Treachery of Men RPG

[Mithalwen]

Tathren's humour had been improved by having been fed - while the fare might have been a little rustic by the standards of an elven lord, the bread and cheese were wholesome and unexpectedly very palatable. To a boy with the perpetual hunger of younglings of all races, it was as welcome as any ornate feast and perhaps more so, for after a long journey or a wearisome day there is no desire to savour intricate dainties and simple food offers the greater comfort.

The rich red wine was potent enough to relax his body if not his tongue and each sip eased the tension of his hours still and silent attendance on his lord in the Ulfing Hall. He spoke little other than to accept food and acknowledge those who filled his cup, partly from awkwardness at his previous outburst but mainly because Lachrandir and Khandr spoke of high matters about which he had no further insight to offer, other than perhaps to observe that his master who had been so lordly in the Ulfing hall now was almost genial amoung the Borrim.

The suggested hunt caught his imagination and he longed to ask more about what was proposed. He knew little of the ways of men and wondered in what manner they hunted - on foot or on horseback, with hawk or hound. The latter was most likely if they hoped to fill the larders of their folk and gazehound likelier still. However he felt his curiosity was frivolous in the light of the more serious matters and without an easy cue he did not trust his limited skill in the mannish tongue to reopen the subject without seeming too crass. He would wait and maybe when they eventually took their leave of their hosts, a polite enquiry might heal any bad feeling Khandr might bear him from his close encounter with the boy's knife.

[CaptainofDespair]

Brodda had, after some searching, found the Borrim hovel where the Elves were spending their time. Although he was eager to get the ordeal over, as he discovered rather recently within himself an increasingly spiteful view of the Ulfing overlords, he was also quite hesitant. If he fouled up the invitation, the Elves might reject the feast. Or at the very least the Elves would not be the gracious guests they were busy trying to project. Either way, that would bring Uldor’s wrath down on his head.

He continued to pace outside frantically. The sort of emotions that were welling up within him were not exactly ones he was accustomed to. And anyone who might have seen him might have assumed he was stricken by the thoughts of a lover and was desperately awaiting her. That assumption might not have been far from what poor Brodda was feeling. His impatience was at least partly tied to a longing to see Jord again. He wasn’t sure why he desired that, though.

At last the Ulfing man made up his mind about what to do. Since he would be entering a Borrim abode he could simply hand off the message to one of them, and as the hosts they would relay it to the Elven party. And, Brodda thought, he would be able to project his hateful position towards those hosts without repercussions from Uldor. “Yes,” he hissed under his breath, as he knocked on the door.

When the door opened a crack after a moment or two of silence, Brodda could see a Borrim man standing in the sliver of light that escape the house. “Yes? Who is there,” was the questioning response to his knocking. “Brodda. I’ve come from Lord Uldor with a message for your guests.” The Ulfing let his distaste for the Borrim slip out subtly. Handing over the invitation letter, he added, “Be sure to take it to them quickly. If I find out that you have delayed at all in doing so, I will be sure to inform my master that it was you uncultured Borrim that caused it.” Turning on his heel, without waiting for a reply, he left the threshold of the home to venture off to find Jord, who he was sure was more important to Uldor and himself than the Elves.

[Anguirel]

"Another banquet?" Lachrandir asked dryly as he perused the note Khandr's doorkeeper had passed on to him.

"We are evidently in demand, Tathren. Uldor has summoned us to attend his table. A strange phrase, that; a little premature. Still, we had better be off."

Lachrandir rose from his seat with remarkable lightness, and inclined his head slightly towards Khandr. "We shall see you at this hunt, then, no doubt, especially as the boy seems so eager..." His jocular reference to Tathren was evidently a sign of some softening towards his host.

His impression of the Borrim bore some resemblance to a lump of honeycomb with a fly stuck in it, he meditated. Much of what he approved of in Men could be found in them; but on the other hand, this constant bickering about tribal affairs...

And for that matter, he continued to be stymied by the idea that a man as apparently genial and proper as Khandr could...love? or just lie with?...two women at once. Lachrandir realised he had heard nothing from the quiet, junior wife all evening. Where was she now; attending to some task? He was irritated by her absence, for he would have liked to balance his earlier courtesy to the first wife by bidding her some kind of farewell. No matter.

