Giles took a moment to place his hand down on the waist high walls.  It wasn't enough to really allay the dull ache of his legs and lower back, but it removed enough of his weight to give him a moment of comfort.  What he really needed was to sit down or better yet, to sleep.

Giles was exhausted.  Though he had been at the fort only for only two seasons it was starting to feel like somehow Giles had become the indispensable link of middle management.  Originally set up as the logistics sergeant, he had been somewhat free to do as he pleased for his first several months, a wonder which seemed almost untouchably far away at this point.  He had been given liberty to see the men as he wished, wander between the platoons and the patrols, only being responsible to maintaining a record of the monthly supplies that Rudyard brought on his wide-bodied cart and ordering what ever the fort could not manage for itself.  It had been a rewarding job... both for his easy interaction with the troops and for the generally low volume of priority work that he really needed to accomplish.  It had given him the free reign to take the assignment of leading Rodrickson and Edenburg onto Wazifi soil to rout out the necromancer who had been living a mere three days away.

Of course, that had really been the end of the honeymoon phase...  At the end of that mission, Giles had been promoted to Lieutenant (a few letters from his father seemed to have done the trick).  Of course he had lead the group of volunteers southward to deal with the necromancer (no easy task) though he had never really been able to catch his breath since.

He had acquired a platoon as soon as he had returned back, the previous lieutenant having been reassigned to somewhere in Raphael, which of course had prevented him from making any further excursions to rid Al-Wazif of the Necromancer's apprentice.  It had taken Giles a few weeks to learn the specifics of the job, though his sergeant was helpful for all the mundane details.  The problem was, that despite his quick ability to learn, he had never really been given a break from the word go.

Some time in April, Lieutenant Dorian, the command executive officer, had been recalled to Craine, leaving a gaping hole in the military hierarchy.  Captain Brashear of course, had seemed to bear the brunt of this loss, his demeanor becoming surlier by the passing weeks, his attendance on the patrols and the watches becoming ever more infrequent as he seemed to spend more and more of his time churning through the paperwork of the command.  Though Giles too had seemed to collect much of the work, being tasked almost ad nauseam by his commanding officer to deal with the minutia of approving and tracking liberty, and managing the smaller adjudications of scuffles or disagreements within the ranks.

This of course, had lined up with an increased burden on watches and patrols, as Brashear was unable to volunteer for many of them any more and somehow, Lieutenant Broskow seemed to have become completely useless, constantly shirking his duties off on the other three, already frazzled junior officers.

And so, over half way through the long shift at the gate, from 1200 to 2000, and having spent most of the previous day on patrol of the southern border, Giles now finds himself in need of a serious nap.

"What are you going to do when you get out?"

The voice belongs to Private Douglas, a fairly new accession, barely at the fort for a month and one of the few people there who was newer than Giles.  By the casual tone of his voice (and the fact that Giles was hunched over with his forearm was resting on the walls, completely turned away from the other two) Giles guessed that the Private was talking to Corporal Stice, a short but thickly muscled veteran of the fort.

"I don't know."  Stice returns from over Giles' other shoulder.  "Sometimes I think this gig is too good, you know?  I mean the pay isn't good, but you're fed, and you've got a bed, so there's nothing to do with your money anyway other than take it to Raph and blow it all on girls and booze every third month...  Couldn't go hungry here if you tried."

"What!?"  Douglas seems flabbergasted, his tone rising twice as loud.  "Man!  I know just when I'm going to do.  Sign on as guard work in some swanky inn.  You know they'll pay double in Hyrnan?  I've heard their so short of muscle they're recruiting girls in some places.  Crazy right?".

Giles can't help but chuckle.  Though he had little room to judge, it always seemed to be the ones who had done the least, the ones who had years remaining on their commitment that couldn't wait to get out of the Megalan Army.  Not to mention they were the ones with all the freshest "gouge" on the "good jobs" that were sure to be easily exploited.  Sometimes Giles wondered if anyone had successfully managed to get their lucrative dream job on exit, or if as Giles expected, that all of them came to a rather unexpected crash on the rocks once they had gotten out of the military, finding that they had to work outside of the service as well.

"Yeah, maybe."  Stice returns, his tone skeptical.  "I doubt I'd get much work for security.  Wouldn't intimidate anybody at first glance, I'm too short.  They tend to want the big guys, or ugly ones, to avoid all the fights... So you'd do fine."

"Yeah,"  Douglas responds, completely missing the joke.  "Well, it's good work, and Hyrnan's only a few weeks away so I figure it'd be easy enough..."

Though it is at this point Giles stops paying attention as something on the hills ahead gives him pause:  three riders cresting upwards over the southern hills.  It was disconcerting for a pair of possible reasons... first, if this was Lieutenant Kalid and the others coming back from their patrol, they were both an hour early and down one man, for patrols always went out as a group of four.  Giles could only think of a few reasons that three out of the four would come back early and none of them were particularly pleasant to think about.  Of course, it could just be that the low angle of the sun was disabling the better of his vision, hiding the last of the four...  Giles placed his hand just above his eyes, trying to block out the glare while scouring the surrounding hills.

Alternatively, the three riders could be from someone outside the fort... and given the fact that they were riding up from the south, it would probably mean that they were riders from Al-Wazif... a much preferable scenario to a lost soldier, though it would gave rise to all sorts of other questions...  Yes, now that they were fully in view Giles could indeed see the edges of the long white robes whipping about their heels.  Giles removes his hand from the wall, standing up straight now to try and get as good of a visage as he is able.

"So in any case, I figure once I've got enough saved up from here..."  Douglas continues, though Giles is fairly certain that by now, Stice is ignoring him too.

"Quiet."  Giles interjects, his eyes narrowing on the three riders who are by now only a half mile or less away.  Nevertheless, Douglas gets a few more words out before Giles hears the light thump! of the private being rapped on the chest by Stice, who seems to have quickly found what Giles is looking at.

"That the patrol sir?"  Stice asks, though the answer is readily apparent as the three crest over the next hill, their muslim garb now obvious as they approach the front gates of the fort at a lope.  It is only another few moments before the three slow to a halt, the lead rider holding up a hand to keep them a stone's throw away from the front gates.

"As-salām 'alaykum."  The lead rider greets Giles in Arabic, his short horse pawing the ground and shaking its head in nervous energy as the rider holds the reigns with a single hand, his face set in an expressionless gloom.

"I am Maimun ibn Kasib,"  The man continues in near flawless Anglish.  "Messenger of the Great Sheikh Hamid Jinar of Baiji.  I have have a message for your Captain from the Sheikh..."

OOC:  Giles welcome back to the action!  Apologies for the massive post, though I had a rather significant amount of backstory to fill you in on, not to mention setting the tone at the fort and the tone of the thread.  It is 1700 on July 1st.  Consider yourself free to act as you see fit, though you may attempt a roll vs. Soldier to recognize what protocol would have you do.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:41, Sat 14 Mar 2020.

The ache in his legs matched that in his spirit, he thought poetically while looking out across the southern plains. He twitched his knees to keep his legs moving, feeling that the sharper intermittent sensations of pain were more easily endured than a constant throb. Occasionally, he'd get a gust of wind that would irritate the three scars that crossed his face, from a harpy's claw - and it would take his mind elsewhere for a short while. Overall though the ache in his body now, at least matched that of his life of late.

Brashear's original fondness of Giles had seemed to have been diminished over time as his workload became more administratively focused and heavier overall, and the gaps in ranks had left even Giles tired from lack of good rest. Though he had noted in life he'd only ever really slept half that of another man.  Though despite the irritation of his position, and the surliness of their captain Giles offered nothing but positive attitude to the man during their infrequent meetings, and would seek to offer solutions to any problems he had to relay to the man. He similarly, offered a positive visage to his peers and the staff under him. Hoping at least to beacon the mindset he wished instilled in the fort.

In reality, he just felt rather dreary at his current situation, after the excitement of dealing with a necromancer and having months to study, practice with the sword, and delve into his own studies of magic, his life had become monotonous, without colour and lacking any of the temporal flexibility that would allow mindful recovery. But none of this would provide benefit should he reveal it to people at the fort.


As Douglas began talking about his plans to make his fortune after service, Giles considered the problem of Lt. Broskow, and how best to deal with his slack-heartedness. His first thought was to break the man's nose, and offer a stern warning of future punishments should such things continue...


"To work doors, you need a silver tongue. Ever tried to talk down a drunk idiot? Short of that, need to have friends to avoid having knives put in  your back" he added to their conversation without diverting his gaze from the horizon.

---

It was later and the Muslim men were standing in front of him. He considered replying in Arabic to the men, but thought better of it, hoping that their ignorance of his understanding may loosen their tongues enough for him to get a hint to their visit.


"Good day,

A message for our captain? Direct from the mouth of a Sheikh? he said, feigning his awe of the situation.

I can take you to him... he offered, before gesturing for them to ride with him into the Fort.





OOC: Glad to be back

I'll roll the soldier to follow standard protocol - and then modify it as I post

22:04, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 6 using 3d6.  soldier (IQ/A) .



I think i'd like to spend my CPs to get an extra level of charisma - I'd love him to become a more active mage/warrior/etc. but I think the function of being better socially will make the whole adventure just that much more entertaining, for us both.

Though having thought better of that - let me put 1CP into 'administration' instead and forgo charisma for now.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:27, Sun 15 Mar 2020.

Giles feigns a certain amount of interest with the Wazifis... certainly their sheikh had little more than a podunk village to oversee, probably no bigger than the fort itself...  Still, Brashear was quite adamant about keeping good relations with the locals.  Giles wouldn't be the one to keep a local dignitary from seeing the Captain if it was what was required to keep up the good faith with their neighbors.

Giles waves the man on, expecting him to ride through the gate, though instead the messenger dismounts alone, leaving his two comrades holding on to their mounts along with his reigns.  All the same, Giles thought to himself, as he climbs down from the ramparts and leaves Douglas and Stice to watch the others...  It was easy enough to raise the gate if the two were to cause any trouble.

As the Wazifi approaches, Giles notes his slick, wet-looking hair that is pulled back on his head into a pony tail that hangs down to his shoulders.  His beard is close cropped and well trimmed, a luxury that even Giles seems to be unable to get these days...  Apart from his hair though the man seems worn from the ride and the heat, with sweat marks thick around his collar and arms.

"In my culture..."  The man says as he approaches Giles.  "It is proper to give your own name when someone introduces himself."

The words take Giles somewhat aback, though the man's face is set and expressionless...  there seems to be no ill intent or hurt behind the words.

"I have my sword."  Maimun pats the weapon on his hip, a wide, curved blade with the tip so angled that it seems useless for anything but cutting...  "I understand if I must relinquish it until I leave."

OOC:  I'm slow rolling this a little bit for a few reasons, the most important of which is that I need to match up some timelines here.  As a note, Rondald, Terri, Gustav, and Judoc all arrived and left a little over a month ago, heading towards Craine.  Magnus arrived with the others, though he had been staying to wait until he could catch a group back to Raphael.  You have not seen Finn, though the others would have told you that he departed the group at al-Hassan, the village of the Necromancer.

Giles nodded, It is true, and just omission on my part without disrespect intended. I'm Giles Hind, Lieutenant here at the fort.

I will take your weapons before you meet the captain, that way all are on equal terms, but I'd trust you not to draw it inside the fort. Despite differneces, my experience of Wazifi is that they have a sense of honour like us, and hold to their word as well.

You can keep your sword, and I'll hold it for you when you go to meet the Captain. You won't need it here - but if you choose to relinquish it, I'll keep hold of it until you wish it back. he said graciously, not liking the practice of stripping defences from a man infront of subordinates.

"It is common practice, though, you are right. he added, to avoid confusing the man's understanding of Megalan culture.

OOC: Ah, the juggling act! No problems at all, we can go as slow or as fast as you need.

Maimun nods at Giles's introduction, his eyes meeting for a moment though his expression not changing significantly from the emotionless appraisal.   Though as Giles's introduction is complete, the man's eyes begin to wander to take in his surroundings.

"That is kind."  The man says simply, letting the matter of his sword drop without further conversation as Giles turns to show the messenger up towards the captain's quarters.

"I admire your your forces here."  Maimun notes after a brief stint of silence as the two walk along.  "I have always thought we Wazifis have much to learn of your organization...  The things you must be capable of..."  Maimun trails off after a moment, letting the thought die as the two enter the fort through the reinforced courtyard doors.

Giles recognizes once in the doors and he hears the ruckus coming from the mess hall that the troops are likely still at chow... though it was probably worth it to go to Brashear's office first anyway...  There was a good chance he would be there, not to mention the fact that he would likely appreciate this visit to start off as low key as could be managed.

"Indeed," Maimun continues once the are walking within the halls of the fort.  "I have heard you have achieved much.  Is it true that your people subdued an evil wizard not long ago?"

OOC:  I forgot to mention in the last post, but your successful soldier roll would tell you to do pretty much what you are already doing.  Captain Brashear would want to make decisions with any international implications on his own (or pass them up the chain of command as he saw fit).  You would think that if Brashear was in his office, going direct there would be the best solution, though it may be more likely that he is in the chow hall.  Let me know if you want to redirect and bring Maimon there instead.

Giles walked with the man at a pace that allowed him to view the fort at his leisure, knowing that the Captain may well be eating, he wasn't in a rush to deliver the Wazifi to the office.

"The organisation of the military does us credit, but perhaps does also have some drawbacks too, but each force has its own way, that often fit the people and provide its own benefit. he said conversationally.

Giles grimaced inwardly at the ruckus coming from the mess hall, but ultimately decided to avoid it altogether, there was no need to unnecessarily announce the arrival of a Wazifi, his presence would no doubt be known to everyone in short order anyway.

