tomboys and troublemakers: a wfrp 2e game

[LarsWester]

Grimgoth looks over the blacksmith's stock surprised to find a set of dwarven sleeved mail shirts and leggings These appear of fair craftsmanship I will purchase them for a fair price. The dwarf states to the merchant.

[bramblefoot]

the dwarf looks at grimgoth "its normally 130 gold crowns, but for you, i shall let it go for 110" to siobhan. "that seax is a good blade. i forged her meself. call it 2 gold crowns, and we're square"

[wilphe]

And you sir have yourself a deal, there someone in town you can use for shield painting or you do that in house?

[bramblefoot]

"call it 4s and we got a deal" the dwarf murmurs to wighard in a louder voice he says "what did you want painted on the shield?"

[wilphe]

[bramblefoot]

the party, along with its sizable escort of people, rolls up at the mine. it looks to be the same, but you have a nagging feeling that somethings not right.

Spoiler: wighard:

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do you feel the winds of magic? and are you keeping an eye on siobhan?

Spoiler: sir bertelis

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what are your commands to the peasantry? whatever they are gimme a flat command roll

Spoiler: grimgoth and emil

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something feels wrong. you can hear a deep rumbling in your heads, like a stampede of oxen or cattle. wdyd?

[wilphe]

Wighard keeps Siobhan close by during the march, at times instructing her on various basic medical stuff, mostly hygiene and the like, but not so much she'll get bored or overwhelmed

On arrival at the mine site, he doesn't like the feeling he gets and cautiously checks the winds out, very aware of what happened the last time he tried that

Spoiler: OOC

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(1d100)[32] Magical Sense 57

[MrAbdiel]

Bertelis looks over the assembled crowd. Most of them were town militia - men (and a handful of women) who devoted some portion of their week to training with simple weapons to defend their town from the odd beastman attack, or to run down a goblin snatcher party. They brought their leathers, and their longspears, and their crossbows, and made up a motley but serviceable group of fighters. Along side them were a little over two score volunteers who had not served a day in the militia in their lives. Too young, or too old, to contribute directly to frontline combat; but frightened enough by their kinsmen lost in the mine, and hardened by Emil's admittedly rousing recruitment, to commit themselves to a deadly effort against a deadly foe. Of their group, the Bretonnian was the only one who had commanded men before: a peasant throng in Parravon, against goblin cattle-raiders whom he and his brothers had agreed to see scattered. That effort had gone very well. But those Parravonian peasants had lost only cattle. These townspeople had lost many men - husbands, brothers, sons - in the dark of the mine before anyone had even known something was wrong.

He fought the instinct to consider those losses his own fault, as if his sense of chivalry should afford him supernatural prescience; and after taking some time to commit his sniffling, fevered self to prayer to the Lady for her guidance, he had permitted that needless guild to transmogrify inside of him into a conviction that they should lose as few of these folk to the predators below as possible.

"Most of you have trained to fight. Some of you have even fought before, against a foe who desired to take your life. And a handful of you have the heroism of your old battles written in scars upon you. But you have been summoned to draw up from the well of your hearts another pail of heroism, whether that well has never been tested, or has been drained near to dry." Pacing, longsword out dramatically to gesture back and forth across the line as he goes, the young knight continues. "Some of you may object to my demand that we spend this late hour, and more tomorrow, drilling for the combat to come. For this, you must forgive me; but your town has paid its blood-price, and I desire that you should not add to it with your own. So tonight we practise in the day, for soon you will be fighting likewise in the dark; and with the blessing of the gods, we will all emerge to see the sun again."

Spoiler: OOC Assumptions

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I'm making the assumption that half the town militia is about 50 men, plus the 35 townies and 7 veterans. Let me know if that's off.

Bertelis' tactics are simple. As they ought to be - the simpler they were, the harder they were to break and the easier they are to execute. He takes the milita, and has them line up shortest to tallest, then numbers them off, one-two, one-two, into two units he calls pegasi. Each pegasus is a unit with three ranks of six, and two 'wings' of three men each that wrap to the sides of the ranks. The first rank - the shortest men, and a couple of dwarves - are permitted their short swords and knives on their belts, but Bertelis demands they leave them sheathed. This first rank is the shield rank, and they will need one arm for their shield, and the other arm free to brace that shield against their larger foes, or to steady the man beside them from falling and being trampled, or being pulled away from the line.

