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Post by Admin on Mar 26, 2016 23:27:39 GMT
The northerly wind brought rain, and short, choppy sea to the Portsmouth Channel. The kind that shakes the caulking out of the timbers, and breakfast out of the passengers. The 280 nautical mile voyage to Falka's Pale was not a pleasant one. Not a single one of Eadwig's band was spared green-sickness, and there was some real concern for two of the lads, lying in their own filth and incapable of movement. Their whoring and drinking in Portsmouth was quite forgotten by the second day of their five day journey, replaced with a wet, stinking, miserable terror. It was in this inauspicious setting that Eadwig first set eyes on Falka's Land, the large island south of Great Bretain. Grey/blue hills through a haze of rain, getting closer, a series of towers could be seen passing from the seaside out into the mainland, with a palisade running along in front of them. "That's Falka's Pale", says the skipper, a grizzled old seabird with the most weather ravaged face Eadwig had ever encountered, and no teeth. "Built a big ol' pale all around his little land to keep the Bretain's out. Look, you can see one of their scouts on the rise" Sure enough, looking out over the sea was a horseman, just outside arrow range from the tower nearest the sea. It seemed the Bretain had the run of most of the island now... They made landfall on a beach in small, sheltered cove surrounded by low sandbars. It was packed with vessels just like the one they had been travelling in, their captains and crews crammed in a series of huts and tents, weather-bound. The boat slid gently up onto the sand, coasting to a stop, and six men jumped ashore to drag her out of the water entirely. A soldier on the beach runs up to Eadwig, as his party unloads their equipment, "Get yourself up to the fort, Falka is organising the men and giving orders. He is preparing to break the siege." As he makes his way up the small hill, he can see a small town nestled to the South of a fort, a strong house surrounded by another palisade. Although most of the land within the Pale is cultivated, the total length of the wall could not be more than ten miles, and could not encompass more than 12 square miles of cultivatable land... Falka must be dependent on the sea for his supplies.  |
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Post by Admin on Mar 27, 2016 0:20:22 GMT
Making his way into the large fort, he is ushered straight into the stronghouse, where Falka is talking to his Captains...
"We have to hit them hard. Very hard. I will not have them whittle away at our watch, pecking us to damn death. I will lead the van directly at their siege lines. When their force on the West gate moves to support, that is when you, Godelow, take your company out and into open county."
The assembly disperses, and Eadwig is fact to face with Falk himself. He was a large man, wearing mail embroidered with gold lace, and tied with a belt of golden cloth. He carried a spear twelve cubits long, a jewel encrusted sword at his side. He looked to be much of an age with Edric, but his face had a wilder, excited gleam. His belt strained to hold his gut into his mail, and he grinned a wicked, winning grin. "New blood. Your timing is perfect!" he laughs, pulling Eadwig along with him as he marches out of the stronghouse to join the assembled soldiers. "Take your folk and join Godelow... I don't want any more taking away my glory! Hahaha!"
Godelow, Falka's second in command for the campaign, is addressing the troop he has assembled, outlining the plan of attack. "... so once the Prince commits his reserve to defend his siege-works, we charge out of the West Gate. We do not attack the Bretain camp. We break through the force blockading and march North as swiftly as we can. At night, we separate, making our own way in groups of ten to thirty. Your tasks are to intercept supplies and reinforcements destined for the besieging army. Raid the farms and villages, harry traffic on the road, do whatever you think best to deprive the Prince of his supply. I will take my force of one hundred men and occupy the stronghouse at Greenpond. Any captured supplies will be brought there, and it will be our place of safety. Is this clear and understood?"
After a number of hours, that seemed to the waiters days, a horn call, repeated along the walls and towers of the Pale, Godelow's company. The gates were opened, and they filed out onto the field...