As they walked, Giles kept up a pleasant demeanour as they moved ever closer to the Captain's office. "We do often have some problems along the border, on both sides in fact, but most of them are not worthy of note... the most significant ones are usually announced by the Captain, though. I'm sure he has all details. he said avoiding a direct answer.

On the way, Giles looked for a passing soldier and stopped one, asking him to head to the mess hall to inform Captain Brashear that there was a guest awaiting an audience.

As they wandered the last corridors before their destination Giles suggested nonchalantly "It's rare for a Wazifi to visit this fort, even more so for an emissary of a Sheikh. Your message must be of great import... he said, after which letting the air hang silently for the man to reply.


22:53, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 13 using 3d6.  fast-talk.

Not entirely sure of the import, but suspicious of the intent, Giles mostly avoids the question, deferring off to Captain Brashear as to what should and should not be revealed to their neighbors.

Maimun seems little bothered by the answered, maintaining his stoic composure with a simple, "Ah."

Giles instead tries to turn the tables on the man, rooting for what this visit must be about.  Indeed Giles turns some of the messenger's tactic back on him, complementing him on the import of the mission and the grandness of the message.  But like Giles, it seems that Maimun is not interested in spilling information early.  "Yes, it is."  He responds quite simply.

The way to Brashear's office is not far as the fort is generally small, so though Giles looks for a soldier to proceed him, he does not find one before standing at the closed door of the captain's office.  Though it is usually open, Giles knows well enough that likely anything going on inside would need to be interrupted for this.

"Sir!"  Giles says, pressing his face close to one of the seams and rapping lightly on the wood.  "We have a visitor."

"Yeah!"  Brashear answers.  "Come on in."

Giles holds out a hand, accepting Maimun's sword before he opens the door.  He hears the Captain add under his breath "I guess this is a fucking party."

Giles walks in the room, looking over each of his shoulders to Find Magnus standing up from small wooden chair and First Sergeant Spratt already pushed towards the corner of the room.  Brashear is sitting at his desk, a decanter of amber liquid pushed towards the side and two empty glasses in front of him.

"Don't worry it."  The captain adds - the words being equally likely for Spratt, Magnus, and Giles, all of whom seem equally unsure as to whether they should leave or stay.

"I'm Captain Nathan Brashear."  The captain stands, walking towards Maimun.  "How can I be of service?"

Maimun, the Wazifi messenger does not extend his hand, but walks into the door holding his chin up.

"Captain, I am Maimun of Baiji, my sheikh, the great Hamid Jinar, has become aware of a very grievous violation of our borders.  It seems that a war party, staged from this very fort has pierced our border, killed our people, and sacked our treasures."  Maimun lets this information sink in for a moment and though Brashear starts to comment, Maimun cuts him off before he can string a thought together.

"No doubt you were unaware of this, as condoning such an event would be an act of war.  I find it my duty to inform you however that such events took place under your very nose..."  Maimun raises an eyebrow, glancing at each man in the room, though his gaze falls on an extended period on Magnus.  "My sheikh is forgiving, and understands how such things can happen.  He does not seek conflict...  However he cannot allow things to stand as they are.  As payment for these transgressions, my sheikh seeks only those treasures which were taken from Wazifi soil.  If they are returned to us, our argument is over...  However, if they are not, you leave us with no choice..."

The room remains quiet for several extended moments.  Brashear's cheeks flood with pink just above the line of his beard, though he is slow and methodical in formulating his thoughts.

"I'm afraid you are right... I have no knowledge of any expedition like the one you speak of.  I can assure Sheikh Hamid Jinar that I will look into these accusations, and I will be happy to send message with whatever conclusion we reach."

This thread is joined by 18a:  A Wrinkle in the Plan

OOC:  I realize that you guys are mostly along for the ride, though I wanted to give you a chance to respond and see if there was anything you wanted to add.

Giles glanced at the men in the room and then the Captain, and had a twinkle of apology in his eyes but gave no physical indication of his bringing of the messenger, and an additional problem to the captain. He was quite unaware, but would not reveal any knowledge that it could have happened or that deception was afoot. He simply stood, straight backed, as a soldier would.

He didn't say anything though, but altered the look of his eyes hoping that nobody in the room revealed their previous activities to the man. But Giles was curious about the response both in the immediate now, and over the next few hours and perhaps days.

He considered the implications of such a threat. War with Al Wazif was not a good thing (OOC: is the 'sheikh' the king of Wazif? or is he more like a Duke/Lord of a town/area?) but Giles did wonder just whether a war would be the resultant act. It seemed a little offence to declare full war, and the Northman suspected that there perhaps was some ulterior notion to the whole situation. Perhaps they wanted something specific from the treasure.

Either way it didn't bode well for an already pressed fort, it was more likely that skirmishing actions would be taken by each side and there be a minor increase in hostilities in the area; perhaps until a person of import was killed. Either way, despite reservations, Giles felt tantalised at the notion of commanding a company of soldiers against Megalos's historic enemy and then subsequently found himself twitching his wrist to feel the weight of the man's weapon, and using it to measure his likelihood of successful conflict with the Muslim man.


OOC:

Haha, thank fuck Giles didn't say anything incriminicating!
This message was last edited by the player at 20:28, Fri 20 Mar 2020.

Magnus did not harbor any dislike for the Wazifi, or at least he had not before several had tried to kill him and his friends. Now, unexpectedly face to face with them, clad in only the rough spun tunic he had taken to wearing around the fort, he felt exposed, and he felt wary.

The reason was soon clear enough. Yes they had killed Wazifi, they had even killed Wazifi prisoners, albeit accidentally. They had also looted the ruin of everything worth taking, in fact the axes used to cut kindling for the cook fire could have been pried from cold Wazifi hands.

But, what Magnus could not figure out, is why they were drawing attention to the fact that a Wazifi mage had been dead set on starting a war with Megalos, and unearthing God knew what in order to gain an edge in it. He would have thought that they would have tried their best to not bring any more attention to an already incriminating situation.

Magnus was not about to part with anything they had fairly taken, especially if they were so keen to fight already. It would be bad enough to pay off the enemy, it would be even worse to surrender a weapon that could very well be brought to bear against some of the garrison here in the Fort. He was fairly sure the Captain cum Major would see it the same way.

He met the mans stare with his own, those large black eyes not betraying much sympathy for their plight. However he was not about to pick a fight either. It was as if he was looking through the messenger, or at least, that's how he had intended it.

"Ah."  Maimun responds, letting the silence build for a moment as a thin smile builds on his face.  "But captain, I have just given you knowledge of the expedition.  All that is needed now is your assurance that you shall find the perpetrators and return their spoils to the rightful owners.  This much is the minimum acceptable response."

Brashear's eyes narrow slightly as he sets his jaw forward.  "I am afraid I cannot make any assurances until I have all the facts.  Certainly the Sheikh will be able to see this.  Patience is a virtue, one to which truth and justice are bound.  Without patience, rash decisions and chaos reign.  Your wise sheikh will know this."

Maimun sighs emphatically, half turning before he ends the conversation with a few words.  "Your answer is disappointing.  I shall inform the Great Sheikh Hamid Jinar of your response and I shall caution him against violence... though I cannot imagine he will take well to the condoning of self serving vigilantes...  I shall take my sword."  Maimun turns towards Giles, his hand held out, waiting for his weapon.

"First Sergeant Spratt will see you out."  Brashear nods towards Spratt, who moves quickly and efficiently to just behind the messenger. "He will return your weapon as you leave our gates, lest you would have us think that you plan to do violence in the meantime.  Giles, you stay, I need a word."

Maimun turns to face Brashear one last time, his paper thin smile gleaming in an expression of victory, before he is ushered out the door by Spratt.

"Giles, close the door."

Brashear's voice is instantly cold and precise, his eyes already straying to a chart on the walls that displays the local topography.

"Shit!"  Brashear slams his fist on the desk as soon as the door is closed, rattling the two glasses and sloshing the bottle of rye...  "I knew something like this was going to happen.  Giles!  Who is on watch with you now?"  But before Giles can answer it seems, Brashear is already thinking a step ahead of him.  "Stice!  He's fast as hell on a horse, and he'll barely put the thing under strain as short as he is."

"Ok Giles, here's what you need to do.  Swing by the mess, grab four solid men and double the guard at the gate and have them grab longbows and a full quiver.  Keep your eyes peeled for Wazifi forces... send word the moment you see any of them and for god's sake put the gate up.  Send Stice to the stables to grab the fastest horse that hasn't been worked today... I'll have a message for him to take to headquarters at Craine by the time he's saddled up and ready to go."

Brashear's eyes flit this way and that, his mind racing behind them, trying to come to terms with the situation.

"Magnus, you'll have to get out of here now if you want a shot to get out...  You'd probably better tell Rudyard the same, he's got about 30 minutes to get out of the gate otherwise I'm not letting him out...  It's likely already not safe out there..."

"Fuck!"  Brashear barks the explative in the middle of his own thought, his eyes racing to Giles.  "Are Kalid and the others back yet?"  Brashear shoves his jaw forward, his fist clenched.  "We can't send out a group to find them... not now.  We're blind until we know what the hell these Baiji assholes are up to and I don't trust for even a second that they are going to let our patrol come back without harassment."

Brashear shakes his his head as his running thoughts seem to end, his eyes going back and forth between Magnus and Giles.  "What am I missing?"

Giles nodded at the instructions, making note to collect the four best archers in the fort, and then couple them with some less talented ones, so that at any given point on guard duty will be sniper-level archers.

"Under normal circumstances, sir, I would suggest that no actions would be immediately following the Wazifi's departure - until at least the Sheikh has had his response. In this case though, I wouldn't trust them to have not already instigated some action. However, it seems the only purpose for the messenger would be to asses our internal forces and the security of the fort. If mobilised action was to be taken, I suspect it might be directly harrying us here - though I'd hazard to bet that they wouldn't breach it without a sizeable force.

It might be worth mentioning to Craine that we could require relief in short order. In the mean time, we should be able to find some rangers to scout for incoming forces. Quick horses should avoid any direct losses.
he said at length, and then paused a moment to consider.

He added then "But I will have this place safe and secure within the half hour. I'll also have our quartermaster check what stocks we have in, should my cynicism prove truth.

I'll go find Stice in the meantime... he said, nodding to the occupants of the room before exiting.

He headed straight for the mess hall where people were presumably still eating and entered in a hurry.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:10, Tue 24 Mar 2020.

Magnus felt like he had been caught up in a whirlwind at the departure of the messenger. The garrison, normally relaxed and jovial when not engaged in drill, seem to instinctively pick up tempo, like an ant hive that had been kicked.

While Magnus had carried arms for all of his adult life, he was no soldier, and he found the whole thing damned impressive.



"I'll stay." he told the Captain in a tone that was far calmer than he felt. Even now a little voice in the back of his head was telling him he was an idiot. He was no soldier, he was not even being paid, and given the Captains behavior they were obviously going into something ugly.

But that was what made him say it, he was not going to tuck tail and run while these guys fought for their lives. He had been part of the group that had riled up the Wazifi after all, it was in a way partially his fault. Besides, these were as near to his "people" as he had ever known. Megalan's, Christians, and men that had laughed and sweat alongside him.

No, he was going to stay and fight. And besides, he was not all that fast anyway.

He inhaled deeply and held it for half a second. "I'm gonna go get ready...I'll see you out there." And with that he turned to go before their engagement back in the ruins flashed through his mind. He stopped, leaned back in the door frame and said firmly. "Uh, Water maybe? Buckets...They tried to burn us out last time" And then he was gone, nearly colliding with a another soldier in his haste to go warn Rudyard.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:29, Sun 22 Mar 2020.

Brashear nods at Giles's remarks, actually laughing when he mentions telling Craine that they will need relief in short order.  "I've been telling them for months."  The captain replies, shaking his head.

Still, it seems that Brashear is much along the same lines as Giles and without much need to expound on his ideas, Giles runs downstairs to take care of the business he has been asked.

Magnus is not much in trail, pausing only to advise Brashear of the tactics the al-Hassan Wasifis had used when they had been holed up in the close confines of Perdition just outside the small shrine the Wazifis had been hiding in.  "Good to know."  The Captain nods and Magnus does not waste another moment, looking to alert Rudyard of the danger.

Though the real details of the encounter with Maimun was held between the Captain, Giles, Magnus, and Spratt, it seemed to only take a few minutes for the whole of the fort to recognize and spread the word like wildfire that something was going on.  Giles went straight to the mess, pulling the first two bodies he saw that were leaving, demanding they grab a bow, then ran to the ramparts where he advised Stice to get a horse ready as fast as he was humanly capable of.

It seemed to make little difference.

It was not even ten minutes - not even enough time to run to the stables, fully saddle a horse and be ready to ride off, Stice was not back yet, though Brashear had made his way out into the courtyard, a handwritten note clutched in his fist.   There was no doubt that Rudyard had not even a chance to put the yolk on his lead mule...  Giles stood on the ramparts with his three soldiers, his eyes peeled into the distance beyond.  Somehow the courtyard had begun to fill with soldiers making their way out of the chow hall.

Giles was the first one to notice the riders again, this time much farther out... somewhere near the limits of bowshot.  "You have been deemed liars and infidels!"  The familiar voice of Maimun sounds off in the distance, his voice clear despite the low hanging clouds overhead and the intermittent thunder.  <small>"So you shall die in obscurity, or if you wish to seek the path of truth and righteousness you will give us those spoils which you have stolen from our kin!  This is your choice!  Lay down your pride and call for peace or starve like the dogs you are!"

---

The siege had lasted for two weeks so far with little hope of breaking.  Though Stice had not been able to break the walls of the fort before the encirclement was in place, Giles had not seen him since since that first day and had strong suspicions that the soldier had absconded under the cover of darkness under Brashear's orders, heading northward to Craine with the fort's plea for aide.

