Treachery of Men RPG

[piosenniel]

At Dag's house

Fálki could feel the warmth rising at the back of his neck as he nodded at Granny. This will not do! he admonished himself. Had not his father taught him the art of staying steady in uncertain situations? He took a deep breath and walked slowly to the proffered seat, kneeling carefully so as not to touch against Mem, but to be on a level with her as she sat upon her low stool.

Jóra looked up at him from her place at Mem’s feet, a hint of gleeful anticipation in her eyes. He raised his chin to her, indicating she should move off a pace. A glance at her mother’s raised brows confirmed the command and she swallowed her protest. Though she scooted away the least distance she thought would satisfy. The baby girl she sat firmly on her lap facing the unfolding scene. ‘Now you be quiet, sweetling,’ she whispered into the baby’s ear. Jóra gave the little girl a gentle hug. ‘I might get to be your auntie!!’ For her part, Gunna stepped quickly to Mem’s other side, sitting down close to her sister, her arm resting about Mem’s waist in a light manner.

A certain studied quiet fell about the room, then Káta spoke a few words. ‘Mem,’ she began, drawing the young woman’s attention with her voice. ‘Grimr asks that you forgive his absence at this visit. There were.....obligations.....the discharging of which could not be put off.’ She paused, thinking how best to proceed. Putting her sense of convention aside, she slipped into her heartfelt thoughts. ‘Long have I wished for a good match for my son, Fálki. Now he is grown to manhood and I....that is, both his father and I can see his thoughts, his wishes and hopes, have settled on someone. On you, Mem. And we would welcome you, if that is your choice and that of your family,’ she added, her gaze taking in Gunna as she spoke.

I think you heard, as we first entered,’ Káta smiled at her daughter as she began again. ‘Heard that we had brought a small basket of gifts for your family. One of them is a scarf my mother handed down to me, one her mother made for her. I’ve given it to Fálki, to give to the woman he chooses for his wife.’

Granny leaned in toward Fálki, whispering a few simple instructions to him. He unfolded the woven scarf and laid it carefully across Mem’s knees. His hand brushed barely against her hands folded tightly in her lap, a quick touch only, and hastily withdrawn.

A voice at the doorway startled away the woman’s response.....

[Noinkling]

At Dag's house

‘What’s this?’ Framed in the doorway stood Dag, a look of puzzlement furrowing his brow. His gaze took in Mem, the blue scarf spilling brightly across her knees; her face suffused with a happy wonder, her sightless eyes followed Fálki’s movements.

For his part, Fálki rose quickly, turning to face Dag. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. His mother stepped forward, intending it seemed to intervene. Fálki motioned to her with a sharp motion of his hand to step back. ‘No disrespect meant, Master Dag. To you or your house,’ Fálki began, taking a few steps closer toward Dag.

Gunna moved closer to her husband, laying her hand gently on his forearm. She leaned in close to him, speaking low. Dag kept his eyes on the younger man, even as he nodded at his wife’s words.

Mem’s voice broke into the hushed conversation. ‘Look, Dag!’ She held up the scarf. ‘It’s a gift. A bride gift, from Fálki. For me.’ She turned her head in the direction from which Káta had spoken. ‘I didn’t get a chance to answer your question, Káta. At least I think you meant it to be a question – that if I chose, you would welcome me. I’d like to say yes to you. But . . .’

Jóra scooted closer to Mem and touched her on the knee. ‘Oh, you’re not going to say no, are you, Mem?’

Mem laughed, a sweet sound that spilled out into the seriousness of the room. She reached out, touching the girl lightly on the cheek. ‘I just thought, perhaps,’ she answered, ‘I just thought that I should answer first to Fálki.’

Silence settled over the little gathering.

‘Well,’ broke in Jóra’s voice after only a short time. She nudged her brother in the leg. ‘Ask her!’

[Gwathagor]

Like a shadow Jord passed through the press and din of the market. At its edge, she paused briefly, and looked back. Whether because of the crowded high street, or because of some dark magic she wove about herself, no one had noticed her. Satisfied, she moved out into the backstreets of the village, leaving in her wake a lingering sense of unease and disquiet, bickering merchants and fighting children. Her path, simultaneously following instinct and long-set purpose, led her down the narrow street of beaten dirt, every step bringing her steadily nearer to Khandr's lodgings.