The second rank, those of middling height, are the spear rank. Bertelis gives directs them to take up longspears, and practise a shuffling march with the shield rank; shields forward, spears forward, with two feet of their length protruding past the gaps in the shields of the rank ahead. They practise low, underhand thrusts to strike at the enemy's gut, groin and legs. "Your enemy," he explains, demonstrating a set position, an impaling thrust, and a withdrawal to the set position, "is taller than you. Your impulse will be to spear upward towards face and head, and face, and heart. But that is where his big clumsy arms are flapping about; and should those arms knock the spear from your hands, you may find yourself disarmed. Trust instead that the man infront of you is catching those arms on his shield; and while he does, you are spiking this into the creature's vitals. It is a harmony, you see? A creature hazarded to the lower regions finds it hard to commit his fullness to a blow; and a creature pulling his blows will not break the shields protecting you. Do you see?"

The third rank, the tallest men, is the crossbow rank. Bertelis does not like the weapons - the mechanized bow seems to trouble some part of him - but any man can crank and fire a crossbow, and needs none of the training that a yeoman does. Crank, nock, point, fire. A few years ago, he would have called it a coward's weapon. Now... he will consider its nature, when the time is less pressing. Taller soldiers means they will have an easier time firing over the heads of the ranks infront of them, whose tasks require them to hunker somewhat anyway. Their job is the most simple - fire into the enemy while the shields and spears keep them at bay. In addition to these ranks are the wings, men with shields and hatchets for a looser, more dynamic role in the unit. When the wings are 'folded', they are protecting the side of the ranks from enemies who lap around the sides. When they are 'flared', the three men on each side line up with the shield rank, doubling the width of the shield wall for moments when the tunnel becomes wide and prevents the exposure of the unit to being surrounded. When 'flexed', the wings move out to pressure the flanks of an enemy that is being held at the shield wall, boxing them in and threatening them from multiple vectors, and systematically executing the dying foes on the ground as they sweep. Six in the shield rank, six in the spear, six in the crossbow, and two wings of three for six on the sides, with a unit 'caller' at the back calling the command for the crossbows to reload, and the warning to the ranks ahead that they are about to fire.

The town volunteers, he also finds work for. The old, the especially young, and the female (at least those who do not wildly object) are given the duties further from the fight; the haler and more fighting age are given more dangerous duties. There are three men with lamps on long poles behind each unit, directed to hold them high as they move forward. "You, yourself, will find it very hard to see, because the lamp will be infront of you. But the men in the ranks will be able to see the enemy coming because of you, because the light comes from behind them. Therefor do not falter, bright and loud as it shall be; for all those beyond depend on your light." In addition, each unit is accompanied by a team of two of the zippiest lads available to carry torches. When the caller gives the command "ignite!", the crossbow rank knows to step back, nock a bolt with an oil-soaked scrap of rag behind its head, and wait for the igniter to go down the line lighting them all up. Others are given tasks to wander many paces behind the fighting force pushing hand carts of their crossbow bolts, so runners can take them to replenish the quivers of the crossbow ranks while they continue to fight. And any of the civilians with any talent of training treating wounds are directed to Wighard.

"Wighard is a surgeon of some skill. He, and his party of helpers, will be behind the line of conflict at all times; and if you are wounded, as you fall, remember to thank Shallayah that you have been injured in the presence of such a skilled man as this, ah? These others - Emil, and Gimgroth - will be floating with the wings of the formation, shedding off to serve where they must; as will I. The caller will call volleys; I will call movement, and the wings."

The veterans are spoken to more directly, after the drilling; and given the task of being ready to rush in and fulfil any of these rolls should disaster strike. It is their job to steel the spine of the unit if they begin taking casualties despite this very defensive plan; and to do so while some of the civilians fish the injured men from the fighting ground and drag them back to Wighard's crew. With the volunteers and militia divided into two roughly equal portions, they can rotate one unit out while the other rests, depending on how pressed things are; or use one unit of each to block two tunnels, if they should become necessary. But in Bertelis' limited experience, small units were the winners in tunnel fights; better two small ones, than one big, confused blob clogging up the mine and stepping on each other.