More concerningly, Kalid and the other three men of the patrol had not returned that evening... nor had they heard any word of capture from the Wazifis.  The second day most had still held out hope for their safe return, though when it had come and lapsed rumors seemed to dominate that Kalid and his men had been captured by the Wazifis, or else killed in an engagement.

Now, Brashear had called in those leaders who were left, himself, Spratt, Giles, Lieutenant Hetrick, Lieutenant Broskow, and he had offered a hand to Magnus to attend, the last of which had accepted, wanting of any way to help the fort, not to mention help himself to be removed from the inconvenient situation.

Now the six sit, sweating in the midday heat of the oppressive summer, pouring over a chart that is pressed against Brashear's desk displaying the local geography.

"...If Headquarters had wanted us to receive relief on station, they would have been able to manage it by now."  Brashear continues, his shoulders back, though his face tilted down towards the map in front of him in serious concentration.  "Which means it is up to us to create the means of our own liberation.  It isn't likely that the Wazifi's know when our last replenishment was, though they have been standing at our doors for a fortnight, and they must know that we will either make a move in desperation soon, or else resign ourselves to give in to their demands when we run out of strength.  In short, the longer we wait, the more anxious they will be to expect either our fervent action, or fervent surrender."

He looks to each of the five surrounding him and continues.  "Those who have ever held a conversation with me will know that surrender is not an option... we simply cannot condone threat of violence or give in to blackmail.  However, frontal assault is just as bad of an option... for surely they will exploit it politically in order to stoke the fires of war that already churn along this border.  Instead, we must find an option to disperse them quickly and while minimizing bloodshed.  In addition, the possibility that we have comrades held prisoner within their camps may put a shadow over our options.  Ideally, we will find a way to rescue our compatriots while routing the enemy..."

"Based on the campfires, and what little scouting we have afforded ourselves during the hours of darkness, our enemy has company level units located here."  Brashear jabs his finger at the map in three locations just between the fort and the river.  "Here and here.  It seems their primary objective is to keep us from accessing the river as well as the road that travels eastward toward Bannock, cutting us off from any supplies that might reach us.  Our objective must be to induce panic, and cause the ranks to break without committing to an emplaced battle... and to rescue our fellows if we have the resources.  I have my ideas but I want to hear from you all how to best employ our small force here without overreaching our capabilities."

OOC:  I'll get you guys a map of some sort with enemy and troop concentrations once I have the time and effort to draw it out.  For now, the Fort is opposed by three units on the southeast, south, and southwest sides of the fort (the only gate is on the south side, and the road travels eastward from that gate).  They are far enough away that shooting them from inside the fort isn't reasonable.  I know you guys aren't steeped in military strategy and history, I'm just looking to see what ideas you can come up with and see if any of them are worth running with.

If you have the skill, you may roll straight up vs. Strategy.

Magnus had felt like more of a burden than an asset over the past few weeks, as his bulk seemed to represent a draw on the forts dwindling resources. At the least however, he had not chosen to run, lest he had suffered the same fate that had befallen the patrol.

No, he remained, amid the flagging morale and the grumbling of the rank and file. The constant stress of knowing that the enemy was so close at hand, and that an attack could come at any time had worn them all down, and it seemed that every cough or sneeze was treated as a prelude to some contagion sweeping though the garrison.

But it was a double edged sword. If the men had not been keen on bloodshed before, they certainly were now. The "low" and "cowardly" feint by the negotiators had done little to endear them towards their Wazifi enemies, with Magnus sharing their sentiments.

But concerning strategy? He was out of his depth there, and he knew it. But when it came to "inducing panic" , that he could do. Humans had been fighting each other from time immemorial, but Magnus wagered that few had ever stood toe to toe with an inhuman foe. If the quality of the Wazifi conscripts held true to rumor, a rush into their ranks and with the power of his new weapon brought to bear, it might contribute greatly to forcing a route.

Or so he thought.

He was silent for the moment, letting the more intelligent among them and the seasoned veterans to have their say first.

The news hit like a hammer and Giles felt his feeling for the Wazifi dwindle each passing day. He'd spent most of his time on duty organising the forces, and ensuring as best as possible that the fort ran smoothly, He'd thought it prudent to reduce the food quota of the men as a measure to extend their supplies, offering stories of relief from Craine as means to smooth over any grumblings about it - but was certainly keeping a close eye on morale.  It seemed that the wishful optimism was diminishing with each passing day that Craine had not sent relief forces.

"Don't worry, this is just temporary until Craine sends relief, which should be in short order now..." was his go to statement.

---

During the two weeks Giles checked in with Magnus, one of their guests-cum-impromptu defender and ensured that he was fed by the kitchens, had somewhere to sleep regularly and in general wasn't cast aside by the buzzing of the fort.

"Interesting that you opted to stay... I mean no offence when I suggest that maybe a wiser fellow would have taken his cut and gone, but it does say a lot about the kind of ma... person you are. Either way, we're glad to have an extra set of hands to help with these Wazifi.

If there is anything you believe you can contribute out around here, then please do let me know, we're keen to have all hands put towards our liberation as the captain put it."

He strolled with the minotaur, leading him on a tour of the fort, just to ensure that any soldiers holding resentment to the 'foriegner' would be seen to be in contest of Giles, and the officers' support.

"Not quite sure what we can do about this lot..." he said honestly.

---

In the meeting Giles spoke up, putting words to his own meandering thoughts. "I think there are really only two options. And only one of them is panic. The first is to make them fearful to fight us at all, though should we just be mere mortals, such a thing is difficult. So convincing them of our non-mortality, or even higher numbers could help here.

The panic, well fire is the easiest way to cause panic in an army, but without it moving wildly out of control - and magic is the only way I've seen such things happen - a panic would need to be followed with a strong and fast assault before they could re-align themselves against it. A few moments of panic could give us enough for a direct assault, even if the idea is distasteful.

I would venture that a final option could be to encourage a hasty attack and let them spend their men attacking us. Enrage them enough to lose some reason and attack. We can at least thin their numbers, elevate our own morale and reduce theirs... They really do love their God and prophet... he would have added a touch of something to his voice to colour it if he wasn't so tired and hungry.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:54, Wed 25 Mar 2020.

Magnus nodded as he followed along. He and Giles had been thinking along the same lines, at least as far as thinning out their numbers.

"I know I wouldn't want to attack this place." he chimed in. "But they're probably itchin for some action, anything, if it means they get to go home faster."

He took a deep breath with his hands on his broad weapons belt. "If we could just get them to attack, their numbers wouldn't count for nearly as much, funnel them towards that gate and just hammer the hell out of'em from above, arrows, rocks, hot sand. The'd be jammed in at that point, be real hard to turn that many men around..." he mused aloud.

"But how to get them to attack...". Giles idea about their prophet was inspired. Even if just the fanatics lost their heads and charged, the others might feel compelled to follow suit. "Anybody ever actually read that book of theirs? Any experts on Islam around here?"

Brashear nods at the suggestions of Giles and Magnus, smiling forlornly at the suggestion of 'forcing them to attack'.  "Yes, it would be quite convenient if we could incite them to attack us, to come close enough to our walls that we could rip through their numbers with arrows to thin them through before they threw themselves against our gates.  But I think that our foes are more savvy than you give them credit for.  They have played their hand quite politically, without anything but the threat of violence.  I doubt even enraging them will tempt them to assault the fortress, and how you suggest to enrage them without getting yourself killed is a whole other matter."

"As for numbers, our hand is cast drawn.  We have what we have, and we shall use everything we can spare.  I doubt very much we shall have any sort of advantage as far as numbers are concerned, even if we should lower the gates and send for everyone to strike at their position."

"Then why not just wait for reinforcements from Craine!"  Broskow grunts, his arms crossed across his chest which is turned to the side, away from the table with the map, his jaw jutted forward in consternation.

"Because we have no proof they are coming."  Brashear repeats with none of the patience he had for Giles.  "If you have some knowledge that none of the rest of us have, please share Einion, otherwise, let us content ourselves with what we know.  Holding out for hope of reinforcement is as likely as not to deplete our stores and our chances before we ever see a single soldier from Craine."

The words settle distastefully in the room, with Broskow turning his head and Brashear taking a moment to shake the ill feeling.

"No, I think our foe has planned this entire campaign to be bloodless.  I think they count on us to sit within our defenses, waiting for an attack that will never come while we slowly starve.  That, I think, is what gives us some small edge.  Some chance at a surprise engagement if we play our cards to the best of our ability."

"Here is what I was pondering.  Their removed positions gives us some flexibility to sneak troops out especially under the cover of darkness.  We could sneak out some forty men... likely archers, or at least a large contingent of archers with a handful of other types.  They would reposition themselves here."  Brashear again points at the map, just east of the three depicted enemy units.  "to engage the enemy at first light... Mass chaos, mostly volleys of arrows to set fire to their tents and equipment, and to render any of their soldiers incapable that we can.  The rub will be that we must disengage the force before the Wazifis can mount a successful counter... we cannot spare forty men to the cause even if they are successful at slaying a hundred.  Ideally in the midst of the confusion, we will be able to slip away, back to the front gate before the enemy can know what is going on."

Brashear sighs forcefully, shaking his head.  "Will this cause the enemy to flee?  If they are not disciplined soldiers I think it will, or at least it will cause enough of them to flee to drastically change the fight.  Perhaps though, it will just escalate our fight, which can only help us since we are severely limited in time.  But I see few other options than picking apart our enemy apart...  Of course, that leaves us with the possibility that if they have captured Kalid's patrol and if everything goes as we hope, they may still exact their revenge by way of our friends...  I would like to get them out...  Though I know of no good ways apart from accepting horrid levels of risk..."

Magnus nodded along with the Captains assessment. A quick dawn raid might have a chance to work, especially if they are able to burn up some tents and supplies along with any wounded or killed that they might manage.

But Magnus was no archer, and he was not the type to go sneaking around looking for captured Legionaries. While the term would have been alien to him, the concept of "Heavy Infantry" was easy enough to imagine. His skills, equipment and experience lay in front line combat, toe to toe, and the thought alone of having to sprint back to the Fort in full kit made him tired.

But he was not about to sit here and starve either.

"If we can figure out where they are first, might have a chance to snatch them in the chaos. Doubt they would leave behind more than a few to watch 'em if they really thought they were under attack. Probably not their best either..." Magnus chimed in when the time felt right.

"Pack in some weapons for them maybe, then make a run for the gates. Hope and pray they didn't bring many horsemen." He chuckled grimly.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:12, Wed 25 Mar 2020.

Giles considered, ignoring the mood of Brashear It might work, an assault from the rear, from mostly archers, and then a liberation of our men from a few people that come from the castle, should the opportunity permit.

If the whole attack was just a focused set of volleys of arrow, rather than a full attack, we'd be able to disengage well enough without becoming engantled. Having a show of infantry too would cause them to rally, leaving the prisoners more exposed, perhaps. A dozen or half of horsemen could be able to run through and pick them up, though. If, as Magnus says they have cavalry, then extracting our friends on horse may be a good method.


Perhaps the idea could be extended, rather than a single assault, perhaps we add in our most capable ourdoorsmen and rangers and when the unit breaks, they can stay out, and harry the enemy, focusing on the unit most decimated and just harry their troops. Even with five men capable of living outdoors, and with a good aim we could kill perhaps one or two Wazifi each additional night.

After such an attack, the harrying force would certainly have an adverse effect on enemy morale, if each morning they had new names of those dead. he offered.

"I think that's the best idea we have, so far. he added, nodding to both Magnus and Brashear.

Brashear nods at Magnus's comment, his face going back towards his map as he taps his lip.  "Now you are thinking...  It may just work if we cause enough chaos...  Of course, that means we'll have to buy more time... a simple volley of arrows won't do the trick for that."

Brashear's face sours significantly when Magnus mentions the horses.  "Of course you are right... the riders that were here last night is enough to be sure that they will have at least some horsemen.  Their horses are small, but they ride well enough and they never seem to tire... a bad combination if we are trying to remove Kahlid and the others who may be exhausted and starving by this point."

As Giles begins talking though, Brashear begins to shake his head almost immediately.  "No, the whole purpose is to get them to break ranks and flee.  I want to leave their south side open...  If we give them the impression they are surrounded it's possible they will dig in and fight to the death.  Especially if we are outmanned, as I expect we are, I want to avoid that at all costs.  I don't think pulling out Kahlid with horses is an option either... we need to prestage that party well before the attack starts, and there simply isn't any way to get horses out of the fort without lowering the gate, which is likely to draw their attention."

Brashear bites his lip, shaking his head again as Giles continues.  "No, you are missing the point.  We want them gone, without causing a reaction from Al-Wazif...  It's inevitable that we will have to kill some of them, but I'd rather not kill a single one more than is necessary.  It buys us nothing if in a month there is another army looking for reciprocity...  I think you are right though."  Brashear puts his finger down on the fort.  "We'll need to bring the full weight of the fort in on this attack, and cavalry from the fort is much more likely to send them fleeing than anything else."

"How's this."  Brashear tries again, putting his finger down on the southern side of the enemy troops, close to the river.  "We send a small team on the far side of enemy lines, five or six men, during the thick of the night.  Their primary objective will to be to take down a sentry, scout, whatever they can manage without creating a disturbance.  They will need to find where Kahlid and the others are being held.  Once they have that information, they sit and wait until the attack starts."

"Meanwhile, we put another team, forty or fifty men, archers and light infantry for fast movement here."  He points to one of the hills closest to the eastern enemy encampment.  "At first light, they open fire, trying to burn and destroy whatever they can in the enemy camp.  No heroics.  If you are pursued, cause whatever casualties you can while you retreat, but I will not accept everyone being overwhelmed to satisfy anyone's need for valor."

