Treachery of Men RPG

[bill_n_sam]

Dag's irritation over the unexpected development in the personal life of his family was swiftly interrupted by the appearance of his unwanted patron. With an unctious smile, Ulfast approached them, saying, "I welcome you, Dag, and you, Mem." Casting a glance at Mem, he added, "If your song is half as fair as your face, your fame is well-earned." Dag knew the words were a mere politeness, but still, coming hard on the heels of this news about Falki, the smith fairly bristled, although he tooks pain to hide this from the chieftain.

"Do you have the sword?" Ulfast asked.

"Aye, my lord." Dag replied, his voice carefully neutral. He handed the weapon cautiously to Ulfast, not wishing anyone to get the wrong idea that he was threatening the chieftain in any way. Ulfast turned it this way and that, admiring the blade. He nodded in satisfaction and Dag waited for any further instructions or comments.

Ulfast though, along with everyone else in the hall, turned his head suddenly as a hush fell over the assembly. Dag looked in the same direction as 100 other pair of eyes, and saw that the envoys had entered the great room through the main doors. There was no need for anyone to announce the presence of the elves, as all present could clearly see that these two were no mere men. Their height, their faces, even their ears gave them away.

Mem whispered in Dag's ear, "Is it the elves? What do they look like?" and he could feel her hand trembling, this time from excitement, or perhaps nervousness at the thought of her upcoming performance.

Dag replied as quietly as he could, "Yes, it's the envoy from the north. They are tall beyond any Ulfing, fair of face, with a lordly air about them. And wonder of wonders! Who do they go first to speak with?" Dag looked in amazement.

"Who?" Mem whispered fiercely.

"Your friend, at least, your friend's husband - Grimr, and Kata!" Dag shook his head in disbelief. Yes, certainly, his wife was wise. If Grimr was a man of such importance that the elven envoy should choose to speak to him before the sons of Ulfang even, then this was a man it would do well to have as an ally.

[Child of the 7th Age]

With all the commotion created by the Elves, no one noticed a solitary figure slipping unannounced through the crowd and quietly placing a parchment packet in the middle of the head table where the King and his sons would soon be seated for the feast. Grogr was a plain man, a loyal servant attached to Khandr’s household, who had lived among the Borrim for so long that he no longer thought of himself as an outsider. The man had no desire to come face-to-face with Ulfang or any of his sons who had made their lives so miserable these past few months. His chief desire was to deliver his message speedily and disappear before anyone could question him.

Fortunately, Lord Khandr had been sympathetic to this approach. In normal circumstances, his master would have spoken personally with the King rather than draft a formal letter and have it delivered by a servant. That, however, was impossible. Those at court had not even shown the decency of asking the Borrim ambassador to their feast. And from the way tongues wagged in the street, the old King had little power. It was the sons who ruled and decided things. Who knew if Ulfang was kept on such a tight leash that he could not even accept or turn down the offer that had been extended to him? Moreover, Khandr knew there was a real possibility that the Borrim offer of a hunt would be declined, and the ambassador did not want that announced at the public feast, which could happen if he pressed for an immediate acceptance.

After debating back and forth, Khandr had addressed the outside of the packet to both the King and his sons, and had instructed Grogr to deliver the parchment to court in such a way that one or more of the family would be sure to see it and respond by the next day. Grogr retreated to the back of the hall, standing in the shadows of a wooden pillar, and watched as one of the lords walked up to the table and took the packet in his hands, beginning to read it. Satisfied that the message had gotten to the right person, the servant left the hall and headed back towards the Borrim encampment.

Grogr knew the words of the missive by heart. Khandr could have a tongue of honey when he wanted to. He knew exactly what the Ulfang lord would see once he broke open the wax seal:

My Brethren,

It has been long since our people came together in open and friendly discourse not directly connected with matters of governance. The Elven ambassadors have just informed me that we will be going with your muster to the wars. Yet it will take us some time until all the preparations for this outward journey can be concluded.

