As they ride northward, Lady Starshell explains what lies ahead.

"There is a barracks at the edge of the Forsaken Ravine. The ravine is probably flooded now...but we must cross a bridge there to get through the swamp where a circle of druids resides. From there we pass Sentinel Tower, and then to Castle Braunstein."

In reply to DM (msg # 1):

Well, Druids are nice, right? Maybe they have good bread if we don't break anything?

"Fair enough. Let's move out."

Brodd falls in line with Einhard.

Leohart falls into marching order near the rear of the party.

"I consider this a vote of confidence, thank you all.

It seems odd maybe that a knight could be less overbearing but we have travelled, suffered and triumphed  together...I trust your judgements and actions...let us carry forward.

Once marching order is set, scouts out to the front and rear guards assume your stations." 

assuming einhard and starshell will be after the scouts?
This message was last edited by the player at 19:37, Thu 09 Apr 2020.

Creston marches with the others, but doesn't remember his place in the order, so he falls in at random.

Amalrik falls in somewhere after the scouts, in the front line. His bow is out with an arrow in hand.

"I can't tell if you're describing a delightful itinerary or a gauntlet of horrors."

Gorn checks his mount and equipment then mounts and moves out in front of the group attempting to keep adequate distance between himself and the rest of the group to allow time to alert them if trouble lies ahead. He also tries to take note of where Travis is located so he can watch for any signals from him.

”It was supposed to be the route of my wedding parade, but now...”

Manaku drops to very last in line acting as rear guard.


"Perhaps it shall be remembered later as 'The Triumphant Parade' once you ride back with a minotaur's head on your lance."

A wedding parade Sir Starshell ?? Amalarik can't help but overhear such a remark ... Of all the things to hear during an adventure.

The old cleric was already headed down the road, his trusted pack-dog beside him, for - of course - a follower of the Wandering One would know the way. Places with names like Forsaken Ravine were akin to the baiting of a hook, irresistible and alluring.

"Amalrik, the title for a Lady, is Lady Starshell."

"Actually, it's Dame. The feminine of Sir that is, Dame Starshell... if we're being formal..."

Turning to her, Harald asked, "My apologies, but I'm assuming you've indeed been knighted?"

"Oh my by the gods you are so right, in my haste I was mistaken too, so sorry Dame Starshell!"

Puck chuckles at this public discussion of etiquette. Sir Starshell, Lady Starshell, and now Dame Starshell.

"How about 'Starshell the Leviathan Slayer'", he proposes, majestically.

"Or too many syllables?"

"Star-shell-the-lev-eye-uh-thun-slay-..." Harald attempted to put Pock's suggestion to rhyme, but quickly gave up. "Nay, you're right, it just doesn't flow..."

For once even Amalrik blushes ... Your pardon Lady Starshell.

"Dame Star Sea Slayer," Puck offers. "Almost a whisper, a susurration, in the tongue of bards."

If he had been thinking of the dame's aborted nuptials, he has stopped entirely, finding this topic more entertaining. He can be a little fey like that.

"To be honest, by the rules I am still a squire, just as my brother-in-law here, but in times of peril like these the most capable must take up the mantles when there is no one else to do so."

She smiles gently.

"I do not begrudge being mistaken for a Sir in this armor. I do not dress for battle in small strings of chain like in those lewd shows one might see in bawdy taverns. In fact, some brave Ladies have proposed that all Knights be addressed as Sir regardless of gender, to make less confusion when shouting orders on the battlefield. I have no opinion on the matter."
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:59, Mon 13 Apr 2020.

"I have no opinion on the matter," says Creston. "I don't care if you want to be called 'sir' or 'dame' or even 'goddess.' Your name is your own business."

Leohart listens to the party's banter bemusedly as he walks in formation. He is glad to have replenished the party's food stock, but continues to worry about his empty wineskin. As they walk, he scans their surroundings for any sign of potable water -- an irony given the flooding.