The Borrim and their leader had been given a large house several streets over from the palace. As Jord neared it, alert and wary, she reached with her left hand into the wide sleeve of her gown and grasped a knife which she wore on her right forearm. The blade was long and slender, and forged of cold, dark, thirsty iron. It was a relic of her former life, before her humiliation at the hands of the elf-witch and her adoring minion. She clenched her teeth as the extent of her current disgrace again struck her full in the face. She had lost everything: her power, her shape, and even a measure of her Master's favor. All she had left was the cold knife, and this she now held in an iron grip. Many lives it had quenched, in the days of glory, when she had labored alongside Sauron at the will of Morgoth, but never had it tasted the blood of an Easterling. Jord smiled. Blood. It had been over-long since she, too, had tasted blood. Her smile was cruel, and there was no warmth in it.

I shall not fail him, she thought. I shall be restored, and Lord Morgoth shall reign. Jord turned the corner onto the street that led up to Khandr's house.

Her prey was before her. She stopped, but not out of surprise. Down the middle street strode Khandr, eyes cast down in thought, coming directly towards her. They were completely alone. Jord nearly laughed; it was absurd, and pitiful, and perfect.

Suddenly becoming aware of Jord, Khandr came to an abrupt halt ten feet from her. He froze, tense and hunched, his eyes narrowed, with the innate knowledge of a hunted creature that its end has come. Yet he did not waver. Swiftly he drew out twin daggers and raised them as he prepared to face the darkly clad woman that stood in his path, whose slight form belied the shadow that stretched out before her, ominous and threatening.

Jord was faster. She covered the distance between them with unnatural speed and silent ferocity, and leapt upon her prey, her face expressionless apart from a grim determination. They landed in a cloud of dust. It hung in the air for a moment, and then settled slowly to the ground, revealing a grim scene. Khandr lay on his back in the street, blood already beginning to trickle and pool about his head. Jord was on top of him, her right knee pressed into his chest. She had held his left shoulder in her right hand while with her left, she driven the dark knife straight through his throat as they fell. He never uttered a sound.

She pulled the knife from the wound, wiped the blood upon Khandr's cheek and stowed it again in her right sleeve. Still kneeling on his chest, she smiled and pulled his face closer to hers, looking as far back as she could into his eyes.

"You have failed, Lord Khandr."

She uttered the words mockingly, spitting them out, crushing down the dying embers of his spirit.

"Your death was appointed and could not have been otherwise. It was inevitable, for we...are...power. There was nothing you could have done. Take comfort in that, and in the knowledge that you will not be alone on your journey to the realm of the dead. Many more will follow after you; some sooner, some later. Many, many more: men, and elves. All appointed."

Her nails dug into his face. Her tone had become half-soothing, but she spoke now with a renewed contempt.

"The Ulfing lords will come to know what must be, as I already know it. They will betray your people and their liege lords. You have died for nothing. No cause, no purpose. You have accomplished nothing. Your death is meaningless. I am Thuringwethil and now I will taste your blood."

And she did, as with the last sparks of life Khandr's despairing eyes roved and his fingers twitched, searching, grasping for something...anything...

[Nogrod]

Embla and Fastarr rode like there was fire on their tails. From the bustling open fields to the narrow but empty alleys of the settlement they rode without a word.

Am I too late... am I too late... the thought kept recurring in Fastarr's mind until he suddenly had to steer fast aside when a cart pulled by a young boy not more than twelve winter's old appeared from behind a corner. Embla passed him so near he could have reached her with his arm. Her scent filled Fastarr while his eyes now followed her body moving up and down on her saddle in front of him. Are we too late... are we too late... Fastarr spurred Leafeye to a full trot to reach her and not to be forced to have that view that made him think of things he shouldn't.

He himself, Embla and Khandr all got mixed up in his mind. Love and death, honour and shame, daring and failing, finding and losing...