In the meantime, I would like to make a proposal. In hopes of promoting ties of friendship that will aid our joint endeavor on the battlefield, I wish to sponsor a hunt that will take place one week from today. As you know, the Borrim are noted for their skills in the tracking and hunting of game. All those at court are welcome to attend and enjoy the chase as well as an outdoor feast that my household will provide. The citizens of your fair city are welcome to join in these festivities. I look forward to your response.

Khandr

Now there was nothing to do but wait for a reply.

[Anguirel]

Lachrandir was mighty and steadfast in body, and so when the first young Ulfing smashed into his torso he was but little discomited, even smiling thinly in apparent mirth. But the advent of Jora, as unexpected as that of her brother, toppled him back a step. Several Ulfings in turn scrambled to get out of the way of the looming Elf, creating rather a hubbub.

"Well," the ambassador concluded, "we do not greet each other with so much enthusiasm in my land, though perhaps with a little more grace of movement..." He had regained his composure now, and found himself faced with Ulfings more shamfaced and awkward even than before. With a strained smile, he turned again to Grimr, "Your children, I presume, Master Grimr? I am well used to the exuberance of the young." The envoy cast a sardonic but fond glance at the silent Tathren.

"Shall we now go and find a place, and partake of your splendid, ah, fare? I suppose we shall be expected to sit beside the Lord Ulfang, or his sons, but I would be glad to have your family about us, sir, especially as our relations have begun in such an...intense...fashion."

[Folwren]

Having done what needed to be done with Gausen, Uldor turned and walked away. He passed through the crowd easily, for men stepped back to make room for him. He stopped half way across the room, looking towards the elves’ entrance. His chest slowly expanded and fell again as he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He didn’t want to greet them. In fact, he did not actually want this banquet at all. He hated such formality – such shows of dishonest courtesy.

All the same, it had to be done. He moved forward again. Once more, a slight path was made for him. He lost sight of the elves for a moment, but he knew their general direction. Men’s gazes were more towards the elves than towards Uldor and more than once, Uldor had to pluck someone’s sleeve to make way for himself. At such instances, the man would start and draw away quickly, frightened.

Uldor came in sight of the elven envoys again just in time to see two children run pell-mell into the older ambassador. Uldor’s mood had been tolerable until then, but seeing the collision darkened it badly. As little as he respected the envoys in his own mind, he understood the necessity to give them proper show of respect, even if it was false. This…lack of proper behavior, or proper dignity, belonging in the Ulfang Hall annoyed and angered him.

He approached swiftly, striding forward with more purpose than before. He would have to make up, he realized, for some brat’s failure. What were children even doing there? This was not a party for just anyone!

He came within earshot of them as Lachrandir was in the midst of speaking. “I suppose we shall be expected to sit beside the Lord Ulfang, or his sons, but I would be glad to have your family about us, sir, especially as our relations have begun in such an…intense…fashion.”

Uldor bit his lip in vexation, but decided to ignore the words and speak as though he had heard nothing. “Good evening, my lord Lachrandir,” he said when he drew near enough. “Welcome! I am very glad to see that my message bearer found you. Please – the banquet is ready – come and we will find you your place.”

[Celuien]

Like the others in the hall, Ulfast had fallen into a silent, awestruck gaze when the Elves entered. It was strange, he thought, that even he, second son of Ulfang, and rightful heir to the Ulfing lordship, and one who had met the Elves before, still felt the same wonder as the common smith at his side. And yet, it was not strange; for the Elves held a hidden strength and power, and that power reached through the crowd to Ulfast, again awakening his desire to rise and rule over his people.

A twinge of annoyance passed over Ulfast when the children careened into Lachrandir. If Uldor wished to play chief, he should have been awaiting the guests' entrance to see that their proper hosts met them: not lesser guests and their half-wild children. The spell was broken. Again drawing forth the sword, he turned to Dag.

"You have done well, indeed." Ulfast hung the sword from his belt. "And you shall be well-rewarded."

He glanced back toward the Elves. Good. Uldor had finally seen fit to make his appearance.

"But now, be merry! The banquet begins soon. We shall speak again later."

Still annoyed, Ulfast directed his attention to his brother and the Elves and began to make his way towards them. As he moved through the crowd, he spotted Ulwarth at the banquet table. He held a paper in his hands, and seeing Ulfast, beckoned him to come to the table.