"Who uses titles on a battlefield, anyway? Isn't that unpractical? Just bark an order using name alone and be done with it." The moon elf added.

"Not that I have any experience on the matter. Just a thought."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:25, Wed 15 Apr 2020.

[DM]

Catweazel trips and nearly collapses, if not for his staff. He stops and rests on a nearby rock.

"My Lady...I am an old man. I can barely lift a teapot in the sunset of my life, much less a sack of gold coins. I am scholar, not the sort of mage that breathes in magic from the scrolls. I would only be a hindrance to this small army you have assembled. I have helped raise you, and more than anyone else assembled here, I have faith that you will do the utmost to purge the Chaos from this land...but alas, I cannot accompany you. I will set up camp in the old tower we just left, since I have no boat to get back through these flooded lands. I shall wait for word of your success,and then we shall celebrate. Be Well, Lady Starshell. And may the Fates be kind to all of you."

Amalrik nods to the curiously named wizard. He would pause to help the man along the trail, but he seems set on staying here.

As Amalrik keeps moving, the occasional stray thought crosses his mind ... Who would name their child Catweazel ?? With a "Hrumph"and shoulder shrug, probably some sort of wizarding thing anyway ...

Leohart nods at Catweazel as he walks by him. "Take care, old wizard," he says.

Dwarghar grunts as they continue the march.

In reply to Catweazel (msg # 26):

"Farewell then, good wizard. May the days ahead be kind and peaceful to you."

Manaku walks on.

Einhard raises his hand in salute, perhaps he would be better off here...nothing but death and misery lay ahead and hopefully victory.

The band marches on quietly until they reach the crest of a hill, where a stone structure is visible on the next hill. The sun is is just beginning to touch the horizon and spread the colors of dusk.

"It normally holds twenty guardsmen, but who know how many orcs they've crammed into it now?"

Amalrik places his hand to block the sun's glare as he stares at it.How much longer to get there Lady Starshell ?? He ponders night approach vs a daylight approach.

Then Amalrik scans the surrounding terrain, any easy routes to flank it instead of the head-on
 direct route ...

Yeah, yeah...what's wrong with bawdy taverns, anyway?   More fun than trapsing another  dusty road listening to a bunch of flowery blather!  'Dame' sounds like grandma, and what good is being a glamorous noble, if you're stuck in a portable stove, and everyone calls you 'sir'?   

Alietra kept her disgruntled thoughts to herself, striding off to one side.   Naturally, she was envious of someone who wasn't born into hopeless, banal commonerhood as she'd been.  But, she wasn't going to admit it.  Not even to herself.  Feathering some orcs would be a good distraction...

"Orcs, you say? Well, I hope we'll get there soon then. I have plenty of arrows for orcs. All that I have in my quiver, in fact..."

The elf walks in silence several paces and then ponders aloud:

"What kind of man would ally himself with orcs anyway? They're dumb, cruel, untrustworthy and violent. All they know is killing everything non-orc. I'd wage they're more a liability than a resource."

Brodd continues to trudge along listening to the banter while leading Rose the mule by her reins.

The party sees Gorn and Travis climbing up the hill from a hidden path, ready to report.

Travis with Gorn approach Starshell and Einhard giving a short bow, awkward on how to properly address the two of them, “Umm.. my Lord and Lady, we have gone ahead and circled the Barracks, we are positive we left no sign of our approach. The main barracks is a two-story stone structure, and likely has rooms below ground as well. Two orcs stand guard outside the main entrance There are signs of three recent campfires outside of the structure. There is smoke coming from the main chimney. There is a watchtower, three stories high. It should also be noted that we were able to go without being noticed due to Orcs lack of vision in daylight.” He paused for a moment then continued. “On the way back we found a crevice in the side of the hill that could fit the entire party and a small circle of rocks for a campfire that looks like it hasn't been used in over a year.”

