100 replies to this topic

[Furetchen]

As you walk through the camp, you notice that Chisford has not been idle as temporary commander. Other soldiers are hustling around the camp, armed and armoured. He was quick to bash enough heads to be considered the unquestioned leader of the ragged pack of deserters. Ragged enough to almost seem like brigands... you pray that some men might see sense enough to note the difference.

It's unlikely, though. Even if you never ran at all, you may as well be a deserter, as it's doubtful the prowling hunters looking for bounties would care as to your stories. And the Ryslanders have direct orders to take down either.

As you duck under the roof of the burnt-out inn Chisford has taken for headquarters, you are surprised to see that many, many others have joined you. By the time Chisford finally nods in satisfaction and the doors are slammed shut by the guards outside, you number a full fifteen. The room is beginning to get very cramped.

Chisford merely slouches, leaning heavily against the wall. He is a heavily-built man in his late thirties, looking older. He wears a faded blue cloak over half-plate, but has discarded all signs of specifically Castrian affiliation. His lazy eye, greying hair and slight limp give him an aged, weary look, but you've seen his swordsmanship up close as he was... asserting his command. The man is not to be underestimated.

"Finally, you're here. Good." He eyes the ragged group derisively. "Gods save us all, you're the only ones both skilled and inherently disposable enough to serve my goals... if a little more disposable than skilled. Still, they say that if you throw enough mud at a wall... anyway. I have two goals I need accomplished. If they are not accomplished, we will likely die here."

He shoves past a couple of you to make his way to the table that sits in the centre of the room, and unrolls a massive map. He weights one corner down with a dirk and holds the other down with a gloved hand, while jabbing at the paper with his other. "There!" he said, triumphantly pointing at an area of hills a few days march to the east. "If I listened through the old general's commands right, Lord Randel and his army of six thousand fresh soldiers should be camped there. If we could send a group there... well, it's doubtful a supposed 'deserter' would run back to join his army, now, and Randel's said to be both leniant and desperate for more manpower. Still, I doubt our excuse would appease the wandering hunters. That brings me on to the next point.

"Roving bands of hunters and Ryslander patrols surround us from all sides, and we NEED supplies, however you can get your hands on them. Easiest way," he says, sliding his finger up to a small city, "would be to just go to here, the city of Caril. Given their crushing victory here, it's doubtful security will be that high in the city itself, but the patrols will be tricky to overcome. In any event, we're painting over shields for those who would go on the supply run, and they'd be best served forgoing surcoats entirely. Still, you all reek of Castria, except for you mercenaries. Best to let them do the talking.

"Those seeking reinforcements have the easier time of it, but I want you to seperate into two squads of your own choosing. Report back to me within three hours, ready to move out. Any questions?"

[Rothene]

Edgar rubbed his hands to ward off the chilly early morning air as he watched others start crowding the makeshift headquarters. At least this place will get warmer, grumbled the young Castrian in his mind.

Pulling his dirty green cloak tighter to keep his own body heat to himself with one hand, Edgar kept a tighter grip onto his trusty crossbow with his free hand as others started pushing him about to make space for themselves. Not that he minded too much with his skinny frame, for he had managed to develop a slight knack for fitting through tight spaces when he received some training to deftly move through woodlands without disturbing too many branches.

The Castrian scout stood quietly still as the captain started talking about his plans, listening half heartedly as he reflected upon how himself had ended up here...

Edited by Rothene, 20 December 2011 - 11:07 AM.

[Shin]

The Captain had finished but Diray wasn't particularly fond of his plan. One slip up and they'd have a whole city against them. However, he didn't like the idea of fending off a hoard of bandits... which as an archer would be impossible. He couldn't see many other Petrachans. There was another archer, and what seemed to be two pickpockets - but they would probably be less suspicious than the Castrians. He'd make note of them for later.

Diray stepped forward, he'd do his best to make the plan suit him.

"Captain, may I suggest that we form smaller groups, to avoid rousing suspicion? If we group like with like, and forgo larger arms and shields, we may be able to pass off as civilians."

Edited by Dokutayuu, 20 December 2011 - 07:19 AM.

[Defeatist Elitist]

The heavily armored man near Chisford steps forward.