"A message?" asked Ulfast.

"Yes. What do you make of this?" Ulwarth handed him the note.

My Brethren,

It has been long since our people came together in open and friendly discourse ...

"What a stroke of good fortune! Say nothing to Uldor." He folded the paper. "Of course the hunt will go forward. And we will announce it tonight. Do you see? We will accept the offer of friendship on behalf of the Ulfings. Not Uldor."

Ulwarth smiled. "I do."

[Lalaith]

“I suppose there is nothing that can be done...” The other woman’s questioning tone and glance awakened a strange feeling in Embla.

Fear, excitement, hope, horror....all fought for mastery and the tumultuous confusion of emotions made her feel slightly sick. As she stood there in the windswept field, watching this beautiful creature and listening to her honeyed words – so kind, so wise - something else awakened in her, something she barely recognised. It was the latent gift of her people, so long buried under crippling layers of morose, sullen brooding.

What she felt from Jord was, above all else, fear. Why? There was nothing in the gaze of this woman that hinted at any secret dread or alarm. No, whatever else she was, the stranger was absolutely fearless. The sense of terror must come from something else. From others....it made no sense, no sense at all. Embla could no longer bear the conflict of feelings within her and she had an overwhelming desire to turn and run.

She thought again. One thing was certain. This woman had spoken to her, with gentle words of courtesy and understanding that no other living creature had shown her for years. Whatever her forebodings, she must talk to Jord again, seek the wise counsel of a woman far above her in prestige and in freedom. “Thank you for your respect, Lady,” she stammered. “I like to see your proud bearing, and would fain hold up my head so high, just as you do. Perhaps, if you could find the time, we can talk again? I wish for more counsel.....but I must go.” With that, Embla rushed off back to the Borrim camp. The tears that streamed from her eyes were, she told herself, pricked forth by the sharp winds. But she knew they had another, deeper cause.

[littlemanpoet]

Lachrandir sat at table, Tathren to his right, Uldor to his left. The chair was too short in the legs, forcing Lachrandir to stretch his long legs out beneath the table. He was gratified that all gathered sat on the outsides of the tables, the walls to their backs, so that the servants had free hand to serve them from the front; there would be no competition for the space his legs needed.

It was a beastly dark place, even with lamps scattered here and there throughout the room. The tapestries hanging from the walls all around the room were rough and colorless, rank with the stench of the animal skins from which they were taken.

The pavilion of that Borrim emissary had not been so barbaric. What was his name? Kaldir? No, too Elvish. Something with less grace. Khandir? Yes, that must have been it. The man had had a silver tongue in his mouth - for a mortal. More so than these Ulfings - but then that was crediting these bowlegged mongrels too well, for none of the clan, not even their sire, had put more than a few sentences together in his presence.

Where was their sire? He should be here as host. Or was he the host at all? Was he a mere figurehead? Or not even that? - for if a figurehead then he would at least be present for the sake of appearances.

Uldor, the eldest, sitting next to Lachrandir, was no less hideous of face and feature than his brothers and the entire clan. And that seemingly permanent sneering scowl spoke not well at all. Apparently, the boor thought rather well of himself for some reason; but he seemed preoccupied, his fool's eye wandering as if he were looking for someone he missed; his sire?

"Master Uldor, where is your lord?"

[littlemanpoet]

There was a movement behind them. Lachrandir noticed Uldor turn swiftly and rise, almost bounding, from his chair. Lachrandir glanced at the disturbance, then did a double take. Lúthien, daugher of Thingol! But thas was impossible; the daughter of the King of Doriath would not be here for any reason. No, it was not her, though the resemblance was strong enough. Amongst the Ulfing? How absurd!

“I am thankful for your invitation, Lord Uldor, and am glad to be accepting it, though I am afraid I received it too late to seem a truly grateful guest.”

She turned to him, meeting his gaze. It was only then that Lachrandir realized that he had been staring. He quickly regained his self-possession, narrowed his eyes, and smiled with a slight curl of his lips at the woman. Her words had betrayed a courtesy that seemed higher than that possessed by these barbarians. Was she of the royalty here? There was something in her eyes that seemed - he searched for the word - scintillating.

