Treachery of Men RPG

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hunta thought that he would go mad with the tattling of these women. Either that or the boredom of their idleness would plunge him into a sleep from which there would be no waking. He wondered what madness had led him to accept the errand that brought him here…what was there of use that he could possibly learn amongst such people?

His boredom must have been evident for a younger woman came and offered him some more tea. He accepted it with a tilt of his head and some clumsily muttered words of gratitude, but he did not sound convincing even to himself. He was not meant for small spaces and polite conversation, his place was elsewhere, with the ground for a bed and the branches for a blanket. The sheer presence of their nattering numbers weighed on him so that he felt as though he we smothering, and overcome by the sensation he shifted in his chair uncomfortably and in the agitation of the movement knocked over a low stool that stood near him. The conversation faltered and all eyes were upon him. He glanced about, much like a buck cornered by the hounds, and his hand reached mechanically for Laylah’s ruff for reassurance, but his hand met only air. Instinctively he whistled for her and the great dog came trotting through the door to curl up at his feet. Too late he remembered the woman Gunna’s request that Laylah remain outside.

He could not have mishandled the situation more, and in a fit of desperation he tried to divert their attention from his many lapses. “This girl who’s run off,” he asked, groping blindly for something to say. “Is it, well, is it really that terrible what she’s done? So long as everything is done…properly, I suppose is the word…then what matters who she was engaged to? I don’t understand the ways of your folk in these matters….I understand precious little about these matters amongst my own folk to be sure. But if I were ever to marry…well…” he felt himself heading into uncharted and dangerous forests but pressed ahead “I wouldn’t want to marry a girl who’d been stopped from running off with someone else just because she was supposed to marry me. I would want her to, well, not run off…if you see what I mean…”

The profound weight of his own idiocy pressed upon him like a stone.

[bill_n_sam]

As the conversation had shifted smoothly into the familiar paths of juicy gossip and merriment over their neighbors’ little foibles, Gunna had breathed more easily. She had never in her life expected the Northerner to actually accept her polite invitation. But the women, for the most part, seemed largely to ignore his unlooked for presence, perhaps more in the way of one who stoically ignores an itch when circumstances deem it too impractical or impolite to scratch. Old Dulaan threw the stranger several pointed looks, and little Jóra had gone to refresh his tea, but, for the moment, Gunna allowed herself to listen in amusement and feigned consternation at Kata’s tale of Halma’s daughter.

"Well, it surely was a dreadful thing, running off like that with her sister's promised man," young Tora spoke up. "But you should not judge her too harshly. I know the poor girl quite well, and she was always telling me how much she loved him, and she was so sad when she heard he was to be her sister's man. She really cared for him, you know. Of course, this does not excuse what she has done, no, indeed, not at all."

Gunna was aware of Tora’s own loss that was surely part of the conviction that lay behind her declaration. There had been no such love either expressed or felt between herself and Dag, Gunna reflected, when first his proposal of marriage had been made. In fact, the proposal had come directly from Dag’s father, and, although she knew Dag, Gunna had never once spoken with him directly before this proposal arose.

To Gunna, the prospect of marriage had loomed ahead of her as a stubborn obstacle to be fought against and overcome, if at all possible. Her decision to make herself lifetime caretaker of her blind sister was one which she would not cast aside, not for any man. And she had prepared herself to do battle with whatever skill, wit or craft she possessed to foil any attempts by her father to marry her off. Therefore, she had been totally caught off guard when her very first insistence that she could not, would not, leave Mem behind was countered with Dag’s suggestion that Mem should accompany them to the new western lands, as a welcome member of his household. In fact, the couple’s very first conversation had consisted entirely of Gunna grilling Dag as to the motivations behind his offer. Dag had listened patiently and finally, when Gunna had stopped to draw breath, replied good naturedly, but in solemn tones, “If we are to marry, you must be content. If I force you to leave Mem, you will make my life a misery. Bring her, if that is all it takes for us to have peace between us.”

In the end, there had been no forcing, no coercion. Now, Gunna couldn’t imagine happiness without her stubborn, quiet husband and their beautiful child. Like Tora, Gunna felt great sympathy in her heart for both the daughter and the already spoken for boy. Love, it would seem, dares all, endures all, survives all, even when others decree it should never come into being in the first place.

Gunna, now seated by the low burning fire next to Tora, jumped slightly at the sound of a stool knocked to the floor. Her head turned instinctively to the corner where the hunter sat, his face bearing a startled look of embarrassment. But, instead of apologizing, the man pursed his lips and whistled. With a bound, his huge, hairy dog galloped into the small house. Gunna was more startled than offended. The dog seemed quite obedient to its master’s commands. In fact, it curled itself right up at his feet and settled down at once without any upset. But still, the mother in her worried about the baby, who played happily in Mem’s lap. Before she could formulate a protest though, the man was speaking.