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Post by Eadwig, the Bastard on Mar 27, 2016 11:33:33 GMT
There it is, the telltale grimace. Eadwig parried the thrust and brought his sword into his enemy's throat. Shaking of the corpse, he turned only to find with wonderment that they had made it through the line. 'ON ME!' Eadwig called to his men, leading from the front, easily taking out any Bretans who tried to block their path forward. Tengist Snake-Eyes brought up the rear, encouraging the men forward and resisting any enemies brave enough to follow. They charged forwards, behind the Bretan siege line, a vast expanse of land slowly materialising before them. When they reached a safe distance, Eadwig stopped to allow himself and his men time to breath.
Eadwig's sword was drenched in Bretan blood. He had made it through relatively unscathed, apart from a few scratched on his face from a desperate attempt at an eye gouge. His men were similarly bloodied, though they had also remained intact. A remarkable feat when fighting in the van. The hunters were shaken, not nearly well enough equipped for such combat, they had relied upon the hardened Friedlander warriors to get them through the lines. But now they were in their strength, behind enemy lines their skirmishing and tracking abilities would be invaluable. The greenboys were ecstatic. It seems in the melee one of them even managed to kill an enemy warrior, a spear through the back of the head.
The hard part was over, Eadwig began to chuckle to himself. Tengist joined his side. 'What now, Eadwig?' He asked.
'One battle is enough for a day. We'll head further inland, find somewhere to rest up for the night, let the lads regather their strength. The Bretain encampment is to the North-East-East. If we were to head West we can find relative safety away from their main army, and harry their lines deep into their territory. We can use the hunters to help us track Bretan movements and find an ideal place to ambush their convoy.
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Post by Admin on Mar 31, 2016 20:31:56 GMT
On the second day, Eadwig's band reach the rutted, muddy road that connected the Bretain haven in the north with the Prince's army outside the Pale. A few hours march reveals that many of the farms along the path are abandoned, with weeds sprouting in the fields. The constant war has taken its toll on the island...
The guide attached to the band by Godelow informs Eadwig that many of the farms were abandoned over a hundred years ago, when the plague swept the island. There are numerous ruined villages, Reman and Bretain, where the populations simply died out. Saxeish settlers started arriving a few decades before, and had lived fairly peacefully with the remnant Bretain for some time, the island was large enough and fertile enough to accommodate them. However, when Falka claimed lordship over the lands, his folk began raiding and enslaving the Bretain. After a few years, the Prince of Arianwlad, who also claimed the isle, landed a force at a castle in the far north, rebuilt it, and began an irregular war against Falka. Falka lay siege to the castle twice, both times was forced to withdraw due to lack of supply. The great shock came when the Prince himself landed with a significant force brought Falka to battle in the field. The battle was small, but decisive. Falka's already outnumbered force took heavy losses to the Prince's mixed order archers, and he was forced to retreat. It was Edric who organised the construction of the Pale, which was built in under a month, a very impressive feat of engineering (for the Saxe at least), and Falka found himself bottled up, unable to break out, being needled to death by the Bretain archers...
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Post by Eadwig, the Bastard on Apr 1, 2016 20:07:22 GMT
Despite the hellish history of the area, there was a surprising serenity. Absence of human interference attributed to a remarkably pleasant atmosphere. The road didn't seem like much, certainly nothing like the Reman road between Earlshill and Portsmouth. It was not ideal, but it was convenient. If he were a Bretan he would likely use it for a supply convoy. He divided his hunters into two groups. One of three, and one of two (which Eadwig himself would join). The hunters and Eadwig would scout the area for signs of activity, and position themselves on either side of the road near one of the old farmhouses, under strict orders not to engage unless there was a strong chance of victory. Tengist would remain with the warriors, hidden inside that nearby farmhouse. As soon as they heard a Eadwig's whistle, they were to engage.
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Post by Admin on Apr 1, 2016 21:48:24 GMT
It is not long before one of the band of scouts spot a convoy on the road, two miles to the north. They observe two ox carts, three horsemen, with eight other armed men, heading steadily south...
