Open Chronicles Cry Havoc

[Kjaran Mak Aodha]

"A city is well-fortified which has a wall of men instead of brick."

The walls still stood.

It was one small spark of hope in an otherwise bleak state of affairs. One had only to stand on the walls and look outward to see the packed tents and assembled mass. Swarms of footmen worked hard as ants to extend the trenches and barricades to either side of the main encampment. Inside the fortifications the tension mounted. No one was starving yet but reduced rations and tightened belts were beginning to make their effects felt.

Their commander knew his business. Dwarven engineers advised the diggers in the investment. Lines of circumvallation radiated out in a spiderweb pattern, the digging crossing and recrossing while the earthworks inched closer to the walls. They had been sufficient to stall the one sortie so far, the defenders retreating with bodies strewn across their route.

No siege weaponry had been brought to bear yet, they still held out hope of carrying it through escalade. Kjaran watched as columns of soldiers laboured to move through the maze of earthworks, hefting ladders and mantlets. They formed up out of bowshot from the walls, marshalled in ranks before the final push.

His hand dropped to shake the sleeping figure Thren by the shoulder. "We're up" he said, his eyes still out over the wall. There were always sentries but the walls were under heavy guard, night and day. The dead ground could be crossed in mere minutes, far too short a time to rouse the garrison from their quarters. Most caught some sleep whenever they could.

He checked his crossbow was loaded. They'd been doled out by the dozen to the garrison. It took years to train a competent archer but there was little skill involved in shooting a crossbow from a wall.

"They've got a ram this time" he said, squinting to make it out. They were going to at it again then. Swarms of men at arms and common soldiery hoping to rush the walls. Archers shadowing them and shooting to keep the defenders' heads down. Simple and they had the numbers for it.

Trumpets blared and drums beat, psyching up the attackers before they ventured into the killing ground. Kjaran risked a look skyward, "It's going to be a long bloody day".


READ BEFORE JOINING:

Spoiler

Welcome to a siege.

If you are hoping for one glorious battle and then victory, flee! This is not the place. This will be long, it will be gruelling. Hunger will gnaw at you until you go mad. The defenders are going to spend weeks if not months being starved out, defending against assaults from without and treachery within.

All the fun and frolics of medieval siege warfare are to be expected. Starvation, disease, and the omnipresent sense of despair.

A garrison of several hundred are defending the fortress against a well led force of a couple thousand. They have it sealed off and are prepared for a long siege. More details to follow but just ask on discord if you've any queries

Molon labe!

 

[Thren]

Thren grumbled, pulling himself into the waking world as Kjaran nudged him. Larik, Thren's hound, perked up his head as his master awoke, clearly expecting to do something.

A frown touched the Barbarians face as he tried to remember where he was, memories slowly returning to him as the sounds of armies collapsed in on him. A breath filled his lungs and slowly he perked up his head, gaze wandering along the inside of the small fortress and the already ragged men around him. "Ugh."

He shifted slightly, glancing up at his fellow mercenary and looking at the crossbow in his hands.

"Maybe we'll get to do some actual fighting." Thren didn't like crossbows, wasn't much for the bow either. The Siruk were not really well trained in ranged weapons, though some of the women did quite well with throwing knives. "I hate these stupid stick throwers."

Larik growled, seemingly in confirmation as Thren pulled himself up.

His own crossbow was a large thing, bigger than most of the others with heavier bolts. He'd specifically requested it before the start of the siege, mostly because of his Tribes abilities.

Glancing down at the lands below the wall Thren watched as the enemy army approached, noting the ladders that some of them carried.

Today would indeed be bloody. He was looking forward to it.

 

[Kjaran Mak Aodha]

"They really mean it this time" Kjaran said, his eyes watching the approaching ranks. There was a lot more of them and it wasn't just ladders coming at them. He watched a stray arrow land harmlessly ahead of them, still too far out of range. He groaned as Thren spoke, "Just remember that each one you shoot means one less skull we have to split". Killing them down on the ground was much preferable to Kjaran than brawling on the walls.