Uldor was babbling uncontrollably at the woman. Did she enjoy the fool's company? Lachrandir could not imagine that, and decided that she was playing a game of some sort. Uldor motioned her to a seat down the table. She nodded graciously to Lachrandir, and he returned the gesture, his interest piqued.

Jord. An odd name, he thought.

Suddenly a connection struck him. She had been the one Uldor had been craning his neck for. Now that was interesting. It seemed that she held him captive in her womanish way. Lachrandir could see that she could have the pick of any brood, but why Uldor? Either there was more to the man than he had yet deciphered, or this Jord had something up her silky sleeve. Could she indeed be of the Ulfing? Lachrandir was not sure.

Absently, he wondered when some good wine might get passed around, not hopeful that any such quality beverage existed among the Ulfings. He sighed.

[Folwren]

The day following the banquet marked the beginning of a season of business and worry on Uldor's part. He had to see to it that a proper response to Khandr's invitation was sent to the Borrim and he also had to set about preparing plans for the muster of the troops that Caranthir demanded of them. He would have to send several messengers out and decide where to have all of the men congregate before setting out on their march.

And there were other dealings that needed seeing to. The matter concerning his brother was not the least piece of business in his mind. Even as he sat, twirling a quill between two fingers and drafting a letter that would summon all of his men, he was thinking of the previous night and his brother's infractions.

Finally, he threw down the quill and pushed back his chair. He stood up abruptly and went to the door to shout for a servant. When the man arrived, he said, "Tell my brother Ulfast that he can send a reply to Khandr's invitation to the hunt. Tell him I want it handsomely done. No slip shod work."

Once that was seen to, he was capable of sitting down and writing down the summoning that would be copied and sent with each messenger. The order was written out quickly and he called another servant to take it to the scribe to be copied several times in large letters. The word would have to pass as quickly as possible. Messengers would ride into each settlement, read the order to rise up and bear arms, and leave a copy in the market square and pass onto the next. Seven thousand men were not to be found in one place, or even in a few places. The settlements of men were many, and the miles long.

The riders would set out that afternoon, Uldor realized. For now, though, his job was done. In a week, after the hunt, he would hear back from his messengers, and in less that time again, he himself with all the men from his own settlement would gather their arms and go out to meet the entire muster. In the mean time, there was a great deal of planning to do. . .

[littlemanpoet]

After the feast, Lachrandir and Tathren had retired for the night to the deeps of the forests beyond the borders of the Ulfing habitation. Lachrandir breathed deeply of the fresh, clean air, satisfied with his day's work and even more pleased with having left the filthy, crude Ulfings behind, at least for a few hours.

While Tathren wandered amongst the trees, Lachrandir sat in the comfortable crook of a great beech tree, and thought. He did have to admit to himself that there was, beneath the unlovely brutishness of these Ulfings, a spark of vigor; indeed a strength of arm and will that promised well for their shared venture.

But there were secrets being kept from him. This was bound to be so. Nevertheless, he considered it to be his duty to uncover what secrets he could so that Caranthir would know that which he needed to know.

When Tathren returned to Lachrandir, moments before dawn, Lachrandir laid his charge before the younger Elf.

"Tathren, I want you to spy on these Ulfings. Be secretive, move swiftly and quietly so that none know you are there, and listen to the words that pass between the leaders of the Ulfings and Borrim. Give word to me after sundown of what you have learned."

For once Tathren did not betray undue excitement, which pleased Lachrandir. The two Elves returned by different paths to the Ulfings' village.

[littlemanpoet]

Thorn sat on a seat of moss that covered a fallen tree. The sun was westering and he was staring at the eyes of Owl. Some folk had guessed that his forethought came from the staff itself, that an Owl fëa had been caught and enslaved to his will. Foolishness. Owl's eyes served as a point of focus so that his own fëa could be fee to catch echoes of the Song that Celehan had taught him.

