Treachery of Men RPG

[Nogrod]

Back at the tent Fastarr checked his purse. Nothing had been taken. Not that he would have expected it as he had learned to trust Svana and Willap during his regular visits to the sweatlodge. But it was better to be safe than sorry. And he had also another reason to be content with the purse. He had spent a little less he had foreseen so at least at the moment there was one thing less to worry about.

After polishing the bronze-rings of his quarterstaff and checking the coated-sharpened tips of it - and making the last check in front of the mirror - he went out. The sun had fallen low enough to leave the streets in shadows although the sky was still bright with light. A slight wind was blowing in the almost vacant alleys and in the absence of the sun’s warming rays the air felt colder than it actually was. Fastarr pulled the collars of his fine dark-blue tunic up to cover his neck and started briskly to Khandr’s residence.

Now as he came to think of it, he had only used his better clothes once before during this visit to the Ulfing settlement. It had been the first day after their arrival when they had introduced themselves to the chief Ulfang and his sons. After that these finer clothes of his had just laid at the one end of his tent, folded nicely to wait for the next chance to be worn. Fastarr was no dandy, but he enjoyed dressing to the finetextured clothes that felt so much smoother against the skin and had some colour to please the eye. And being clean and tidy was clearly preferable to being dirty and sweaty in any case. He was in a good mood for a change.

And there was also a curious satisfaction that kept growing inside him as he saw the looks of the few locals around following his passage. They were used to see him as the “Horse-Man”, as they said, a servant in his rugged clothes hardly being different than they were themselves: an easy target for mockery or indifference as a stranger of their own stature. Now his retainership was clearly shown out and Fastarr felt he was giving them back every piece of grunt and joking in full as he went steadily and proudly through the streets ignoring every pair of eyes watching after him. Surely, retainers were no upper-class people, but there was a distinction between a commoner and a retainer. Fastarr enjoyed that little difference to the fullest as he walked through the streets.

There were some local ruffians having their afternoon ales in front of a tavern who tried to mock him against the general feeling of astonishment with calls like “Have you stealed your clothes, Horse-Man?” or “Looking pretty, going for a girl? But if it’s anyone I know, I’ll cut your private parts personally!” and the like. Fastarr decided to just ignore them. At least today, as he took care to notice who the men calling after him were.

Approaching Khandr’s residence he noticed Hunta carrying a huge cheese. “Changing from a hunter to a herder, now are we Hunta?”, he called him some thirty yards away as Hunta hadn’t noticed, or at least not paid attention openly to him. Fastarr flashed an amicable smile as the hunter stopped and turned to greet him with a smile too.

“I’ve had weirder tasks than this today, my friend”, Hunta answered and waited for Fastarr to catch up with him.

“Okay... Care to tell me more?” Fastarr asked as they took jointly towards the house. Hunta answered after a short pause: “Maybe... maybe..., but I think the time for these will be later”.

Fastarr opened the gate for Hunta and they passed through it in quiet, but as they were approaching the stairs the doors swung open and Hugo rushed out to meet them. “So there you are! That cheese has been waited for in the kitchen! It should end up in the table where you’re most probably going to sit in a minute – and just think of what is required for that piece of goat’s droppings to melt into the dishes being prepared!”

Both Hunta and Fastarr were totally surprised by Hugo’s sudden hassle and they both stopped just beneath the stairs. “Please, hurry now, will’ya?” Hugo called them beggingly. Hunta and Fastarr exchanged looks and had considerable task in keeping their poker and not to laugh out aloud to the fussing of the servant. Hugo frowned and ran the stairs down. “Okay, okay, I’ll take it. Master Khandr and the lady are indeed waiting for you. Please get in then”. With that he took the cheese from Hunta and ran back in.

Hunta and Fastarr climbed the stairs slowly after Hugo and entered the hall. Khandr and Briga were standing there, waiting for the guests to arrive.

“Good afternoon lord Khandr, my Lady”, Fastar said and bowed courteously.

