Treachery of Men RPG

[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.

[Anguirel]

"Oh, I am used to waiting," Gausen whispered, something that might have been a smile in happier days crossing the proud curvature of her mouth. "An expert, you might say, my lord. But bother with me no longer...it seems the most important guests are at your gates..."

***

She was not wrong. All around the area of the Hall's front entrance, the petty nobles seemed frozen in motion, making tentative movements forward and back, as if unsure whether to approach in fascination or recoil in fear. A loud, haughty voice sounded all about in the newly crystallised-silence, as Lachrandir curtly thanked the guards who stood aside for him and his squire.

The dust of the township's streets had adhered to the Elves' finely woven cloaks, but this baptismal brownness, which almost absorbed them into the rugged surrounding hall of Men, was banished when the leading envoy swept back his cloak to make clear that omnipresent, gleaming star of Fëanor at his tunic, its brightness like an ever-vigilant eye.

An awkwardness descended, as if the envoy was uncertain who, among the crowding huscarls and nobility, he ought to address first. There was a hint of desperation in his large, shining eyes as he cast his glance around for some means of polite social contact with the Ulfings. None of the sons of Ulfang were close enough; his Elven vision located Uldor in speech with one of the few women; Ulfast with another (evidently in promiscuity as in all else, the sons of Ulfangs led by example), and what looked to be her father or brother; Ulwarth nowhere he could glimpse, and certainly not the senile old Chieftain himself.

Then, by some stroke of chance, Lachrandir spotted the man he had earlier asked for directions, in company with his wife, quite nearby. "Good sir! I thank you for the service you rendered us earlier this eve," he ventured...

[Noinkling]

‘Yes, I’m feeling a little parched my self.’ Dulaan’s stomach rumbled as she shifted on her cushion. ‘And hungry, too,’ she said, grinning a little at her old friend. She stood up from her seat and planted her hands on the smooth, pine table top. ‘Let me just have a look about. My little helpers should be making their way back with drink and food.’

Granny’s eyes scanned the room. She wiped at. her eyes, trying to clear them of the smoke from the lamps and torches. ‘Don’t see ‘em yet, ‘ she hmmph’d to her friend. Her eyes darted toward the banquet table and traced the most direct route back to her table. ‘Don’t see the rascals,’ she went on. ‘But then I don’t suppose they would take the easiest room to and from.’ She chewed on the inside of her cheek, thinking. ‘The Elves! She talked her brother into getting her a close-up view of them.’

One of those sudden hushes rolled across the room diverting her attention. Granny’s brow furrowed as she sought the source. Those must be the Elves! And have mercy, weren’t they making toward Grimr and Káta.

Motion, too, seemed to have come to a standstill as the ambassadors made their way across the floor. A whir of movement caught her eye. Valr! And wasn’t that Jóra he was pulling along by the hand . . .

[piosenniel]

Where comes light, darkness follows.....

The cautionary saying whispered through Grimr’s thoughts as he looked on at the entrance of the Elves. Instinctively he crossed the first two fingers of his right hand warding off misfortune even as he wished for favor. Third time sets the charm. followed the gesture. Though, he wondered if the circumstance of this charm would work for ill or good

‘Good sir! I thank you for the service you rendered us earlier this eve.’ The Elf who’d asked directions earlier drew close, his companion in tow.

‘My Lord..s,’ Grimr said, adding in the lead Elf’s companion. The both of them certainly looked like great lords. How was he to know their relation? For all he knew the one who’d asked the directions, the one who’d greeted him just now, was servant to the other. Better safe than sorry.

He felt Káta’s hand squeeze lightly the back of his upper arm.

‘Well.....here I am looking on like the rest of my fellow bumpkins,’ he went on, bowing his head a little as he smiled. ‘Name’s Grimr. And this,’ he said, his smile wider as she stepped forward, ‘is my good-wife, Káta.’ He had just introduced the twins, Fálki and Falarr, when a pair of familiar voices, raised in argument, distracted him.....

~*~

‘C’mon!’ Valr held his sister’s wrist in a tight grip as they made their way through the crowd. He’d turned back to look at her, reinforce his urgency, even as he ran forward. ‘You know I’ve got something important to tell Da and Mami.’

For her part, Jóra’s cheek had become quite flushed, her mouth hung in a silly and surprised little grin. And with her free arm she was pointing back behind her brother. ‘It’s them!’ she mouthed at him, her eyes gone wide.

It was too late, when Valr turned to see the source of his sister’s alarm. He couldn’t stop the force of their forward momentum. That is, he drew up mere inches away from the tall, fair man who stood nearest his father. But Jóra still flew forward, and banged into her brother - both of them careening, then, into the Elf.....