Foes Beneath the Boughs

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn raised his horn in salute.

"Hail kin of the Firewatcher! I am indeed the one you seek. Make no mistake I shall strike hard against the foes of the Tarn and will bend all my might and will to their salvation. However, I am the Longspear Bannerman of the Wolfslayer. Where he goes in battle I must follow. But this I will swear, stroke for stroke and blow by blow the iron and shaft of our war gear will sing for the relief of Arbogast."

He drained his horn and motioned them to join him.

"Force alone will not see this done. This foe is not a tree to be hacked and felled by brute force. This task is more like a field stone. We will need to pry and shift it by force in the right direction or crack it with fire."

The Longspear poured more drinks and pondered his own words.

[tomcat]

No - thanks for putting words in my mouth, Paul. I had little in the way to offer narratively. I was feeling exhausted and my brain couldn't think, so it is good.

I will say that Esgalwen might lean on her noble mien to get Munderic to settle down a little on his drinks and make sure he understands that victory must be achieved prior to his apparent celebratory imbibing. She would not be mean or forceful, but she would take on an heir of station and make the firm suggestion.

[Eclecticon]

Matt, I believe, is Gen Con bound and may not have much time or energy for posting here.  So far, Esgalwen is working on keeping Munderic sober and Hathcyn is pontificating on the nature of warfare with Arbodag and his sons.  Was there anything else that you guys wanted to play out (or discuss among yourselves) before I move the story on - potentially to first contact between the two armies?

[Telcontar]

  yes. I would like to devise a strategy.

Do we have any info from the Brown Wizard?

How far away are we from the Tarn?

Do we have a rough idea about the lay out of the Goblin camp?

[tomcat]

I like Tom's questions.

[Eclecticon]

Outside, the rain falls steadily and the Woodmen huddle together under what shelter the trees provide.  Under the roof of the hall, the talk of the evening turns to the threat to the east.  "What of the foe, wizard?" Grimbeorn asks, accepting his own horn of ale from Munderic's follower.  "Do the beasts and birds bring you tidings of their numbers, or where they are to be found?" 

Radaghast's visage, timelessly elderly, clearly displays his concern.  His brows knot together just as he spreads his hands wide.  "Alas," he replies, "the Enemy's servants have driven all wholesome things of loam and branch before them, and such winged scouts as I have sent forth have seen but little.  For the bulk of the foe is of those goblins who have learned to lurk among shadowed branches and in holes under roots.  They will seek to fight, not in serried ranks but from ambush and concealment." 

"Is there nothing you can..." the Son of Beorn begins to ask. 

"I am the Brown Wizard who came to Mirkwood and made it his home!" Radaghast interrupts.  "What is more, I have taken these folk under my protection and would hardly see them harmed if it were in my power to prevent it.  I shall know more when we are closer, for many of the trees of this wood are known to me, and I hazard that they will speak of those that despoil them.  Much else can I do besides!  But not all that can be done is done wisely, and I must ponder what my best course is.  I shall think on this tonight as I listen to the trees drink deep of the bounty of the sky." 


As for the rest, you all know from past experience that Black Tarn Hall is an easy two-day walk from here.  If the Woodmen can get moving before dawn breaks on the second day, they will arrive with daylight to spare. 

From Hathcyn's nocturnal reconnaissance and the more conventional scouting by the outlaws, you know that the goblins don't so much have a single camp as a series of warrens where smaller warbands clustered around totems or sub-leaders.  There are trees and undergrowth everywhere except for a relatively narrow cleared area around the palisade, and some nearby fields where the Tarnfolk grow grain and vegetables. 

The impression I'm trying to convey with all this stuff is that you're not heading for a stand-up fight like you had at Stánford.  It's going to be a chaotic mess of small skirmishes unless you can prompt the goblins to bunch up for a decisive battle.

[Telcontar]

was able to locate the camp of the big orcs?