"Once the confusion starts, our team infiltrates the enemy camp, pulls out our four men, and gets the hell out of there however they can... causing whatever additional havoc is possible without drawing attention to themselves.  Once they have everyone, lay low and wait for the battle to be over."

Lastly, Brashear jabs his finger down on the gate of the fort.  "Fifteen minutes after first light, or earlier if we can assess a confounded enemy, we send forth the rest of the troops, seventy heavy cavalry with the objective of crashing through the enemy flank and routing them.  We'll leave a skeleton watch back at the fort...  If at any point the retreat is sounded, it means all hands back to the fort."

"Sound reasonable?"  Brashear looks at the others around the table.  "We'll need volunteers to lead each of the forces.  I'll command the heavy cavalry coming from the fort.  Who wants to be a part of the other forces?"

OOC:  Over to you guys for comments or additions.  Totally fine if you guys want to be in the same, or separate parties and you can volunteer for any of the three.  Just realize that the timing is going to be a thing, so if you are in different groups, there may be some wait for timeline adjustment.


Rough map of the area.
The boxes with the 'X' are enemy unit locations.

Giles nodded, and did voice the opinion "... we do seem to be going to a lot of effort to avoid conflict where they are flaunting and rattling their sabers in attempt to cause one. I would politely remind that currently in our situation we are the defending force. he said not to be nitpicky but remind the Captain primarily that any blame for bloodshed in this situation would not lie with Megalos. A small stealthmission to prevent an evil necromancer and a three company strong army invading and laying siege to a fort were not the same, whatever way you would lay it down. Giles felt sure that any command staff from Craine or wide-Megalos would see that.

The man also felt that he should lead one of the forces, but was not a skirmisher, not stealthy and could barely point a bow in the right direction. I'd be reluctant to rely on my own stealth. I would be happy to be with any of the forces, though. I just want to see the back of these Wazifi. he offered simply.

"I feel that I could take the archers and make sure they get out early enough, and not become too carried away with the shooting. Though, I'd accept that I'm not the best archer out of our officers. However, even this force will likely require some swordplay, even with a full retreat, it's likely some steel will meet. He said, before adding. Perhaps Magnus could be part of this group also? I do not wish to speak for you, friend, but perhaps you'd be best suited to that group</purple> he said, thinking it best not to state vulgarly that Magnus may not be a natural cavalryman or inconspicuous in the middle of enemy camp.

[5 blank lines suppressed]

OOC: I'm in favour of actually keeping the thread flowing - but not opposed to sitting in different parts of the force, in separate parties. I'll go with consensus on this.

Magnus had been all set to volunteer for the rescue team. The realities of sneaking around hundreds of men, or the consequences should he be spotted still distant, not quite tangible things to him.

Giles helped to bring him back to reality.

"Yeah, that sounds good." he nodded. Safer, definitely, and he had his sling for what little it might add to the mass of fire. More realistically if the archers were caught in some kind of bottle neck, like trying to get back into the fort however, having a few more heavily armed troops to hold the line might at least buy them some time.

At least in theory, all of this, including the sheer number of men involved was new to him.

"I'll help you protect the archers then, and hopefully buy a little time for whoever might volunteer for that rescue."
This message was last edited by the player at 02:30, Sat 28 Mar 2020.

"Avoid conflict?"  Brashear's eyebrow dips is an mingled expression of confusion and irritation.  "Giles, this is about avoiding war.  You must be able to see that."  He turns his body to face Giles directly.  "I don't care how this battle may be seen except for how it affects the troops in this fort.  These Wazifis are proud Giles.  And humiliating the men who are besieging us, and cutting them down as they flee, crystalizing the hate in their hearts is only going to bring a fight against three thousand on the next occasion rather than three hundred.  Let them flee.  Let them count themselves lucky and saved by Allah, but let them flee.  Yes, some will die... and possibly so will some of our men.  But far better they live today and go back home stung than that one man makes it back, wringing his hands and coercing his entire nation to fight."  Brashear sighs.  "I can't guarantee that won't happen anyway, but I will take every possible chance to spare this fort from being the first domino to fall in a new border war."

Brashear pauses for a moment and then lets the matter drop, going on to the matter of selecting the teams.  "Good.  Giles, you will lead the archers, and take Magnus.  Expect to be clad for movement, not a pitched fight - so leathers, not mail.  Take a handful of scouts with you, it's imperative that your force not be found before you let loose your first volley."

Lieutenant Hetrick waits for the lull and raises his own hand.  "I'll take the rescue mission... I've been here the longest.  I'll make sure our men get out."

Brashear nods.  "Thanks Gunnar.  You've got your pick of the men.  Rodrickson might be the best translator and interrogator we've got, but he's not our best soldier.  Over to you for what you need."  Brashear nods again, looking back at the last officer still not assigned a job, though the glance is short before he turns to his first sergeant.  "Colton, you have any preference?"

"I'll go with Lieutenant Hetrick sir.  We'll get our men out."

Brashear nods again.  "That leaves Einion and I for the cavalry charge.  Looks like this plan is shaping up gentlemen...  Let's all go get ready, we have much to prepare for."

---

"Just like old times 'eh sir?"  Corporal Edenburg grins wildly towards Giles, not that the expression is easy to make out.

If there was ever a night to conduct a covert action, this was it.  The thick layer of overhead clouds blots out even the faintest light of the stars and with the new moon being just a few days ago it would be the thinnest of slivers if indeed it had even made its way over the horizon by this time of the early morning.  A gentle breeze brushes by Giles's cheek, cooling some of the sweat which was still beading on Giles's forehead despite the early hour.

It was even worse for Magnus, who couldn't lose the thick layer of fur which cloaked his entire body.  Though if you asked him, it was possible he was sweating in anticipation of the short climb down.

At least it wasn't midday.  If it were, it would probably be too hot to move.

Giles smiles at Edenburg, though he busies himself with the details of the plan, grabbing the end of the thick rope and peering out of the wide second story window onto the high brown grasses of the plains below.  They were to descend down one at a time and regroup in the valley near the back wall of the fort before pushing onward to their staging area just east of the Wazifi positions.

Everything depended on not being found.  They would have no lights, and needed silent movement all the way until first light broke through this thick layer of cloud.

Giles sighed.  He supposed now was as good of a time as any to get things started.

OOC:  It is 0230 on the 16th of July and about 80F/27C outside.  It is a starkly overcast night with not even the hint of a moon making its way through the clouds.  This puts things at a -9 penalty for perception (luckily, for both sides).  I need a few things.  Firstly, let me know what equipment you are taking with you.  I'll probably post whatever you list in my own notes so that I don't have to mess with what you own on your character sheet.  Then I'll need some rolls.  From each of you I need a climbing roll (defaults to DX-5).  This is not penalized at -9, as I'm assuming that you are taking your time enough to make up for the penalty of darkness, not to mention the fact that you have the fort walls to help you repel on the descent.  Even if you do fall, it's not that far, though it may be a little loud.  Please don't assume you fall just because you fail the roll, that may not be the case.  I'll also need an HT-4 roll from each of you to see how tired you are and if you managed to get any sleep before the expedition started.  Fit applies normally to this roll.  Giles, I'll also need you to make some decisions for the group.  How far are you going to push the scouts ahead?  Answer please in the form of a modifier, essentially 0 (with the main group), +1 (in eyesight), +2 (in shouting distance), +3(far enough that it may be a little trouble to have them find us again).  I also need a similar modifier for stealth, saying how fast you are going between 0 (normal daytime hiking pace) and 3 (nearly a crawl).  Then I need you to roll vs. Perception and Stealth for the group.

So to sum things up:
Both:  HT-4, Climbing
Giles:  Modifiers for Stealth and Distance, rolls for stealth and perception.

As a reminder Giles, Edenburg was with you for both your mission into the harpy den and the mission where you found out about the Necromancer.

Magnus fought down the jitters that kept creeping into his mind as he readied himself in his little guest chamber. Part of him was kicking himself for being here at all, not only was he not a soldier, he had volunteered to go straight into battle without even the promise of payment. He was too nice, too worried about making the very best impression he could.

On the other hand these were good men, fighting to keep the borders safe, his borders safe. The Wazifi were clearly in the wrong here, and were just stirring up trouble for the sake of pride, or mischief, or whatever their superiors had in mind. He knew he would regret running, if not before especially now.

He was committed at this point, in any case.

He left his mail hauberk, as nice as it was it still rattled like hell and was nearly forty pounds in itself, and assembled a stripped down version the bag he normally carried. Some water and a meal in case things ran long, some bandages and a torch along with the means to light it.

For weaponry he took his mace of course, his sling and his "new" scutum on a leather strap, this one plain and without Legion markings. A hand full of sling stones in a pouch were all he bothered to scrounge up.

He felt naked in his tunic, but glad for some relief from the heat as he gathered with the others. Despite rumor and extrapolation, he imagined that he saw no better than most humans in the dark, although he had come to realize over the years that did did see more of everything given that their eyes were so far forward.

Without a word but with a few nods and reassuring pats he shuffled forward in line, waiting for his turn at the rope. He felt good, he felt ready, and he was glad things were finally moving forward after what had felt like a long day of discussion and debate.

He shot Giles a grin that could barely be seen in the wane light when he saw him in line.

With his mace resting in the ring on his belt, and tied with a simple knot that could be easily undone with a pull, he cinched up his bag and made sure his shield was snug against his back before he stepped up, and eased himself gently onto the rope for the climb down.

Giles nodded to Edenburg when he joined the group, glad to have a familiar face with them. "Glad you're with us Edenburg, we could use your skills to good effect. he said before making down the rope.

He was determined to get into place but maintain a stealthy enough approach to get into position well enough without causing undue attention.

"Alright everyone, we'll be taking it easy, keeping low and trying to avoid any drawing any undue attention. Scouts, I want you staggered, half stay signalling range, then another half into signalling range of them, and finally we'll have one wide scout who can still see the farthest rank of scouts. We'll relay messages as they're needed.

Everyone else, take time to be careful and stay unseen. As long as we're there before sun up we'll do well. This will also give our scouts ample time to see anything coming.


As they walked, Giles was constantly hushing the men, pointing out any sources of noise and indicating the noisiest to fix their problem, whether footing or equipment.



OOC:

He'll wear leather armours, and take his Chakram, and sword, he'll also have a bow/quiver on his back and a long knife in his boot.

Note: Giles requires little sleep.


Giles:  Modifiers for Stealth and Distance, rolls for stealth and perception.
Stealth: Slower than hike, but not a crawl. +2 stealth
Scouting: I'd say divide between +1/+2/wth 1 man +3, so on 'average' that might be a +1 or +2 bonus, probably the +2.


20:55, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 9 using 3d6.  Leadership.
20:54, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 12 using 3d6.  stealth.
20:54, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 9 using 3d6.  perception.
20:47, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 14 using 3d6.  HT-4.
20:46, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 11 using 3d6.  climbing.

// bad rolls for GIles.

Giles takes the moment to lay out his plan, being clear with his intent but giving enough latitude to the men so they could use their best judgement in the event of a situation.  And with that, the men begin to descend the rope, scouts first, followed by Giles and Magnus, then the others.

The task seems easy for the majority of the soldiers, Giles knew that there were some ropes hanging on a sort of strength course a short walk from the gate that many of the men used in the cooler months, though Giles himself had never used it, nor had much of any experience at climbing at all.  While the others simply flung their feet over the side, pressing their heels against the wall as the slowly walked down, Giles spent a good fifteen seconds merely hanging, his body pressed between the stone wall of the fort and the thick coil of rope as he wrapped around it with forearms, hands and legs, just trying to get his bearings in the inky black.  Slowly, painfully, he started slipping his way down, never really getting the hang of using his feet for anything other than kicking some space between himself and the stone wall when he got to feeling too claustrophobic.

Magnus fared little better, his single-toed hooves hardly made with the flexibility or traction needed to repel, in the end he simply let himself down the rope hand over hand, feeding the line between his lower thigh and calves to keep friction on it at all times as his body slowly spun around and hit the stone across his hands and sides.

Though it took near a half an hour to get everyone down and over the palisades, eventually everyone is ready and the scouts have pressed out ahead.

"showing us how it's done 'eh sir?"  Edenburg roils Giles as the platoon departs, though Giles hushes the man, not punitively, but rather to demonstrate the seriousness of their mission.

Giles sets an easy pace, thinking they will have plenty of time and wanting to prioritize their secrecy.  Though he has every intent of keeping a silent unit, he finds quickly that the task is near impossible with forty men around him.  The impenetrable darkness precludes any real details of what they are stepping on, so men often stumble or shift in their steps, their equipment sliding as they catch themselves.  Giles corrects one or two of them, though he quickly finds that he is as bad as any of the others, his quiver of arrows jostling and his feet rustling the dry plains grass no matter how carefully he steps.

Their route is slightly circuitous, for the walk to the Wazifis encampment was short and both Brashear and Giles agreed there would likely be enemy scouts or patrols in the separating distance.  They would try and mitigate that possibility as much as they could though they were sure to keep a tight leash on their bearings, keeping the black outline of the fort within their view as they transited through the saddles of the hilly plains.  Giles was thankful that the men were so familiar with this terrain... In truth, he could easily see himself getting lost in this darkness with nothing but the bleak outline of the hills to help him navigate.

[Language unknown: "Aveek.  Ven!  Itnt ck moat?  Hazeem?]   The voice sounds from over the next ridge before a strangled cry that dies into silence after a brief moment.

Giles throws his stealth to the wind for a moment, hastening to get a view of whatever has just happened.

"I think we're ok sir."  Sergeant Mills whispers several moments later as he kneels over the body of a dead Wazifi, three separate arrows sprouting from his chest from various directions.  "He didn't get off an alarm and I haven't heard any others moving either."

