Treachery of Men RPG

[Folwren]

“And your ambition will serve you well, Prince Uldor, in gaining…whatever it is you want…” Her voice was a smooth as honey, as quiet as a sweet bird, as beautiful as a summer day. She touched his hand gently. He drew it back, but didn’t let go. She stepped closer. “Anything you desire,” she said, her voice sinking as she finished. She smiled slowly, sweetly, almost lovingly; Uldor stared with astonishment at her perfectly beautiful face. “Now that is how it should be, is it not, my lord?”

His heart lifted and fell with an odd flutter. For half a moment, he bent closer and his lips parted just a little. His grip on her wrist had become gentler, but he hadn’t yet let go entirely. She looked up at him, her eyes like dark, deep pools, tried to draw him in closer and closer until he drowned within their depths. He let go of her and laid his hand gently on her waist. A slight shudder passed through her at his touch.

A sharp thought rebuked him in an instant. He leaped backwards, away from her, a look of fire flashing into his eyes and face. He had threatened her - his hand had hurt her small, white wrist, he was sure - but she returned it as a compliment and offered more of herself to him.

“What do you want with me?” he snarled. “I didn’t ask to be won over. I’ve got my own plans to fulfill and they don’t include you. Shut up,” he snapped, as she prepared to laugh and respond. “I don’t want to hear any more of your sickeningly sweet promises. With your lips you would kiss me and promise me wealth and power, and with your left hand you would trust a dagger into my heart and give my blood to Morgoth. You would rather see me crawl at your feet than be an honorable man. I will stand on my own - without your help.”

He turned about sharply, ending the conversation entirely, and stormed back over the hill and down towards the city. His blood pumped with fury and not a little confusion. His eyes blazed with hatred towards all, hatred bordering on murder. The guards at the gate cowered away from him, but he ignored them entirely as he strode through.

He went directly to the Ulfing hall, entered by the wide, front doors, and went through the corridors and up a flight of stairs to his room. He slammed his door behind him and threw off his cloak impatiently, tossing it into the bed. His feet slowed to a stop in the center of the floor. For a moment he stood, his hands curling and uncurling by his side. Then, slowly, he looked up and walked to the window.

The heavy, wood shutters were open and the breeze and sunlight flowed in together. While there, looking out, his temper cooled by degrees. His heart ceased to beat so furiously and his mind cleared of the anger and confusion. All that was left was the picture of that face – strange and foreign in it’s beauty. So dark but so utterly fair, the skin so perfectly white without a single blemish. Her hair was black as ebony, and her lips, he recalled…her lips red as blood.

A knock at the door broke into his thoughts just there. He shuddered slightly and then his head jerked sharply about on its neck and he looked towards the door.

“What is it?” he called.

“I bring a message from your brother, lord Ulfast.”

“A message?” Uldor grumbled to himself. “What message would that scoundrel want to send me. He never writes.” He opened the door with sharp abruptness. The unfortunate messenger stepped back at the sight his latently ferocious face. “Where is it? What does he want?” The young man held out the folded pieces of paper. Uldor took it impatiently from his hands and shut the door sharply in his face. He turned towards the window again as he unfolded the letter.

His eyes scanned the short letter swiftly. As soon as he had finished, he crumpled it with annoyance and tossed it into the corner of his room.

“Blasted elves, anyway,” he muttered. “But I guess it is necessary. Confound Ulfast and his nasty ideas of courtesy. Why didn’t I think of it?” he added at once. “It’s not his concern!”

Still grumbling to himself and thinking dark thoughts, he left his chambers and set to work preparing a fitting banquet for a proper receival of their guests.

[piosenniel]

Jóra flicked the reins against the pony’s back and crooned a few words of encouragement. She was enjoying this opportunity to try her hand at driving, and the fact that her mother sat silent in the back of the cart did not intrude on her pleasure. Granny sat next to Jóra, responding with the appropriate “Mmmhmmm!” and “Isn’t that just so” to the girl’s excited chattering.

With home finally reached, Jóra hoppend down from the cart and ran round to help Granny down. She hurried off then to take the pony to the barn.

Káta had gotten herself out of the cart and stood waiting a short ways away from the house for Dulaan to draw nearer. She hooked her arm through the older woman’s and gave her a cat-like smile as she turned them both away from the door and began walking toward the bench by the big oak.

‘Come, sit down, Dulaan,’ she said, patting the wooden seat as she took a seat herself. A brief moment of silence passed as both women looked about at the familiar scene. ‘Now, tell me,’ Káta continued, turning slightly on the smooth seat to look at Granny. ‘Just what exactly did I think I overheard when you and Mem were by the fire?’

[Child of the 7th Age]

Khandr tossed his second wife a distracted glance and nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders, refusing to rise to the bait and be pulled into Embla’s discontent when more pressing matters remained. Yet her attitude was unsettling. Could the woman be trusted to do the task he had chosen for her? Khandr wished he had sought out Embla earlier in the day and privately spoken with her about the assignment. It was an important task and one that needed doing if they had any hope of penetrating the veil of secrecy that hung over the doings of Ulfang and his sons. As much as he loved and esteemed Briga, Khandr was certain that his first wife and long time companion lacked the natural duplicity and instinct for intrigue that would be necessary for this particular job. And perhaps for once, Embla would realize he was paying her a compliment by suggesting she take on one of the most enigmatic figures at court.

