The Battle is Joined - Wave 4

[Eclecticon]

Situation:
• The Beornings are making their push to re-take Stánford from its Blood-moon conquerors. 

Objectives:
1.  Breach the stockade
2.  Rescue the hostages
3.  Defeat the remaining Blood-moon warriors
4.  Kill or capture Vidugalum

Relative Strength of Numbers:
• Now through the stockade, the Beornings numbers are telling, and the enemy's morale is collapsing with most abandoning the fight.  The Shadow remnant is overpowered in numbers by the Free Peoples. 

Engagement Mood:
• The battle is a bold assault – 4 endurance loss per failed test

Shadow Threat:
• The Blood-moons are tormenting, requiring two Endurance tests per wave. 

PC/NPC		ARMOUR		HOPE		END		AREA OF ENGAGEMENT		ENDURANCE TEST TN
Grimbeorn Tate Hathcyn Anar Esgalwen Bandobras Arbogast		2d (helm n/a) 3d (helm n/a) 2d (helm n/a) 3d (helm n/a) 1d (helm n/a) 1d (helm n/a) 2d (helm +1)	• • • • • • •	4/12 8/15 12/13 8/8 3/12 15/18 10/16	• • • • • • •	16/31 25/29 17/29 WOUNDED 11/30 WEARY 13/27 22/22 18/26	• • • • • • •	At the Centre At the Centre At the Centre At the Centre Skirmisher Skirmisher At the Centre	• • • • • • •	16 16 16 16 14 14 16

[Eclecticon]

It sounds like Grimbeorn and Hathcyn, at least, are getting back into the thick of it - could you let me know where you're all going to stand for this wave? 

[GandalfOfBorg]

"Come Hathcyn, let us see this through.  We shall have this day."

The standard and the axe were ushered back to the front to find their last objective and cut the head from the snake.


 

Battle -  2d12 : 9, 3, total 12
Rolled 2d6 : 1, 6, total 7

Hope if necessary

[Eclecticon]

Any particular reason we're rolling Battle twice now?  Whatever.  Your first roll clears the bar, assuming that you'll be At the Centre this wave. 

Where's everyone else going to be?

[Telcontar]

  the banner lets Grimbeorn roll the feat die twice no?

[Eclecticon]

For Awe rolls, unless I've forgotten something (which I can't totally rule out). 

His great success does give two automatic successes for other PCs fighting in the same location. 

[tomcat]

With her spirit restored enough to continue, Esgalwen will commence attacking again from the flanks of the enemy - thus she will be a Skirmisher

I think Tate is now drawn in with Grimbeorn and staying close to him, so wherever the Beorning is you'll find Tate.

[Telcontar]

Bandy will be in Hobbit skirmish mode

[tomcat]

Sorry, Paul - I just read through the Mythic Battles again - though this time I think I really applied my brain to understand and retain what is happening here.

Here is Tate and Esgalwen's Battle Rolls. Target Numbers are 14 for Esgalwen and assumed At the Center for Tate, so TN 16:

Esgalwen
TN 14 battle 2d

1d12 : 5, total 5
Rolled 2d6 : 1, 1, total 2

Tate
TN 14 battle 1d

1d12 : 12, total 12
Rolled 1d6 : 6, total 6

[tomcat]

Pretty much status quo for my vaunted Dúnadan.

I believe she loses another 4 ? 

But Tate crushed it with a success!

[tomcat]

Esgalwen looked at Bandy, "Small archer, let us see what we can do to help bring this fight to an end. Grimbeorn still struggles on the line, but we should be able to harry their flanks. Come!"

With renewed energy, the woman raced off down an alley. She wished she still had her bow, but it was lost in her malaise. Still, Nimronyn was strong in her grasp and it would suffice.

She moved from one building to the next and it wasn't long before she realized the Hobbit was no longer behind her - his ability to hide put every Ranger she knew to shame. Esgalwen hoped that he was still with her and that her longer gait had not left him behind.

At last, she came to a two-story structure that showed the signs of the Blood Moon Raider occupation. The Toft-men were clearly in view, holding a line around a defensive position and struggling to keep the Beornings at bay. She moved out, cat-like, and then dashed to the attack. Her sword above her head, Esgalwen gave a Gondorian battle-cry and brought Nimroyn down in a brutal slash that took the life of a raider. She swung again at another, who parried her, and then again - the clangor of battle growing.