While he had been lost in his reflections Tathren had been bandying a few words about the expected hunt. He smiled; the lad now seemed content and in fine fettle, probably due to the food inside him.

"Come, Tathren," he said, mirth at the sides of his mouth, feeling as if he was hailing a hound. "And good-bye, Khandr, good-bye to all this household. We will return soon enough..."

All but yanking Tathren by the arm, Lachrandir took his leave by the darkened entrance that had caused so much trouble, and recalled the Ulfing's earlier directions, which, reversed, should lead them back to the Hall.

[Lalaith]

“Are you looking for something, my dear…and I could perhaps help you?”
Embla was startled that this exquisite creature had addressed her so courteously. It was, she realised, a very long time since anyone had spoken to her in such a way. “I do not know,” she stammered. “I am Embla, of the Bairka....of the Borrim, I should say. Wife of the lord Khandr.” She wished to make a good impression on the mysterious woman before her. She was painfully aware that her own shabby apparel and appearance cut a sorry figure, next to the elegant poise of the other woman, enveloped in delicate gauze.

Embla had been staring at the ground, but now she looked up, and found the dark woman held her glance. Somehow, she felt compelled to stop the dissemblance. “Second wife,” she said. “It is not honourable. Not among my people. Nor among the tall people, the elf-folk, neither. Their lord would not speak to me, he does not find the marriage ways of the Borrim to his liking. No more do I. I am shamed. So shamed that I want to remain in shadow. I find it hard to walk under the sun.”

Embla, so accustomed to keeping her own counsel, did not understand why she was suddenly blurting out the dark things in her heart. Perhaps she hoped this woman would be a sympathetic ear, someone whose situation was akin to her own.

[Mithalwen]

The invitation to "another banquet" dismayed Tathren, for his hunger had been not so great as he had imagined. This realisation arrived with the missive, when he already eaten more than his need and drunk to often from a cup that never seemed less full. He was aware that he rose to his feet less gracefully than his lord and this was not entirely due to the need to raise the heavy, and nearly forgotten bag of treasure to his shoulder.

Lachrandir's tug on his arm was as sobering as the cool breath of the evening air. Tathren struggled a little to match his master's longer stride and watched his face for signs that his conduct had fallen below that required of a page. He detected only a trace of amusement and no ire on Lachrandir's face and deemed that nothing he had done, or said in the unfamiliar tongue had been beyond the pale. That knowledge eased his heart but each step carried him nearer to another feast and did nothing to ease the sensation within as too much cheese mingled uneasily with too much rich wine. He wondered how little he could consume of the Ulfing's vittles without giving grave offence and disliked the conclusion he inevitably reached. His only hope, and it was slight, was that Ulfing custom might regard him as a servant, required only to attend his master not to eat at the same table.

He stifled a sigh and resigned to an uncofortable fate, voiced a line of thought that had just occured to him:

"Uncle, is it not strange that the Borrim Lord has not been invited also to the Ulfing's table. For is he not an emissary of his people as we... I mean you are? Surely the office demands the courtesy even if he be representative of a lesser kindred? Of course the Borrim kept their gathering private... perhaps thus is the way of mortals" he mused.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Khandr bid his two guests goodbye and watched as they strode up the corridor, pushed opened the door, and disappeared into the night. Turning back to the Borrim, he first addressed Fastarr in a kindly but serious tone, "In truth, my good friend, I am not sure you should have been that blunt. But you have put into words what all of us were privately thinking. Perhaps it is better to let the elves know our suspicions. We cannot trust these Ulfang lords. Sadly, these elves do not see or understand that. They put our suspicions down to tribal bickering. But what I have seen at court hints at something far darker and more foreboding. I am determined to find out what that is. Perhaps someday these elves will look back on this night and wish they had paid more attention to our warning. Until we can present them with more information, more proof of what is actually going on, they will not listen to us."

Khandr surveyed his guests still sitting at the table, announcing in a decisive voice, "Go, then! Return to your dwellings and think on what has been said. Make plans to gather the information I have requested. Indeed, each of you should go see the person whose name you have been given, either before the hunt or during it or both if you can. Report back to me anything you hear or see that is even slightly out of the ordinary. If we can assemble the pieces, we may be able to solve this riddle."