Thorn's teacher had told him that he had wakened beneath the stars long, long ago, and had been taught by one who had come from the West, who called himself the Great Hunter. That one had called the Eldar to come west, and Celehan had, with many others, harkened to the call and journeyed west. But the farther west he had come, the harder the road until the fear of Thangorodrim had stopped him. So Celehan wandered the wilds of Middle Earth, still hearing the Song though not crossing the Great Sea to be with his teacher.

Thorn listened for the Song. Sometimes it sounded unclear. At such times he would look to his own heart to see if he had allowed his steps to wander from the truth and the right. Usually he found some way in which he had, and when he eschewed such ways, found that the Song could again be heard. He could hear it now. Doom was afoot for the Ulfings, his people. Their lords would lead them into evil. It was time to return to his folk and tell them what he knew. He set his face westward, for he would have to pass north of the Ered Luin and come south to meet the Ulfings.

[littlemanpoet]

Thorn waited, staff in hand, at the edge of the Borrim encampment. He could be patient when it came to waiting, for his purpose was clear; once that purpose had been seen to, then he would move on to the next thing.

After a whle, the Borrim emissary came riding out of the encampment.

"Lord Khandr!" Thorn cried. "A word, if I may! I have urgent news!"

The Borrim leader's horse came up and stopped a moment, and Lord Khandr regarded Thorn with a measuring look.

Would the Borrim leader pass him by, or would he stop? Either way, Thorn had a plan. But he waited to see which it would be.

[littlemanpoet]

There went Uldor, strutting off to corner the Borrim lord. No subtlety about Ulfast's big oaf of an older brother, none at all. It would be disastrous for the lordship to fall into his hands, for the people, but obviously for himself. Ulfast held no illusions about the likely span of his years if Uldor became lord of the Ulfings. It would be short. He would be accused of committing some treacherous crime, treason even, with no proof to be found, just the word of Uldor's mealy mouthed and fork-tongued witnesses. It would not matter how many witnesses to the counter Ulfast would produce, they would all go missing by the most inconvenient of accidents. Not clever, but effective, was brother Uldor.

And living in denial. For example, Uldor had no idea that Ulfast had had his own meetings with Jord; only they were held in secret, hidden from prying ears and eyes; they were never seen to converse in public, not even make eye contact. And Ulfast knew that Jord had greater confidence in himself rather than Uldor. She knew he was the clever one.

Ulfast saw the ragged old man flee an encounter with his brother. He had not had a chance to see him well.

Ulfast strode forward, not to be outdone by his brother. Before Khandr had a chance to reply to Uldor, Ulfast threw in his own words.

"Greetings, Lord Khandr! Did that old man have a name?"

[Folwren]

As soon as Uldor had given Brodda his instructions, he turned and headed back to his place at the head of the column. He took a deep breath as his horse trotted up the line and smoothed the lines of worry from his face. A mask fell into place and only the very few that knew him well would have caught the look of some concern hidden deep in his eyes.

He pulled his horse up beside the elven ambassador and his apprentice figure. “Well, my lord Lachrandir,” he said, giving as near a genuine smile as he could, “I imagine we will be starting soon. Lord Khandr is speaking over there.” He nodded in the Borrim’s direction where Khandr and Fastarr sat upon their separate mounts, together in close dialogue. “As soon as he is done there, I imagine we will be on our way.”

He relapsed quickly into silence and settled back into his saddle. His head swiveled about again and he fixed his dark eyes again on the Borrim leader. He was growing wearisome of the waiting, and now he was even more anxious to be off.

The talk between the two Borrim came to a close. The other man, one who Uldor did not know, turned his horse about sharply, bringing the reins about the beast’s neck and turning his nose all the way about before spurring him forward. Khandr at once turned to his other side to speak with a woman who had approached.

’What on earth does that man think I am – to be kept waiting so long?’ He drew an impatient breath. ‘And what did he send that other fellow off for? Why so quickly? Uldor turned to watch Fastarr urge his horse as quickly as he could through the thick gathering of men, women, and children. Suspicion slowly grew in his mind. He was sent on an errand, and sent in quick succession to Brodda’s errand. Were they connected? What was it he told him?