But Esgalwen had overestimated the advance of the Beornings and the attention of the raiders - as she was suddenly surrounded by four. Her heart raced in her chest as she attacked and parried, feinted and drew blood - her breathing growing more rapid. Blood was thick on her corslet from her own wound and the Ranger began to feel faint.

I will not die here, she told herself with each swing of her sword. I will not die here! The thoughts were becoming more forceful, but her efforts were failing.

The clear voice of a man singing, leading others with his voice, came to Esgalwen. It was Tate - she knew it. The minstrel, along with a line of Beornings - including a Dwarf - crashed into the Toft-men at their fore. It was the moment the Dúnadan needed. Her attackers turned to see what new threat there was and Esgalwen drew back to the houses and alleys. She needed to catch her breath, but then she would strike once more.

[Eclecticon]

Tate gets a nice little success, and Grimbeorn's great success carries Hathcyn and Anar through without needing to roll.  I'll just do a quick roll for Bandy...

Rolled 1d12 : 10, total 10
Rolled 2d6 : 2, 4, total 6

... and Arbogast...

Rolled 1d12 : 2, total 2
Rolled 4d6 : 1, 5, 1, 5, total 12

... more to check for hazards than anything else. 

[Eclecticon]

Last, but not least, the roll for progress of the battle:

Rolled 1d12 : 9, total 9

[Eclecticon]

Bandy lets out his breath as Esgalwen retreats.  Master bowman that he has become, he is still wary of firing at foes so close to his friends.  As the main line of the Beornings, Grimbeorn himself at its head, crashes into what remains of the Blood-moon force, he fires at the defenders' rear, wounding one man and sowing enough confusion that the strength of their shield-wall breaks.  Roaring, raging, Grimbeorn and his followers waste no time in overwhelming the few who still stand against them, Bear Claw felling men like a sickle reaping wheat, Tate singing on unheard as his sword and shield alike lash out.  

And then, it seems, it is over.  The bear banner arrives at the door of the great hall of Stánford to find Walcaud, Arbogast, Claudas and their followers already beating on its windows and walls, and men climbing aloft to attack from the roof.  From within comes a cry: "ENOUGH!  ENOUGH!"  

From the darkness within the hall, the doors are pulled open and Vidugalum emerges, his head bleeding from a fresh wound and the spears of two of his former followers at his back.  An expectant hush falls over the battlefield before the former King of the Toft casts his sword in the dirt before his conquerors.  "There is no good in this world but strength, boy," he says, eye to baleful eye with Grimbeorn.  "And now the last of mine is stripped from me."  


Victory is yours.  

I have a brief epilogue in mind, but feel free to add in any extra RP you want to do here. 

[tomcat]

The town of Stánford was abustle with the Beornings righting all that had been undone by the Blood Moon Raiders. With the battle now over, it was a time for resting and healing. Esgalwen made her way to where the old Dúnedain ruin could still be seen and she climbed atop the broken stones and took a seat.

Her breathing was labored. The arrow had slashed deeply into the flesh just under her breast and though it had stopped bleeding, the pain was still overwhelming. The woman feared taking off her leather armor and seeing the wound. It would be another scar upon her body...and who would want such a woman, scarred and battered?

She looked to the town where much was going on and Esgalwen smiled. They are whole again, she thought to herself. "Grimbeorn has won great honor for himself," she continued aloud to no one.

Unlimbering her sword from her hip, Esgalwen held it in her hands, though it stayed within its scabbard. She rest the tip of the weapon on the stone and idly spun it, staring at it the whole time. She marveled at its beauty. The Elven inscriptions were masterwork and it had served her very well. "You have slain spiders, wolves, orcs, and other fell-creatures. You shall be the symbol of my house."

But then her inner-voice replied, What House? You are a woman outside of your own. You show no mind as to returning to where you belong.

Esgalwen shook the thought from her mind and stared at the sword, as it continued to turn. The river gurgled behind her where the ford of old must have spanned. Her mind drifted back and a smile appeared on her face...

"You see that, Gwen?"

"What, Papa?"

"Those woods."

"Yes...that is Ithileeland."

The man smiled at her, "Yes, my love. That is Ithilien. That is where our family settled long ago, when the ocean bore them safely from fallen Númenor."

