of the settlement, and beyond. Most of the faces were familiar to him, at least known by reputation, if not personally. In the course of his survey, he nodded briefly once or twice to men who he actually would call friend, and they nodded back. But of Ulfast he saw nothing. Dag was on the brink of turning back into the cramped entry to ask if anyone had seen Ulfang’s second son, when he caught sight of Grimr and Kata. His wife’s good friend stood with her husband talking to a well dressed man Dag did not recognize. Beside the couple waited the sons who were so similar in appearance that Dag could never keep them straight. Dag knew the family only slightly, the friendship being more between the women; but he knew that Grimr was a well respected resident of the settlement and that Gunna had of late encouraged him to make the man’s acquaintance. She hoped that such an acquaintance could help her husband understand better the undercurrents of this place, understand better and negotiate better. Perhaps tonight would present him with such an opportunity, Dag thought.

As if some silent signal of his thoughts had raced across the room, one of Grimr’s sons raised his eyes to meet Dag’s. The boy’s gaze slipped quickly, however, slightly to the right. It took Dag a second or two to realize what the youth was staring at, or more precisely, who. And when he did, Dag stiffened. He glared back at the boy, wishing now he could more readily know which twin it was who so boldly ran his eyes over the girl standing quietly at Dag’s side. The boy’s eyes flickered momentarily back to Dag and seeing the anger on the smith’s face, he quickly turned his gaze elsewhere.

Mem, feeling the bulging muscles of her good-brother’s bicep tightening, asked quietly, “Do you see him? Ulfast?”

“No. I don’t think he’s here yet.”

The curtness of Dag’s reply did not surprise or bother Mem. She was well used to his shortness, and tonight’s circumstances were backing him into corners he had no wish to be in, she knew. To divert him, as well as to satisfy her own curiosity, she asked, “Do you see any of our neighbors? Or have only the important families been invited?”

The tension of the evening was having its effects on the smith. His wariness was climbing to a level of paranoia totally outside the realm of his prior experience. With a jolt of suspicion, Dag wondered if there was more to that lingering look of that young buck than he had first thought. Surely, Gunna would have told him if she had heard anything, seen anything. It was ridiculous, Dag told himself. The girl was never alone, was never left unsupervised . . . but, no. That wasn’t quite the truth of it. Gunna did sometimes leave Mem for a few minutes here and there. Just today, he knew, Gunna had been gone, what? Twenty minutes? A half hour? Would it be possible . . . But Mem was so innocent. She knew nothing of men, except what she heard from the other women. Her songs, though, he realized suddenly, belied a total lack of knowledge of such matters.

With such thoughts chasing themselves in his head, Dag succumbed to the temptation to say, as casually as possible, “I see someone across the way that I believe you know, sister. Falki is it, or Falarr? I can never tell one from the other. Grimr’s sons?”

It was his turn to feel his sister-in-law’s hand tremble slightly on his arm, although she remained silent. Dag quickly continued, “Whichever one it is, he seemed most interested in us, or you actually, Mem. Do you know the fellow?”

Mem struggled inwardly. She knew Gunna’s words had been wise ones – let Grimr approach Dag about any proposed match, that was the proper way. But if Dag already had a suspicion . . . After Dulaan’s whispered words this afternoon, to know the boy was here, tonight, in the same room, caused Mem’s breath to catch in her throat. And he had been looking her way! And she did know Falki. Of course, Dag would know that already. She could not very well deny it. The sensation of butterflies batting around inside her stomach made it difficult for Mem to speak. But she finally managed to say, “Yes, I know Grimr’s sons. He has three altogether. And Falki, well . . . Falki, yes, I, I believe he is . . . interested in me.”

Dag looked at his sister-in-law dumbfounded, then turned his head to glare once more at the boy who had unknowingly added yet one more upset to his already upsetting evening.

[piosenniel]

‘Look, you stay here with Granny. I’ll go fetch some drink and food.’ Valr looked over to the table they’d found on one of the raised areas along the wall. It was near enough the fire that the older woman would stay warm, and just high enough that if Jóra stood up, she could look over most of the hall and watch for the Elves. Granny seemed to have found some acquaintance already. The two were already head to head and must have seen someone about whom they were sharing the latest gossip. Their sharp birds’ eyes darted here and there; the occasional finger wagging as if to emphasize some point.