“This girl who’s run off,” he asked, hesitantly. “Is it, well, is it really that terrible what she’s done? So long as everything is done…properly, I suppose is the word…then what matters who she was engaged to? I don’t understand the ways of your folk in these matters….I understand precious little about these matters amongst my own folk to be sure. But if I were ever to marry…well…” He faltered a moment, but went on. “I wouldn’t want to marry a girl who’d been stopped from running off with someone else just because she was supposed to marry me. I would want her to, well, not run off…if you see what I mean…”

Gunna did see, with perfect clarity. So, despite her misgivings, this Borrim, this Hunta who had manfully put up with the unenviable task he had been assigned by his mistress, was not so unlike her own Dag. Men of action, not words. Men who cared little for conventions, and listened to their own hearts. Strong, skilled men who would not hesitate to use force to protect themselves, or those they cared for, but who realized that force brought to bear in a marriage was folly. Perhaps, then, these northern cousins were not as alien as they might seem, at least some of them.

Unknowingly, Gunna smiled at the hunter, who had stumbled to a halt and looked even more embarrassed for having spoken. “What you say makes sense, Hunta.” Gunna replied. “Although unfortunately, I’m sure many will not see it that way. Halma and the boy’s parents, certainly. In our community here, there are many traditions surrounding the betrothal of a man to a woman. Such a promised union creates ties between one family and another, ties not easily discarded. Our people are bound by many such ties, each to the other. Ties of blood, ties of marriage, ties of loyalty cemented by oath giving.” Her thoughts flew briefly to Ulfast and his sword, but she forced herself to bury that nagging fear deep in her heart. “I’m sure it is the same with the people of Bor. In one way or many, you must be bound to the others of your clan. To break those ties must be frowned upon very severely, is it not so?”

The question had been asked in all innocence, but a stillness fell on the room as each considered Gunna’s words and what the arrival of the elves would mean to the loyalties of every family, every man, woman and child, from chieftain to ambassador, from farmer to smith to hunter.

[piosenniel]

Káta’s brow furrowed at first as Gunna began to speak. The man’s word’s had not made sense. It was the family, the parents, who made the marriage. Sentiments of love, more like to be feelings of ‘need’, were transitory. It was the ties made between families; the passing of herd-wealth between them; the status, the position gained, which formed the first basis for the wedding of one family with another. Parents strove to choose well for their children as well as for the family. At least that is how her mother and father had done for her. Affection, her mother and her grandmother had told her, would come with time as the man and woman came to know each other; to fit together as husband and wife, as parents themselves.

And so it had been between her and Grimr.....and so it would be for her sons and daughter when the time came.

Káta pursed her lips and cast her eyes briefly toward Granny. Now what had that old woman been talking about to Mem? Fálki, was it? She gave Mem an appraising look. Hmmmm..... Fálki was still young; Mem even younger. And what with the move to this new land and the effort of settling the family in, she and Grimr had not yet turned their thoughts to the making of ties between their family and another family of those other Ulfings who had come west. She gave a sly little smile and nodded her head. This might prove a suitable family with which to make ties. I will speak with Grimr tonight about this, she thought to herself. And perhaps we can arrange some little get together. I have been blind to my son’s inclinations! she chided herself.

‘Jóra!’ she called out as her daughter set down the teapot near the fire and looked to be settling down to hold the baby once again. ‘Help Granny up, won’t you little bird?’ She smiled at Gunna. ‘We need to be getting back, Gunna. Grimr will worry if we are too long away. Mem, so good to see you once again. I’ve no doubt your skilful fingers will turn the wool we’ve brought into more of your fine thread.’

Granny and Jóra joined her near the doorway. ‘I hope you enjoy the goose we brought. Grimr and the twins brought it down just today.’ She made her good-byes to Tora before leaving, and nodded politely toward the Borrim man. ‘Come on, you two!’ she prompted her daughter and Granny. ‘Jóra, bring the cart near, won’t you? And, yes,’ she said grinning at the pleading face the young girl had put on. ‘You can take the reins for the trip back.’

[Rune Son of Bjarne]

Erling had shivered by the thought of elves reading his thoughts, it was a thought that did not please him one bit.

He had always felt uncomfortable about the elves for their different manners. When he had heard the first rumours and seen the first indication that they possessed magical powers, he had not really believed it, but with time as the rumours had increased and Erling him self had seen the elves; he had no choice to believe it and thus he became more suspicious of them.

That they also possessed the power to read his mind was a thought almost unbearable for Erling. Thoughts were not something to be read by every one who might wish to do so, his thoughts was his alone and he was very careful about not sharing more of them than he had to.