"It is a fine and valorous thing you do, sons of Sigmar. Your fathers, like my father, marched north not so long ago to confront the hordes of the Norscan enemy; and they did so with courage because they knew they were making safe your country for living. This is a smaller effort than theirs; but of the same noble kind. May the gods march before us!"

He dismisses the men for the night, shakes the hands of the callers and veterans, and when they have all cleared out, sags down to the ground and holds his head in his hands. His head felt full of ache, and muck, and he inducted a fruitless coughing fit hoping to disgorge some critical load of the recalcitrant phlegm. But sick or not, here was duty; and it would not wait much longer.

* * * * *

Spoiler: ROLLS!

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Rolling command, I guess, for the general drilling of the unit and to gain their confidence as a leader.

Vs47 - (1d100)[87]
Vs47Fatepoint - (1d100)[10]

When they arrive at the minesite, as the prepare to enact the first stage of their plan and secure the entrances, Bertelis feels the uneasiness of the moment, orders the militia to stand ready... and he himself, trusting the eyes of all the others to watch out, kneels to pray.

Spoiler: Pray!

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Praying for the Lady's Boon - in this case, for "Stout Heart" to gain +20% to resist fear. If we aren't immediately ambushed and he gets a minute to pray, that'll kick in. Otherwise, he'll just have to pray more later!

[LarsWester]

Grimgoth kept silent and stern looking over the assembled people as Bertellis did his best rallying and strategizing. The formations he developed were very defensive but Grimgoth wondered if the mine would allow for 8 abreast at any point. Debating if he should bring his concerns to the knight the dwarf decided to keep them to himself lest he sap any confidence the knight or the rabble might possess. Good speech Sir Bertillis he muttered clapping the sagged knight on the shoulder. Tomorrow we'll see how much they took it to mind and heart.

The next morning as they approached the mouth of the cave Grimgoth sensed a deep rumbling in his head reminding him of a rock slide but this feeling was internal and he was pretty sure there was no audible outpouring from the mine. This was trouble.

BRACE YOURSELVES! he shouts followed by a softer Something is happening.

[bramblefoot]

Spoiler: wighard

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you sense the hysh being pushed away as dhar takes its place. its coming quickly, like a grim wind through the leaves, like a beastman stalking a townie. siobhan senses it too

Spoiler: sir bertelis

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the peasants and militia take orders surprisingly well. there is limited complaining at first, but they seem to handle drilling well. of course, how well they handle under battle conditions is up to sigmar himself

Spoiler: grimgoth and emil

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gimme flat perception checks please

if someone will toss a d100 to see how well engagement goes when you enter the mine

[wilphe]

Wighard discreetly talks to Sir Bertelis, We should perhaps form square and quickly. Something bad is coming

[MrAbdiel]

Prayer interrupted, Bertelis's eyes snap open. He glances to Wighard, trying in a moment to discern the different between a bad feeling and a genuine premonition in his clearly fate-touched friend, but errs on the side of caution.

"Unit one! Make ready! Wings folded! Facing the trees! Unit two! Form up facing the mine, here! Wings folded! Volunteers, here, between the rear ranks!" The forming units would have made a square with two weapon facings and all sides shielded. But the space between them, in which forty less armed, more vulnerable civilians, leave a gap at either side. Fortunately, they had the floating resources to handle that.

"Lambert! Kruger! Eigen! Mertz! Emil! Gimgroth! Hold that gap on the east-facing flank! Alden! Albrecht! Schubert! Lang! Wighard! You're with me on, the west. Hold the square until we know what we're dealing with." Allocating four of each of the veterans and two of each of the companions to plug those side gaps, the box is closed with the vulnerable elements - Siobhan included - inside. Silently, Bertelis prays they aren't going to encounter an enemy with the cunning to flank and maneuver. With one night of drilling, the group had only time to become passingly familiar with a very simple formation; and definately couldn't pivot, or wheel. But if the enemy was concentrated on one side once the battle began, then it would be easy enough to dissolve one unit to lap around to support the actually pressed one. The fear and thrill of it reminds Bertelis how much he still has to learn about tactics - he has more confidence commanding small units of individual fighters, but his medium and large unit tactics require tutelage - and perhaps the reading of some Myrmidian treatises.

That is.. if they survive the day.