‘But I want to come with you!’ Jóra’s pleading voice cut through her brother’s instruction to go sit by Granny. ‘I want to see some of the ladies close up.’ She gave her brother her sweet-face look and put on a promising smile.

Valr was not fooled. ‘Don’t give me that face,’ he hissed at her. ‘Go ask Granny if it’s alright if you come.’ He put his hand on her arm, restraining her before she ran off. ‘And you have to absolutely promise you’ll stay right by me. I don’t have time to babysit you!’

As she turned away, Jóra crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. Not so her brother could see her, but just as a silent comment on his high-handed comment. She ran up to where Granny sat and spoke quickly to the older woman. No need for Valr to know that her question had been, ‘Granny, are you comfortable?’ She looked innocently down at her brother as Granny nodded her head in the affirmative. No need to bother Granny, who seemed happy talking with her friend, with any further information, Jóra thought to herself.

A round of whispered negotiations passed between the two. Jóra promised to stay close to her brother, and he agreed to take a somewhat circuitous route to the tables laden with food and drink. ‘Here! Hold onto me,’ he said, stepping out into the milling crowd. She grasped the offered hand, the cloaks of men, the dresses of their ladies already pushing in against her. Despite the hurried pace, she glanced upward as often as she could, hoping to see an Elven face. Though what exactly that might look like, she wasn’t sure.

~*~

They had just come to the far west side of the building, near one of the doorways into the main hall when Jóra tugged urgently on her brother’s hand. ‘Hold up a minute, my shoe’s come untied. I’m tripping over it.’ The two jostled past a couple of servers and made their way to the wall. A number of small crates were stacked along it, affording the two a place to rest for a moment. ‘Here let me fix it for you,’ Valr said patting the edge of one of wooden crates. He’d noted the tie had broken off and thought it would be quicker for him to do it than for her to fiddle with it. ‘Just put your foot here,’ he went on, offering his knee as a platform.

As he began to even out the offending piece of leather thong, he caught the sound of a familiar voice. No, two familiar voices. ‘Mem,’ Jóra whispered. ‘And Dag, too.’ A look of anticipation crossed her face. ‘Ooh, I wonder if Gunna’s brought the baby!’

‘Quiet!’ Valr hissed back. ‘They’re talking about the twins.’

Jóra, too, turned her head slightly to hear the conversation. Her eyes widened at what she heard, her mouth dropping open in a surprised ‘O’. Valr’s mouth had drawn up in a knowing little smirk. ‘So that’s it!’

‘That’s what?’ Jóra asked, her voice rising above a whisper.

Valr tugged her up from the crate and pulled her quickly back into the crowd. ‘Come on! Let’s go talk to Fálki.’ He grinned at his sister. ‘I want to see him squirm!’

‘But what about Granny.....’ Jóra’s question trailed off as her brother pulled her along at a rapid pace.

[Anguirel]

Drenda suppressed an anguished gasp of frustration as he saw the Chieftain's son practically ripped out of their conversation...by none other than his mother. As usual. A part of Drenda acknowledged that his mother existed to further his success, but it was often suppressed by the way he resented her harsh charm in moments like these; he was conscious he was arresting to look at himself, but that was scarcely any advantage at all for a real man. With a kind of aching annoyance, he turned back to Torguar...

A short, compact, even dumpy figure had rapidly joined them. At first Drenda, seeing another woman, felt like swearing out loud his hatred of all female kind in perpetuity, and their meddling meanderings. But then the girl, much to his surprise, gripped Torguar by the shoulder and began whispering urgently, evidently wanting the older man to go with her. Of course, Drenda realised! This was the daughter!

He almost laughed, and with some real happiness too, as the pair of them began to move off from the bench, Torguar apparently having supped too well to offer any effectual resistance. And besides, the girl was evidently a tough little creature. He smiled without effort at the departing couple, uncertain if either had seen him, though the maid - Tora, that was her name - did throw a glance back. His smile grew wider. She was thoroughly disappointing to look at, of course, but he hadn't expected much, and he found her ready handling of her tiresome old boor of a sire really quite funny.

With a birdlike movement of his head, the youth scanned the Hall for Uldor and his mother, but could not track them...and at that moment there was another commotion at the door. Some of Uldor's household, henchmen of the yes-man Brodda, had come in, and word rapidly circulated that the Elvish envoys were on their way...

