Private Tales Small Potatoes

[Roan Dorn]

The Woodland on the edge of the Falwood rose into a small hilltop. The Trees were sparse there, peppered amidst rocks and tall grass that made for reasonable cover. Further down the trees were denser but still dispersed enough that someone could see into them. When a breeze blew over the hilltop that looked down into the trees the branches shook, disturbed by the wind as flowed with evident ease.

Seated on a rocky outcropping beneath one of the inter dispersed trees Roan watched the trees from his vantage point. His armor, Chain Mail was well maintained but old; anyone who was even half observant could pick out several broken rings amidst the multitude but its integrity wasn't compromised. A Kite Shield was leaning against the rock where he sat, off to his left and secured around his waist with hilt cocked forward for ease of access was a longsword. Like his armor his arms were maintained but old. He barely attempted to conceal himself, just sitting there relying on the shade of the tree and the rocky surroundings.

He wasn't alone.

"I count six."

An estimate. Further down below off the hillside and amidst trees Roan was watching several men carousing around a small fire, various tents dotted the area around them. It seemed they didn't think anyone knew where they were so they hadn't gone to great lengths to conceal themselves.

These men had prowled the roads between villages for a month now, the villagers finally had enough of it and put a few coins together. The Vel Anir army was massive but its soldiers couldn't handle every little thing which meant men like Roan were left to fill in the cracks.

 

[Jon Horn]

"Aye" Sir Jon acknowledged the sell sword's assessment as he himself strained his own eyes down towards the camp. It had been long proven, much to Jon's dismay, that his own eye sight was not to task at such ranges. He could make out the camp and bodies moving and confirm that there was six out in the open, but it was the finer details he needed. For that he would need to trust in Roan's keen sight........

"What of weapons? Can you see any bows or crossbows? Armor and any of them look as if they know how to fight?" He questioned, his voice was deep and commanding but lowered to just above a whisper just in case the winds and forest would carry it down the hillside to their quarry.

Jon turned, not to look at the larger warrior to his side, but beyond him. Too their own horses that were lashed to a tree a few meters behind off in the distance. His brown hues looked over his pure black destrier, which was named Chuck. Sides from his own armor and weapons, Chuck was his most prized possession and he was contemplating to ride him into this battle or not risk the horse and just go in on foot. A decision that would be made pending on what Roan could make of the six brigands they were to engage. Either tactic certainly was not going to be silent. Charging in on horse back or rushing down this hill side, the clatter of his plate armor and mail would certainly ruin any chances of surprise.

 

[Roan Dorn]

"They're Brigands Jon, not the elite of Alliria."...Roan's response was somewhat incredulous after hearing his partner prompt him in regards to the arms and armor of the men he was watching however after staring down from his vantage point for a time he'd eventually have ventured an educated guess..."I'd say one or two Bowmen, light armor and the leader probably knows how to handle himself which makes it easier for him to keep the others in line."

Roan continued to sit, shifting briefly over the rocks where he'd seated himself before he noticed Jon, staring in his peripherals and not at him or the treeline below the hilltop where they'd situated. Turning his head Roan looked over at the horse first, his didn't have a name because he was very attached to it but he Jon had named his and Roan had a difficult time understanding why. If he ever rode that thing into a real battle the odds of it coming out unscathed were fairly nil.

Once he'd looked between their horses Roan looked back over towards Jon..."And you think you're going to charge down this hillside right into their ranks don't you?"....for a moment it seemed as though he was awestruck...."Any half decent archer would either hit you or your nag by the time you made it halfway and then what? You're thrown from your horse and you need me to come and rescue you. Then lets say you make the whole way down, you're fighting in the trees and your horse probably becomes a liability."

While he never smiled the tone of Roan's voice seemed to indicate he enjoyed lecturing the man when it came to tactics and how they would engage their enemy. With one arm relaxed, resting across his thigh while he sat he'd have lift the other to gesture up at the sun briefly before stating plainly..."They don't even know we're up here. We wait until nightfall."

 

[Jon Horn]

Jon gave an amused grin as Roan went on pecking flaws into an assumed course of action. No, Roan was no mind reader, just been around Jon long enough to know his thought process. "Such a negative twat aren't ya? See, your plan of attack has us twiddling our thumbs up here till nightfall with the intent to use the darkness as cover to gain the upper-hand in attacking this camp. Sounds great in theory, but you forget you and I will have to negotiate this hillside in the dark clad in the armor and weapons we have brought. This forest will carry the clang of my plate and the jingles of our chain. They will hear us coming before seeing us and those archers will have em arrows spitting on us before we can close the distance."

He paused for a moment " Unless you are going to recommend we go in without armor? And to that, my answer will be 'Go fuck yourself'!"