Though Giles would love to have some certainty, he sees little choice in the matter - the whole plan hinged on the initiating the attack at sunup.

---

It does not take the full two hours before sunup for the men to make it to their position, a small hill some hundred yards from the eastern enemy encampment.  In the distance, Giles can just make out the details of the watchfires flickering and the brown hues of their tents.

Several steps away, Magnus looks up at the thick layer of cloud, the plumes and ruffles just beginning to show contrast in dark greys and blacks.  "It's almost time."  The minotaur says simply, putting a hand down to pull the buckler shield off his back.

OOC:  It's 0440 on the 17th of July.  It's still completely overcast and the darkness is just barely starting to break.

Disclaimer: this will be my first time using the mass combat rules.  As always, I hope to make things completely transparent to you guys, but that being said, bear with me.  Giles, give me the general idea of what you are going to do and how close you want to get before you open fire.  The hill is about 100 yards, which is well within range of your bows.  You could however get closer to add effect to the attack (though also increase the risk to your men).  You could also decrease the risk to your men if you retreat slightly after the first few volleys of arrows.  Also, each of you please give me a modifier for Risk from -3 to +3.  The closer to -3 the less likely you are to get injured, the closer to +3 the more likely that you will do something that will significantly help the fight.  This won't entirely be done in mass combat turns, but will sort of be an overlay of the two modes of combat... We'll see how everything works.

Every man, or soldier, was forced to come to grips with the reality of what they were about to do. While no Legionary, Magnus had known his fair share of sell swords throughout his life, and had seen them turn to drink, or God, or any number of other things to try and numb themselves to the task at hand.

He had no wife or child to fret over, and while he worried about his parents waiting in vain for a son that would never return, it was a distant thing. No, "the run of the mill" maiming, infection, amputation, disfigurement, or capture was more than enough to occupy his mind as was.

But, the men were counting on him. He had drank, and told stories and laughed for days about smashing Wazifi's, bringing low ancient constructs and doing battle with the very dead themselves. He was big, strong, and on their side...they would be looking to him to back up his words...too smash into the enemy like a mailed fist into a face agape.

He could do that, but between the roiling anxiety there was another extreme...the possibility of that beast within looming up, it had happened before, and it both excited and terrified him.

One thing was certain, they were only going to get one chance at this, so they had better make it count.

Magnus will give +1 Risk to the cause.

Giles grew anxious, and then furious at the noise and clatter the troops were making and his hushes and snarls to be quiet became all the more vicious until he realised that there was nothing they could do, nothing he could do to avoid such things. They were just not stealthy men and neither was he. The emotion culminated into ice cold and surreal dismay when he heard the Wazifi speak, and he had a response on the top of his tongue "Quick, look at this" which seemed stupid in retrospect.

---

They got there in the end and Giles thanked whatever God may have looked down on them for a moment before the unease started creeping, the same unease everyone felt before battle. He noticed many of the men had gone quiet and were in their own inner battle with fear but he whispered to the group around him.

"Just before light, we move up onto that hill, and rain down death on them. We'll be gone before they can come back at us, and Brashear will hit them right in the back with a full troop of horse... All you have to do is shoot, and run when I say." he said reassuringly.

As like broke, he spoke softly. "Lets move, and aim true" he said, patting Magnus on the back as they set off. "We stay close, so I can watch your back friend" he said softly.

OOC:

The goal is to take the hill and hold the top of it for as long as possible, if stragglers come at the archers, we won't move, but if it seems that either horsemen or any coordinated force is coming our way, then Giles will signal the retreat.

Giles will stand at the front of the archers (presumably where magnus is also stood, and will be part of the group to cover any retreat, or deal with people coming to attack (should they be stragglers). Which ever risk rating that justifies +1 or +2.

In the thin, pre-dawn light, the scouts dig a shallow and narrow trench, knocking down and cutting away all of the grasses nearby.  The soil is packed down hard, and when the light is thick enough to start showing the details of the encampments below, Giles leads his men up onto the hill, testing the wind before the battle commences.

Each of the archers has two quivers.  One loaded with five, bulky arrows with fat, blunt tips.  Some sort of oil-soaked ball of peat and sinew that could burn and hold together long enough to strike a target a hundred yards away and set the thing ablaze, though it depended some on what the target was.  Giles had seen them ignite a mockup of a thatched roof in an instant and he few doubts that the wide, canvas tents would provide little more protection against the blaze.  Even if they missed, setting the plains around them ablaze would surely get their attention...

The other quiver was stuffed full of the normal sort of arrows, and the scouts had been tasked with taking boxes of replenishment ammunition, setting it out behind the archers in places that were easy enough to grab once they had depleted their own stock.

All in all, Giles had to say, his small band of fifty were ready for battle...  He just hoped the tide would quickly turn in their favor.

The heavy blanket of cloud saturates the air overhead, completely blotting out the sunrise, so Giles simply waits until there is enough light for his archers to see by before he gives the command.

One of the scouts lights the small ditch of oil which springs up into a thin line of yellow flame, sending winding rivulets of wispy black smoke skyward.

"Ready.  Aim.  Fire!"  Giles holds his sword forward and a ripple of arrows scream forward, sailing into invisibility in the low morning light.  Disappearing for several moments.  That is, until they hit the encampment below.

The last moments of quiet ebb gently away, a thin rustle of breeze pulls on Giles's back as he watches small trickles of yellow bead up in the distance like pinpricks before they slowly grow, one quickly widening and sending black tendrils skyward at the center of a massive canvas pavilion.

"Fire!"  Another volley of flaming darts is sent skyward and before it lands Giles can already start to make out shouts and screams of the Wazifis below.

"Fire!

Wave after wave of the flaming darts launches skyward, and after a minute or more the encampment below has descended into chaos.  Flames and smoke obscure the valley, though shouting and movement make plain the fact that the enemy is not yet fleeing.

"Aiiiieee!"  One of the soldiers screams a short step away from Giles, an arrow suddenly protruding from his chest.

[Language unknown: "Hama ekles leslarall ho!"]  A man shouts from a few dozen paces away, low and behind them on the hill before he too has a dart lodged in his upper thigh and has fallen to the grass, screaming.

The man is quickly dispatched by one of the scouts, his bow and arrows removed and added to the stock for the archers.  "Keep an eye out!"  Edenburg shouts as he looses another arrow down into the valley.  "There may be more of their watch near!  Keep an eye on the flanks!"

Minutes pass, and Giles continues the onslaught.  Once, a handful of soldiers make a charge at their position, though it seems ill organized and Giles holds position, cutting down most of the two dozen men before they make the hill, with only one making it close enough to engage Magnus, who quickly bashes the man's head into a crescent moon with the thick of his mace.

Down below however, the chaos seems to be stemming, and the Wazifis seem to have chosen to fight, rather than run.  Another group of men, this time likely just under a hundred charge forward, several horsemen in their ranks waving sabers over their heads.  Though the archers have ammunition to fight on, Giles is wary of defying Brashear's orders... though he does not like the thought of turning his back to cavalry...

OOC:  A successful tactics roll will reveal that fleeing from cavalry on foot is a general bad idea.  I'll let you pick your tactic again between three options:  1. Attack! (keep firing).  2.  Retreating Attack! (keep firing while trying to get out of there) 3.  Get out of here! (Let the cavalry take care of the Wazifi forces.  Again, each of you please make a risk modifier regardless of what strategy you choose.

The air was crisp with the chill of night and Giles, prepared for the battle felt a new glory in the floral scent of grass coupled with the oil pitch for the fire arrows. "DOn't you just love that smell in the morning?" he said empatically referring to their current aroma. (OOC: HAd to make the reference)

As the rain of fire began, Giles stood at the front of the column, sword ready in hand, next to Magnus and prepared to dispatch any forthcoming enthusiasts, it gave him plenty of time to witness the effect of their archers' barrage, and how quickly the camp had seemed to erupt into conflagration. Giles smiled.

Good work everyone, nice shooting! he praised.

It took a moment for The lieutenant to even realise a man had fallen beside him. Glancing at his soldier the reality of the death did not have enough power to affect Giles at all, caught up in the moment as he was. Perhaps there would be time to mourn their losses later, but now he just focused on the potential for enemy scouts Scouts, keep eyes and ears open for flanking or sniping attacks! he shouted into the amassed bowmen.

It didn't take long for men for men to start charging their source of threat, and Giles prepared himself, dropping into a bent legged fighting stance, and encouraging an overly-enthusiastic first strike, giving him clear openings to counter.

"<Deity> be fucked by pigs!" he shouted at them in Arabic as they approached, hoping to set up his perfect riposte.  ( The thrill of the moment, and battle surged in him when he landed his first strike and felt the familiar sensation of steel cutting through flesh and bone. It sang a note within him that flashed a thought into his mind of being precisely where he was meant tobe at that moment in time. He became lost in the moment and felt all the weariness of the previous weeks fall away as he mended the wounds in his spirit one cut at a time.

"Bloody hell Magnus! You took his head off! he said, having dispatched his own foe and turning to see Magnus cleave a Wazifi head with his mace.

It was then that he noted the amassing of a more organised force, probably double their number, with horse, intent on killing the archers. Not a great situation at the best of times, but they did have high ground advantage and Giles would use it.

"AIM FOR THE HORSES!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, gesturing to Magnus and Edenburg and others to pass the word. He would not flee while horses could route them.

OOC:

Giles is at the front of the mass of archers, I guess that's first risk here +2 He will also ensure that he is 'first in, last out and will leave nobody behind'. That might warrant a +3

I would choose "retreating attack", however as we currently have the high ground, a retreat would give the enemy the crest, and potentially obscure us from view of our supporting cavalry (meaning they wouldn't know we were in trouble).

So the goal, currently, is to aim all shots at the horses, to fell as many cavalry as possible, and then retreat.

Magnus stood and watched the proceedings through eyes narrowed by the approaching morning sun.

Here they were, out to kill each other. Likely dozens of sons of hundreds of worried parents would not see out the day, all that effort, all that love and affection, the joy or pride they had felt at having an able bodied child of their own...wasted. And for what? Pride? Some trinkets? Some lines on a map? The interpretation of an ancient book?

It saddened him, even as it angered him.

The young arab that he had killed did not even have time to recognize his own mortality, one moment he was the hero of his own story, the next the arcane powers thrumming through the mace had shattered his skull like a clay vase filled with blood and viscera. At least it had been quick.

"He should've stayed home!" He shouted back when Giles congratulated him, and then raised his shield and side stepped an arrow that was further from the mark than he had estimated.

When he saw the Calvary he felt that little shiver run through him. While the horses were in the smaller side they could literally run circles around the formation of archers, cutting down or lancing through the outliers. It would be ugly.

Few horses would run willingly into danger however, and so he resolved to look an menacing as possible with his horns bared and a bellowing roar in his throat.

Magnus will remain at +1 risk.

Bowstrings thrum as the arrows continue to rain down the battlefield.  Giles shrieks his commands, trying to rise above the din of battle, as Magnus and some of the scouts run down the line, repeating his direction.

The mass of Wazifi soldiers pushes forward... and even as they do, Giles can see in the distance the gates of the fort have been opened, and the mass of cavalry streaming out of the front.  At the bottom of the hill, the enemy pushes on, unaware or uncaring of the new front, their numbers swarming towards the next of archers that have raked their numbers so viciously.  Giles orders his men to give ground, shooting as the cede territory in a hinged maneuver, making their way towards the roughest and rockiest slope of the hill that will likely give the horses some trouble.

"Fall back!"  Giles roars, as Edenburg thrums another arrow, which buries itself deeply into the chest of one of the advancing horses, sending the rider hurtling forward and off his mount as his steed's forelegs crumple underneath of it and it falls on it's neck and shoulder.

"There's no time!"  And indeed, as Giles turns he finds two charging steeds only a few moments from taking the summit.

A stone's throw away, Magnus is directing the last of the men down the rocky face and his head turns at the shouting...  He sees Giles and Edenburg arguing rather than retreating... and Edenburg plucking another arrow from his quiver to place in his bowstring...

"Sir?!"  One of the archers shouts from beside Magnus, turning and kicking his heel and he begins to run back up the hill.

OOC:  Combat map below.  The oval lines are elevation lines, with each one being five yards of elevation gain.  Wazifis are on the left side.  The one hundred man unit has been significantly eaten away at by arrows, though there are still a significant number of them charging their way up the hill.  The horses have been thinned out to 2, who have just left the group and are running at speed to take the summit.  Normally you would be able to roll vs. Tactics to choose your place, but your +2/+3 risk modifier left you out as the lead man in the assault Giles.    Note that most of the fighters here are on a template, scouts or archers for the good guys, fighter or horseman for the bad guys.  The picture is mostly just a reminder to me of which template to use.

Declare what weapon you have in what hand and where your  other stuff is.  Please choose a defense.  You cannot retreat from the horsemen, but you can do a diving dodge if you wish.  Two seconds worth of action please.  Also, please note your fatigue level on your character sheets.  This is due to the sleep you did/didn't get and how tired you are after being up for 36 hours (if that is the case).


This message was last edited by the GM at 17:50, Fri 10 Apr 2020.

"We can't get away now! Fire! FIRE FIRE! he commanded, still instinctively stepping backwards up the hill towards the mass of their bodies.

It was no use turning from the remaining horses, they'd just be cut down and have lower numbers to deal with the foot. "Make stand! Kill the horses!" he shouted, moving his feet and shuffling to become in time with the horses' gallop, and drifting to the right side to be closer to Magnus, and force an engagement with a single horse rather than both.