[-Sentinel-]

Spoiler

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gimme flat perception checks please

Versus 63: (d100)[64] -

"Lambert! Kruger! Eigen! Mertz! Emil! Gimgroth! Hold that gap on the east-facing flank!"

Emil chafed a bit at following orders from a noble, but clearly Bertelis was the most experienced among them when it came to the art of war. He held up his sword and shield in what he hoped was a suitable defensive position and prepared to receive the enemy attack.

[wilphe]

Siobhan stay with the horses Wighard instructs as he takes up a position on the Brettonnian's right

[bramblefoot]

there is the metallic sound of a horn from the mine and horrific slavering monstrosities run out ready to feast upon villager flesh.

sir bertelis, im gonna need a command roll at -10 to keep the villagers under control. assuming you succeed, does anyone have a good source for mass battle rules?

[MrAbdiel]

“Steady… Steady! Brace!”

Adapting as best he can to an open field engagement instead of a controlled tunnel battle, Bertelis holds position and waits for the creatures to close before a volley of bolts are fired and the desperate melee life or death struggle begins.

Spoiler: Ahhh! Combat!

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Since we’re abstracting this combat, I’m assuming I should roll once as if the unit is a sort of weapon, rather than make my own personal two attacks.

(1d100)[47]
Fate (1d100)[7]

Target number is actually 46 because of the omicron penalty Bertelis has; so he’ll need that fortune point to make it a winner. Down to 1!

[bramblefoot]

the monstrosities take heavy casualties before managing to enter melee range. two men in the shield wall perish, and nine others are wounded. no monsters who came out make it back to the mine.

[wilphe]

Wighard steps back as the battle starts to be won, being fully disengaged by the time the last enemy falls and assessing who needs help right now, who can wait and who is beyond help.

The latter sadly includes one of the two fatalities who was bleeding out through their shoulder and he cannot save, he points a bloodstained finger at two of the volunteers, You two, get me a fire please

He looks around, less than 10 or so wounded, mostly bruises and scratches, nothing immediately life threatening. Striding over to one of the front liners who is collapsed clutching his left arm to his body.

Siobhan on me please he throws his shield face downwards and uses it as a place to keep his instruments whilst he works

He cuts away the cloth and detaches what remains of the man's shattered shield

Ok that's good no blood. I think you took one hell of a hit to break your shield and maybe dislocate your shoulder. I'm going to check, but I warn you this will hurt, bite on this

Siobhan, strap

Alright I am going to pop it back in, this will really hurt for a moment but then it will be ok

Ok, later on someone will fix you up with a sling and you will have a lot of bruises but you'll be fine

He moves onto the next and the sound of his voice continues as he works on the wounded

Yes, the bone is broken, but its pretty clean. You should be fine

How many fingers am I holding up?

You'll be fine, scalp wounds bleed and they look nasty and feel scary but at worst you will have an odd looking haircut for a bit

Well that's a nasty cut, let's get that cleaned out and stitched up. Now you want me to try for a cosmetic job or you'd like a nice scar to impress the ladies?

[MrAbdiel]

There is a Bretonnian military axiom that suggests a battle is very rarely won by the most wise strategy, but lost by the most foolish strategy. Bertelis doesn't know this saying, yet; he won't know it for some time, until he reads Chant d'Acier, by the celebrated crusader Sir Gilles du Lancre. But when he does, he will remember this moment with some bitter-sweet sensation.

Then numbers were more even than they would have liked. And if anything had faltered, things would have gone catastrophically wrong very quickly. If the shield ranks had panicked as the brutes hammered away on them, individuals with no capacity to respond directly. If the crossbow ranks had fired outside of their volleys and caught their allies in the back, causing alarm and fracture of the box. If the troll-things had been led by a creature with any capacity for tactics, who might have sensed the weakness on the sides of the formation. If he himself had taken a blow that rendered him unable to continue howling out his commands - small, mostly holding commands which Sir Gilles du Lancre describes as le rythme cardiaque of small unit tactics -, or if any of ten other things had happened, the shieldwall would have broken, and the monsters would be inside their lines, and a hurricane of screams and blood would be the elegy of everyone involved. But none of those things happened; and the lines held, and the troll-things threw themselves at the spears and shields until there were too few to surround them. And when the call for the second unit lap around came, suddenly they were overwhelming their enemies; and when the few remaining creatures finally broke, the men of the empire had enough breath and steel in them left to run them down. At some point in a violent fog of blurred recollection, he had mounted Abelhard to ride down a straggler as it shambled toward the mine; and that disconnected memory left him regaining his senses, standing over the creature, hacking wildly at its still body with his longsword frozen in his grip. Chest heaving with exertion, he makes his way back to the militia.