Suddenly Embla pulled her reins and halted. She could see Khandr's residence now from the corner some two hundred yards away.

"Now what is it Embla? Why do you stop?" Fastarr asked her with concern in his voice as he came to her side.

"That vision haunts me Fastarr... The wolves, the vampire... and all." She was looking straight forwards but still looking at nowhere. Her fingers were nervously fiddling with the reins. Finally she turned to face Fastarr and said thoughtfully.

"Khandr knows what is going on and if his fate is sealed there's little we can do about it... It can't be changed Fastarr... believe me, it can't be changed." There was a deep sorrow in her eyes even if she tried to brave a smile. Fastarr felt she had made a decision and was waiting for her to speak it out.

Fastarr was torn apart. He had wowed to protect his master and his cause but he had also promised to do the right thing. Which was which now if protecting Khandr was no option? If Khandr was in his residence with Thorn and the household staff he would be relatively safe but if he wasn't where should he go looking for him? And Embla made sense. There was a clear object that felt right.

Fastarr glanced at the lavish building and then turned to Embla.

"You mean the elves?"

First there was a silence. Then Embla nodded slowly not raising her head up. She knew the decision was hard to Fastarr.

"They're in the hunt... it will be hard to find them...", Fastarr tried but then fell suddenly quiet.

"Fastarr, they need to know. They need to know before it's too late". She looked at him with compassion in her eyes. "If you feel you need to go after Khandr I don't blame you but I'm decided now. I need to see the elves." Embla leaned backwards and took the reins pulling them gently to prepare her horse to yet another go, looking at Fastarr to the eye challengingly.

Fastarr glanced at the residence one more time before turning back to face her.

"We'll find those elves together! I'm no master-hunter myself but I know their ways... It would take you the whole day to find them alone... Let's go!" Fastarr pulled the reins almost violently and made Leafeye to turn around. "Follow me, I know the straight route!" With that call Fastarr strode forwards in full gallop with Embla trailing him as well as she could. They were flying now.

Fastarr led them the way he had used almost every day taking Khandr's horses to excercise outside the town. So even if Embla didn't know the way her horse knew it by heart. After bursting out from the gate Fastarr wawed Embla to follow him away from the fields towards the forest to their left. Before they reached the edge of the forest Fastarr made Leafeye to slow down enough for Embla to come level with him.

"Whatever the Ulfings lords may be they will surely take their guests of honour to the best hunting grounds... There's a small stream that goes through the wasteland and falls down to a pond not far from here. The game may ever be here and there but there's always some by the pond."

Embla nodded while she continued forwards towards the edge of the forest.

"Remember... if I raise my hand it means halt and be quiet. Spoiling a hunt is something no hunter forgives... to no one."

"Aye sir", Embla said half jokingly trying to uplift the mood but met only with a stern face.

Fastarr spurred Leafeye to a light trot and Embla followed him to the woods.

[Folwren]

“My lords! My lords! A boar for your lances!”

The call came from their left. Shouts rose among the men, but no one spurred their horses before Uldor and Ulfast. Side by side they urged their mounts, wheeling about and galloping forward. With excited shouts, several of the hunters split off to their right and others to the left, all with the intent to surround and capture the boar.

Ahead, Uldor could see the two young men waving their spears, and still shouted with excitement. And running in the space between them and the Ulfing princes the boar came pelting.

He was a large beast, his tusks shown white in the sunlight, and his eyes were red with fury at being disturbed. He charged forward, headlong into the line of horsemen waiting for him, directly towards the brothers Uldor and Ulfast. The two of them shifted their lances in their hands, lifting them from their resting place on the stirrups and turned them to be thrust downward, piercing the animal as it came near.

As it came charging on, it became evident that it would pass directly between them, on Ulfast’s right and Uldor’s left. Uldor reined in his horse and tried to bring him around in order that his spear might come to bear. Ulfast continued to gallop straight onward.


The lance was lowered, the point nearly grazed the ground. Two yards were between the charging horse and boar and then no space at all. The point of the lance thrust the boar in the shoulder, burying its head deep. Uldor saw Ulfast reining in his horse; he saw the lance twist cruelly in his hand and arm. The boar stumbled and then got up again to run, and Ulfast was half thrown, half pulled from the saddle.