“Good afternoon your Lordship and Lady. I hope we’re not late?”, added Hunta in his turn and bowed too.

[Dimturiel]

Tora was walking as fast as she could. She felt she had lingered overlong, especially since those at home knew that she had just went to fetch a knife from the forge, and that did not usually take so long a time. She would have to answer for her long absence when she reached home.

But that was not what was bothering Tora most. If there was to be trouble at home, she would deal with it when she got there. It had not been totally her fault, anyway. She had heard many things that made her now feel quite uneasy. It was true, she was still too young to fully understand all that she had heard, but one thing was clear even to her. Something was about to happen in their settlement. Something was not quite right.

Yet she could not quite tell from where such a notion came. Maybe she had somehow senesed some anxiety in the settlement,or felt that there was something looming ahead of them, some time of darkness and difficulties and doubt. Or maybe it was nothing after all. Maybe the happenings of that day-the coming of the elves, the forging of a sword for Ulfast- were perfectly normal events, and only her mind-already used to sorrow and darkness- made more of them than there actually was.

With such thoughts forming in her mind, Tora reached Dag's forge. He found the smith still working on the sword. When she entered, however, he raised his head and smiled to her. Tora smiled back.

"I...I came to see if the knife was ready." she said. "And I thank you very much for putting aside so great a task as the forging of a sword for the chieftain's son for the mending of a mere farmer's knife. I also bear a message from your wife. She tells you that you should not forget your dinner."

Tora paused expectantly. She wondered whether to ask Dag to tell her more of the task that he had been entrusted, but she dared not do it. Such things were not right, and anyway, Dag would surely not confide in her, young as she was. And why did she want to know so much about this? Would it make her feel better? Would it ease her troubled mind? Surely not. Chances were that the answer to her questions would only bring more fear into her heart. Yes, likely enough, she would have to pay too great a price for her inquisitiveness.

[Celuien]

By the time Ulfast reached his chambers, much of his ill humor had dissipated. In truth, the day had not been entirely unpleasant. He thought that he would have to speak with Ulwarth later. There, at least, Ulfast had a solid ally in enmity for his older brother.

It was frustrating that Uldor had not spoken against the summons. Ulfast knew that his brother would be against sending men to aid the Elves, whether or not he said it openly. Perhaps there was a way to prod him into open defiance. Little time had been spent with the Elves. More hours of forced politeness to the visitors might provoke Uldor into carelessness.

Ulfast smirked as he realized that he did not know whether a proper welcome for the envoy had been planned. The greeting they had received as yet had been small, but the arrival of an important ally after long journey deserved more attention. A grand feast would be in order. Ulfast scribbled a message inquiring about the preparations for such an event and summoned a servant to bring it to Uldor. Whether plans had already been made or not, the message would annoy Uldor. Had they already been made, Uldor would be irritated by the apparent stupidity shown by the message. If not, the reminder of the need to show courtesy to the visitors would anger him.

A grand feast would require Ulfast to appear in his finest attire. He thought of the new sword he had ordered. If the smith had been diligent, there was a chance that it would be finished in time for the festivities. He decided to check on the sword's progress. For a moment, Ulfast thought of sendng one of his men to the forge, but then thought better of it. He would go himself. The smith would understand the importance of his task if it brought a chieftain's son to his shop. And too, he could test the smith's loyalty to him.

He left the Ulfing hall and strode through the village streets, enjoying the startled, fearful glances sent his way. He came to the smith's shop and called to the craftsman.

"I am Ulfast, son of Ulfing. How goes the work on my sword?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

The master of the house hurried over to the door and extended a hand of welcome to his guests, "Fastarr, Hunta, it is good to see you both. My wife and I greet you." Knahdr turned towards Briga, indicating with a little wave of his hand that she should stand beside him. For some time, they made small talk, speaking of this and that and some of the strange customs observed by the villagers.