"By the gods" he murmured. The sheer scale of the attack awed him. It'd be a bloody affair but if they could take the walls in a day they'd be saving the expense of keeping the engineers on retainer. "I'm not sure there's enough arrows in here for that lot". He gripped his sword haft for good luck. He'd be using it before long.

They were close enough now to pick out more details. His mouth felt dry. Holding the crossbow tight to his shoulder, he focused on a man in the leading rank, his aim wavering while he waited. The ranks broke into a run, fear and adrenaline pushing them forward. The horn sounded and Kjaran shot along with most others on the wall. A hail of arrows and bolts struck the attackers, the screams audible even to those on the walls.

 

[Thren]

"All we have to do is scare them into running away." Thren was an optimist. He had to be in a situation like this. The fortress they were occupying was a relatively small one, a few hundred Civilians and a couple dozen less Soldiers to protect them.

The walls were high, well built, but they wouldn't last forever. They were lucky that the enemy had not brought any trebuchets or catapults with them, though if the Barbarian had to guess those would be builtin the coming weeks if the siege lasted any longer than it already had.

Shouldering his crossbow Thren shifted his stance, loading the weapon with a heavy metal bolt and letting his finger rest against the guard of the trigger. "Kick down a few ladders."

He commented, closing one eye to take aim.

"Have the boys throw a little burning pitch." That was just about the only way they would get the enemy off of that Ram, Thren could already see that. "We'll be fine."

The words came as a wall of arrows and bolts flew from the fortress, the sound of a hundred bowstrings snapping echoing in his ears.

A heartbeat seemed to pass, and then Thren saw the wave land within the enemy lines. Dozens of bolts missed entirely, but hundreds more collided with the charging soldiers. Men went down, struck in the shoulder, the leg, or even the chest. Screams echoed, but the wall of enemies did not cease their charge.

 

[Kjaran Mak Aodha]

Kjaran's target dropped but whether it was from his shot or another's he'd never know. He pulled back to slot in another bolt, one nervous eye flicking towards the oncoming mass that was moving all too quickly for his liking. He shot into the screaming crowd, the lines close enough for him to make out faces and sigils now.

"The ram is the gatehouse's problem, let's focus on ours!" he snapped. The mantlets had halted now and the enemy archers were using them for cover, firing blindly in the hopes of keeping the defenders' heads down. Kjaran swore as an arrow ricocheted off the stone battlement next to him.

A ladder hit the wall some twenty feet away. It was shoved off. A few seconds later two more were raised. Kjaran grabbed a stone from one of the ready piles, hefting it up with two arms and dropping it over the side. He was rewarded with a scream. "Are you always-" he struggled to raise another rock "so bloody calm in fights?" he forced it over the side, panting from the effort.

"They don't seem scared this time!"

 

[Thren]

Larik ducked beneath the parapet, the hound seeming to calmly wait for something to do. Thren glanced down at him as he reloaded the crossbow, his fingers pulling the string and wrenching another bolt into the proper place. There as a click as the mechanism fell into place.

"Of course." Thren said with a broad smile, glancing at Kjaran before he pulled himself up and simply blind-fired the crossbow.

Whether or not he hit someone The Barbarian had no idea, but given how many of the enemy were gathered beneath the wall he guessed that he'd at least landed a glancing blow. A scream echoed from below, quickly followed by a crunch which seemed to echo against the wall.

A stone striking a man, likely.

"This is what I was made for, brother." Thren said, grinning as he glanced over the parapet to see a ladder raising up near their position. Half a dozen more fell along the walls, great metallic spines hanging from their sides that would lock them into place. "It is what the Siruk do."

The Ladder fell into place only a few feet away from him, the metallic grabbers slamming down against the wall. The soldier that had been resting atop the great wood jumped onto the wall, a loud cry of war immediately cut off as Thren's hound pounced at the man and tore at his throat.

 

[Kjaran Mak Aodha]

"Talking or fighting?"