"read ones mind you say. . . I had no idea that they where so sinister. One cannot help but wonder how they achieved such powers, not by growing crops one suspects" Erling looked over his shoulder as if he expected the elven lords to stand lurking in a corner of the cottage."hmmm our old lord as well you say, you should be careful Grimr, I would not want to see you get involved in something you cannot control" Erling took a draught of the ale as he looked straight into the eyes of Grimr. "In fact I think I shall join you to the next meeting, I mean one needs clarity about these elves and two minds thinks better than one, Imagine what several could do" Erling said with a glimpse in his eye.

Grimr nodded in approval and no other word was uttered about the subject that day, after some lighter conversation and a considerably amount of ale Erling said his goodbyes and left for his home.

[Durelin]

“Foolish woman, you know nothing of war, do you?”

Jord could have laughed, though she would have laughed harder if she could only grab the man by the throat and dig her fingernails into his skin. She was fairly certain that, even in this simple human body, she could tear into his esophagus without too much trouble, if she found the proper tender spot. At least the human body was more resilient than it appeared. Unfortunately for them, men could live for a long time even when it seemed they should not. The spirit of mortals were too attached to their bodies, and they suffered for it. And yet all they did was harm what they so loved. They made war, and they made it a bad thing.

She had been a part of a war for millennia, the War. Over the years, thousands of lives had been simple puppets, controlled by few lives, which were in turn controlled by other forces, whether by fate or by higher powers that they could not imagine…if there was a difference. And this man was just another toy, who just happened to be allowed to play with a few dolls. As long as he was good, he got to pretend. And she would play pretend with him.

“You may not be King, but you are his mind as he grows older. You take good care of your father, Uldor,” she grinned, and did not care that her expression could only be seen as malicious, “You are a good son. And your father more than respects your opinion.”

The man gave her a level look. He made her sick. Thrown out of the kingdom for violent crimes, violence far worse than the bloodshed on the battlefield he spoke so sorrowfully of, and yet he clung to the idea that he had virtue left. That man’s essence was virtuous. That the greed, the lust, and the violent arrogance that they indulged in was just a side-effect of something gone wrong in the universe, something not under their control.

And they thought they were free.

“You believe…no, you know the Elves will not hold to their…oath,” she voiced the word with mild amusement. They, the righteous ones, were sealed to their vows, and doomed by them. “And what of yours?” She paused only a second.

“But oh! I spoke wrongly, did I not?” she said as if a sudden thought had entered her mind, tilting her head to the side and staring off without looking at anything. “It isn’t yours, is it?” she questioned, but did not allow him to respond, “You made no oath. Your father did. Your father is a wise man, who makes promises to keep them…but perhaps you are the wiser, who does not make them at all.”

[Dimturiel]

Seeing that Kata, Jora and Dulaan were about to leave, Tora thought it was high time she went too. Dag was surely to have finished the knife by this time, and anyway, she did not feel quite comfortable in having to spend so much time in the company of the Borrim hunter, although she felt slightly uneasy for leaving Gunna and Mem alone with him. Yet it was really getting late, so there was nothing she could do than announce her departure.

"Well, I think I should be going too, Gunna." she said. "Surely Master Dag must have finished my father's knife by now. He was in a hurry anyway, as he was working at something else."

Here Tora paused. She wondered whether she could ask her question or not, whether it was safe to speak about such matters in front of so many people. Yet she trusted them, and anyway such a thing could not remain secret for too long in a place as theirs.

"You know, Gunna," she began, "Master Dag was telling me that he was making a sword for Ulfang's son? What can this mean, I wonder? And which son? Has he told you any of these things? Are we...are we alowed to speak of them?"

Tora stopped, biting her lips. Now she regretted saying it. Maybe it was something beyond her understanding, a matter of much greater importance than the insignificant pieces of gossip that were usually debated among the villagers. And also, she thought of the Borrim hunter. Would he say anything of this to his people? Was the forging of a sword for one of the chieftain's sons, perhaps, something that the people of the Borrim were not intended to know?

[Nogrod]

After Fastarr had taken the horses back to Khandr’s stables he had taken a very light take-away lunch, just some carrots and bread from the street vendors on his way to his tent. There he took a short nap and then headed to the local sweatlodge carrying his best clothes with him.

The sweatlodge was indeed two tents placed on the northern end of the nearest marketsquare. The place was kept by an old lady named Svana with his adult son Willap. They were an odd pair to run a bussiness but one of those Fastarr had learned to like in a way in this village he was otherwise so uncomfortable with.

“The Horse-Man! Now what brings you here this early? Have you finally gotten a date for you my lad?” Old Svana laughed her hoarse laughter heartily as he greeted Fastarr. “Willap, get some new stones for our visitor! Hurry up now!” she called her son and turned back to Fastarr.

