Fate - First Reply Heartwood Bleed (skirmish or some such)

[Harrier]

Harrier's forces:
30 skeleton rabble with javelins and axes
10 undead wolves


ALLIR REACH - COAST
VILLAGE OF GRIMNA SHORE

The black mare called Nahab whickered uneasily as Harrier and the skeletons rode into town. The local sacred tree was blossoming for the first time in decades, and neither Harrier nor the horse enjoyed the scent. The tiny petals on the wind smelled like sadness and jealousy.

But the kernel of magic at the heart of the tree was definitely worth far more unpleasantness than a smell.

Others would have sensed the tree's awakening, she knew. She'd brought a contingent of the dead as guards and also as labourers: anyone who wanted to claim the tree's heart would need to chop it free.

The village sat on a narrow neck of land with ocean on either side. Locals scattered out of their loosely walled village, splashing through the fringes of their harvest-ponds. Some made for fishing boats. Nobody tried to resist. Very few people thought those kinds of thoughts when rotting wolves howled. But the dead left them alone, just marched implacably down the main road between the shallow ponds of crops. Terror wasn't the point of Harrier's visit; it was, however, an unavoidable side effect.

A high but simple wall without a gate embraced the core of the town, the high ground. Inside the wall were maybe two dozen small buildings and, at the crest of the stepped hill, the sacred tree. It stood taller than the walls: pale bark, tiny coral-coloured flowers. Small evergreen trees dominated the far side of the hill. There could be enemies hiding there, coming up through there from a mooring point. There could be resistance hiding in the town. Harrier rode in anyway, surrounded by a basic, invisible College magic ward and a small army of the dead.

Two undead wolves surged away. One headed straight ahead, south, uphill between houses toward the base of the tree. The other went left, circling around to check out the forested south side of the hill.

 

[Gunnar Bergstrom]

Gunnar’s Forces

9 Melee Mercenaries, undisciplined but individually strong
3 Mercenary Archers
2 pack donkeys
Gunnar himself dressed in Solstal Armor and his Wolf’sbane axe

In the time Gunnar had spent away from his homeland he had found himself more and more often in the company of mercenaries to the point where had taken up somewhat of a leadership role. The role was granted to him more because of convenience and strength than anything else, he was not a leader by heart.

They had actually not meant to pass by the Village of Grimna shore but the fact was that there were few places in the world with the same enigmatic and breathtaking sight, so while close they decided to take a small detour and see what it was all about. Traveling was one of the big reasons that Gunnar left the Frozen Halls once more and seeing sights that few got to see was a chance he would not let slip by.

They were a band in the most base sense, walking with each other, most of them wearing some sort of light luggage while the two donkeys carried the brunt of resources, they were not here to fight and they were not expecting the like.

The rowdy group quieted down however as Gunnar commanded their silence, he could smell death. His nose as a Nordenfiir was highly developed and he could feel the hairs stand on the back of his neck. He had not often encountered such a smell before but everytime he had, it had not been a pleasant experience.

“Two choices, we can go in, probably fockin’ bite off more than we can chew.. And fight somethin’ dead.. But ya know, perhaps get some loot in the process and a good story if we survive.. Or we can leave and you can call yerselves cowards for the rest of yer days.” He smirked, it wasn’t much of a choice considering the people he hung around with were all more destructive and loose than the next, this was not a brotherhood built on trust and friendship.. It was built on loot, violence and bloodshed, that’s what brought them together.

“Figured as much.” He said, as no one protested. “One way in from the looks of it.. Get out your weapons and don’t fucking die before taking something with ya.” He said, taking the large axe from his back, the heavy weapon large enough to cleave a man in twain.

“Oh, and don’t be fuckin’ loud.” He said as he walked forward, leading the group towards the entrance of the village, they were slightly spread out, the archers in the back followed by the two donkeys and two of the mercenaries.

Harrier

 

[Harrier]

Main force (middle of town):
24 skeleton rabble with javelins and axes
6 undead wolves

Advance force (heading for sacred tree at top of hill):
6 skeletons
4 undead wolves


Some villages cowered. Some got out pitchforks and torches. So far, Harrier couldn't tell which kind Grimna Shore might be. She kept her shambling forces fairly contained on the winding road up the hill. Spreading out would only invite unnecessary heroics.

The two undead wolf scouts came back, and did so without obvious (fresh) injuries. Nothing serious lurking by the sacred tree or in the woods, then.

The road split: the left branch went flat along a terrace between several houses, and the right, a steeper path, curved up to the hilltop. Harrier urged her horse and forces up the steep fork.

The way looked fairly clear and straightforward. Escorted by a quartet of wolves, half a dozen skeletons with axes moved ahead at a brisker pace than the main group. Soon enough, they'd start chopping at the base of the tree.

Thus far, she hadn't heard a peep, a whisper of complication or opposition. A good day, hopefully.



Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Harrier, a panicked villager was informing Gunnar Bergstrom and company of the situation. Probably offering some money, too, knowing her luck.