Any more conversation was forestalled by the ladders gaining purchase. Kjaran grabbed his sword. He bashed the first figure up on the ladder, striking him full force in the face with the pommel. The archer three battlements down collapsed with an axe in his neck. Kjaran bulled his way there and slammed into the attacker, using his sword more like a bludgeon.

They were stretched thin. Kjaran shoved a ladder off only to find two more attackers had landed on his section of wall. He swung his sword wildly, screaming a challenge. Larik saved him, one man screaming as a chunk of his leg was near torn off. Kjaran charged, bellowing with fear and rage. He struck with such speed that they'd barely had time to feel the first blow before they'd been slain by the last.

 

[Owain d'Athée]

Owain hadn't been happy to take this job - sieges were always messy, and the pay being offered to mercenaries was at best measly and at worst insulting; it was perhaps why so few had answered the call. It's own garrison of trained soldiers, a propped up civilian millita and a small handful of mercenaries a defense did not make - but it would have to, for the siege was already long underway.

Owain had been assigned a more ceremonial position at the outset, his young age meaning his employers had little hope he would be an effective defender. That hesitation to field him had gone out the window once the gravity of the situation had been levied, and like all the men within the fortress he had been sent atop the walls in hopes of constant vigilance against attack.

Attack had come, it always did in sieges but it was clear this was their assailants first true effort - hooked ladders crashed into walls, a ram made slow movement toward a gate protected by the intricate defenses most strongholds held. Amongst it all Owain fought, his diminutive size made up for by his four foot long sword and raw savagery - a cruel grin twisted his boyish features as he kicked a man off his blade and down from the walls into his fellows.

Another swung wide on him from his left, the billed axe gripped in the large man's two hands came diagonal at him it's foul head and top heavy weight causing the weapon to suddenly accelerate as it entered the down swing. Owain did not hesitate, stepping into the blow he raised his long sword in a high guard over his head on the left side of his body. The shaft the axe struck his blade, and knowing his body had little hope of matching the man in a bind Owain instantly redirected the force.

Twisting his wrists to the left he pivoted off his lead left foot, cutting an angle and pulling backward with his blade as he did - the wooden oval haft of the axe struggled in the man's grip, forcing him off balance as he fought to maintain hold of his blade. As suddenly as he had pulled Owain slacked, stepping forward and dropping his hands to his right hip and thrusting.

The tip of the cut and thrust blade met the chainmail that made up the mans armor, shattering the links and forcing it's way deep into his body. Blood gushed from the wound, and due to Owain's height coated his head, dying his white hair a sickly pink and matting the thick locks to his forehead. A final, pained gurgle released the man from his life as his weight bared down on Owain, dead and crushing. Quickly the boy pulled his blade free, the sucking sound of steel leaving flesh hidden by the roars of battle.

Turning toward his next target Owain let out a delighted wail, his tone cracking and adolescent but not lacking at all in wild savagery.

 

[Aire]

An arrow went whistling by Kjaran's head, embedding with a thunk into the forehead of yet another attacker climbing over the wall. Said man barely managed a gasp before he stiffened, his eyes rolling back. He began to slowly fall backwards, disappearing back over the wall. A holler came from bellow as his lifeless body brought down someone with it.

Aire nodded at the two men he had covered, his expression somber behind the bow he lowered. His elven ears stuck out unmistakably from the single braid of blond hair running down his back. "You need to deal with these ladders," he advised them, stating the obvious as he drew forward to try and shove the ladder besides them back over. He grunted, the amount of weight on it and the angle it was at too much for just one set of hands. "Help me."

Not ten feet down, another man was making it up.

 

[Thren]

Thren was in the middle of grasping one of the enemy by the throat, his hand blackened with an odd sort of magic that made his skin as tough as armor. The soldier squirmed in his grasp, trying his best to get away. Before he could the Barbarian sent him hurtling back over the wall, the knife in his other hand coming up just in time to block the blade of another man.

A growl escaped his throat, and then he half ducked away to avoid the slash over another sword. He barely saw the flicker of another arrow before hearing a voice, his lips thinning as he saw an elf ask for assistance.