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Post by Eadwig, the Bastard on Apr 1, 2016 22:21:51 GMT
'Aim for the horsemen first.' Eadwig whispered to the two hunters with him, readying his own bow. He made some kind of hand signal to the other hunters, one which could not be mistaken, meaning go for it. Eadwig whistled as he fired the first arrow, his hunters followed. And Tengist (if all goes to plan) should emerge from his hiding place and attack rapidly. The hunters are to stop firing when Tengist engages, and Eadwig with join his men in close-quarters combat. Meanwhile the hunters will regroup and head a just a smidgen North to ensure the convoy does not have reinforcements. If there are reinforcements, the hunters will make a damn nuisance of themselves in order to allow Eadwig, Tengist and the boys to finish their melee before the second engagement.
Any weapons or a decent standard will be divided among the crew. Swords to the warriors, and peasants, daggers to the hunters who desperately need some form of melee weapon. Any money found will go to Eadwig who will divide it among the men in such a manner as he deems fair. Food will be taken and shared equally, as will booze.
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Post by Admin on Apr 8, 2016 20:15:58 GMT
Eadwig's arrow strikes home, hitting one of the horsemen square in the shoulder. Within a second of this, four other arrows make their mark: one fine shot takes the same rider that Eadwig had aimed for through the throat, one strikes another rider in his unarmoured leg, the other hitting his horse. The fifth glances off the third rider's mail.
All hell breaks loose in the convoy, as the first rider falls dead; and the second is thrown bodily from his horse, which bolts. The cart drivers whip their oxen, driving straight down the road, as the final horseman, and other six warriors turn wildly searching for their assailants. The rider takes five arrows, two to his shield, now raised high, one in his unprotected right leg, one glancing again off his mail, and the last making a slight penetration.
He too falls from his horse, as the footmen finally spot Eadwig and his two hunters. They are about to make their charge at the lightly equipped archers when, with a great shout, Tengist and the warriors come crashing out from the other side, their shields raised, and spears forward.
The men fall about each other in panic, two attempt to hold the rushing shieldwall at bay, but are out numbers and cut down by flanking spears. The other four throw down their weapons, only to be cut down in turn... the drivers abandon their carts and sprint headlong into the bushes.
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Post by Eadwig, the Bastard on Apr 8, 2016 23:20:57 GMT
Eadwig wildly gestures to his hunters, intending them to chase down the cart drivers. If they can take one alive, all the better, the bastard would love to learn more about the Breton supply chain. If this is not possible, then simply killing them will suffice, the last thing on the Freidlanders' minds was having their location revealed to the enemy. If the cart drivers are not found, Eadwig and his men will find a different location to hold up in.
If they are found and returned to the farmhouse, the Bretan bodies will be buried in a discrete location behind the farmhouse after being thoroughly searched, with the hunters on watch. Any visible blood will be disguised, either by kicking over the mud and dirt on the road, or by carefully placing branches and bracken over the remnants. Similarly, the cart will be dismantled and hidden and the oxen slaughtered for food - the men deserve a treat. Supplies from the cart will be placed in the farmhouse to tide the men over on any quiet days.
Any weapons or armour of a decent standard will be divided among the crew. Swords to the warriors, and peasants, daggers to the hunters who desperately need some form of melee weapon. Any money found will go to Eadwig who will divide it among the men in such a manner as he deems fair.
Then it's back to the original plan to cover the road.
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Post by Admin on Apr 9, 2016 12:18:47 GMT
OoC: Just be aware that your orders were to take any captured supplies to Greenpond.
IC:
The hunters track down the drivers, one is killed by an arrow through the back, the other wounded with one in the leg.
You also find that the two horsemen not shot in the throat are still very much alive, although both have taken serious wounds to their legs.
The carts are mostly carrying victuals for the besieging army, but one has a bundle of spears, some Bretain warbows, and a few barrels of arrows.
The men do their best to cover the blood, but the infantrymen had been turned into a real mess... and the dead horsemen had sprayed blood all over the place, as the arrow cut his Carotid Artery.