Ulfast scrambled to gain his footing. The boar was squealing and roaring with fury and his feet plowed the ground as he drove himself forward, dragging against the spear, and lunging towards Ulfast.

Uldor gripped his lance and edged his horse forward. The wild hog twisted as Uldor’s lance pierced him, but then turned again to attack Ulfast.

With a curse, Uldor leaned downwards, driving the lance deeper and deeper into the boar’s side, but still the animal did not stop. He was nearly onto Ulfast now. The younger Ulfang turned to face it. He was still not on his feet and the struggle was hopelessly one-sided.

But Uldor leaped down to the ground as well. His knife flashed out. From behind and above he struck downwards once, twice, and again and finally, the boar stopped in its attack.

There was a pause and a silence, it seemed to Uldor. He knelt, panting, above the bloody hulk and then he lifted his eyes to Ulfast. His brother sat, clutching his arm where the tusk of the boar had grazed him, also panting as he stared at Uldor.

“Well, brother,” Uldor said. “You’re not going that way. No. I need you yet.”

[Child of the 7th Age]

Too soon....too soon.

Khandr's face had registered no surprise as he had watched Jord spring forward on his path wielding a narrow blade of cold iron. This had been coming. He had known it for some time. Whether she was woman or something wholy different, he still could not say. But her ravenous appetite for hatred and division had become all too clear in recent weeks, slowly made evident by the few words that Embla and his retainers had brought back to him. There was no regret for his own life, and certainly no surprise. It was a price he must pay for one last stand against the forces of the shadow lord who threatened to engulf them all. The ending, he had known, was never in doubt. There was no way to avert it. He was no Elf, nor one of the great and mighty....only a simple man.

Still, he cursed his own ineptness. Why now? Why here? Just a few more steps, a bit more time, and he would have stepped inside the palace. He would have made his way to the woman's chamber. There, he might have found something to prove his hunch that a great evil was about to descend upon their heads. Without that confirmation, he dared not raise his voice to speak with Lachrandir. The Elf, he knew, would only laugh at the bumbling guesses of one of the secondborn. If things had been different, if could talk freely man-to-man.....perhaps the story would have a different ending. But none of that was possible in the world in which they lived. Khandr still was uncertain what the woman was conjuring, but the fate of Beleriand and all of his beloved Borrim surely lay upon it.

All this slipped through the old man's mind in the merest instant. Khandr reached out with what little strength was left in a fruitless effort to communicate his suspicions, all the while praying that someone would blunder onto the path so that he might warn them of the woman's evil. He had been too closed in his dealings. If only he could share his suspicions now. But the streets were empty. Everyone was at the hunt. Still he clung stubbornly to life, though the blood spilled out from his great wound staining the skirts of his assailant a brilliant crimson.

[littlemanpoet]

Thorn was walking steadily away from Khandr's house toward the Hunt. But his mind was with the Song; it had grown in dissonance with the Morgoth theme growing in power. His minion amid the Ulfings had struck, her rage and envy blaring like reed pipes, high pitched and piercing. Khandr's lifeblood was spilling on the ground and staining Jord's gown with bloodguilt.

Khandr's heart beat its final halting dirge.

Too soon, too soon to my doom
and the end of hope for my folk.

Nay, it was not so. Thorn was aware that Jord's envy and rage, while adding to her might for the kill, rendered her almost deaf to the Song, and so she did not know who sang Khandr's elegy.

Bold you lived, Borrim lord,
caring for kin, friends and folk.
Bolder in death, O bringer of boons,
you warned the wary, sending word
to Borrim folk of Ulfing betrayal,
of doom the Bauglir wrought in his wrath.
The haughty heed not the warnings of woe,
but the humble hear and will heed your word.
The sons of your folk will find safety,
their daughters sing of the selfless deeds
of kindly Khandr, beloved lord.
Not vain your death, but valorous and daring.
Rest till you run where wrath cannot follow;
Hie you home beyond the walls of the world.