Looking at the field, he lobbed his Chakram at the horse closest to him, hoping he could score a hit or at least throw the rider enough to give him opportunity to cut as it passed. Here it was, the final moment, Giles glanced back at his men, knowing they had made the best of their situation, and it now all rested on their skill with steel and bow. After the Chakram left his hand Giles roared his challenge  and pointed his blade to poise it for the next stroke, hoping that his sudden energy and ferocity would encourage the others.


OOC:

Okay.

Round 1:
 - Take a step diagonally back up the hill towards Magnus.
 - THrow Chakram at the closest horse. (aiming for any target, +1 for large horse/rider)
 - 15:05, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 12 using 3d6.  Chakram.

Round 2:
  - Strike random location horse/rider (+1)
 -----> 15:09, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 8 using 3d6.  Attack (14) (-2/-1 deceptive attack) (rand loc). hit

  - rolling dodge to avoid the strike (OOC: This is assuming that the horses have charged close enough that he'd have time to get back up before the infantry caught up)
 -----> 15:10, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 12 using 3d6.  Dodge +3.
Success, I believe


- Also, regarding fatigue, is there consideration taken that Giles only requires 4hrs sleep per night?


This message was last edited by the player at 15:11, Sun 05 Apr 2020.

Magnus trudged up the hill, significantly lighter than he would have been in his armor and equipment, but a larger specimen none the less. As he kicked up clods of earth, he stopped when he felt as much as heard the riders behind him, and turned to buy the archers time.

He heard Giles, and echoed his sentiments. "Kill the horses and run!" he encouraged the man, and then dug in his feet with his shield presented.

The two horsemen crash forward, their steeds churning the earth as they climb, their wide-bladed sabers flashing over their head as they shout encouragement to the men behind them.

Giles takes a sideways step behind Edenburg, keeping his eyes on the two foes, his finger flicking the jagged-edged disk that he had found in the harpy cave.  Giles flings the weapon as the horses approach, though he misses the mark, the chakram flying wide to the right.

Edenburg too attempts to get the first hit in, putting his arrow to the string and pulling backwards, releasing it as soon as the fletchings have touched his cheek.  Though he had not even a moment to aim, the bolt flies true, just wide of the horses chest, burying shaft deep into the rider's leg.

The man screams, though his saber is already cutting downwards in a swing!  Giles throws himself out of the way onto his chest, his sword barely gripped in his hand before he had to jump away.  Edenburg however, swivels his body masterfully, the rider compensating overmuch, his body leaning too far out to make the hit.  Unbalanced, the man careens past Edenburg and Giles, pulling at the reigns feverishly to reright himself in the saddle as his horse begins to turn.

The other rider charges low as well, this one just to the right of the others, his sword cutting a low arc that cuts a wide slash through the chest armor of one of the scouts, sending him falling down to his back, blood already churning from the wound.

Magnus takes a tentative step towards the top of the hill, his mace held ready in his hands and his shield propped up by his forearm, though the riders pass by out of range of his weapon.  Behind him, the closest archers scramble back up to the top of the hill, some of them without even an arrow left in their quiver.  "El tee's in trouble!"  One of the men shouts, pulling a small axe from his belt.

OOC:  To answer your question, yes Giles, there was consideration to your less sleep required advantage, however, you failed the roll so badly that you still took significant fatigue.  The real rules would penalize you the same after a missed sleep cycle regardless of how much sleep was required, but for me it's just easier to go for a roll rather than keep track of the time so precisely.

I had a little trouble interpreting each of your instructions this time around.  Giles, since you never declared what you had in what hand, I opted to put the chakram in your right hand so you could actually throw it on turn one.  Your roll missed due to the distance modifier, and then you drew your sword on turn two (you have neither ambidexterity nor fast draw so both holding it with your left hand and pulling it quickly weren't realistic options).  Your roll of dodge+3, per my post had to be diving (you can't retreat from an attack who is passing at 12 hexes per second).  There is no "rolling" dodge unless you are already laying down.  You are currently prone, with your chest in the hex shown and your sword in your right hand.

Magnus, you said you wanted to take a step towards the fort, which would be northwest.  The rest of the archers had been retreating down the NNE side of the hill due to the rougher and steeper terrain (harder for the horses to follow).  I had you take a step southwest, towards the fight, which is the same direction everyone else is going.  The two horsemen are facing south or southeast and are turning their mounts as the mounted troops are approaching from the bottom left.

1 is the injured scout who is supine and stunned.  2 is the injured horseman who has an arrow protruding from his right leg and is off balance.

Another two turns of action please.

"Shoot the cavalry! he repeated as he stood back into position and re-readied his sword. He then took a moment to glance around and grab his fallen comrade dragging him as best he could with one arm towards Magnus and the others ( OOC: Essentially towards Magnus and the main body), while grabbing the man next to him. "Let's go here!". He then turned to face the oncoming force of infantry, ready to defend any attack at all costs.

OOC: Full turn to run to magnus, with the guy next to hime
then full turn all out defence (double)

That's fair, I had assumed the following:
 - He had the chakram in his off-hand as he'd indicated in earlier post (and even due to his fighting so far) that his sword was held in the main hand. But it's not an issue really, he can draw it next time.

 - The rolling dive, essentially just meant 'diving dodge'. He was attempting to roll, so that next turn he could standback up too.

 - Re: Fatigue, fair enough!


EDITED: do not leave the man behind

Sorry for the confusion Magnus!
This message was last edited by the player at 11:50, Sat 11 Apr 2020.

Magnus immediately stepped in to help once he realized that Giles was going to attempt to rescue the wounded man. He let his mace dangle from it's tether as he too lent a large hand, and taking up the opposite should he pulled with all he had in order to try and get the isolated man out of the path of the circling Calvary and the pursuing infantry.

OOC: Edited
This message was last edited by the player at 21:33, Sat 11 Apr 2020.

Still concerned about the horsemen, Giles shouts out his commands as he scrabbles back up to his knees with his sword in hand.  Though he initially intends to remove his fallen comrade, he finds that the charging infantry are far too close for him to turn his back!

Magnus, seeing Giles's intent, charges towards the fallen man even as the closest rider is in a turn to double back.  Increasing his speed, his hooves cleaving up giant clumps of the uneven terrain, his heart thumping wildly in his chest.  Though as Magnus comes near the man, his shoulders thrust forward, his hand reaching out to grip about the man's collar, he wonders if the effort is too late.

The close horseman rears up on hind legs before the fore-hooves come crashing down, landing solidly on the scout's leather armor.  Magnus can clearly hear the cracking of ribs, and the blood from the laceration smears all across the man's chest as the man's eyes balloon, his body rigid in shock.  The small and wiry horse whinnies heatedly as it repositions its hooves back onto solid ground.  With effort, Magnus begins to heave the man backward.  Beside him, one of the archers runs full tilt at the horseman, swiping his hatchet in an unbalanced and ineffective attack.

[Language unknown: "Set ic onshatwas!"]  The horseman shrieks at the top of his lungs.

A spear lances towards Giles, though luckily the blow is wide, and he manages to sway to the side of it as he twists his way back to his feet.  The Wazifi soldier in front of him is clad in leathers, his chest heaving with massive breaths as he slows his pace to start the battle.  His face is red and lathered with sweat from his climb, though his eyes are hardened with determination.  The others charge forward too, and beside him, Edenburg dodges his own spear as he pulls his axe from his belt and slashes wildly at the approaching column, hitting nothing but air.

OOC:  Giles, you put a lot of action in your post that would take you well over the two seconds.  So I cropped it down to what I think your intent was:  Turn 1, move to kneeling, turn 2, move to standing.  You have your sword ready in your right hand.  1 has sustained another serious wound to the chest, though he still appears to be conscious (but unresponsive).  Magnus has let his mace drop to its strap and has grappled the man's collar from a crouch.  You still have your shield ready in your left hand.  You can move backwards, dragging him at a rate of 1 hex per turn.  2 (still injured with an arrow in his leg) is in the process of turning his horse and is facing the northwest.  Note that 3 is Edenburg, who has a readied axe.  The Wazifi Troops are all equipped with spears in a one handed grip and shields in their off hands while the horsemen have a sabre in one hand and the reigns in the other.

2 more seconds worth of action.

Giles saw the oncoming spearman and instinctively cast a glance behind him so he could see where the rest of his allies were. Giles wouldn't leave Edenburg, they'd been through a lot together and so he pressed the attack, stepping directly forward while swinging his sword to parry the spear, to get on the inside, before swinging his sword (OOC: Am I correct in thinking +3 parry for retreating, +2 for sidestepping into a side hex, and +1 for moving towards (i.e. slipping))?

"I'm with you Edenburg!" he called out to let the man know he was at his side, while swinging the sword down on the Wazifi infront, in quick succession.



OOC: Oops, sorry, I forgot that getting to feet was 2 turns.

1) IF i'm 1 hex away, that means good sword range but bad spear range right? 1 vs 2 range? Giles will 'stay' at range 1, he's trying to stay inside the spear, but will stay at optimal range for his sword, without risking getting shield bashed.

Action 1:
 - Range 1
 - Chop at the spear
 - Any reactionary parry

Action 2:
  - Stay range 1
  - swing broadsword (random location) at the man
  - any reactionary parry (retreating)

Rolls:
22:08, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 12 using 3d6.  random location.
22:08, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 9 using 3d6.  attack 2.
22:08, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 13 using 3d6.  parry 2.
22:08, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 6 using 3d6.  attack 1.
22:08, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 10 using 3d6.  parry 1

This message was last edited by the player at 21:08, Mon 13 Apr 2020.

Magnus had never actually gored anybody. Thankfully it was not something that had ever come up, but the horns on his head were not just for show. If his teenage antics around the campfire with his father were any indication, their skulls were pretty thick. But in all the scraps he had ever been in he had only used them once, on a skeleton of all things, which had not turned out very well.

The truth was he was more than a little scared of damaging the things. He took a certain amount of pride in them, that they were clean, unmarred, and symmetrical. Taking a blow to them, or chipping them had been a concern of his for some time, but as he watched the horse trample the young legionary before him, all that sort of went out the window.

A "bum rush" is about as simple a move as there is. Even drunken brawlers could pull it off three sheets to the wind. You put your head down to protect your face and eyes, and you charge. But when Magnus did it, he had about a foot of sharp horn sticking out the front and the few inches of bone that it was anchored in to back it up.

The horse was a big, soft target. And while he might be exposing himself to the rider a bit, he was just about done with getting chased around in circles by the nimble little steeds.

He bellowed, and he charged, and he hope to God that he hit more than air or a sword to the top of his head.

Giles braces as the full weight of the spear troops reach the summit, their shields are brandished forward as their weapons slash, thrusting at Giles as he swipes his sword to swat one away while sidestepping another thrust.  He cuts out with his own weapon, trying to damage the man's spear, though the man takes the sword off the rim of his shield, swatting the blow aside without harm.

Edenburg too neatly dodges away from the savage thrusts, his own blow likewise taken across the face of one of the shields.

Twang!

An arrow flies from behind, lodging a horse's lower leg, sending the animal tumbling forward, the lame-legged rider caught in the stirrup as he tumbles forward, caught beneath the horse as it crashes to the ground!

Gripping the fallen man by the collar, Magnus feels him go limp in his hand, his eyes slipping closed.  The second horseman now right in front of him, swinging a saber high at his shoulder, Magnus knows there is no good way to pull him back without dealing with the enemy at hand.  Putting his shield high, and batting the saber away, Magnus thrusts forwards and up with his legs, tilting his head upwards to tear at the supple flesh around the horses abdomen...

Though Magnus had always known the horns were a natural weapon of his people, he had always hesitated to use them.  Some fear perhaps of damaging himself, or worse, losing himself in their simple savagery.  He had never really seen them used to effect, that is anyway, until this very moment.

His head slightly turned, one of Magnus's horns rends upwards into the soft flesh of the horse's belly, tearing at the skin as Magnus drives his legs and head farther.  The horse shrieks, rearing up on hind legs in panic and pulling Magnus up to a full stand as blood pours down down his face and neck, matting the fur around his ears and tricking down the top of his muzzle like thick, red tears.

Magnus can feel the pressure building up behind his eyes, the thin red film of adrenalin rage coloring his vision, surging for release.  In his back ribs, he feels the pinch of a spear slicking across his side and tearing at his skin...  Undoubtedly one of the spearmen looking for an easy shot.  Magnus grips his mace tighter, his pulse throbbing in his fst, fighting to stay in control.

The horse, still high on back legs, topples over backwards, the rider shoving himself off at the last moment and landing in a roll a few feet behind.  The horse crashes down to the side, shockingly missing both of the men now sprawled across the ground.  Another of the archers swats his axe at the fallen rider, thought he man rolls, barely missing the attack and scrambles to a single knee, his saber still in hand.

"How about a fucking hand!"  Edenburg shouts at the top of his lungs, swatting his axe ineffectively off the face of another shield even as he leaps back, a spear narrowly missing the meat of his chest.  But even as he dodges one, another one of the savage weapons strikes true right in the meat of his thigh!  Edenburg screams and crashes to the ground, flat on his back and exposed to attack!  Another of the scouts charges ahead, his attack too smashed off the face of a shield, though the front is still outmanned and ill equipped for the pitched fight!  Giles leaps back to evade an attack of his own, though he misses parrying another off his sword, taking the tip of the spear off the edge of his rips, barely scraping the skin and brining forth a sting of pain!

OOC:  A lot happened those two turns - the first scout (the one injured that Magnus had grabbed) has passed out and is no longer in the fight.  Wazifi troops 1/2 are attacking Edenburg, with 3/4 attacking Giles, and 5 having taken a potshot at Magnus from behind.  6 is dismounted and on hands and knees at the moment.  Both horses have fallen, and though they aren't likely to intentionally attack, they are panicked and thrashing about.  Edenburg (7) is supine and horribly exposed to another attack.  As a note, some of the archers are still loading/aiming arrows and others have been impeded by the terrain.  I'm not intentionally keeping the fight against you guys.