"Papa...I know this one. You tell me all the time. Tell me another. Tell me about the Elves, Grampa! Tell me about the great Lords of Old!"

"Ever the listener, aren't you, my sweet child. Ever the learner." The older man picked her up and set her atop the marble bastion that was one of the many spans of Osgiliath. "I know I have told you, child, but the land gets into your heart. It becomes a part of you, and you it. That is Ithilien and that is where we belong."

"Will we go back?" asked the young Esgalwen. She was not looking to where her grandfather gestured, but instead was looking down at the dark river below. She picked up a piece of cracked rock and tossed it down trying to hear the ker-plunk. Her question made the man frown.

"I will not go back...no. Maybe you will. Maybe someday. Only the Rangers are there now."

"What's a Ranger, Papa?"

"They are Gondor's finest. They are warriors of great skill - of both weapons and learned of the land. They live with only the simplest of things, but guard the fences of our great country...from the Shadow-lands." This close, her grandfather whispered the words describing Mordor.

"I want to be a Ranger someday, Papa! I want to protect our homeland. Can I? Would they let me?"

He laughed, "You might, child, you might. There is much you would need learn and I am not sure your mother and father would approve of such things."

"Is it just for boys...being a Ranger?"

"No," he answered. "Gondor has long been defended by both the men and the women. The Dúnedain...strong and proud. But you are a lady of the House of Eradan and that has duties, too."

"But I have no brothers, Papa. There are no boys in our house...only you and Daddy."

"Well, er...yes. But that does not mean..."

"I will be a Ranger, Papa! You will teach me. Yes? You will show me the lands where you grew up? I can protect them for you." She gave him a beaming smile, and her grandfather's heart melted. She was beautiful and would become more fair, as she grew. Elrohir loved her with all of his heart. He could do nothing else but nod to her.

"Yes, Gwen, I will teach you." There was a twinkle in his eye, "Your father will probably be mad at us both, you know?"

"It will be okay, Papa," she said while tossing another stone. "How can he be cross when he sees that you show me how to defend our home?"

Elrohir took her from the bridge wall and lowered her down. "Come, child. We must get back. Your mother will be wondering where you have been."

"I was wondering where you had been," said a voice.

Esgalwen watched as the memories faded into shades of the past - the white towers of Minas Tirith disappearing into the darkness. She blinked.

It was Tate.

"What?"

"You, Gwen! You! I was wondering where you had been, and here you are." The man sounded exasperated.

She saw the frustration, "I am sorry. I needed some time to myself."

"I didn't know if you were even alive until I ran into that small man...Brandy? Is that his name?"

Esgalwen gave a slight chuckle, "Bandy. It is short for Bandobras, and he is a Hobbit."

"No matter," continued Tate in his impatience. "You were no where to be found. Some of the Beornings spoke of you falling in battle. Some said you fled in fear. I was worried, Gwen! Why didn't you come find me?"

His irritation was rubbing off on to her, even as the pain in her chest caused discomfort.

"Come find you?" she snapped back. "Did I need to come find you? Are you my keeper?"

Tate was surprised by the reaction and her words, "Gwen..."

His words were cut off by her sharp reply, "Quit calling me that! You have no right! I am Esgalwen, daughter of Eradan, of the House Eradan of Gondor! You will address me as such."

Tate took a step back. The look on his face was one of utter surprise - as if he had been struck in the nethers. His tongue made an audible click in his mouth which had become very dry of a sudden. He swallowed and breathed out.

"Very well, Esgalwen. I was worried about you. I am glad you are alright." The woman immediately felt ashamed, but the damage was done. Tate continued, "I will be back at the main hall if you are looking for me. I will let the others know that you are well."

He turned even as Esgalwen made to speak, but she knew there were no words.

You can come home now, Gwen. You can be the Lady of our House, as was your path from the start. Her father's voice.

Esgalwen untied the side leather strapping of her armor and pulled it over her head, once it was loose enough. She gave a grunt of pain, as it clattered to the stone below her. The soft cotton of her blouse was dark brown from her blood and sweat. She pulled it up high enough to see her wound, but not expose herself. The gash was roughly five inches running parallel to her ribs. It was raw and unpleasant to look upon.

Stitches, she thought. I wonder if there are any seamstresses...Idunn! The thought of the warrior-healer came to her at once.

She must find her.