After his report he turned to Leohart. “I also noticed markings in the crevice markings unfamiliar to myself or Gorn with your arcane talents you may find them curious.”

Leohart listens and then nods. "Thank you for the opportunity," he says. "I look forward to seeing these markings."

So we spend the night in your grotto and hit the Orcs tomorrow morning?

We hit the Orcs whenever we can. Tomorrow sounds like as good a time as any.

"Excellent scouting, let's make our way to the grotto and prepare for an early assault tomorrow?

Perhaps at sunrise to blind our foes."

"Sounds like a good plan Einhard" Brodd agrees.

Bah
Dwarghar shakes his head at the great plan Einhard had made up and grumbles something as he makes his way to the grotto.

When the orc slaughter is ready - he'll be ready too.

"I wonder if we might…" begins Pock before the words trail off. It looks like the group has decided on a dawn assault on the barracks and wasn't in the mood for tricksy illusions or shenanigans.

Orcs at morning's sunrise. As good a plan as any ... While listening in, Amalrik takes a few moments to stretch and get the kinks out, then the crick in his neck, and finally a drink from the waterskin. Now for this grotto.

Einhard notices that Pock had started to suggest something and then became silent.

"Pock , did you want to add something?

Not all combat is direct assault."

Pock perks up.

"Instead of ambushing two at the entrance, why not draw out two or more to an ambush of our own? An adage comes to mind:

There's two bulls standing on top of a mountain. The younger one says to the older one: 'Hey pop, let's say we run down there and have one of them cows'. The older one says: 'No son. Lets walk down and have 'em all.'

The gnome scratches his head, pondering if what he has just said is actually applicable.

He shrugs.

"Let's give them something to investigate like a campfire with a couple of 'helpless' travelers. Then we KILL them all."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:59, Sun 26 Apr 2020.

In reply to Pock Oneshoe (msg # 48):

"Why Pock, that is absolutely devious and underhanded...

I like it! Do we have anyone that can cast illusions?

"That would fall under my purview," the gnome illusionist replies demurely.

"Very well, what did you have in mind?"

"Quite splendid Pock! Though I do hope the application of your adage ends at the bottom of the hill for us and goes no further!"

"I should very much like to see these markings in the crevasse as reported. Furthermore, I suggest a bit more reconnaissance. If we spring our trap upon the morrow, we'll have plenty of time to observe the goings on, perhaps we'll even get a better measure of their numbers and temperament..."

Harald seemed more the tourist which overpaid for his vacation tour but was determined to get his money's worth nonetheless.

Regdoc stopped in his tracks and listened to the scouts' report without bothering to turn around. He kept his gaze forward toward their goal, but the sounds of his worn teeth grinding together could still be heard by the group behind him.

Finally he spun about and stomped back to where the congregants were gathered. "You people are daft!" He blurted. "Attacking a fortified position filled to brimming, no doubt, with critters trained from birth to pilfer, ransack, gut and torch anything of whim? No, you fools, Pock at least has the right idea here. We'd need thrice their number to form an assault, doubtless we're outnumbered by that ratio..."

Within the moment, the venting ended and Regdoc's voice lowered an octave. "Brother Brodd, let us call upon our Deities in this challenge. I know that He Who Wanders is quite often He Who Is Also Thirsty... I've seen several instances where He Whose Boots Have Trodden the Never-Ending Trail has granted a miracle to turn a skin of water into wine... If we both petitioned, I reckon we could churn out several gallons by morning. We leave the wine where it might conveniently be discovered and then we wait a few hours until springing Pock's plan. The only thing easier than shooting fish in a barrel is shooting drunken fish in a barrel... or so I've heard the saying go."


OOC: We can cast Water to Wine as a 0-Level spell to create lots and lots of rank swill for our greenskinned foes!

Manaku remains silent and observant. Battle tactics was not his forte, so now was time to listen, and perhaps learn.

Brodd nods understanding, enlightenment in his eyes. "Good idea Regdoc!"