Then Khandr bade goodbye to his friends and retainers and saw them to the door. As he was coming back in, his first wife came over to speak, "You were hurt, were you not? Affronted not to receive an invitation to such a feast?"

"Aye, what lord has an ambassador in court and sends him not one word of greeting? This is beyond decency. I am surprised that the elves did not pick up on that. If an envoy came to King Bor, he would not leave them sitting alone while others feast and exchange news. When I first came here, I only thought that our brothers had soured on the marriage and wished to be released from their promises. But now I see that there is much more. The old king no longer rules here. There are others in control, and I can only presume that these men are afraid we will find out something that they are desperately trying to hide."

"Since all the others will be involved with this feast, it will do me no good to go to court and try and find an audience. I will draft a letter tonight and send over a messenger to hand it to those who are assembled at this feast concerning our proposal for a hunt. I will request....nay, I will demand....an immediate answer. If that answer is no, then we will pack up tomorrow morning and head back to our home. I care not what these elves say or think, for I will not fight beside those I cannot trust. If they have enough decency to reply and accept, then we will stay on and take our chances, though I fear that is not the wisest course. For I have seen how they act at court. Something is very wrong."

Briga looked up concerned at her husband, "Your words leave a cold chill in my heart. What is it you fear? There is something you are not telling me...."

"Aye, my love, and until I can be sure, I will not share this thing even with you."

"You should tell me," she pressed. "For sometimes in the past, I have been able to help you in ways that only a woman can."

"No. Not this time. I pray that I am wrong. But I will not share my thoughts with you. For, if I have guessed right, then I am holding dangerous news, and I would not willingly put you in any danger." He leaned down, kissed Briga gently on the head, and whispered to her, "If something should ever happen to me, you must gather the other Borrim and leave immediately for home. No matter what or when that is. Someday you may yet rejoice that you have only daughters to love and no sons."

She glanced up at him, the alarm clearly evident on her face, "Why do you say this? We will do as we have always done. We will be together and come safely home to tend our fields and wait for both grand-daughters and grand-sons."

Khandr grimly replied, "I too wish for this." Then he stalked out of the room to retrieve his pen, sitting down to write.

[Anguirel]

Meanwhile, back at the Hall of the Ulfing...

Drenda was an early arrival at the banquet for the envoys, and felt the usual awkwardness accompanying this situation. He had misplayed his hand, revealed his keenness to attend this feast, shown himself up as a trumped up youth, a bumpkin. And there were precious few men who would be interesting, or useful, to talk to about him.

Still, he felt the comforting pressure of his paternal circlet on his brow, and put his social unease from his mind. What was wrong with a little embarrassment if it furthered the sacred cause of vengeance after all?

There was a clash by the door as a new guest arrived to join the dozen or so prematurely gathered. But no newcomer entered the Hall. Instead voices clashed in apparent anger. Was some drunkard perhaps being turned from the threshold? Drenda rose from his mightily uncomfortable bench and dashed over to see what was going on.

At the same moment a guard he knew vaguely, a certain Anydor, came into the Hall, looking, as usual, surly and rather bored.

"Some farmer outside, Master Drenda, demanding he come in, says he knows you."

"A farmer? I don't know any farmers," Drenda answered crossly, but to his horror a bow-legged, ruddy figure lurched through the doors in Anydor's wake.

"Oi," he started with a drinker's confidence. "Would you be the lad who wants to bed my girl, little Tora? I'm Torguar, boy; vouch for me for this feast..."

Drenda blushed as scarlet as the intoxicated farmer. He had wanted to handle delicate affairs this evening; the constant presence of some country dullard could only be a bore and a hindrance. But if he denied knowledge of Torguar, he would lose any chance of winning the girl and her small, but stable dowry. His mother would be furious. And he simply could not, at this stage, afford a break with his mother.

"Er...er...of course, of course, what, er, luck to meet you here, my friend," the boy stammered out. "Anydor, I know him. He's safe for the feast."

The door-guard still looked sceptical, but more clamour at the Hall's gates called him away once again. Drenda motioned Torguar to a place by his side, inwardly despairing...