Then Khandr led his guests over to a small table where cups of sweet honey mead had been set out on a silver tray. He picked up one of these and handed it to Hunta, encouraging the rest to retrieve their cups and explaining, "We are still awaiting Bergr's arrival but let us have a little refreshment before we sit down at the table. Everyone lift their drink. It is right that we take a moment to remember our bonds of loyalty to our tribe and our pledge to be good retainers of lord Maedhros for that makes us kinsmen here in a strange land. A toast now for the health and good fortune of King Bor."

Khandr lifted up his glass and drank, beckoning the others to do the same. When they had all finished, he explained, "We will wait till Bergr arrives to discuss the details, but I must say this first. I have called you here for two purposes. The great hall of the Ulfang is a cold place to be. I sense little friendliness or warmth as existed in the days of old. It is a good thing to be able to sit and spend an evening with friends. But that is not the only reason we are here." Khandr sighed and shook his head, "I wish it was that easy. There are so many secrets in this settlement. And I am shut out from so much that I fear that something, perhaps something treacherous, is going on. The signs do not bode well for the fortunes of the Borrim or that of our King. We can not stay here and do nothing. We must act. What and how we act is something we must determine tonight. "

"Now we will wait for Bergr to arrive and sit down to a fine meal. Feasting first, and then planning...."

Suddenly Khandr stopped and glanced around the room, a puzzled expression reflected on his face, "But where is my second wife? Where is Embla? I do not see her." He stared over at Briga who shook her head and shrugged her shoulders as if to say that she had no idea.....

[Lalaith]

Embla stood at the back of the hall, in the shadows. Much as she had been doing for the past few hours, she was skulking and smirking. She had enjoyed watching Briga rushing busily about, and whispering anxiously with Khandr - who was all the while distractedly running his fingers through his beard. So much so, in fact that she quite forgot to adhere to her usual policy such occasions – to get in the way, pick quarrels and issue counter-orders.

She observed Hunta stumping back, discombobulated, with the cheese. Fastarr, meanwhile, had arrived looking unusually spruce – well-groomed, almost. She guessed by his flushed glow where he had been – the sweatlodge. She felt a twinge of jealousy. Embla had, in her misery, almost given up on personal adornment, but she was fastidious by nature and had been a frequent sauna guest back in the happy Bairka days. But the restrictions imposed on Borrim womenfolk meant that a visit to a public sweat-lodge was out of the question for her now.

She looked at Fastarr again, as he joined in the toast proposed by Khandr. Oh, she knew him well, by reputation at least. This was the killer of Starkadr. It had been before her mother died, when she still lived among the Bairka. She remembered the woman Aud, returning shamed to her people. Mourning her dead babes and her dead lover, grey-faced and wasted by tragedy and scandal. The child Embla – always observant - had viewed this sad figure with a mixture of pity and intrigue.

Now it was she, Embla, who was shamed at the hands of the Borrim. But hers was a dull, hopeless shame, with no memory of a child or a lover to add spice to her despondency. Abruptly she was pulled out of her brooding thoughts about the ill-fated Aud and her Borrim husband – for the latter had just stepped, inadvertently, on the hem of her long cloak, not seeing her in the darkness.

“Dolt,” she hissed. The man recoiled and stammered something in apology. She looked him up and down with all the haughtiness she could muster, taking in Fastarr’s attempts to smarten up his apparel and appearance. “Better wise language than well-combed hair,” she added. The proverb seemed to hit home and she enjoyed watching the blush spread across his wide, honest face.

[Durelin]

Did he dare touch her? Her eyes flashed with rage, but Jord did not pull away from his grip. There was nothing she could do, not until the Lord Morgoth was through with him. But the way his hand felt tight around her wrist, squeezing flesh, muscle, bone, and blood together… It…hurt. Yes, it was pain. She cursed this weak body, and would have torn it apart, relishing in the pain and knowing that it signified destruction, if it had not been a gift from her Master. A gift…and more than she deserved. But she would more than earn it once she was through with this thing before her, which dared to look her in the eyes, to face her with anger and scorn…

The present…she was locked into it, in this body. She drew herself back, and returned Uldor’s gaze without flinching.