One silver haired man whose name, Bertelis thinks, was Heinrich; one young man, whose name he hadn't learned at all. Two dead. Half a score injured. And Wighard and Siobhan, along with the handful of town volunteers prepared for the purpose, looking after the wounded. Some folks crying over the dead; some catching their breath. With flagging tones of presumption in his hoarsened voice, he addresses his allies.

"Wighard", he says as he passes the scholar-surgeon, "I need you to - ..." But the command is redundant; the medical effort is already underway, and the knight withdraws his request with a shake of his head, daring not slow down his procedures. "Gimgroth: can you take the our eight veterans - they are all standing, it seems - and go through the field splitting heads from necks? We must brook no surprises from these creatures who may be less dead than they appear. We will burn the bodies all in the evening, but for now..." He trails off; realizing he is rambling past the point of the distilled intent the dwarf needs to act upon. "Emil -" he begins finally, looking over the agitator with whom he has vociferously clashed; but those moments are distant noise now, drowned in the immediate awfulness of the violence and the adrenal thrill of their near miraculous victory. He gives the man an open, imploring look; a loose bid for his assistance, directed perhaps where the knight's gaze next wanders - to a group of the distressed and overwhelmed volunteers, who ought to be establishing camp and gathering wood for the palisades, but are shocked and idle from the startling brush of Morr's wings. Then he moves to his horses, dropping his shield and sword as he goes, reaching up to brush lazilly at Rainier and Abelhard's manes with shaking hands; and finally, with an audible thump, he tilts backwards on his heels and collapses on his back, eyes closing, hands numbly fumbling to pull back his coif.

"J'ai juste besoin d'une minute...", he wheezes in delirious repetition; "J'ai juste besoin d'une minute."

Spoiler: Anyone who cares to check on him...

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...will discover he's fine; just temporarily near to blacking out from fighting like a demon with bronchial pneumonia. He's bumped and bruised, but with a few minutes of rest, he'll be back on his feet.

[LarsWester]

It was all over rather quickly considering the number of the creatures that poured forth from the mine. Grimgoth stubbooornly had to admit the Brettonian had devised a workable plan. After the last creature was put down Grimgoth had a sustained coughing fit that lasted for a good five minutes before regaining his normal breathing. The dwarf nodded through his coughs at Bertellis's orders and as soon as his body was under his control he set out to find the veterans. The nine of them set to the grim hacking away of troll-like heads from troll-like bodies. It was tricky work and by the end of it Grimgoth was covered in blood and drenched in sweat. Still it was not time for a break as there was plenty of work to be done since it was impossible to know that there wouldn't be future such forays of the creatures. Grimgoth still covered in gore found some of the townsfolk and said. Me axe arms are tired as I've been hewing troll neck for the past 90 minutes. We need a lot of trees cut down can you apply yourselves to the task. The knight wants a pallisade with the thick branches and trunks and a pyre with the smaller branches. Can I count on you all to get it done well I wash up. Also whose got some cooking skills? I need a kettle of this herb made up in the morning. Grimgoth hands over 4 doses of the herbal remedy tea to whoever is doing the camps cooking with instructions for it to be prepared first thing in the morning and provided to Emil, Wighard, Bertellis and himself. After doing this Grimgoth attempts to wash the gore off his new armor and arrange a schedule for a watch through the night. He then finds the stump of freshly cut tree and pulls himself to his full height. Tonight we build defenses, and rest under a full watch. Tomorrow we take the fight to THEM! he then hops off the stump, coughs and slinks away to find a place to lay his bedroll.

[MrAbdiel]

An evening's effort of labor establishes short wooden palisades, almost barricading the side entrance off completely with a little room for watchmen; and turning the main entrance into a bottleneck for another wave of trollthings should they muster similar numbers in future. The trollthing bodies are left to bleed out on the pyres overnight. The next morning, the pyre is ignited to begin their total immolation, casting a huge pillar of black smoke into the sky as everyone else digs into their rations, checks their bandages, drinks their herbal teas, and prepares to descend into the dark.