"I agree with the middleman. It would be best if we were to stick to our own kind," says Alfred, "But I won't stoop to vandalizing my own armor unless I have no other choice. I propose the Castrians seek out Lord Randel, while the... others deal with the supplies."

Edited by Defeatist Elitist, 20 December 2011 - 09:34 AM.

[Rapier]

Rine stays silent for a while until he heard what both men got to say. It was wiser to listen enough and then answer, a virtue he learned on the time he stood in the camp and developped after he deserted the army. "I don't see why we are going to split. There's no way to sneak through them as we are, do we even look like civilians at all? Our clothes are torn and ragged."

He took a pause before continuing with a calmer tone. "If we are going to attack the city, then why not attack it head on with all the troops? If no one survives then there'll be no testimonies, of course. And even if there are, they'll know about us after we attack that other Lord in his camp, so it's pointless.".

[Defeatist Elitist]

"You lot look enough like peasants to me," replies Alfred, "I doubt anyone else will be able to tell the difference. As for the group sent to meet Randel, I was under the impression that we wouldn't be attacking him at all."

[Rothene]

Edgar had to struggle hard to suppress his gasps as soon as he heard one of the deserters comment about attacking the city. Last he counted, there were around fifteen of them, pitiful numbers to take on even a village in his opinion, much less a better structured area with patrols. Then a rather handsome Castrian corrected that man's observation. Which thankfully appeared along the lines of them not attacking the city.

Forcing himself to try to recall what had the captain talked about during his moments of absent mindedness with the scraps off words he subconsciously remembered. A feat that was nearly impossible, had he not practiced it often during the musings of those apothecaries he studied in vain with not too many months ago, if one only factored the gain in his knowledge of herb lore. Closing his eyes, the young Castrian tried to reenact in his mind the words he barely heard. He managed to presume something along the lines of reinforcing some Castrian army and getting supplies from enemy territory.

Hopefully, this time they find me being the only scout in the room valuable enough to not send too deep into dangerous territory, thought Edgar gloomily, recalling too well his comrades being shot down as they ran from a botched attempt to flank the enemy. There were no recognisable faces among the people here he could remember seeing among the scouting division.

Edited by Rothene, 20 December 2011 - 11:58 AM.

[Furetchen]

"The lordling has the right of it," snaps Chisford. "We've not the men nor the desire to strike down one of our precious few allies. To attack ANYTHING. THINK, man!"

He stalks to the other end of the table, shoving aside Kerrard as he walks. "Both groups will like as not face resistance. 'Though you make a point, more would be better for evading a single, fatal fight. The choice lies with you."

[Defeatist Elitist]

"I have neither the ability or will to speak for the others here, but I will go seek Lord Randel with whoever is willing," says Alfred, "If there are those interested in securing our supplies then there is no loss there, however if there is no one willing to do so, then I am certain that, once we meet with Randel's forces we will find a solution. If all else fails, six thousand men are probably capable of taking the town outright, as opposed to simply infiltrating it."

[Furetchen]

"I'll stand with those moving to meet Randel," says Kerrard. "If you'll have me, at the least." Truth be told, the thought of a dangerous and probably undermanned supply run did not tempt him overmuch. If he was going to die, he'd rather die forgiven and forgotten by his nation of birth.

[Hikarasuman]

"As you have said, Chisford, we who are not from Castria would be best suited for getting supplies, however, I cannot help but assume that there will be plenty of sneaking on that route. I wouldn't be too sure that I wouldn't be a liability on that front". says Valencia "Additionally, what Alfred says is correct, and even if no one wishes to get supplies, if we can successfully convince Randel obtaining supplies may become much easier. Finally, I will say that if necessary I will be the first to reconsider which option I choose."

[CT075]

Delves, standing largely unseen (those with sharp eyes had noticed him, silent, but they had just assumed that the man was antisocial - they were partially right) in the shadows by the tents, didn't care much for the division of groups. As far as he knew, the split would end up with both groups at each others throats in days regardless; there was no sense in being picky with his allies. With the way everything had been going for the past few years, any group of people would eventually turn on itself given long enough.

Even so. He slipped over to the group that was leaving for supplies. Delves had no delusions about his own physical strength; his success so far in battle was entirely due to his... less than noble talents.