 

[Gunnar Bergstrom]

Gunnar’s Forces

9 Melee Mercenaries, undisciplined but individually strong
3 Mercenary Archers
2 pack donkeys
Gunnar himself dressed in Solstal Armor and his Wolf’s bane axe

Silence for a few moments until the pitter patter of footsteps came his way, these were not the footsteps of an enemy but rather of someone fleeing. The man came to a halt, breathing heavily as he stood before Gunnar and took a moment to steady himself, a deep breath and a big gulp of air until he realized that the mercenary group themselves looked intimidating though probably not as terrifying as the undead were.

“Are you Soldiers? Mercenaries?” The man said, a hopeful look in his eyes though mired in the contest of fear as only one that has seen the dead walk can attest to.

The group gave a bit of a chuckle, crazy bunch this group before the large Gunnar spoke up. “We are, you got some trouble don’t ya?” He smirked, after all a desperate plea makes for the most profitable jobs.

The man however saw none of these small notions, simply propelled forward by the desire to find aid. “Yes, there are undead.. Lots! And dead wolves that walk!” He almost shouted, a slight lack of control over his own volume probably manifesting due to the tension of the situation.

“Alright, we can help.. But it ain’t gonna be cheap, we’ll collect after we’re done.” He said with a grin, Gunnar was not the most honorable person by far and the group he was with would have turned against anyone that would have acted on principals of justice and righteousness anyway.

“You wait here, we’ll go sort this shite out.” He said, placing his axe on his shoulder and pushing aside the villager. “Spread out, groups of two.. If any of you are stupid enough to get close to dying, have a friend finish the job, cut off the head.. Make it harder to bring you back.” He laughed, it wasn’t that there was no fear of death in this group but a warrior spirit built on bloodshed was far more motivating than the fearful sense of preservation.

They spread out in groups of two, apart from the archers, who all stuck together, the archers would move themselves to high ground, roofs and the like to get a better grasp of the current situation while the rest fanned out, making sure to keep themselves to narrow places where numbers had less meaning, close to doors and natural bottlenecks.

The only one that walked alone was Gunnar himself, he wanted to lure the enemy towards him, no need for them to know their numbers after all. Undead weren’t known to be the most intelligent of sort, lead by a necromancer or some such, keep the attention of a necromancer focused one way and you should be able to keep it all directed towards a center point.

“Hey!” He shouted as he saw some shapes in the distance. “What the fock’s going on here?” He said, the rest of his men were nowhere to be seen, hiding and waiting for the appropriate signal to act. “Fuck me, y’all smell like shite, ya know that?” The big Nordenfiir spoke in a loud and arrogant tone of voice. “Who’s leadin’ ya’ll to this lovely little fockin’ outcrop to cause trouble huh!?”

Harrier

 

[Harrier]

Main force (middle of town):
24 skeleton rabble with javelins and axes
6 undead wolves

Advance force (heading for sacred tree at top of hill):
6 skeletons
4 undead wolves

Spoiler

A yell rang out, some idiot shouting. Harrier glanced back and saw a tough-looking man bloviating in the street, alone. She couldn't quite hear the details of what he was yelling, but the gist carried through loud and clear.

No torches, no pitchforks - not yet anyway. In her experience, angry lonely villagers tended to be either harmless or indicative of a trap. Either way, no reason to delay chopping the heart out of the sacred tree.

She urged Nahab along, and the undead went with her in a formationless mass, staying on the road as before. The angry man got no reply.

Gunnar Bergstrom

 

[Gunnar Bergstrom]

No response, that figured.. Well it seems whoever was commanding this little attachment wasn't stupid or overconfident, but the fact that he didn't immediately sent a detachment also told Gunnar that he didn't have a huge force.. You have to take care with limited resources after all.

He gave a small hand signal to the archers on the roof to proceed down through the town, making sure to circle around as best they could. The undead didn't generally have the greatest perception so he hoped to make use of that while himself making as much noise and clamor as he could walking through the main road.

So Gunnar did the thing he knew how to do, but anyone who had ever listened to the man wish he'd never do it again, he sang.

"What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
What shall we do with a drunken sailor?
Early in the morning?
Way-hay, up she rises
Way-hay, up she rises
Way-hay, up she rises
Early in the morning" And so on and so forth the loud mouth sang to make sure attention was focused on him, and not on the other mercs circling and sneaking about.

"What's dead should stay fockin' dead." He shouted after he finished the song, brandishing his axe this time around.

 

[Harrier]

Main force (middle of town):
24 skeleton rabble with javelins and axes
6 undead wolves
1 necromancer

Advance force (chopping sacred tree at top of hill):
6 skeletons
4 undead wolves


Harrier cringed at the obnoxiously loud shanty. The yelling man was definitely following her. Between the noise and the axe, he was perilously close to getting a visit from an undead wolf.

Motion caught her eye as she looked back at him - motion in the rooftops. Maybe a bird, maybe more. She scanned the roofs and saw nothing concrete. Unease started to bubble up.

She slid off the horse and walked among the dead to make herself less of a target. At a flick of her fingers, half a dozen skeletons headed back downhill to ward away the loud axeman and sound out any resistance. A couple of javelins soared in his direction. The rest of the main force stayed close around her.

Gunnar Bergstrom