"Now a ballsy cav charge down this hillside with them archers in my sights and armor still on my hide, is a far more appealing plan than spending another couple hours in your company"

 

[Roan Dorn]

He just sat there while Jon went on explaining the flaws in his plan. For the most part Roan was indifferent. He enjoyed the hillside because he could tilt his head back and see the sun overhead and the Falwood as it stretched on as far as his eyes could see. It reminded him of another life, a different time before bloodshed had forced a sword into his hand and transformed him into a fighter. A sidelong glance was turned in Jon's direction..."Sir Jon."...his expression started to hint at mild satisfaction as he rose to his feet..."Well have it your own way then."

Roan had turned, taking his shield with him and walking away from Jon to their pair of mounts. His Horse was a dark bay thoroughbred. An older stead that Roan had kept for awhile now but that he had no particular attachment to. As he approached he'd have reached out the to take the horse by its bridle with one hand while he stowed his shield on the side of the saddle. Once that was done he'd have brought his hand around to pat it on the side of the neck until his grasp shift to the reigns proper. When he had a good hold he'd have moved to the side of the horse, brought his left leg up to the stirrup and lifted himself into the saddle.

Mounted Roan could peer back down towards Jon, shifting in the saddle as he did so while maintaining a grip on the reigns and the horn of the saddle. A large man Roan appeared larger sitting up on top of the horse, the chain causing him to appear thicker from where he sat. His sword remained sheathed, the shield was secured to the side of his saddle.

"Lets get this over with. I don't intend to be in the saddle any longer than I have to be."...he preferred to have his feet on the ground, a Foot Soldiers work had always suited him over a Cavalryman's. Leaning forward in the saddle Roan watched Jon..."Your lead."...he'd have said, tightening his grip on the reigns of his mount as he did.

 

[Jon Horn]

Jon hoisted himself effortlessly up onto his saddle, reaching backwards to his saddle bag and pulling out his hounskull styled bascinet. He secured the helmet onto his head, lifting the klapvisor up so he could have full view for now. They were not in combat at that point in time and Jon did not feel the need to limit his vision to the two narrow slits just yet.

The hedge knight looked over to the large sell sword mounted on the thoroughbred. Horse and man combined made for a frightening spectral and even more so with Roan's size on top of the beast. Shame he did not take well to horse soldering, he would of been a force to reckon with if properly trained. " Ligthen up on the reigns, Roan! We go down this hill side you want your horse to have his head. He will know how to traverse it far better than you"

Jon put his arms through his kite shield and gripped for the horn of his saddle while he practiced drawing his arming sword from it's sheath. Would be embarrassing if the sword did not come free of its scabbard and if witnessed by Roan, he knew he would never hear the end of it. He drew the sword out one more time, kissing the blade just above the crossguard and lowering his head in prayer "Not unto us, O Lord Nykios, not unto us, but to Thy name give glory!’ His words uttered with conviction, calling upon the celestial god of war to favor them this day. Jon sheathed his sword, feeling about his armor and saddle making sure everything was proper and stowed for a fight.

"We get in range, you bail from your horse and do what you do best on foot behind me in my wake. I will do my best to bare into the archers as fast and as violently as i can" With that, he gripped his light lance and urged his warhorse on. "Stay on me my ass till the moment you bail"

 

[Roan Dorn]

Mounted on his horse Roan watched Jon as he began to don the rest of his gear. Unlike the Hedge Knight Roan didn't wear a helm, he might don the coif of his mail if need dictated prior to the pitch of battle but the way he'd seated himself it didn't appear as though he was extremely concerned. It would be even less so once he'd heard Jon's plan of attack.

As Jon pointed out how Roan had instinctively tightened up on the reins he'd have loosened his grip though he hadn't responded otherwise. If this was their calm prior to battle Roan spent it in reflection atop his stead, in his mind he saw how the battle would likely unfold minus the few things no one could predict. He'd done this long enough there weren't many surprises for him anymore, at least insofar as minor skirmishes like this were concerned. While Jon armed himself, practiced the draw of his sword and said a prayer to the Celestial God of War, Nykios Roan appeared impassive; he wouldn't tell Jon but he thought most of it was a crock of shit.

"A good plan."...Roan finally admitted when Jon outlined how they would proceed..."They'll probably target you then and I much prefer the idea of you being struck with an arrow than I."...a bit of dark humor there before they set off. Twisting in his saddle Roan brought his left side back, reached for the Kite he'd placed on the side of his saddle and slid his forearm through the leather straps attached to it as he secured it to his arm. Once that was done and with the reins in his right hand he'd urge his horse onwards.

The Horse moved to the edge of the hillside, Roan leaned back in the saddle as his mount dipped down the incline and began on its path towards the treeline expecting Jon to swoop past him and into the lead...

 

[Jon Horn]

The two mounted warriors made their decent down the hill side, Sir Jon and his warhorse Chuck in the lead. The heavy foot falls of hooves on sloped terrain and the clatter of armor and arms would echo through the forest trees. In return, The two would hear the panicked voices of their would be prey down below and the faint bustle of bodies through the brush. There was no way around it, the two knew that camp would be alerted to their approach, it was how were they going to react was the unanswered question.