Can Rahdagast give us any info on the River maidens? As players we are pretty certain they have been corrupted but the characters dont know much about that.

My thought is we dont plan a pitched battle. We spend the day cutting stakes and making wicker screens. Then we send out a flying column to attack the biggest badest leader orcs, sew confusion, cut a hole to the town and then fall back to an improved position in case they counterattack.

So more a complex raid to kill the leaders, carry out the wounded and gtfo

[tomcat]

That is my thoughts, too, Tom. This doesn't really need to be a pitched battle - more a rescue.

We set up in a strong phalanx to press to the hall - spears and shields on the outside, archers in the center. Once we make the hall, we open the doors and bring the survivors into the formation and then march out.

That is what Esgalwen would offer as input - bringing up some old Gondorian (or Númenórean) combat strategies/tactics that she may have studied in her past - or maybe it is studied Dwarven warfare? Still, as a Ranger, she is not all that familiar with it being more a skirmisher and an ambusher herself.

[Telcontar]

  the rescue alone doesnt break the army and we out numbered. Nothing will stop them then from following us and defeating us as we withdraw. In order to save the town we must do so indirectly by destroying the Army.

[Telcontar]

Hathcyn spent much of the day with the fyrd, talking, looking, and asking questions. When he came to the hall he was mostly soaked through and the water streamed rivulets from his woolen pants as he entered the hall. He nodded to everyone and took a cup from the table and then stood by the fire where the water began to steam from his clothes.

"They will fight, all of them are united and will go where we ask. However, none know how it will be done or what course is best. They look to the leaders in this hall for that. I dont think brute strength alone will defeat this filth. They out number us and mostly likely would move faster than us, especially if we have the people of the Tarn in tow. The wagons will not lessen the burden by very much even if we carried the wounded and infirm."

Hathcyn rolled the ale around in his mug and stared into the fire a moment.

"In some fights it is the first punch that decides the outcome. In battle as well as on the Field of Heroes. If we swing first and hit hard enough the fight may leave them. We are fighting a host though, not a man. Even so there is a lesson here. Orcs and goblins do not fight as one, if we punch the leasers hard enough and fast enough in sight of the others they may turn and run."

"In this we would need to strike hard and fast at the biggest and largest of the brutes, save the town by not relieving it directly. A heavy column of axe and spear that cuts directly at the head of the beast, and a light flying column to rush to the village when the goblin host begins to fear. Heavy and loud with horns and drums cleaving into its head. This will decide the battle, we can not fight them wall to wall."

There was silence in the room. The plan was simple, but risky. They would get only one chance and if they failed the retreat would mean the loss of the Tarn and also most likely the army.

A small voice, forgotten in the council of war spoke. It came from a bench by the wall. A small bow rested against the wall and several plates lay scattered around the figure who's feet didnt touch the floor.

"Where there is strength of arms and friendship their is hope."

The group saw the Hobbit Bandy come closer to the circle of the group.

"Goblins fear hope, as much as an axe. Even more so when both are together."

He reached into his belt and rummaged around.

"We are not weaponless against hate. We have axe, bows, and the help of the wise....but we also have this."

Bandy drew forth his hand and sparkling light reflected off of the faceted gem he had in his hand. The light of the fire was transformed into the twinkling light of stars.

"Here is the stone of Ardillon, cut and polished anew by Ormal, a Sindar craftsman of the vanished realms living still for a time with Thranduil. I have kept it these many years. My friends here will recall how it made even the great spider of Mirkwood doubt and know again the fear of it's youth. I will bear it again."

"Into the heart of the Army I will take it. With love of friends and the light of Elbereth to shine on our foes their hate will break and the folk of Amaleoda will be free. Friendship and Hope."

[Eclecticon]

I was wondering whether you guys would remember that thing. 

[Telcontar]

  oh i was saving it for the big reveal right now. This is the culminating moment were the story called him forth from the past.