“Oh no, my lady”, Fastarr replied to her shaking his head and smiling back to her in a way that showed he had approved of her jesting. “But my lord is giving a feast to my kinsmen here this evening and I need to be clean and tidy to attend.” He picked a coin from his pocket and handed it to the old woman. Svana kept on looking at him when he took the coin and then said quietly, almost whispering: “So you have someone to whom your heart beats among your kin, now don’t you? Don’t try to fool an old lady... We recognise the shining in young mens eyes still, even though that flare is not meant for us any more my lad.” She winked an eye to him and then abruptly turned in her heels to call for her son. “C’mon Willap, get on with it! The Horse-Man is having a date and can’t wait for your lazy legs to get moving!” Fastarr handed her his better clothes. At first Svana only nodded but then she bursted laughing again. “Oh, you young men... you’re just such open books!” She paused for a second. “Nevermind an old lady, nevermind...” She gestured him towards the tents still trying to calm down her laughter. “That lazy-bone Willap will be ready soon. Don’t worry”, she added and then turned to examine Fastarr’s clean clothes to see what trimming there was to be done.

Fastarr undressed behind a tottering curtain that had been erected beside the entrance to the actual sweatlodge. He was arranging his dirty clothes to the bench when Willap came out from the tent cheeks glowing red. “Good day to you sir! Just a moment sir!” he said as he kneeled to lay the iron rack that was filled with faintly steaming stones to the ground with his heavy gloves and went back in. Fastarr hesitated a moment in front of the selection of herbs laid on the other side of the bench but finally decided to take a bunch of sage and a few twigs of rosemary. He felt the cold wind in his bones standing there naked and waiting for Willap to come out. The curtains opened soon enough and the figure of a man emerged from inside. He took the rack he had left outside and pulled it up. “It’s all yours sir. It should be good now”, he said and turned away.

Inside the tent it was warm and humid. The flickering light from the two lamps buried on the ground at the each side of the hot stone-rack made everything look cozy and homely to him. Fastarr ripped the herbs over the stones, took the waterbucket and sat down to a straw mat a few feet away from the stones. For a moment he just enjoyed the warmth and relative darkness. He was alone. What a bliss!, he thought to himself and closed his eyes. Slowly the scent of the herbs started to reach him and the warmth wrapped him from all around...

After a while of just enjoying the moment Fastarr took a ladleful of water and threw it over the hot stones. They made a hissing sound and he could feel the warm steam begin to surround him. The temperature was rising fast. After throwing another ladle of water he had to bend down as it was getting too hot for him to sit straight. The warmth and the scent of the herbs were everywhere around him and slowly also in him. The sweat was running in little streams from all around his body. He could taste the saltiness of it with his lips as it poured down his face.

At that moment his mind was blank. There were no worries, no problems to solve, no tasks ahead or behind; no memories, no future, but just the here and now. Fastarr threw a few rounds of water over the stonerack and just fell into the abyss of the moment.

After a while the herbs started to lose their distinct flavor and Fastarr felt himself ready. He crawled out from the tent and hurriedly slipped to the other one before the chill afternoon wind could freeze him. There the lighting was a bit brighter and there was also an open fire going on under a large tub of steaming water. He washed himself thoroughly and finally poured a vat of flowerpetal scented cold water over him. From beside the entrance he took a towel and dried himself thoroughly before stepping outside. His finer clothes were trimmed and neatly folded on the bench waiting for him.

Fastarr dressed and combed his hair. Then he adjusted the plate mirror to a right angle and started cutting his cheekbeard with the scimitar. His skin was pore and elastic and the hairs were soft after the warmth. There was no better time to shave than after a sweatlodge and he knew it well. At last he trimmed his chinbeard and tied it with the tin ribbons he had taken off before going into the sauna. It had been like a ritual and a ritual it indeed was for him here in the strange lands. A knot that tied him to his home and kin far away.

Svana looked at him quizzically as he came forwards looking clean and shaven in his best outfit. But before she had time to make any nosy remarks Fastarr thanked him heartily: “As good as always, if not even better today my dear lady!” With that he took his purse and scimitar the old lady handed to him and tied them to his belt.

Svana raised her right eyebrow in a way only she could do. “Sad our girls haven’t pinned their eyes on you already Horse-Man... or is it you who refuse to see them? But I’ll wish you all the luck tonight”, she winked her eye again and made one of her hoarse laughs after it smiling openly. “And your clothes will be ready tomorrow morning as usual”, she added nodding towards the huge cauldron under which Willap was tending a small fire. She curtsied to him as he gave him another coin and then gave another laugh.

“To tomorrow!” Fastarr said to her as he left.