[-Sentinel-]

"Emil -" he begins finally, looking over the agitator with whom he has vociferously clashed; but those moments are distant noise now, drowned in the immediate awfulness of the violence and the adrenal thrill of their near miraculous victory. He gives the man an open, imploring look; a loose bid for his assistance, directed perhaps where the knight's gaze next wanders - to a group of the distressed and overwhelmed volunteers, who ought to be establishing camp and gathering wood for the palisades, but are shocked and idle from the startling brush of Morr's wings.

Emil was unhurt, but himself fairly shaken. In the fury of battle he had almost lost himself; fighting bravely but with all training and technique forgotten, just slashing over and over again with his sword until every last inch of the blade was slick with ink-black troll blood. He met the knight's gaze.

"I think we owe you this victory," he said, a tad grudgingly. I suppose some nobles do work to earn the respect they demand.

He furrowed his brow, trying to guess what Bertelis wanted of him, and decided that the knight was trying to tell him to give reassuring words to the survivors. Glad to finally be doing something that played to his strength, Emil walked among the villagers; complimenting them for a job well done, offering his condolences for their two friends who lost their lives, and gently reminding them that those deaths would be in vain if the task was not finished.


OOC

Spoiler

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Charm 69: (d100)[100]
Fortune: (d100)[30]

[wilphe]

Wighard finishes and washes up, instructing Siobhan on how to do that and setting her to clean his instruments. Then he goes in search of Bertelis to report, giving an informal salute

Two dead, two wounded but out of action as anything other than sentries, another 7 with various wounds who I suggest we leave topside tomorrow

He scratches an ear

We'll burry them behind but outside the fort.

I don't think there's a priest with us, so I will do the service myself, seen it done enough times.

he turns to leave, then addresses him softly in Bretonnian tu as bien fait


He then walks other to Grimgroth to give the same report and follows Emil doing his rounds

[bramblefoot]

the night passes smoothly. no attacks are reported, but you wake up to dark thunderclouds over the horizon. the morning breakfast goes well and the tea relieves symptoms for grimgoth. now you enter the mine. the walls seem slick, and footing is treacherous. a foul miasma permeates the air, and you cant help but feel that your marching into the belly of the beast

Spoiler: grimgoth

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(1d10)[2]

[wilphe]

Wighard takes his spot at the rear of the party with the helpers he has been able to acquire, he leaves Siobhan topside to prepare dressings and tend to the walking wounded.

Allright, Linda, Valentina, Janessa. I don't want to have to operate down here unless I really have to, anyone gets stabilised and then sent back up if they need more than be patched up.

[MrAbdiel]

With a couple of the veterans Emil had conjoured to their force with his rhetoric filling the gaps in the shield walls, they begin their descent. Beginning the descent with prayer - Bertelis privately to the Lady for courage, and groups of the militia to Sigmar and Ulric as their customs dictate, it quickly becomes apparent the situation is worst than they left it. Planning to control the mine and seal it carefully, they do not carry the charges with them, leaving them safe with the volunteers above.

“I think, yesterday, we did much to deplete them; but I dare not hope the work is done. Yet a little more of yesterday’s Valor will do also for today. Courage, men.”

[bramblefoot]

the further down you go, the darker and slimier it gets. can i get a perception check at -10 for everyone except grimgoth?

[bramblefoot]

emil stops you all. he points out a small flap of what appears to be skin and taps it. immediately a pit opens right in front of you, filled with what look like horrible scything teeth. im gonna need a wp test or take 1d5+2 IP

also there is a deep rumble from further down wdyd?

[-Sentinel-]

Emil takes several steps back, a stream of curses spilling from his lips.

"What... is... this?" he hisses.

[MrAbdiel]

Bertelis is stopped by Emil just before he can lead the men behind him into this fanged ground-maw.

"It is... I've never seen anything - "

Baffled, unsettled, wildly thrown off guard, he seizes on the sound of rumbling further down as distraction, and flags the formation to move back from the pit several paces.

"Pit trap here. Back up! Sounds like movement ahead. Forward Pegasus, eyes up and prepare to receive the enemy. If they meet us here, we'll drive them into their own pit."