[Nightmare]

Another heavily armoured man steps forward, his golden locks hanging out from under his helmet. He begins speaking in a slightly muffled voice.

"Sneaking about and stealing supplies is a task much too lowly for one of my standing and beauty. I will, therefore, accompany the group that will go to Lord Randal," he says.

[Ether]

"So, is this the path we are given to restore our honour? Well, I s'pose it's better than nothin'." Leonhard spoke up, his voice booming from his titanic frame. Moving to stand fully upright, Leonhard walked up the center aisle of the decrepit building, towards Captain Chrisford.

"If we wish to secure our place among the Lord Randel's ranks, it would be best for the mightiest of us to take upon the task of seeing him, so we may have him look upon is with awed favour at the strength we display! What good would it do to show him cowards unfit for battle?" Leonhard announced with fervor, drawing his steel greatsword and brandishing it proudly, careful not to strike anyone or anything with the blade.

"Besides, what good would it do us if our party fell along the way to a hopeful gang of headhunters!? The strong shall lead the strong, so that we may stand proud in front of Lord Randel, and make our case with greater passion than the man has ever seen with his mortal eyes! That is what it means to be a fighter! To show your honour and pride at all costs, and bedazzle both friend and foe with your unshakable determination! How could he take such a passionate display as that of a deserter, I ask you?" Leonhard addressed the gathered group, a spectacularly boisterous guffaw escaping his mouth as he sheathed his blade.

"So then, who wishes to join me in seeking out this Lord Randel!?"

[Nightmare]

"Spare me your trite speeches, little man," Chrysanthum said, holding his right hand over the right side of his face, as if not wanting to see Leonhard, "I am already disgusted enough in this hovel, and my beautiful armour, ruined as such. And do you know how many days it has been since I bathed proper? I feel as a pig...a beautiful one, but a pig nonetheless. I do not need anything to make this experience even worse, so stay your tongue."

He let out an exasperated sigh as he finished.

[Defeatist Elitist]

Alfred turns to look at Chrysanthum, grinning slightly.

"Disgusted by the filth the peasants live in?" says Alfred, "I suppose I can't blame you, it's horrific."

[Ether]

"Armour is meant not to be held as a thing of beauty. It is meant to be worn proudly in battle. Every dent, every scratch, every shear is a badge of honour, a badge of pride." Leonhard replied with a disdainful look towards the likely nobleman.

"If you care more for your beauty for your life, and the lives of those around you, and hold no pride in your sword, then what better are you to us than a housewife? Go on, if you are so magnificently beautiful as you claim, perhaps you can find a Lord to purchase you and treat you as a doll. In this day and age it's the only way you'll get pampered as you feel you deserve." Leonhard nearly spat as he spoke, returning Chrysanthum's look of disgust with his own.

"If you are feeling too ill of us supposed pigs, perhaps it would be best if you scampered off to gather supplies. We need not an honourless fancy boy to dampen our chances of merging with Lord Randel. Who knows, you may even find a sleazy merchant willing t part with goods for a favour from someone 'beautiful'."

[Furetchen]

"'Filth', then?" Kerrard turns to Chisford and to the bear-like mercenary. They seemed sympathetic enough, or apathetic enough. "Sir, I would leave with these men for Lord Randel. Nobles are decent enough in the killing grounds, but they'd need a professional soldier of my standing to get so far as the foothills."

[Shin]

The knights were hilarious, clutching onto what little honour they had left. A knight who left was a deserter, a mercenary who left merely ended his contract early. Begging from a lord wasn't exactly something he'd like doing - especially if it went hairy. In the city, he could at least ditch the rest of them and hide out for a while. Diray brought himself to the centre of attention once again;

"My talents would be best used for the supply operation. In fact, I'd be very happy to do the talking, as long as I have adequate support. A thief or two wouldn't go amiss either, it's much easier to get what we need without having to worry about the added price tag."

If all went well, they could gather what they needed. Diray could even pick up something for himself, just enough to keep him going.

[Blasied]

Varon, who had just finished burning all traces of Castria off his items, agreed to go on the supply run. He didn't say it but he thought that a fiery distraction might be helpful in diverting attention away from the group. That and he had no desire to be anywhere near the noisy knights and their arguments about honour and social standing.

Edited by Blasied, 20 December 2011 - 05:02 PM.