Leohart sits apart from the group, listening, ready to go along with the group's decision.

"Perhaps there's a way to soften their defenses before we attack by sneaking in. Snapping bowstrings, setting fires and such."

"I cannot believe this!" Alietra gave her forehead a slap.  "I mean, I really can't believe it!"      She addressed the pair of priests.

"All this time you've had a spell that makes wine out of water, and we're just hearing about it now? That's great. Brother Brodd, here I always thought you were such a forthright guy!  Anyway, the plan is first rate. If it does come to sneaking in to snap bow strings and tie boot laces together, I'll go."

The gnome rubs his temples and admits he's not really a tactician but since he has been asked...

"We would start a real campfire, distant from the barracks but also easily observed from there. This campfire would also be a mirage: a merchant with a few guards, traveling by wagon through these parts. Not so many targets such that the entire barracks emerges but not so few that only the two guards come to investigate. When the inebriated swine swarm about the fire, we KILL THEM ALL."

He coughs and then adds, "By we, I mean most of you all. I'm kind of a one-trick gnome."

A drunken foe is not honorable. But it does bring their numbers to a more comfortable level. I like it.

PM

[The sigils aren't familiar to any of you, but the elves do see some nature motifs in them, marking shadows for the solstices and such.]

"Scoundrels and deceivers, reminds of an old saying...something about falling in with thieves...I sort of like this.

However should the minotaur appear, my code forces an attack on the strongest opponent.

Valiant yet suicidal.

I was a starry eyed youth when I chose the Way, however the real world have somewhat dimmed those lights."

"So...even if we can lure them out and surprise them, we could be badly outnumbered. Knowing how many they are would be very useful... There is no point dying gloriously if there is nobody left to sing our tale." The elf glances at the bard.

"If our initial strike can break their morale, the rest of them may scatter and run hiding under rocks. That would be desired outcome, I think. So the first strike - it should have very heavy impact. I have seen a powerful magus, an fellow elf, hurl burning ball of arcane fire, which then exploded among our enemies. I'm speaking that kind of impact.

...Actual means to achieve that kind of shock effect, I do not know, unfortunately ."

Pock takes out his wand and wonders if it is capable of such a conflagration or if it just whips up omelets.

Alietra nodded sagely.  "Definitely not honorable. But, look at it this way - they get to go to the Hells with a good buzz."

In reply to Brother Brodd (msg # 61): PM



"Ha!  I bet you haven't ever had your lights properly dimmed!  When this is over, we can all go find a good ale house and fix that!"

She listened to the talk of occult fire, and glanced at the gnome's wand.  I'm trying so hard not to imagine what roasted orc might smell like... 

PM

By the campfire light, Gorn sketches the outline of the barracks in the ground with a stick.

"I suggest we set up outposts in these rocks where we can watch the barracks securely. Then we send a squad of our stealthiest members; Alietra, Amalrik, Travis, and myself. Our squad moves at dawn when the sun is in their eyes, for these orcs cannot stand the light. Should they start to chase us, you can open fire with missiles and magic from cover of the rocks to aid our escape."

He looks to Pock.

"I don't think a troll will fool these louts, especially if we have to run past it instead of away from it. Perhaps you can fake an avalanche? Or crossbowmen in plate to distract their return fire?"

Pock nods, "I could do the latter more than the former. I don't know that they would be tempting targets for orcs in hand to hand combat. I'm still inclined to draw a number of them out."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 22:30, Fri 01 May 2020.

"I'm glad we're on the same side!"

"If you're going to make an illusion, why not trick the Orcs into thinking the building is on fire? When they evacuate, we can move in."

I like Creston's idea. Ahh the power of flames ...

Alietra nodded. "That's good.  Does what we need, and we get to see them all stirred up and freaked out. But don't have to smell them burning."

"Lots of great ideas, let's put some sort of order to them and consider a 'what if' plan and a rally point in case things go bad."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:20, Tue 05 May 2020.