Bloody Kiva. Thren thought to himself as he quickly moved up to help the other man. The dagger in his hand slipped back into the sheath on the small of his back, joining it's twin as he avoided the small skirmish near the ladder. Didn't know we had one of them.

Elves were rare out here, and he'd never thought to see one helping. "The metal slats."

Thren pointed to the heavy barbs that sat inside of the wall, kicking the clamp in an attempt to dislodge it. He did it again, and then again, until eventually there was a loud crack and the metal fell away.

 

[Acillio Nazzaro]

Acillio Nazzaro walked beside another man, Vindonio Caso. The man was as tall as he was menacing, towering over the shorter swordsman. He wore iconic black steel from the ancient forges of Khazar, symbols of the sun adorned the joints in the armour. A bright cloak of sunlight yellow gathered around his left shoulder and draped down his back. His eyes were a bright blue, his hair sandy blonde. He was the commander of Dawn's March, a mercenary outfit hailing from Elbion.

Acillio silently nodded to his orders and diverged from his commander. He walked briskly, eyes studying the walls. A dozen men fell in behind him, they wore varying amounts of black steel plate, it was only Acillio that opted for leathers. He strode up the stairs, bounding with each step, graceful and quick. As he reached the top of the wall a man in front of him dropped instantly, an arrow had pierced his skull. Acillio ducked his head, more conscious of any steel raindrops falling down upon them. He didn't plan on making his shiny head a target anytime soon.

His eyes spied Thren and Kjaran nearby, as well as the elf Aire. Acillio knew only Thren by appearance and name. The swordsman raised two fingers and motioned them, "Ladders." Acillio unsheathed his hand-and-a-half sword. The men of Dawn's March rushed forward, Acillio clearing a path with elegant swings of his blade. Four men struggled to carry a small iron cauldron towards the wall. They leaned the cauldron up on the parapet beside the ladder and poured boiling pitch down onto those climbing up. Blood curdling screams filled the air, ear-splitting in their nature as men fell and writhed in total agony.

The suffering was heightened when Acillio issued the next command, "Arrows." Two men stepped forward, bows at the ready, they dipped their tips into the remaining pitch in the cauldron as another lit aflame the arrows. The two men leaned over the wall and let fly. Flames licked up the ladder and danced from one soldier to another, spreading across the ground far below. "Back!" Acillio barked just as the enemy archers let fly a volley. Too late. One of his archers crumpled forward and fell from the parapets.

 

[Kjaran Mak Aodha]

"Argh!"

The strangled shout was in response to the arrow that missed taking off his nose and instead buried itself in an attacker's forehead. He turned in shock and gawked at the elf, the long-lived's dull comment seeming out of place in the midst of the battle. How could someone be so...calm?

"We" he corrected, moving to grab the ladder and pit his strength against it. Thren lent his strength, kicking at the clamp. The trio's combined strength sent the ladder tumbling back off the wall. The screams of those still on it were cut short.

Reinforcements rushed to the three of them, pouring boiling pitch on those below. Even Kjaran winced at the sounds they could hear from those it hit. The flaming arrows were the coup de grace though a lucky shot nailed one of their own. The lull on their section of the wall was a welcome reprieve, the flames buying them some time.

Warning cries came from further along the wall. The ram had reached the gates. "The gatehouse!". The main focus of the assault had switched there. He broke into an awkward run towards it, the chainmail's weight making him feel every step.

 

[Aire]

Aire closed his eyes to the sound of men being burned alive. He let his breath flow in and out of him, then he reopened them, his resolve unshaken as he heeded the request for aid at the gatehouse.

He restrung his bow as he ran, his lithe steps taking him past the chainmail ridden humans. With no delay he pushed an archer out of his perch and crouched, eyeing the chaos down below. He quickly located the ram, and while those that pushed it had shields up at the ready, these men were pushing a heavy load, and otherwise occasionally shaky in their diligence with their shield position.

One man wavered for just a moment in the second row. Aire shot him down through the opening in the shields. He reloaded, then took down the man right besides the freshly fallen, taking advance of the soldier's shock. The group of soldiers yelled orders to regroup and hold the wall of shields steady. But for the moment, Aire had bought the less-experienced crossbow wielders a massive opening to shoot at.

