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Old 01-02-2007, 12:53 PM   #62
Anguirel
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Location: The 1590s
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When the Hall of the Ulfing was deprived of its irascible master's supervision, an atmosphere of cautious jollity set it, the nobles sensing that now was a moment to swagger and make their hay. The mead ran with more ease and the jests with more coarseness; insults long nursed were parcelled out freely, and the Chieftain's guards clustered together in knots, on the back foot as the vassals of Ulfang caroused.

Drenda sat down now, glancing rapidly down the length of tables and into the centres of discourse, his perfect almond eyes identifying and observing the figures whose personalities dominated. It was a favourite game of the ambitious youth's; investigating who, with the Lord's family removed, really held sway in the Hall.

Some men were notable for bombast, popularity, and prodigality; such a one Drenda's father, Drenduld, had once been, reckless and carefree in self-pride. For instance, there was Alangar, brazen skinned and barrel-chested whose laugh now sounded loudly, ringing off the darkened beams. He was an extremely hard drinker and it might truly be said that drink had no effect on him, for, as far as Drenda could see, he was inebriated day and night anyway. Somewhat more worthy of respect was a man like Rakthan, who spoke little and was usually listened to because, so far, he had scalped eight men in six duels.

But Drenda traced a power more silent and pervasive than that of Alangar or Rakthan originating from a smallish, unremarkable man, without particularly exalted blood or any feats to his name, which was Brodda. Most assumed that he was a mere cypher for his paymaster Uldor, but Drenda saw it differently. Brodda exercised and interpreted Uldor's wishes, and that made him in his own right, a man of influence. Besides, there was his survivability to be considered. Brodda had acted as a menial hand in countless intrigues and plots, and always found his feet; there was skill in that, a skill that could be detected in his mean little eyes.

So it was Brodda Drenda now approached, stooping so their heights were more equal, in a gesture of deference. "Afternoon, my lord Brodda. What think you of the news?"

Last edited by Anguirel; 01-02-2007 at 01:06 PM.
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