Treachery of Men RPG

[Lalaith]

The ill-will emanating around the gathering was so strong you could almost touch it. Embla shrank under the weight of the stares.
"Come with me, both of you, you will sup with us."
The elf-lord was looking into her heart and her mind, she could feel it. She had always been thin-skinned, but since the sight of her people had come to her, she often felt near-naked under the eyes of others: it was, in many ways, a most unwelcome and unwanted gift.
Embla moved closer to Fastarr, for comfort, and the two of them followed Lachrandir through the trees to a nearby clearing.
The elf looked at her, expectantly. It was time to be bold, to speak or forever be silent about what lay so heavily on her.
"I know, my lord, that to you I seem a mean thing - young and foolish. Wood, even,” she blurted. “I seem that way to myself, sometimes. I do not really know what it is I fear. But my heart tells me that there is no honour, no fealty, in these Ulflings; and if I do not tell you this now, I will never sleep easy at night again.”
Emboldened by her new-found eloquence, she continued, and her thoughts seemed to become clearer as she spoke, giving form to the nameless apprehensions that gnawed at her.
"I fear too, the woman Jord. She has the Ulfling lord in thrall, and little wonder, for her words are like honey. She has cunning, she has power over the souls of men...and women.” Embla reddened, remembering how she too had almost succumbed to the wiles and promises laid out by the dark-haired stranger. Instinctively, she reached out for Fastarr’s hand.