“…if you report, you can tell your masters this…”

Oh, my master already knows…

So this was the depth of the complexity of a mortal mind? Apparently Jord would not even have to try to manipulate the man into thinking the way she wanted him to. All she needed to do was state something, and he would gobble it up. Of course he was “wiser,” he had determined. And no, no oath was necessary. Melkor did not require the honor of fealty from Uldor, as if he should expect an oath to the Highest Lord to mean he would receive as well as give. But why wait for someone to give when you had the power to take? Like a rabbit in the hunter’s snare, this man would be secured, snatched up by Morgoth’s mighty hand, and Jord had only to lead him into the trap.

Not that it would take much pulling from his strings. It seemed playing him a simple tune, as long as it was played well, would get him to dance for her well enough.

“I will use it all to my own good and I will gain what I seek.”

As if this was news to anyone? He had not done a good job hiding his ambition. Rather he had wasted it away on pathetic conquests: mostly women and wealth. Power, by the standard of Men, he already had through birth…but naturally he wanted more. More than his father’s throne, and certainly more than it was underneath another power he could not hope to stand up to – the Elves.

“And your ambition will serve you well, Prince Uldor,” she said slowly, resting her hand on his that held on to her other wrist, and allowing herself to be pulled slightly closer, “in gaining…whatever it is you want…” The truest followers of Melkor were always rewarded…as long as they remained useful, that is.

“Anything you desire,” she whispered, as her lips twisted into a smile. The words rolled off her tongue, a sickly lullaby. “Now that is how it should be, is it not, my lord?”

[Kath]

Bergr sat at the door of his hut, carefully threading a needle in the waning light. After being informed of the feast he was expected to attend he had realised that he would be required to wear something rather more formal than the hunting gear he lived in most of the time and so he had gone home and rummaged through the chest that still held mementos from the days when the small Borrim envoy had first entered the Ulfing settlement. His search had turned up some fine clothing, fit for the occasion in style but not quite ready for use as the years had left them dusty and falling apart in places.

A short journey to the stream running along the edge of the woods followed this discovery, where Bergr pulled off his boots and waded into the water to scrub the garments clean, remembering with amusement his first attempt at washing clothes. The stream that day had been flowing very fast and as he had leant back to stretch his back he had fallen, dropping the tunic he had been holding into the water as he landed in it with a splash. A few shocked seconds passed before he noticed that his clothing was now swimming downstream and would soon be out of sight. Leaping to his feet he had run dripping down the riverbank, one eye on the tunic floating along just ahead of him and the other on the unwashed clothes he had left behind. A wild grab that nearly had him tipping head first into the stream finally returned the tunic to his hand and he had trudged back home to sit by the fire and dry himself off, his wife's merry laughter ringing in his ears as he imagined what she would have thought of the situation.

This time the washing was managed without such an adventure. It was the sewing that was giving Bergr trouble, his thick fingers were meant for clutching a spear or sword not pushing a piece of thread through something so small he could barely see it. The job was made harder by the setting of the sun, and as it became darker Bergr became more anxious, knowing he was going to be late for the feast if he didn't get this sleeve done soon.

A last pull of the needle meant he was finished, and a quick wash later he was dressed and ready to go. It was truly dark now, but long years of hunting in places with little light as well as easy familiarity with the place meant he was able to rush through the streets to Khandr's house with little worry of getting lost or falling over something and making a fool of himself.

He arrived at the house a little out of breath and found himself confronted by Hugo merely seconds after knocking on the door.

"In you go." The servant said, not giving him a chance even to wish the man a good evening. "They're waiting for you."

Bergr found himself being hurried into the hall he had visited on a few occasions and saw that the others had already arrived. Khandr was also there with Briga, and he strode over to make his apologies.

"I am sorry for my lateness my Lord and Lady. It has been some time since I have attended such an occasion and it took me some time to prepare for it."