Treachery of Men RPG - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Anguirel · 05-01-2007, 12:46 PM

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...

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05-01-2007, 12:46 PM	#20
Anguirel Byronic Brand Join Date: Mar 2005 Location: The 1590s Posts: 2,778	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...