***

"I weary you, my lord, I fear," Gausen said, at the other side of the hall with Uldor, behind a convenient screen of sycophants talking and bragging with noisy meaningless.

"I would never wish to weary you. Yet if you ever feel fatigued by the weight of your affairs...remember that I know a little of the world's hardships, that we are of an age, and of a mind, that I have fondness for you, my lord..."

The widow still avoided mirth, curling her large lips inward, as if assuming a look of extreme piety, as she murmured in the heir's alert ear...

"...fondness equal to that I hold for my child. You are more steadfast than a brother, too, Lord; kinder than a husband. Yet there are some who would look with unfriendly eyes on our friendship, even as they do on your glory..."

Gausen dropped her voice ever lower, and crept ever closer. "Amid your pleasures and your might, lord, be mindful of your brother Ulfast. He knows how to fight. He killed my lord long ago, and he could kill again..."

She steered her reluctant companion to a gap in the press, guiding his haughty glance towards where Drenda stood, staring idly about.

"A good lad, my lord. Tall and strong. Tell me, Lord Uldor, would it not suit you in your heart of hearts to have one brother instead of two...?"

[Celuien]

As the guests began to assemble in the hall, the quiet corridors of the chieftain's abode grew loud with merriment. The sound passed to Ulfast's chambers, and he made ready to join the festivities.

The halls were filled with servants hurrying to the main hall with food and drink. Others bore trays of trinkets to be gifted to the guests. Ulfast walked among them, planning to enter the hall unseen so that he could watch the guests - and his brother - before they knew of his presence.

He slipped quietly to a corner of the room and looked over the crowd. It seemed as if the entire settlement had gathered in the hall. Even so, he was surprised to see a man whom he knew to be a bitter enemy of Uldor's. Ulfast had forgotten the man's name, but knew that he had narrowly escaped death at his brother's hands once before. Ulfast made a note to speak with him later; perhaps he could learn something of value.

He looked next for Uldor, but did not see him in the crowd. Ulwarth, too, was not to be found. It mattered not - Ulfast could speak to his younger brother later.

Then Ulfast spotted Dag standing across the room with the singing girl. The smith looked none too pleased, and Ulfast grinned, amused by the apparent irritation on Dag's face, and moved towards the smith.

"I welcome you, Dag, and you, Mem." Ulfast smiled at the girl. "If your song is half as fair as your face, your fame is well-earned.

Do you have the sword?"

[Folwren]

Uldor looked at the woman carefully. His mouth remained tight shut as she whispered on and on. She thought she was cunning enough to catch his imagination - to trap his innermost mind with her woven words. He felt disgusted that he had ever associated himself with her. Compared to Jord. . .He must not compare any woman he ever knew to Jord, though. This woman would help him yet, in his schemes.

“Amid your pleasures and your might, lord, be mindful of your brother Ulfast. He knows how fight. He killed my lord long ago, and he could kill again.”

A smile twitched about Uldor’s mouth. Mirthless, almost evil. He turned his head in the direction she indicated. Drenda was over there. Uldor couldn’t deny, he was a fine boy. He had much to learn, but if he could learn it - if he would learn it. . .

“A good lad, my lord. Tall and strong. Tell me, Lord Uldor, would it not suit you in your heart of hearts to have one brother instead of two?”

A chuckle rolled out of him. A small, almost unnoticeable laugh. “Nay, fair Gausen,” he said. He looked at her. She was indeed fair, for her kind. “I have hopes yet for poor, wronged Ulfast. I can not expect you to understand, but Ulfast has cause to be jealous and angry with me, but thus far, there has been no reason to be rid of him.

“Hush, don’t say anything,” he said, his voice sinking to a soft, reassuring murmur. “I understand your hate for my brother. I do not blame you. But it’s not time for him to be dealt with. There will be judgement in the end, I promise you. Then all our wrongs will be avenged.

“For now, I bid you wait. The time is not ripe. There is much yet to be done. Wait, Gausen, wait.” And he bent forward to press his lips against her cold brow.

I shall give her hope. She’ll wait for me, but I can not leave her starved for my attention. He drew back with those thoughts and looked at her again, giving her a chance to have a final word before he turned to greet more guests.