"Aim to break their ranks around the ram," he called out to the other archers, reloading his bow again.

He was going to run out of arrows at this rate.

 

[Owain d'Athée]

Owain stared down from his perch at the oncoming ram, his figure alongside the lone elf. Stray arrows fired feebly from below harried the defenders as they returned fire with hurried crossbow shots, while small trained groups focused fire under veteran leadership. Owain recognized one such group and their commander, but he made no move to acknowledge the bald swordsman he had hunted goblins with; he wasn't more then a fellow soldier and frankly Owain didn't even remember his name if he ever knew it all.

The elf fired with effect on the shield wardens below, the attackers doing their best to protect the unfortunate few whose job it was to actually maneuver the ram. It was quickly becoming a battle of attrition, and as it stood the attackers seemed to be winning - the ram was uncomfortably close to the gate, and if it breached it they would be over run with ease. Owain knew he could drop his sword and hide amongst the civilians and if the new owners of the fortress were particularly honorable or foolish they might spare him.

The boy soldier wasn't interested in that sort of outcome, however and it wasn't long before Owain was grinning wide with that same menacing shudder overcoming him. He wanted deeply to simply launch himself off the walls into their ranks, and in truth it might have been a bold enough idea to work - of course, without a way back up the walls he'd quickly be killed by archers once the ram and it's guards were dispatched.

Unskilled and untrained with a ranged weapon Owain simply watched, his body aching for destruction but his mind doing his best to reign in his nature. Sieges weren't glorious, and Owain hated them more and more with each moment.

 

[Thren]

There was a point in every battle where chaos erupted almost entirely. Thren had experienced it half a dozen times before, though usually he was on the side that managed to keep at least some of the control.

That was the objective in a siege of course, to be the one to keep the control. There was no rout within a siege, nowhere to run away to, no way to drop things and just turn away. During a siege one had to win or lose, that was simply the way of things, and now it was no different.

His dagger bit into the throat of another soldier, slicing across the mans skin and producing a spray of crimson red. His lips thinned as Larik pounced on the man, finishing him off with a sharp bite to the face.

"The Gatehouse!"

Thren looked up as he heard the call, his fingers tightening on the hilt of his dagger as lips thinned. The ram had reached the gate, they would soon be pounding away at the door. His lips thinned and quickly he scrambled up the gangway of the wall as he let out a sharp whistle. "The Oil!"

He called out.

"Pour it on the ground besides the ram!" It was the only way. "Burn them out!"

 

[Kjaran Mak Aodha]

The resistance was fiercest around the gate. Arrows and darts flew all directions. The ram crashed against the braced gates, the crew constantly being shot at. For every soldier that fell, another took their place. Others flanked the ram with shields while their own archers shot upward in a futile attempt to keep the defenders cowering.

Kjaran hefted another rock and dropped it down. The ram pulled back, giving them space for another charge forward. He heard the cry for the oil as he stooped to pick up another stone. He ignored the burning in his back and lobbed it over the battlement. "Get it!" he roared, joining the cry.

A muffled shout came from below, a panicked soldier relaying it above, "They're nearly through below! The gate won't take much more!".

 

[Aire]

Aire came down to his last arrow, the rest all embedded into the men below. His efforts had had little effect, as he had expected. He wasn't here because this was suppose to be easy. He pulled back from his crouch, holding onto that last arrow and surveying the men around him. They kept firing, screaming, and fighting, despite the hopelessness of their situation. For every enemy they had killed, it seemed like two more had taken its place. Still, no one gave up.

He looked on with growing respect.

The oil was lugged forward, multiple boys at the brink of adulthood trying to do their part in aiding in the fight. Men pulled out of the way, granting them room to pour the first cauldron of oil bellow just as the ram hit the door for the second time. Aire's teeth chattered at the impact. A teen dropped from the cauldron, screaming, an arrow abruptly sticking out of his neck.

Aire only waited long enough for the second cauldron to be poured down, covering the whole ground below, before he dipped his arrow and lit it on fire.