2 more turns of action

For a moment everything was chaos. Horses shrieking, men shouting, arrows, hooves and bodies flying. Somewhere amid it all he realized the blood was dripping in a trickle from his horn, and he felt his vision start to close in from the sides, his gut burned and his teeth chattered...but no, no he had to keep it together.

If he ran head first into a spear wall, there would be little chance that he would live longer than the next few minutes.

"Giles!" Magnus bellowed as he retrieved his mace from the tether, and side stepped opposite of the soldier that now stood between them. His tactic was obvious, a miniature version of their long awaited cavalry charge. Magnus would flank, and between the two of them, they might stand some chance. They could not fight on two fronts after all.

OOC: Round 1: Retrieve Mace, Sidestep "West"
     Round 2: If he is willing, work with Giles to flank the soldier between them.
            - If he is now willing, attack with mace at any available target.
     Preferred Defense: Block

Giles was now feeling the effects of tireness, and his arm felt a little stiff. Pressed on all sides and really the only way he could win now was if the archers started landing true. Even though his own force outnumbered the enemy, Giles was right in the thick of it and he felt it viscerally as the adrenaline surged.

"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!" he screamed at the man to his left, trying to draw attention while swiping at the man with his sword, he felt that an opening for Magnus might help turn the tide of battle, as the big Minotaur was on the flank of the footmen, it seemed the most logical thing to do.

He didn't turn his back though, facing all the men infront directly and having screamed to draw their attention from Edenburg. "Death to <God>" he roared again, hoping to anger them well enough to make himself the focus of their efforts, and spare Edenburg a sharp point. Oh he missed his shield but he kept chopping anyway.

OOC:
     Round1: Attack "5" (deceptive -2/-1)
     Shout curse

     Round 2: Attack "3" (deceptive -2/-1)
     Preferred Def: Parry

Rolls:
11:19, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 7 using 3d6.  intimidation. // for the warcry


11:18, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 9 using 3d6.  Attack (14) (-2/-1 deceptive attack) (rand loc).
11:18, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 14 using 3d6.  Attack (14) (-2/-1 deceptive attack) (rand loc).
This message was last edited by the player at 10:20, Sun 19 Apr 2020.

It can be said that the Wazifis are a prideful race.  Where Megalans can often sling insults pell mell and expect little more than a good natured brawl, Wazifis instead take an attack of words much the same as that of a deadly weapon.  To defame their god was the surest way to gain all of their furious attention.  Perhaps Giles was ignorant of this point as he threatened the Wazifi diety... or perhaps it was exactly what he was counting on.

Regardless of his taunt, the two spearmen at the far end of the line, too far from Giles to avenge the insult, continue their attack on Edenburg.  The corporal rolls feverishly away, one of the spears missing just shy of his body though another plunges deeply into his side as he rolls!  Edenburg screams, though he manages to put some ground between himself and the fight, and another of the archers leaps over his tumbling form to take his place in the fray!

Thunk!  An arrow suddenly appears in a shield of one of Edenburg's attackers, causing the man to stagger back in surprise!

Meanwhile, on the other side of the fray, Magnus grabs at his mace, readying the weapon as he sidesteps to his left, keeping the spearman on the edge of the line between himself and Giles.  Having to pick between the two, the spearman seems unable to decide, trailing his shield in his left hand back towards Giles while he brandishes his spear with his right, thrusting it out towards Magnus!  The strike is bad though, and Magnus easily knocks the weapon away with his shield.

Zip!  Magnus stares as an arrow materializes in the man's arm, buried through and penetrating out the back side of the man's bicep!  The man shrieks as he drops his spear, and Giles slashes his sword to take advantage of the distraction, slashing a neat tear about the man's left side.  Magnus too, heaves his mace at the disarmed opponent, though his mace crashes hard into the man's shield as the fighter staggers backwards in pain!

But Giles's attention, focused on the far end of the line, neglects his right flank...  [Language unknown: "Ive Ofmath!"]  A fighter shrieks as his spear is thrust forward with wanton rage, burying the lance deep into the back of Giles's shoulder!  Giles's eyes bulge with pain as he stumbles forward, his breath caught in his throat as he feels his back and armor swell with blood!

Ahead of Magnus, spears and axes trade ferocious blows.  Somewhere at the end of the line, another of the Wazifis drops with a shriek.

Madness!

OOC:  Giles's taunt seemed to work a little too well.  He has taken a life threatening injury to the torso and is in danger of passing out at any moment.  Giles, roll vs. HT twice, once labeled Stun and another labeled Conscious.  If you make both rolls, you can act normally next turn, although you are at 1/2 move and dodge and have a -4 shock penalty to any non-defense roll.  If you fail the first, you are stunned and fall backwards, losing your grip on your sword, but are still in the fight.  If you fail the second (or the first by more than 5) you fall unconscious and are out of it.  I thought briefly about about not adding a map this time around, because there is no way either of you would be able to process all the information in the combat as it is, though in the end I decided against it, as it's just too hard to make an informed decision without some sort of geography to base it on.  Magnus at least can see that 1 has fallen over.  5 has a crippled right arm and is obviously feeling the effects of his injuries.  The other three ahead of you seem to still be in some sort of fighting form.  Edenburg (7) has been seriously wounded and has come to a stop a few feet behind the line of combat.

Just one round this time.


This message was last edited by the GM at 17:37, Mon 20 Apr 2020.

What was that? Surely he couldn't have been hit, then he felt it, the surge of pain and then the free flowing of his essential self. "Oh damn..." was on the tip of his tongue, but never quite came out. Giles felt the spear go in, and then felt momentarily confused at the warm and fuzzy feeling he could feel flowing into his full body. It was odd, and kind of comforting before he felt his vision narrow. The sides closed in and in almost three heartbeats the world had disappeared and he went into darkness.




OOC:

Oh well,
18:48, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 16 using 3d6.  HT 2 (Consciousness).
18:48, Today: Giles 'J'naeth' Hind rolled 15 using 3d6.  HT 1 (knockback/stun).

Pretty damn terrible rolls.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:53, Mon 20 Apr 2020.

Magnus, with his big eyes mounted more sideways on his broad skull than forwards, caught more of the viscous melee than some of his neighbors. Men hacked at men, they stumbled, they fell, they screamed. Some were a mask of rage, others of fear, and it was almost as if he could smell a faint but horrid charnal house odor of urine, blood and sweat.

Magnus focused on his breath, in, and out, in and out. If he exhausted himself early he would be unable to do most of anything, and he had heard more than one soldier say that strength won duels, but stamina won battles. Magnus was beginning to understand some of the wisdom in that.

All at once his enemy had been wounded, his spear had fallen, Giles had been impaled.

Where's the cavalry? he found himself wondering.

But it was a brief and transient thought. The mace rebounded hard off the Wazifi shield and Magnus sought to take advantage of the distraction by stomping on the soldiers foot. In the chaos he missed by a few inches and swung again to alternate high and low attacks in an effort to keep the enemy off balance.

Reeling from the blow, Giles stumbles forward, his foot pedaling forward to catch his balance, though it never lands properly and the soldier trips, unconscious before his body collapses to the earth, unmoving.

The lines clash, archers heaving their small hatchets as the spearman swat the blows away with their shield, and stab forward with their longer weapons.  At the end of the line, one of the archers steps forward, hacking down at the last disabled spearman in the line, hacking through armor and driving a fountain of blood into the air.

Magnus slams his foot down, trying to disable or distract his foe, though without looking, his hoof falls short.  The man swats his shield forward, his weapon still lying useless on the grass below him, though Magnus meets the blow with his own shield, knocking them together like rams butting heads.  Trying to redirect his blow higher, Magnus swings his mace high, this time managing a glancing blow across the man's shoulder, causing a pained grunt and sending the man spinning backwards in reaction.  The man flails to regain his balance, though the effort seems to fail him, and he falls.  The man's shield arm is sprawled out, leaving his body exposed, his eyes fluttering backwards in his head.

Just ahead, one of the spearmen thrusts out, jabbing the fallen Giles in the leg even as he falls back a step.  The last of the archers leaps over the fallen lieutenant his hatchet smacking off the face of the spearman's shield.

[Language unknown:  "Eeneautio!"]  One of the Wazifi's shrieks out from across Magnus's right shoulder, his voice wrought with emotion.

OOC:  I ended up doing two rounds that time, since Giles ended up failing his consciousness roll on the first turn and Magnus gave me two seconds.  Map is posted below.  1 and 5 are unconscious, as is Giles.  13 seems to be taking extended injuries and is likely very close to failing.  The other archers seem to be mostly holding up though.

Magnus was a grunt, at best, and has has been mentioned before was not even a trained Soldier. He was big, and strong, and had his own set of experiences and skills to bring to the table, but military matters were not among them.

But even he possessed the "low cunning" to recognize that if the enemy had to fight on both sides, it was that much easier to get at them

Instinctively, if not completely intentionally, he rounded the right flank of the tiny Wazifi formation and went to work with his mace, pressing down the line as he swung hard at anything that presented itself. He was still quite aware of his own safety, naked and exposed as he was, but he had definitely gone on the offensive in an effort to rescue Giles and the others.

Or to at the very least, buy them time.

More now than ever was his hard won experience now in display. Months of conditioning, and facing the constant dangers of the jungle, ruins and enemy fortifications had sharpened him, and he felt confident even as he was faced with the greater numbers of the enemy.

They could do this, it was not over yet, and the cavalry was coming.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:22, Wed 22 Apr 2020.

Shouting continues on both sides, most of it entirely unintelligible as axes and spears continue to slash and fly in all directions.  A scream staggers the Wazifi at the end of the line, his spear dropping to the ground before he is consumed by the two archers attacking him.

Magnus steps forward, swinging his mace with an enormous heave that catches his new foe completely unawares, crashing through his hip with a thunderous crack! The man's leg buckles as he screams out, though he somehow manages to keep his feet.  In the end it matters little, for Magnus is already swinging again, not even repositioning his mace but instead redirecting his momentum in a backhand swing that shatters the man's spine!  The man drops to the ground, utterly dead.

The last Wazifi in the line throws down his spear, shouting at the top of his lungs as his hands rise in the air... But Magnus's blood is pounding in his ears, his pulse hammering in his hand as he squeezes his mace ever tighter.   He had never really been one to forgive those who had initiated combat with him.

OOC:  No need in a combat map this time.  Roll vs. Bloodlust-2 to accept surrender (as you can't really understand what he's saying, and he still has his shield in hand).  The fight is well and truly won though.  If you fail the bloodlust roll, just roll vs. damage and assume you hit, the last man standing isn't really trying to defend himself.  After your battle rage is sated (role play as appropriate), give me your intentions for the next minute or two.

Men had been swinging sticks at each other from the dawn of time. Long before the secrets of metallurgy had been deciphered, and the first lumps of bog iron had been found in fire pits. Before meteoric iron had been pried from craters and fashioned into jewelry, the stone and the stick ruled the day. It fed men, protected them, and slew them in numbers uncounted.

The miracles of bronze, iron, and carbon gave way to steel. The spear and the sword, and eventually to armor to protect against them. Only then did the humble stick regain prominence, improved, weighed, an old friend refashioned and reintroduced in order to bypass armor and pulp the softer flesh, the brittle bone beneath. The humble mace, omnidirectional and nigh unbreakable was simply the latest in a long and grisly tradition.

Why the elves had fashioned this one, and against what foe was a mystery lost to the ages. Dwarves, Orcs or Men, it had undoubtedly seen violence of every stripe over its remarkably long existence. The blood of the Wazifi but a layer upon a layer, yet another shade of red to stain the unknown metal.

A Wazifi conscript, a Minotaur mercenary and an Elvish mace, all with stories in their own right met for one terrible instant in a retelling of a tale as old as time. Territory, greed, pride, honor, glory, fear and rage.

It would be impossible to remark on everything that drove Magnus onward towards the hapless man, who was no doubt far from home, afraid, having lost friends and wishing to return to his loved ones.

Magnus's concern for the fallen Giles Hind, his other friends and acquaintance's at the fort. Anger at having to risk his life yet again, a quivering fear of death, dismemberment and capture given the chance of physical release. All of these stoked his ire.

The terrible acknowledgement that this man did not get to live through this. He did not get to provoke this trouble, to cause such harm and to survive. There was a cost for such belligerence, and it would be paid in blood.

As the life went out of the eyes of the man before him, his spine shattered, his mind given over to oblivion , Magnus saw the other soldier surrender, he had thrown down his weapon, cried for mercy and raised his hands.

But those big dark eyes, those bared teeth and blood stained horns gave no hint of mercy. One step, then two, and the head of the mace fell squarely on the top of the man's skull.

The eyes blew out of their sockets and blood erupted from his nose and ears as the skull caved in, obliterated by the brute strength and magical energies unleased into it.

If there was any mercy, it was that it was quick.

Magnus did not realize that he was crying, the corners of his eyes dark with tears. He did not realize that he had been wounded, or that the last throws of the battle were playing out in violent spasms all around him.

He started to regain awareness when his foot started hurting. He had tweaked his ankle stomping on the man's rib cage again and again, the fragile little bones crackling and buckling under each heavy blow. He was very tired, and thirsty, and hot.

He stood there, chest heaving, mouth hung open when he remembered that Giles had gone down in the melee. In a frantic hurry Magnus hurdled the dead and dying and rushed to the fallen man to see if there was anything to be done.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:44, Thu 23 Apr 2020.

Reality seems to fade in and out, like a thick fog drifting through Magnus's mind.  One moment, he was still in the fight, his foe threatening death - the next he was standing over a man who had been long dead...  His hoof sore from repeated stomping of the Wazifi man below him who was long dead with a frothing, red pool of blood surging from within his mouth, his eyes fixed on the heavens.

