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Old 11-18-2006, 01:13 PM   #27
Shade of Carn Dûm
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Never one to enjoy courtly procedure, Ulfang only tolerated the petty vassal-chiefs that laid about his hall. In his younger years, back in the East, it had been a necessary tool to keeping them in line, to protect his own power. But he was old now, and under the watch of the Elves. These minor ‘lords’ no longer mattered to him. His rule was law, and none would dare challenge him in his own kingdom.

Having wasted most of his day among the rabble of his court, the Ulfing chief was not pleased when he heard of the coming of the Elves. He had hoped to retire away to spend some time hunting before the darkness of night prevented him from doing so. Being so old had limited those few pleasures he did gain from the world, and to have even those taken from him by usually trivial assemblies left him prone to a good deal of anger and resentment. Though many still cowered away from him when angered, a good number of his own people recognized he was not as fearsome as he had been even a few years earlier.

When the Elves announced their presence before him, Ulfang greeted them in the most civil way he could. Even for him it would not be wise to belittle those who came on Caranthir’s behalf. Ulfang’s own minions were yet another matter. But the land he now stood on, after all, had been practically gifted to him. Despite a failing memory, the chieftain reckoned that he knew why the Elves had come. He had, after all, entered into a military pact with a Son of Fëanor. Perhaps it was that time now, for his able-bodied warriors to be called into action against the Darkness of Angband.

Stroking his grey beard, with the envoy standing before him, Ulfang posed a question. He desired to see if exactly what he thought was true. “Tell me…Lachrandir,” he said gruffly, having almost forgotten the envoy’s name. “Do you come to speak on the alliance I entered into with your lord, Caranthir?”

Before the Elves could answer, Ulfang became extremely animated without even the moment elapsing. A haggard warrior, standing guard near the entrance of the Hall, had left the door open. In his old age, it was minor infractions such as these that could set off Ulfang. His face turned red in mere seconds, and his breathing became heavy and labored. Pointing and shouting, with bits of white spittle flying from his mouth, stray droplets clinging to his beard, the chieftain ordered him removed. The court remained silent, and the chief’s sons did not even flinch in their stone-carved seats. Such outbursts had become normal. Settling back into his throne, Ulfang spoke once more to the Elves. “I apologize,” he stated, “for the lack of decorum by my people. They need a firm hand to guide them.”
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