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Post by Eadwig, the Bastard on Apr 9, 2016 21:47:36 GMT
OoC: Ah, cheers, I missed that part.
IC:
'Hmm?' Eadwig replied.
'Hmm,' Tengist sighed, 'I said we're supposed to take the supplies to Greenpond, unless you plan to do over the Jarl Falka?'
Eadwig paused for a moment. 'No, best not. Anyone with enough money to waste on an extravagant sword like that should not be crossed.' HIs attention turned to the men on the road. 'The blood is not being hidden well enough. Cease the burials, hang the bodies from the trees, should stop the Bretans from using this route. We'll escort the supplies to Greenpond ourselves. Tengist? You're responsible for the prisoner.'
At the last moment, Eadwig decided not to dismantle the cart and his men escort it, pulled by it's very alive and definitely not eaten oxen, to Greenpond where they will rendezvous with command.
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Post by Admin on Apr 10, 2016 13:15:48 GMT
OoC: Don't worry, the loot will be shared, but the commander expects his share first...
IC: The horsemen are stripped of their mail, providing armour for the three peasants, and the helms of the dead men are shared around the party. The archers scavenge some dirks.
Your entire party now have armour (bar the hunters), helms, and side-arms.
The rest of the equipment is bundled onto the wains, together with the three prisoners, each with a nasty injury or another.
The guide outlines the march to Greenpond from their current location... "Fastest from here is to take this road north for four days. We should reach a small village called Crossroads, we turn West there, and follow the road a further two days. Greenpond will then be through a small wood to the north then. But naturally, the Bretain use this road for their supplies... lucrative, but very risky. If we were to run into a band of reinforcements?"
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Post by Eadwig, the Bastard on Apr 10, 2016 13:55:27 GMT
The peasants were looking less green by the day, Eadwig thought as the band shared out their new equipment. Four days march to crossroads, could be a problem. 'Alright lads, listen up!' Eadwig called to his men. 'We have a long and treacherous march to Greenpond. We may run into another caravan, possibly better armed reinforcements, or maybe even an ambush. If we move off as quickly as possible we'll stand a better chance of getting to Greenpond without alerting the Bretans. I will lead the hunters and stay about an hour ahead of the rest of you to scout for enemy movement. Tengist, you lead the warriors, guard the prisoners and the Convoy, If we spot any trouble we'll try and slow them down and make it back to cart to assist in the combat. Keep the prisoners gagged at all times.'
'Aye,' Tengist muttered in agreement.
'We'll try to march through the dark hours, and rest through the day, minimising any chance they'll see us coming. I figure crossroads is where any likely ambush will occur, we will stop two hours out and scout the village before moving on in.'
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Post by Admin on Apr 12, 2016 19:16:40 GMT
As your party passes north the next day, the country shows more and more signs of being occupied. Tilled fields, smoke coming from farmhouses, fresh tracks on the road. In spite of this, you spot hide nor hair of the inhabitants, who seem to slip away before the men come through.
Late in the afternoon of the first day's march, the lead scouts come running back, informing you that a hamlet ahead appears to be occupied by a sizeable Bretain force. "I counted at least eight and ten men about the town, certainly plenty indoors. Most like there'll be sentries about too."
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Post by Eadwig, the Bastard on Apr 12, 2016 23:08:34 GMT
Eadwig hid the supply cart in the bushes. 'Shit,' he muttered to himself. 'Tengist?'
'Yes?'
'Tell the men to rest up, I reckon we have no choice but to fight our way through. We'll hold till night. At night I'll lead the hunters and get a better look. When I'm content that we have a good idea of the garrison, myself and the hunters will take out the sentries. Provided all goes well, you will lead the warriors door to door, five at a time to take out any soldiers inside. The hunters will continue to take out any men who are alerted, I will join any melee that ensues. By the time they realise what's hit them, we should have evened out the numbers a slight. We'll retrieve the cart, and loot whatever is left of the village once we're done. '
With the plan made clear, Tengist and Eadwig get into position
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