It takes a moment for Magnus to realize exactly where he is.  He turns and finds some of the archers caring for the wounded, though the closest ones are staring at him, pale and open-mouthed.  "Glad you're on our side."  One of the men says, still staring.

It does not seem to be meant strictly in kindness.

Magnus drifts his attention down the hill as the sounds of far off steel on steel reach his ears.  The site is something of a wasteland.  Fragments of canvas tents smolder in the breeze, sending threads of black char skyward.

Far off, Magnus can see the pell-mell flight of men on foot, hurtling toward the river.  In the ruins of the camp, several dozen men on horses, the cavalry that Magnus had been waiting for, fight the remainder of the force, clashing with those too stubborn or too stupid to flee.  It seemed that their plan had worked.  Brashear's strategy, modified slightly with Giles's suggestions had routed the enemy and won the day.

It was the thought of Giles that brought Magnus back to the present.

His head jerks back to the scene on the hill, finding the soldier quickly and rushing to his side, his first aid kit already half out of his satchel as he drops the ancient mace to the earth of the hill.  One of the archers is already there, cutting away his armor at the worst of his injuries, a brutal gash that has pierced through the back of his shoulder blade and likely through the backside of the ribs.  Blood wells up from the wound along with tiny bubbles, a nefarious sign that this wound is well past Magnus's ability to mend.  He attempts anyway, putting a thick layer of bandage on the wound before wrapping it tightly as he watches Giles's pale and motionless face.

OOC:  Magnus, roll vs. First Aid to stop the bleeding, you do get the +2 to your roll for the first aid kit.  If you wish to take the full 30 minutes to treat the wound you can roll for the normal, TL/3 hit recovery as well (1d6-4 I think, but that's from memory).  If you can think of any other options, you are welcome to take them, but Giles is in bad shape.

Magnus was no expert, but he had seen all sorts of wounds from all sorts of implements, and from the color of the blood, to the volume, to Giles ashen features he knew it was bad. It was entirely possible that it was already too late, but he moved frantically none the less. It was not over until it was over.

He had one potion, one precious vial that Finn had not gulped down to hurry along their looting and plundering. He had been saving it for an emergency, and damned if this did not qualify. If there was any sign of a heartbeat, the clear liquid could be dripped in gradually and potentially massaged down his throat.

After that Magnus took a folded up bandage and mashed it into the wound with one palm, the linen soaking up the blood like a sponge instantly until the thing was just a wad of red mush in the span of a few seconds. He just kept piling more linen strips, and he kept pressing, having to alternate hands at times as they got tired or numb.

Rarely he would glance up and around, both for in own safety in the case some wounded Wazifi decided to go out in a last gasp at glory or vengeance, and also for any signs of help. Magnus did not feel that he could move Giles safely, so they were more or less stuck where they were.

He pressed, and hoped, and silently prayed that the elixir would work its magic, and that Giles could pull through such a grievous injury.

"Stay with me Giles, come on man...don't do this..." he pleaded as he looked around again and leaned in to check his breathing.

2:48, Today: Magnus rolled 5 using 1d6.  Poiton of minor healing for Giles.

09:05, Today: Magnus rolled 12 using 3d6.  First Aid +2 (14).

Magnus works slowly, unstoppering his potion and dripping the faintest trickle of the healing liquid into Giles's mouth, cautious not to make him choke before he goes about treating the wound.  Every so often, he tips another bit of the clear liquid into a corner of Giles's mouth, ever thankful that he had maintained the foresight to keep the potion regardless of his own resistance to its magic.  Little by little, Magnus thinks he can hear Giles's breathing ease.  The bleeding stops.  Though Magnus is still fearful that his efforts have not been enough.

---

Many hours later, Magnus stands in the remains of the Wazifi camp.  The threatening clouds from earlier in the morning had finally made good on their promise and sent downward a tumultuous rain, pierced by crackles of thunder.  Around him, the smoldering ruins of the war tents and been doused with the rain and the field of this morning's battle was quickly turning into a muddy bog in the highly trafficked areas where the grasses had been worn away by the repeated steps of men and horses.

Once the injured had been retrieved, the decision had been made to send a scouting mission into the camp to try and glean whatever post-battle intelligence still remained.
 Magnus had agreed to come mostly because he could feel the rumors of his battle rage spreading all about the fort.

Standing next to Magnus was Lieutenant Hetrick, his mission to rescue Lieutenant Kalid having come to an amazing complete success.  Amazingly, Hetrick's party had suffered only a few minor injuries from a scuffle as they pulled the prisoners free from their captivity.  Though he was wearing a bandage (a shallow gash across his ribs), he was one of the lucky few officer to escape the battle without lasting injury.  Giles had been, and perhaps still was, a hair's breath from death.  He had yet to regain consciousness, though Magnus was happy to see that he had suffered the trip back to the fort on the makeshift stretcher well enough.  Brashear too, had taken serious injury during the fight and had fallen from his horse as he had led the charge into the center of the enemy, though he was now at least awake.  Broskow too, seemed to have suffered some pains, which seemed less clear as to their origin, though he at least was able to recuperate in his own room.  Added to that Lieutenant Kalid, who was half starved upon his return, and Hetrick was really the only officer left in fighting shape.

Still, the fight had gone off remarkably well.  All told, only thirty or so men had taken serious injury.  Though it was nothing to sniff at, at nearly a quarter of their own force, it was perhaps a third of the Wazifi dead and injured that had been unable to retreat with the others.  It was an amazing feat given that they had assaulted a force that had numbered somewhere over three hundred soldiers.

"These were no soldiers."  Hetrick seems to have read Magnus's mind, standing up with a scrap of torched canvas that he turns over in his hands.  "Their camps are disorganized, their position was exposed, few horses and archers...  They didn't even dig a single defensive fortification."  Hetrick sighs and shakes his head.  "Brashear was right, these men were duped into thinking they could win a quick moral victory, forcing us to quit over a few baubles that they must have known we didn't have.  They were thinking they could win without a fight or else that they would provoke the rest of the nation to follow them to war...  I only hope we've averted that possibility for now."

Hetrick continues forward through the camp, pushing southward to towards the river and looking in each direction at the remnants of sleeping rolls and supplies that lay strewn about.  The soaked earth groans and buckles underneath their feet and hooves as thin wash carries the muddy water downhill just bedside them.

"I wonder what they told them to make them think it was worth it?"  Hetrick wonders aloud.

OOC:  It is about 1400 on the 17th of July.  Giles still lives, though it is still touch and go and he is unconscious as of yet.  The battle was an overwhelming success, despite the significant injury of a number of the ranking officers.

It had been a day that Magnus would remember in various shades of clarity for the rest of his days. The low dark clouds, the distant flashes of lightning, the rumble of thunder and the patter of rain. Broken shapes of men lie strewn about, the carrion birds already circling and calling to one another, some curled up to shield themselves in their last moment from the pain and fear, others stretched out as they tried to crawl away from the madness or play dead.

The earthy smell of rain commingled with the acrid smoke and the faint accents of horse manure, raw iron and blood.

He could feel the stares on his back, and could see the rumors spreading in the periphery. The cautious half glances and the occasional open glare. There were rules even in war, you could kill a man, you could stab him between the shoulder blades or smash the light from his eyes, but you did not murder surrendering boys, and you did not desecrate the dead. That was a path to often trod by those who had seen too much, endured too much, and now counted themselves among an infamous few.

Magnus found himself trying to remember how many men he had killed now, and he proved too tired to get an accurate figure. That fact alone made him feel more like a monster than ever. He had tried so hard for so many years, to speak like they did, to walk like they did, and now he had thrown so much of it away with a lapse of control and a few seconds of catharsis.

Had he been doing this too long already? What else could he do?

The news was joyful and somber in the same stroke. They had won a great victory, but the men that led it had paid dearly. The cost of real leadership, some of the best of them the first to meet an enemy that was eager, full of vigor and filled with dreams of glory and promotion at having felled a Megalan officer.

"I imagine it was different for each of 'em" Magnus responded to Hetrick. "Pay, fear, hate...hell, like you said, their just levies. Some were probably out tilling a field just a few days ago." he heaved a sigh. "Hopefully we killed enough to them to make them think twice next time. Don't come north, it's just not worth it..." he paraphrased as he lumbered through the mud and churned grass.

"Guess you're in charge now then?" he asked.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:50, Tue 28 Apr 2020.

Hetrick and Magnus keep walking, the former with his eyes scouring the remnants of the camp, not sure what he is looking for.  All around them, those soldiers still fit enough to work were assisting the injured or moving the dead, not to mention searching through and displacing what remained of the soaked and burned enemy camp.  Still, the only sure way to find nothing was not to look in the first place.

"Yeah."  Hetrick answers simply as Magnus reframes many of the same things that the lieutenant had said only moments ago.

But as Magnus asks if Hetrick is in charge, the other laughs good-naturedly.  "No, we've managed to keep the Captain to his bed for the past few hours, but if I know him, it won't last long.  He's well enough to call the shots anyway.  If there's anyone who's in charge of keeping things normal until he's back on his feet, that'd be the First Sergeant - we're all probably all better for it, he's got more experience than the lot of us.  I'll keep people from working too long out today... It's been too long already... but that authority will only stretch so far."

The two walk past the edge of the camp, climbing the last short rise before making their way to the river.  "What about you?  Still heading back to Raphael the first chance you get?  Seems like things aren't getting any easier around here."

Before Magnus can answer, the two crest the hill, and have a full view of the riverbank below, where a thirty foot machine of war is in a state of half-construction.  Strewn about the bank are four more long tree trunks, with various bits of woodworking tools half sunk in the well trodden mud.

"Shit."  Hetrick exhales.  "I suppose that changes things."


Picture for reference.  The artillery piece is not fully constructed, nor is there anyone standing around it.

OOC:  I relocated Giles's post into the netherworlds until I can put it in his new thread and I made a small edit to your previous post.   You are probably right, that the common soldiers would be looting the bodies for everything they could get, though it would be against Brashear's direction and Hetrick certainly wouldn't have allowed it right in front of him.  I just didn't want to you to walk away with the impression that looting was condoned.

Magnus stared up at the partially constructed machine of war with his hands on his hips. H e has never seen anything quite like it, although he had heard of such things in stories of course. It was entirely different to see one in person, and the thought of being hemmed up inside the fort while this thing hurled stones and God knew what else at them was a grim one.

It seemed that the Captain had made the right call.

"Well damn." he began to walk closer to have a better look. "That could have been ugly. Well, uglier than it was already." he added in a lower tone. Many men were dead and more than a few would probably not live out the night. Others might carry their wounds for the rest of their lives.

As they closed the distance through the mud Magnus looked over at the question of what he was going to do. "I'm gonna try to track down a good armor smith I think" he stated without having to give it much thought. It might have been a mundane errand to most soldiers, but even fairly simple tasks required special effort for the inhuman mercenary. "I've been meaning to pick up a helmet for a few years now, but I've had trouble finding a smith that will do the custom work." he reached up and rapped one horn with a knuckle, and was mildly surprised that he found it sticky with drying blood.

"It's that or a wagon...gettin' kind of tired of always sleeping on the ground so a covered wagon has always kind of been a dream of mine. Something I can lock up when I'm away." he glanced over at the Lieutenant. "I don't suppose you can recommend anybody, a smith I mean?"

Hetrick stares up at the monstrous construction of wood along with Magnus, the hundreds of possibilities and alternate endings plaguing his thoughts.  After several moments, he simply shakes his head and glances over at Magnus.  "No, can't say I have much experience with any smiths.  The quartermaster's made a few adjustments for me here, though I don't imagine he's what you're looking for..."

Hetrick tips his head back in thought for a moment.  "Come to think of it, I think it was Dorian that raved about a place called Angel Armory...  in Raphael maybe?  Supposedly they make the best stuff available and it's all custom work.  Pricey, but they'd have the skills to do anything you'd need from them."

Hetrick lets the silence mull on for a moment before he starts again.  "I need to report this.  I imagine we're going to have to take it down before anyone comes back looking for it.  Chalk that up to one more thing we'll need to do today.  Shall we?"

OOC:  Thanks for the patience Magnus.  This concludes the thread and you can feel free to write up a post to close things up.  You have heard of Angel Armory, though it is not in a part of town you frequent.  From here, I assume you accompany Rudyard back to Raphael and try and get your helmet made - shoot me a private if you are looking for something different.  Both Magnus and Giles can expect CP rewards in a later private.

Magnus had experienced a lot of long days in his life, but "that day we broke the Wazifi siege" would prove to be one of the longer ones, and one that stuck with him.

The thing that he would probably remember most was the senselessness of it all. War over land, or food, or faith, that he at least understood to a point. War over some posturing, a "little war" in which dozens of men had died or been seriously wounded fought over what had amounted to pride, or a disagreement. That was what stuck with him, the fragility of life, and the ease in which it could all be thrown away. Most people in Megalos would never even hear about it, but it had happened, and Magnus had been there.

After he had caught his second wind Magnus managed to stay busy until the early evening, and which point he collapsed into bed and slept again. It was the next day, after a good meal and some catching up, including a check on Giles, that plans had to be made.

He was bound for Raphael, with Rudyard, in order to try to get his armor commission accepted. He had not specifically asked for pay from Brashear, but he had asked for a letter of reference. There was a good chance that he might get turned away at the door of the Angel Armory, but between his guild coin and a letter from a Major in the Imperial Army he figured he might have a shot. That and a pile of coin.

Magnus hated cities, and he hated crowds, but it was not the first time that necessity dictated that he had to deal with them for a time in order to handle his business. From there? It was hard to say. Probably more guild work, but he was intent on tackling one problem at a time.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:40, Sat 09 May 2020.