[Eclecticon]

Both Munderic and the Stag-horn lean foward, their eyes transfixed by the light of the Stone.  Neither, however, can match the rapture on the face of Radaghast.  "Oh!" he cries.  "Oh, to see the light of Ardillon's stone once again!  My dear small friend, you cannot know the joy this brings me!  I wish only that Saruman had remained to see it, for he learned much of Ormal in the land of Hollin, and taught him much in turn, and such a wonder would have brought delight to his heart just as it does mine." 

His eyes, having grown distant as his mind and mouth wandered the roads of memory, snap back to the here and now.  "If you will bear the Stone, I shall go with the head of Hathcyn's column to direct it to whatever overseers give steel to the goblins' nerves.  If they are in terror of the light of Elbereth, the work of axe and spear will be much the easier." 

Munderic's prodigious eyebrows draw together at the wizard's words.  "I doubt not your cunning, Radaghast, but can this half-man really be expected to go with us into the teeth of the foe?  Why, he..." 

He is cut off by the deep voice of Grimbeorn.  "He can.  He will.  He has already, more times than I have the hours to tell here.  I have seen him face down terrors that would stagger the bravest of Men." 

As Munderic, chastened, mumbles an apology into his ale-horn, the Stag-horn takes up the conversation.  "It is a plan not without its risks, but I see none better that we might arrive at.  If we are to divide our strength then I, who am fleet of foot, shall head the swift men who go to the aid of the village."  She looks at those seated around the hearth-fire.  "Will any of you accompany me?"


We have, unless anyone strongly objects, a plan.  Now we're just working out who does what.  I feel that I should mention at this juncture that you don't have to split the party, but it is an option. 

[GandalfOfBorg]

"I will be at the gates of the village before any and I will be the one to follow the last survivor.  I have no doubt the rest of our company feels the same."

[Eclecticon]

Thus is the battle plan decided, and the remainder of the evening passes in discussion of how the warriors are to be divided.  Munderic, to Egalwen's satisfaction, moderates his drinking as the night deepens, though his contributions grow fewer and fewer the longer the council goes on. 

By the time the rain passes and the night lapses into sodden silence, all that might usefully be decided has been so and the leaders of the Woodmen host join their followers in slumber.  Overhead, lost beyond the blanket of cloud, the stars wheel in their eternal circles, their foretelling of which man shall return to hearth and home, and which shall fall on the field, shrouded from the mortals below. 

Rising well before the dawn, Radaghast, Munderic and Bandobras find their small army already beginning to stir, word having passed in the night through warriors' informal means that they are to depart early and march hard.  And though he decries the breakfast as appallingly perfunctory, the Hobbit of the Vales is nonetheless pleased to see that Woodmen go about their business with all due speed and seriousness.  The sun is not yet above the treeline when they wave a final goodbye to their kinfolk and depart along the long and narrow paths through the woods toward the Black Tarn. 

By the agreement of the previous night, the Companions and the Stag-horn wait until the sun is nigh overhead before they leave the Hall of Maracar.  Once again, the deep green and dappled light of the wood enfolds them as they venture onward toward what was ever their final destination.  The warriors chosen by the Stag-horn do not disappoint, for they run for the best part of the day along game trails and down shallow streams, vaulting over great roots of trees with a sure nimbleness born of long familiarity.  For this is the home and shelter of their people, and its ways have been their ways since a time now known only from the carvings of Wuduseld.  By the time of the setting of the sun, they are closer to the battlefield by some twelve miles. 


I'm going to do some Travel rolls purely to represent the difficulty of moving at this kind of pace (TN 16).  I'm ignoring results, though - there's enough people around you that most of that stuff will be taken care of well before anyone needs to bother you about it. 

Esgalwen

1d12 : 10, total 10
Rolled 3d6 : 4, 6, 1, total 11

Grimbeorn

1d12 : 10, total 10
Rolled 4d6 : 5, 3, 3, 4, total 15

Hathcyn

1d12 : 3, total 3
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 5, 2, total 13