They were making steady pace down the side, the horses making quick work of the terrain but were not on even ground yet to prod the horses to hasten their advance. That was when Jon heard the all to familiar twang of a bow string and swish of an arrow taking flight. Then the crack of an arrow shattering against his breast plate with splintered wood flying in all directions off his body. The arrow did not pierce his armor but estimated ninety pound draw had enough power to put a sharp dent into the steel with the kinetic energy being absorbed into Jon's body. The force of the hit rocked the Hedge knight back in his saddle and he found himself gasping for air as the wind was taken from his lungs.

Luckily he did not need a voice to command his horse. Applying equal pressure with his legs on Chuck's side and a light touch of his spurs signaled the black destrier to charge. Jon knocked his head forwards to bring his klaspvisor down to protect his face, shield up and couching the lance. Another arrow flew, ricocheting off his kite shield. He was lined up on the archer he could see through his slit visors, but it would be the man with a very large axe that stepped out between them that would fall victim to Jon's lance.

The iron tip of the lance ripped through the bandit's chest cavity with ease as there was little to no protection to thwart or deflect the couched lance. The hedge knight released his grip of the weapon in practiced fashion letting the impaled man fall with the entire lance protruding from him and quickly drawing his arming sword. He raised himself higher in his saddle, giving him more of an effective angle to bring bare his sword upon the archer who had turned to run. Jon sliced down on him, the blade cleaving into the back of the archer's skull with the sicking sound of metal on meat and bone.

With half a tone of horse and man driving down on the archer, Jon's sword lodged deep into his skull and nearly ripped him out of his saddle as the horse rode past. He had no choice but to let the sword go and reach for his spare that was sheathed to his right side saddle bag. With limited vision due to his helmet, he could not tell how roan was doing, nor did he have the time to look over his shoulder to see. There was another archer in the distance and his bow was coming to the ready.

 

[Roan Dorn]

The Thoroughbred navigated the descent down the hillside with a practiced ease. Roan had loosened his grip on the reins giving his mount more of its head and the horse had done the rest of the work. The Advance was swift and loud, the hooves of the horses tearing up the soft earth as they made their descent. From atop his mount all Roan focused on was the rear of Jon's own horse and the treeline beyond.

When the first arrow caught Jon, causing him to reel backwards in the saddle Roan tucked his Kite Shield closer to his left side for protection hoping that if any arrows targeted him they'd have slammed into it instead. The second arrow had ricocheted off the Hedge Knights own shield though. Tucking his heels into the sides of the thoroughbred Roan had urged it onwards, prodding it further down the hillside and into the treeline as he covered the rear. When they'd breached the treeline Roan had leaned forward, raised his right arm and braced as branches snapped and bent backwards off of him.

As he straightened in the saddle again Roan pulled on the reins, his head rising in time to see Jon impale the first brigand on the tip of his lance before carrying past. Swinging his left leg back out of the stirrup and over the rear of his horse Roan had leapt down out of the saddle while his mount came to an ungaceful halt. Noise was coming from all around him, the stomping of their horses mixing with the footfalls of the other men.

Roan turned, a silhouette flashing in his peripheral and brought his shield up to deflect a wild blow from his attacker, a man swinging an arming sword which cut across the face of his Kite. Reaching behind the shield, across to his left Roan's hand closed around the hilt of his longsword and as he pushed with arm to press his shield outwards he'd unsheath the sword in a fluent motion that brought out to his right with the blade arcing up over his shoulder. As the sword came up he'd use his Kite to deflect another attack from the man in front of him while working out into the open.

A battle cry alerted him to another mans charge as Roan worked the foe at his fore, the newest brigand rushing in with a large axe similar to the one that the man Jon had skewered had been wielding. Roan saw him, bent low and turned his right shoulder into the man so that he could catch him in the midsection while coming inside the reach of the axe blow and using the mans momentum against him. He swung over Roan's shoulders as he was caught in the stomach and landed with a groan.

Another attack came from the man with the arming sword, another deflection off the face of the Kite followed. It was clear these men weren't trained soldiers. As Roan engaged his opponent he'd step into his next blow again, push the sword upwards after angling the shield into it and plant his longsword into the mans abdomen after cocking his right elbow back behind his hip and bringing the sword parallel with the ground, its tip aimed towards the Brigand.

The Longsword sunk deep into the stomach, it might not have ended his life right away but a subsequent reef of the blade removed it, covered with blood from the man and left him toppled over into the earth. By the time Roan turned the Axe wielding man had started climbing up onto his feet, Roan rushed him before he could regain his balance, turned his shield and shoulder into the man and slammed him back into the ground. An arc of the longsword over his head and the blade came chopping down into the bridge between the neck and shoulder causing the Brigand to stiffen then fall still before Roan put his boot against the man and reefed his sword free.

Looking around, turning his head quickly Roan started to feel a familiar warmth rushing through his body. There were two dead men within feet of him, he looked and Jon was preparing to ride down his third man but Roan didn't see another...."Thought I counted six."...he'd have muttered to himself, trudging across the earth further into the small encampment the brigands had created for themselves searching for the final man.