He crouched, he aimed, he sent it straight into the puddles below. He ducked back to avoid an arrow skidding through his shooting slit.

 

[Maridis Va Dori]

Maridis Va Dori was not happy, he was not happy at all. He just came into this damn castle so that he could meet a contact for a job. He went to bed and was awoken by an army arriving, and for the past few days he'd been helping the defenders. When the most recent charge took place, he was helping the men at the gate, waiting with them. He'd ordered them too put as much heavy stuff against the gate, but it seemed futile, the besiegers would get through. Maridis drew his broadsword and told the men to back away from the gate, so as not to be crushed when it was broken. He had the men with shields stand in front, and waited for them to get through. "Shields up, go for the kill! Stab at their legs!" He had yelled as he stood ready for the final blow that would break the gate to splinters.

Maridis laughed to himself as he realized in most situations he'd have been on the other side of this gate, hired to help take a castle and doing so in exchange for some of the loot. The men nearest to Maridis looked at him strangely and he smirked, he started chanting "Woo! Woo! Woo!" and the men around him started doing so as well, until all the gate defenders were chanting it.

 

[Thren]

Unfortunately, or perhaps unfortunately the men arrayed behind the gate with Maridis Va Dori would never get the chance to fight.

The oil that had been spread alongside the ram caught flame as Aire shot hit true. Slightly discolored puddles caught flame almost immediately, bursting up into a great inferno that seemed to dance with color. Mean screamed as the fire leaped into the air, catching on soaked clothes and the wooden pillars of the ram.

In an instant heat seemed to consume the siege engine, pushing those underneath it out and back away from it.

"THEY'RE TURNING BACK!" Thren called as his dagger cut through the throat of another man, his own blood dripping down his forearm from a cut he'd received earlier. Sweat beaded on his brow, but he could see the tide of this battle turning.

If only for the moment.

"Harry them! Kill them as they run!"
​

Somewhere down the line an officer called, the words marking the end of this skirmish. The enemy was turning away for now, broken, though they would no doubt return.

Thren slumped slightly, squatting down to catch his breath as soldiers around him finished off the last of the attackers.

 

[Kjaran Mak Aodha]

One moment there was a siege engine with soldiers around it, the next it was a screaming mass with flames so hot that the heat could be felt up on the walls. Those not quick enough to escape went up in an instant, the shrieks making Kjaran's blood run cold. It was too much for the gate attackers. They broke and ran.

Someone of importance on the other side packed it in. Horn blows and shouts called back the attackers. Those still on the walls either made a desperate attempt to make the ladders or died fighting where they stood. They streamed back towards their own lines, leaving corpses scattered on the dead ground.

Kjaran's shoulders sagged, his arms burned from exertion, he felt sore all over. The walls were a mess of tangled bodies, some of them still breathing. He left the throat cutting to the younger ones, he was happy to just rest on the battlement and stare out. They'd won this time but it had just been a test.

His breathing eased and he took a gulp of air, willing his heart to slow down. "They'll hammer the gate next time, they know we're too weak to defend everywhere". Looking back along the walls he wasn't sure if 'win' was the right way to describe it.

 

[Aire]

As the last of the fighting died down, Aire was crouched over a man with an arrow deep inside his chest. The man's raspy breathing was painful to witness, and the blood bubbling up out of his mouth told Aire there was no hope for him.

"Aglon safelui into i dú," Aire murmured softly, taking the man's hand with one of his own. So quick it was hard to see, a flash of silver hidden by his finger, Aire he slid a nimble blade into the side of the man's neck. The man stiffened, his pain over in an instant.

Aire stood from him, looking somber. "Or perhaps they will settle into a siege. This first encounter proved both sides will take a heavy toll if they try that tactic again." He looked to the man that had talked, Kjaran, and felt some reassurance that a face he recognized had pulled through.

"Where's your captain?"

 

[Thren]

A slow sigh escaped him, his head tilting back against the wall. Larik trotted up beside him, his fur stained with blood and his muzzle half covered in what he could only assume was the flesh of some por sod.