A heavy grey fog, sickly sweet and cold, swelled up and pressed against Khandr’s senses. He fought to push back his unsettled feelings, determined to go forward despite the obstacles. If he could not gain accurate information by open and honest means, then he must acquire it in other ways. All his instincts screamed out that some plot was being hatched, which could be detrimental to the interests of the Borrim and the king to whom he pledged loyalty. Khandr only hoped that the price for this information would not run too high.

Pushing back his gloom for the sake of his guests, Khandr gestured that Bergr should join them and directed the others to gather around the table. The dishes were quickly brought out and set before them. The women had prepared an elaborate feast. For the next hour, the Borrim focused their attention on the meal, sampling an array of soups, meats, breads, root vegetables, and heady cheeses provided by their host. When everyone had finished the first two courses, the house servants cleared away the dishes and brought out a custard tart seasoned with saffron and cloves. Instead of the usual ale, Khandr had managed to obtain a flask of fine red wine that had been brought up from the south; he had Briga approach each guest and offer them a cup.

As the meal came to an end and the guests settled back comfortably in their chairs, Khandr could no longer delay the inevitable. It was time to address the real reason he had asked the Borrim to come to his house this evening. He began by describing how difficult it was to get information from court. The old and easy friendship between the different branches of the Easterlings had completely vanished. “Everything has changed,” he lamented. “Ulfang and his sons have no interest in our marriage proposal. And I can get nothing out of them. I have no sense of what is going on. But my instincts tell me that great changes will soon take place. I fear these will not be good for us or for our king. We can not just pack our bags and go home, as much as I would like to do that. We have a duty to stay here and try to untangle this puzzle. And that is why I have asked you to come here tonight.”

“You are my eyes and ears,” he explained. “I can not be everywhere at once. And there are times when being an official envoy places me at a disadvantage. Many prefer to confide in someone who bears no official title. That is why I need your help. I will be asking each of you to secure information about a particular individual whose name I will give you. Go to that person, speak with them or their servants to try and find out what is really going on. Speak little, and saw nothing as to why you were sent. Once you have learned whatever you can, come back and share the information with me. This is the only way we will get anywhere. It is a pity that one Easterling has to spy on another, but in these hard days I see no other way to come by the truth.”

“As to your assignments…. Khandr glanced down at his list and read off the paired names in a cold, crisp voice: “Fastarr, Ulwarth; Bergr, Ulfast; Hunta, Uldor; Embla, the lady Jord; and Briga, Lord Ulfast’s wife. I myself will pay a personal visit to Ulfang. Is that alright then? Any questions or concerns?” His eyes swept nervously around the circle.

[Celuien]

Ulfast's calculating stare followed the smith as he moved behind the forge. A cold grin played at the corners of his mouth. Fortunately for Dag, it was not the mask Ulfast wore to hide his fury, the sly cover of pretended friendship that came just his wrath reached out with a deadly grasp. The man was bold. The rude trifle of a knife that had just been placed aside had no doubt been the task most recently in Dag's hand while the sword he now hefted had most likely lain neglected.

Ulfast thought he could sense fear coming from the craftsman, yet he had spoken calmly and deliberately, saying no more or less than needed. Such a man would be of good use if he could be reminded of his place in service to the son of Ulfang.

"Two days, you say? I had hoped it would be sooner. Tonight we hold a feast in honor of our allies of the Elven kingdom. Surely you have heard? Where better to display the work of a fine craftsman?" His voice rang with cool authority.

Ulfast's eyes drifted again to the knife, and for the briefest of moments, to the girl in the doorway.

"Or perhaps you have been attending to other tasks?"

[Noinkling]

Cornered! Like an old mousekin by the barn cat...

Káta had shooed off Jóra and now the two women stood under the slender ash tree that grew in the side yard. Granny opened her mouth to speak, thinking to dissemble as she could concerning her little exchange with Mem. But one quick look at Káta’s narrowed eyes and she knew she’d be caught out if even one falsehood passed her lips.

Dulaan sighed, her eyes flicking to the entry way to the little barn. One of the older boys stood there, half hidden in the shadows. Her head turned back to her questioner and one wrinkled hand reached out to touch Káta lightly on the arm.

‘Now, dear,’ she began, her eyes softening as she remembered the young eager girl Káta had once been. ‘You remember, don’t you, how when you were a young one and just in the first flush of love, or at least interest, how you wanted to know if that object of your affections thinks the same? Well, that’s how it is for our Fálki, our shy-boots Fálki.....’

She went on to explain the red-faced talks the young man had had with her and the request he’d made for her to talk to Mem if it were possible. ‘And once his ducks were all in a row, and he knew with some surety his feelings might be returned - why then he was going to speak with his father and you about approaching Mem’s family.’

Granny could just see the thoughts fluttering behind Káta’s gaze when Grímr’s loud voice rang out.....