The Barbarian patted the hound on the head. "You did good."

A smile touched his lips, though it quickly disappeared as the fact of things settled in on him. It was obvious that things would not go well from here on out. They had repelled the first attack, but it would only be the first. There was an entire army still out there, and they would not break so easily.

His head perked up slightly as he heard Kjaran speak, and then another man joined them.

Again a slight shock hit him as the saw the Elf, not expecting one of the nobler species to be in a place like this.

"Should be in the Guard House." Thren pointed out to Aire. "Leading the defense from there."

Kjaran Mak Aodha | Maridis Va Dori | Acillio Nazzaro​

 

[Kjaran Mak Aodha]

Kjaran shook his head at the elf’s question, “I couldn’t even tell you his name” he admitted before spitting over the wall. “They’ll no be back again the day” he said. He pushed back off the wall and made for the stairs, shaking his head.


The failure of the first assault gave the defenders a chance to lick their wounds.The attackers drew back to settle into their positions, keeping the castle locked in a ring of iron. Count Beziers raged in his pavilion but his advisors cautioned against wasting more soldiery on what had already been a bloody day. Fires were kindled as both sides prepared for the next clash. Inside the stone walls, the food was shared out and the garrison fed in the courtyard.


Kjaran glumly eyed the half bowl of slop he’d been doled out. The half rations would have been tolerable if they were at least somewhat palatable. He settled in by a fire, dunking his scrap of bread in the slop and using it like a spoon. At least it was warm.


Those of more morbid dispositions could spend their time counting the banners they could spy in the enemy camp. Each sigil meant a landed knight. Each one of those had brought his retainers which could mean a half dozen strong farmhands to a conroi of men at arms. They were as varied as the estates they’d come from with some bringing archers, others armoured cavalry.


The banners didn’t include the free companies, routiers, and other masterless men who’d flocked to the Count’s flag. They were drawn to battlefields like carrion. A siege always promised plunder. Many of them had died as wall fodder but there were always more to take their place. The Count had promised a grain sack of ducats for the man who opened the gate.


Kjaran burped and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Not much of a starter but I can afford to lose a little” he said, tapping his stomach for emphasis.

Spoiler

Well we've "won" the first one but even the strongest sandcastle may give way to the sea waves.

Take heart brave warriors and fill your bellies. Rejoice at having lived, celebrate being alive, converse with your fellows, and prepare for the next one. Take time to have a little bit of interaction with each other and get to know each other. Any questions, just let me know.

Feel free to add details about particular knights or mercenaries you espy on the other side. You might recognise some of the symbols!

Aire Acillio Nazzaro Owain d'Athée Maridis Va Dori Thren

 

[Maridis Va Dori]

Maridis sheathed his sword and patted some of the men at the gate on the back. He climbed up onto the rampart and looked out at the banners, he gasps and sneers. He climbs back down the ladder and walks over to the courtyard, he gets some rations and sits down beside Kjaran. "Would you believe me if I said that out here, in the middle of nowhere, I saw my fathers right hand man and some of his other knights? It's unbelievable. But not surprising that my snake of a father has his hands in this siege, and of course he's keeping it private." Maridis shook his head and sighed. "Sorry, I'm rambling, I'm just a little stressed clearly. I'm Maridis Va Dori." Maridis takes a bite of his food and extends his hand.

 

[Aire]

Aire's brows furrowed at the men's comments, nodding and taking his leave towards the guardhouse. When he exited again he looked miffed, shoulders rolling in slight agitation before he placed a hand on his pommel let his face go smooth.

Well that was uncalled for.

He looked around him for a moment, taking in the sight of the men recouping, regathering, and eating. Not for the first time, he caught sight of a few familiar faces and drifted towards them, this time hoping for a conversation that could give him a better idea of what he was involving himself in.

"Half rations then," he commented to Thren, seeing the other man, Kjaran, already being spoken to. He keeled down, settling before the fire without a creak from his lightweight armor. "It's settling into a siege after all?" He asked, already knowing the answer.